reaction to the mere layout of the room beneath them. Still, she had to see it to believe it. She climbed toward the window, on tiptoe so she wouldn't make any sound, and peered out. Her heart sank into her boots.
From this vantage point she could see where the Gatherings in Middle used to be, the expansive gardens and tree groves, and the lake.
The lake, once pristine and clear.
Now muddy and brown.
Scab children played along the banks, and Scab warriors guarded the lush terrain.
Silvie pushed up beside her, ducked her head low so no one looking up would see.
Darsal's gaze roved beyond the muddy banks, along the bridge that spanned the now-muddy Middle Lake, and to the opposite shore.
Fan-shaped, narrow steps rose out of the water and up to a portico that led to a pair of brass-overlaid doors with two entwined, winged serpents and an incense altar. The doors opened into a dome-topped temple.
Sucrow's thrall.
"Desecration is finally coming into play, my lord. We're putting out a sizable reward for any albino brought in. None dare set foot outside the desert."
"I remain unimpressed."
Choking back bile, Darsal motioned Johnis to come up beside her to look at Middle Forest, once beautiful and glorious with vibrant-colored flowers and a crystalline lake. Where night after night the warriors danced and celebrated life, where unions and passings were held with gusto, and where food and wine came in generous proportion.
Her beckoning wasn't too different from asking him to identify a loved one's corpse. Johnis's soft brown eyes turned on her. Trembling, he obeyed in slow motion and came up on her left.
"With all due respect, sir, I'm fully capa-"
"I didn't ask your opinion, Marak."
"My house used to be there." Johnis pointed down the road as far as they could see, northward. He clearly wasn't hearing the conversation below.
Darsal gave Silvie a worried look.
"Johnis ..." Silvie reached around Darsal and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him between them. "It's ..."
"Middle."
CASSAK GALLOPED UP THE DUST-COVERED WESTERN ROAD. His foam-flecked horse trembled beneath him, anxious to stop. Marak wanted him keeping close watch on Eram's forces. The half-breeds.
Sucrow wanted him checking in with the albino hunting parties.
And thanks to being forced to do both, he was late to Warryn's interrogation.
Disloyalty to Sucrow meant disloyalty to Qurong.
Disloyalty to Sucrow was the price of his loyalty to General Marak.
But even Marak couldn't argue against the fact that it was more important to handle Eram and the hunting parties, to protect everyone from the albino disease, than it was to try to protect Marak's little brother.
Maybe.
Albinos were already dead.
Marak needed to remember that.
The temple was directly ahead. Cassak rode up and swung down almost before the beast beneath him came to a complete halt.
His servant snatched the reins. His scout knelt before him, then stood in salute.
"Report," Cassak ordered. "Make it quick."
"The throater took him over an hour ago," his scout reported, referring to Warryn, chief of the "serpent warriors," the throaters, and the albino prisoner Jordan of Southern, Marak's younger brother.
Cassak started marching, forcing the scout to run to catch up.
He and Sucrow had a deal. Sucrow got the woman for his rituals. The throaters got to practice their skills on all three.
And Marak didn't have to execute the three.
Yet.
Marak would likely change his mind if he knew what Sucrow was doing.
"Over an hour?" Cassak snapped. He turned on the scout. "And you're only now telling me this?"
"You were occupied, Captain, I didn't want to intrude-"
"When I tell you to inform me of a throater's dealings," Cassak growled, "it is always first priority! Do you understand me?"
The scout drew up on himself but didn't cower. Oh no, he wouldn't cower. But he knew well that Cassak had punished warriors severely for less.
"I'll deal with you later. Finish the report before I change
From this vantage point she could see where the Gatherings in Middle used to be, the expansive gardens and tree groves, and the lake.
The lake, once pristine and clear.
Now muddy and brown.
Scab children played along the banks, and Scab warriors guarded the lush terrain.
Silvie pushed up beside her, ducked her head low so no one looking up would see.
Darsal's gaze roved beyond the muddy banks, along the bridge that spanned the now-muddy Middle Lake, and to the opposite shore.
Fan-shaped, narrow steps rose out of the water and up to a portico that led to a pair of brass-overlaid doors with two entwined, winged serpents and an incense altar. The doors opened into a dome-topped temple.
Sucrow's thrall.
"Desecration is finally coming into play, my lord. We're putting out a sizable reward for any albino brought in. None dare set foot outside the desert."
"I remain unimpressed."
Choking back bile, Darsal motioned Johnis to come up beside her to look at Middle Forest, once beautiful and glorious with vibrant-colored flowers and a crystalline lake. Where night after night the warriors danced and celebrated life, where unions and passings were held with gusto, and where food and wine came in generous proportion.
Her beckoning wasn't too different from asking him to identify a loved one's corpse. Johnis's soft brown eyes turned on her. Trembling, he obeyed in slow motion and came up on her left.
"With all due respect, sir, I'm fully capa-"
"I didn't ask your opinion, Marak."
"My house used to be there." Johnis pointed down the road as far as they could see, northward. He clearly wasn't hearing the conversation below.
Darsal gave Silvie a worried look.
"Johnis ..." Silvie reached around Darsal and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him between them. "It's ..."
"Middle."
CASSAK GALLOPED UP THE DUST-COVERED WESTERN ROAD. His foam-flecked horse trembled beneath him, anxious to stop. Marak wanted him keeping close watch on Eram's forces. The half-breeds.
Sucrow wanted him checking in with the albino hunting parties.
And thanks to being forced to do both, he was late to Warryn's interrogation.
Disloyalty to Sucrow meant disloyalty to Qurong.
Disloyalty to Sucrow was the price of his loyalty to General Marak.
But even Marak couldn't argue against the fact that it was more important to handle Eram and the hunting parties, to protect everyone from the albino disease, than it was to try to protect Marak's little brother.
Maybe.
Albinos were already dead.
Marak needed to remember that.
The temple was directly ahead. Cassak rode up and swung down almost before the beast beneath him came to a complete halt.
His servant snatched the reins. His scout knelt before him, then stood in salute.
"Report," Cassak ordered. "Make it quick."
"The throater took him over an hour ago," his scout reported, referring to Warryn, chief of the "serpent warriors," the throaters, and the albino prisoner Jordan of Southern, Marak's younger brother.
Cassak started marching, forcing the scout to run to catch up.
He and Sucrow had a deal. Sucrow got the woman for his rituals. The throaters got to practice their skills on all three.
And Marak didn't have to execute the three.
Yet.
Marak would likely change his mind if he knew what Sucrow was doing.
"Over an hour?" Cassak snapped. He turned on the scout. "And you're only now telling me this?"
"You were occupied, Captain, I didn't want to intrude-"
"When I tell you to inform me of a throater's dealings," Cassak growled, "it is always first priority! Do you understand me?"
The scout drew up on himself but didn't cower. Oh no, he wouldn't cower. But he knew well that Cassak had punished warriors severely for less.
"I'll deal with you later. Finish the report before I change
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