Chapter
Twelve
Two swords remained. One was pure, clear crystal. The other a deep, ruby red, just like the blade they’d delivered to Artigos the Just. Selyn sucked in a nervous breath and hoped like the nine hells that the red sword wasn’t hers. She wanted clear crystal. A sword exactly like the one her mother had carried.
Not one that frightened her. The red
blade radiated power, a sense of force that had all the other women
giving it a wide berth.
Its presence hadn’t kept any of the
others from finding their true matches, though. Every one of her
sisters—except Isra, who had yet to return to the room—had claimed
crystal.
Every single one except for Selyn.
None had responded to her. Not even the slightest glimmer. Now she
stood beside the table with her hands clasped tightly against the
small of her back. What if neither of these belonged to her? What
if, among all the Forgotten Ones, she truly had been
forgotten?
She glanced at Dawson. He stood beside
her as he had throughout the long day, reeling from exhaustion just
as she was, but celebrating every time a sword had gone to one of
the women. The level of excitement within the gathering room had
grown as, one by one, woman and blade bonded.
“Aren’t you going to see which one is
yours?”
She slanted a glance at Dawson without
turning away from the swords and whispered, “What if neither one is
mine?”
He whispered his reply. “You’ll never
know if you don’t take a chance.”
She heard the tired laughter in his
voice. Turned and really looked at him. The intensity in his eyes,
the soft smile on his lips made his dare so sweet she couldn’t
ignore it. Taking a deep breath, Selyn cautiously reached out and
passed her hand over the ruby blade. Thank the gods. . . .
Nothing.
She exhaled, a long, slow release of
tension. Then she closed her eyes and held her hand over the clear
crystal. She heard Dawson chuckle and opened her eyes. The blade
shimmered beneath her hand. She blinked. It pulsed and flashed to
life with a brilliant blue glow that warmed her deep
inside.
Trembling, speechless, Selyn shot
another quick look at Dawson. His huge smile brought tears to her
eyes. Disbelief warred with joy as she wrapped her hand around the
silver hilt. The sense of connection was instantaneous—the perfect
fit, the ideal weight and balance—proof this was truly her very own
crystal sword. She lifted it from the table, lost entirely in the
shimmering light that rippled along the faceted blade.
Without speaking, she turned to
Dawson, holding her sword before her to show him the blade—the one
that had chosen her. Dawson’s eyes sparkled, but why was he looking
at her face?
Couldn’t he see that her crystal sword
was more beautiful than anything she’d ever held? More precious
than any gift she’d ever been given?
“You are so beautiful,” he
said.
Selyn blinked. Didn’t he mean the
sword? She frowned at him, and he laughed.
“You are. Don’t look at me like
that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re going to lop my head off
with your new sword.” He put his arms around her and kissed her,
right there in the gathering room, in front of her
sisters.
She lowered the sword, wrapped her
free arm around his neck, and kissed him back. It was only going to
be a short little kiss, just to celebrate a job well done, but his
mouth moved slowly over hers, and Selyn made no attempt to pull
away.
What was it about this man? She wanted
to be closer to him. Wanted what came after kisses, though her idea
of what that might be was pretty unclear. No matter. Kissing was
wonderful.
“Is this one mine?”
Isra’s rude sneer jerked Selyn back to
the present and out of Dawson’s loose embrace. She blinked, took a
sharp breath, and held more firmly to her own blade. Shrugging, she
said, “It’s the only one left, but you’d better check to make
sure.”
Isra scowled and gave her a truly
hateful look. Then she passed her hand over the blade. Nothing
happened. “What’s it supposed to do?”
“It will glow for you, if you’re meant
to carry it. I told you that already.”
“It does nothing.”
Selyn sighed. “I don’t know what to
say, Isra.” She gestured toward the other women still gathered in
the hall. Most had either gone off to their work or to the barracks
where they were sleeping in preparation for the next shift, but the
few who remained were all armed with crystal. “All of our sisters
did exactly what you just did—they passed their hands over a
particular blade, and it would glow. For some, it took many
different blades before they found the right sword; for others, the
first one glowed for them.”
“There are no others for me to try. I
want mine.”
Dawson cleared his throat and gently
nudged Selyn. She nodded slightly. He was more than welcome to
explain what might have happened. Selyn had her suspicions—she had
a feeling hers were the same as Dawson’s.
“Selyn told me you were burned when
you tried to pick one up that wasn’t yours,” he said. “Possibly
that action angered the spirit in whatever sword might have been
meant for you. There are intelligent, thinking souls inhabiting
each of these swords. Maybe, at a later time, if you show yourself
worthy . . .”
Probably not the best thing to say.
Selyn watched as Isra turned red, and she wasn’t at all surprised
when the woman let fly with a few choice curses. Dawson didn’t back
down, nor did he offer an apology. There was no reason to—not when
he was probably right.
When he didn’t rise to her anger, Isra
turned and stalked away. Selyn watched her go with mixed emotions.
She knew what it felt like to see everyone else matched with a
blade, but she’d been the target of Isra’s wrath often enough not
to feel all that sorry for her.
She glanced at her own blade and
wondered if it would have reacted to Isra if she’d been possessed,
if it might have somehow communicated that information to her.
There’d been no sign from her weapon that anything about the woman
was at all dangerous or unusual.
“What of this sword?” Dawson glanced
at the ruby blade still lying on the table. Then he looked around
the hall where small groups of women were gathered.
Selyn followed his gaze. A few of them
still worked with Taron as he led them in more intricate battle
moves than he’d shown them earlier. Roland had also done some
training, but then he’d had to return to the upper levels and his
position in the Lemurian Guard.
It appeared the women were learning
quickly. Already their form had improved, and their comfort with
the crystal blades was obvious. Selyn remembered how it had felt to
fight Birk with Artigos the Just’s crystal blade—it wasn’t even
hers, and yet she’d known how to thrust, where to place her feet,
how to fight. She’d loved the feeling the sword gave her. Loved the
confidence she felt wielding crystal.
Dawson’s voice broke into her
thoughts. She turned to face him. “I figured it was going to be
hers,” he said, still looking at the ruby sword. “It’s so different
from the others. I wonder who it’s meant for.”
The crimson blade pulsed with light.
Dawson frowned and looked closer. “Did you see that?” He reached
toward the pommel. The blade shimmered blood red and pulsed again,
this time with a rhythmic beat like that of a living
heart.
“Daws? Is it yours?”
He stared at the glimmering blade. “I
don’t know why it would be. I’m not Lemurian.”
Selyn shook her head. “No, you’re not,
but you’ve joined our battle. Maybe that’s all that matters. Pick
it up.” She tilted her chin and grinned at him. “Aren’t you going
to at least try?”
He jammed both hands in his pockets
and stared first at the sword, then at Selyn. Then at the sword
again. “Except for the silver pommel, it looks like the one you
gave to Artigos. He’s royalty. How can it be mine?”
A few of the women had gathered
around. “Did it glow for you?” Nica looked over another’s shoulder.
“If it glowed, it’s yours. You have to take it.”
Selyn laughed out loud. “You’ll never
know if you don’t take a chance,” she said, repeating what he’d
said to her.
Frowning, Dawson shook his head and
reached for the silver pommel. It slipped into his palm, and he
slowly wrapped his fingers around the hilt. Selyn knew exactly what
he was thinking, what he was feeling as he raised the sword and
stared into the ruby facets. The look on his face was one of utter
bemusement—and complete and total wonder.
The fact he’d not expected a crystal
sword had to make this moment all that much sweeter. She watched
him as he turned the blade this way and that, catching light off
its many facets, getting a feel for the weight in his
hand.
The small group of women were smiling
right along with Selyn, and her pride in Dawson made her feel
almost weak in the knees. He was not afraid to show his joy. Not
afraid to let the emotions of this moment shine through on his
handsome face and in the sparkle in his brilliant blue
eyes.
He was unlike any man she’d ever
known, and that knowledge both filled her with great joy and
terrified her. For the first time in her long and empty years, she
had something to lose, something that mattered, and it wasn’t just
the crystal sword grasped so tightly in her hand.
There were no words to express
Dawson’s feelings. None. Daws spun the sword beneath the light and
watched the blood-red blade catch fire with each twist and turn of
his wrist.
He sensed the life in it, felt it
pulse from the blade to the hilt, up his arm, and into his body as
if he and the weapon were a single entity. He’d been on the fencing
team in college, but those thin rapiers were nothing like this
beautiful blade.
“Daws! What the nine hells have you
got there?” Taron broke away from the women he’d been working with
and strode across the hall with a huge smile on his
face.
Dawson held up the blade. “Can you
believe it?”
Taron shook his head. “No. I can’t.”
Frowning now, he stared at Dawson. “There were no ruby blades when
I bundled the swords together. The only red one went to our
gentleman friend.”
“It was here,” Dawson said. “There
were two blades left. One clear and this one. The other glowed for
Selyn, and this one flashed as soon as I held my hand above
it.”
Taron stared for a long moment at the
gleaming ruby. “There are many things going on I don’t understand.
Too many.” He sheathed his own sword. “I keep thinking that if my
blade would speak, it might fill me in on a few details, but it
appears I’ll need to discover them on my own.”
He glanced around the gathering hall.
More women had gone, and it was definitely quieter than it had
been. “Look, will you two be all right? I have to return to the
upper levels. I’ve not seen Alton since he deposed his father. I’m
concerned about him and about Roland. Roland told me he’d be
reporting to me once he returned to his quarters. It was just to
let me know how things were progressing, but I’ve not heard from
him. That’s got me worried. He always follows
through.”
“Selyn and I will be fine.” Dawson
glanced her way. She smiled and nodded in agreement. “We’re going
to meet with Artigos and see how he’s doing with the guards,” he
said. “The women know enough to train among themselves. There are
quite a few who are skilled with leatherwork who have promised to
create sheathes for all the swords. Two days max for them to finish
the job, but maybe even by tomorrow. The women will need a way to
carry their weapons if it comes to actual battle. The main thing is
keeping talk of the swords quiet until we have the guards under our
control.”
“The only one I’m worried about,
Taron, is Isra,” Selyn said. “She tried to take a sword not meant
for her, and her hand was badly singed. Then, when all the swords
were given out, there wasn’t one left for her. She’s a bitter woman
to begin with, though I can’t imagine her being spiteful enough to
say anything to the guards.”
Taron folded his arms across his chest
and stared at Selyn for a moment. “Is there any chance she’s
possessed?”
Selyn shook her head. “I don’t believe
so. My sword isn’t speaking yet, but I figured if it knew enough to
glow for me, it would know if Isra harbored a demon. I asked it to
check, and there was no response. I’m taking that as the blade’s
answer.”
“Let’s hope you’re right.” He glanced
at the women working against one wall, participating in mock
battles with one another. “How soon can you be ready?”
Selyn nodded. “Tomorrow, maybe. Two
days, definitely. We have to be. I doubt we can keep the swords a
secret any longer.”
“I agree. By then, the women should be
comfortable with their blades. Hopefully Birk and Artigos will have
most—if not all the guards—free of demons. When I checked with Birk
a few hours ago, he said they’d destroyed less than a dozen so far,
and there’s still that contingent of guards that was pulled to the
upper levels. Counting them, we have more than a dozen to go.
Selyn, listen for me. I’ll report as soon as I’m able so you’ll
know what’s happening above. Be ready to move.”
Dawson sighed. “You sound as if you
think this group of women will miraculously transform into a
trained army.”
Taron nodded. “I do. Watch them. They
already move naturally with their blades, as if they’ve done this
all their lives. These are daughters of powerful, battle-hardened
warriors. And, even though they were conceived through violence,
their fathers are wardens. All of them perfect physical
specimens—strong men with the natural instincts to
fight.”
Selyn squeezed Dawson’s hand. “He’s
right, you know. I hadn’t thought of that. We are all bred to be
warriors.”
Taron lifted one expressive eyebrow.
It was as red as the hair on his head. “I doubt the demons thought
of that either, when their avatars used rape to intimidate the
women. I’m beginning to think the warrior spirits in each sword are
connecting somehow, passing on their battle knowledge.” He clapped
Dawson on the shoulder. “Have faith, my friend.” Gesturing at
Dawson’s crystal sword, he added, “You, of all people, should
believe in the magical, sentient power of crystal. I will contact
you as soon as I’m able and let you know when Alton is set. Be
ready.”
Dawson glanced at the sword fitting so
perfectly into his grasp and had to agree. He watched as the tall
Lemurian headed toward the doorway. A number of the women waved to
him or spoke as he passed. Grinning, Taron acknowledged every
single one, and then he slipped quietly out the door and was
gone.
Selyn yawned. Dawson put his arm
around her and hugged her close. “I say we head for Artigos’s cell
and see if he’s got someplace we can rest. You can’t stay here, and
neither can I.”
Selyn nodded. Exhaustion was evident
in every move she made. Even without a watch, Dawson was certain
they’d been up for more than twenty-four hours straight. They’d
finished their sandwiches long ago, and at this point, both of them
were running on empty. He grabbed Selyn’s hand and led her toward
the doorway and the portal beyond.
Isra stood beside the opening with her
arms folded across her chest. She glared at them, but she didn’t
say a word. Dawson glanced at the sword in his hand and silently
asked the blade if the woman was a threat.
There was no response, even though
they passed within a couple of feet of her. She continued staring
at them, but she didn’t speak. Dawson didn’t say a word either.
Ignoring Isra, he held Selyn’s hand tightly as the two of them
passed through the portal.
He still felt Isra’s hatred long after
they’d left the slaves’ barracks behind them.
There were few guards about at this
hour, whatever the hour was, thank goodness. Exhaustion had Dawson
practically stumbling in his tracks as he and Selyn covered the
distance between the women’s barracks and the cavern in front of
Artigos the Just’s cell. Dawson let go of Selyn’s hand and slipped
around the entry, just far enough to observe the entire
area.
Birk was seated at the guard’s table.
Dawson grabbed Selyn’s hand and tugged her forward as Birk glanced
up and frowned at them. “Is that crystal you carry as well, Dawson?
Excellent.” He patted his own sword, worn at his hip instead of
across his back. It appeared to be steel.
“I thought your blade was
crystal.”
Birk grinned. “It is. Look.” He drew
his weapon. Crystal shimmered in the low light. He sheathed it once
again, and a plain leather-covered pommel and a bit of steel blade
showed above the scabbard. “The sentience appears to know that
discretion is important for now.”
Dawson glanced at Selyn. She yawned.
“Don’t ask me,” she said, leaning against his shoulder. “I’ve spent
my life in a hole in the ground. I know nothing.” She yawned
again.
Daws chuckled. “Birk, have you got any
suggestions as to where we can catch a few hours’ sleep? We’re not
going to be of any use to anyone without some rest.”
Birk stood and nodded toward another
ordinary door just down from the cell where Artigos waited. “Those
quarters are empty and should be fully stocked. You can lock the
door from inside so you’ll feel safe. The guard relieving me later
is one of us and aware of our prisoner’s true identity. He’s the
only one I’ve shared details with at this point. So far, no one has
recognized Artigos. We don’t want anyone to know who he is, or who
you two are, either. Not yet.”
“How’re the exorcisms going? Any
problems so far?”
Birk shook his head as he opened one
of the drawers and dug around a moment. “A couple of the guys are
in sick bay with really bad headaches. I think it’s like a hangover
for the ones who’ve got a stubborn demon.” He shoved some papers
aside and mumbled a few curses before coming up with a key. “Your
sword can probably open the door, but take this just in case.
C’mon.”
Dawson took the key, and he and Selyn
followed Birk, but Daws was thinking of the guards. “Do you think
they’ll be okay?”
“I do. They understand they were
possessed. I think they’re more pissed off than anything.” He
rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the ground. “Pissed off
and ashamed. We’re supposed to be Lemuria’s finest soldiers. Guards
to the Council of Nine and all that. Finding out our every thought
and act has been determined by the very creatures we fought so long
ago . . .” He let out a huge breath. “It’s hard to take, if you
want the truth. We’re still not certain how or if we’ll ever regain
our honor.”
Selyn raised her head from Dawson’s
shoulder. “Working with us to put Artigos the Just back in power
will go a long way toward redeeming all of us—our honor and our
freedom. And, it will help those of us who have been slaves to
avenge our mothers’ terrible treatment.”
Birk merely nodded as Dawson unlocked
the door. “I’ll come for you when the chancellor awakens.” He
gestured at Dawson’s ruby sword. “Maybe you’ll be able to drive
demons out with yours, it being red and all.”
“Maybe. Thanks, Birk.”
The guard returned to his desk. Dawson
opened the door and stepped into the quiet room with Selyn beside
him. He had no idea what to expect, but when Selyn waved her hand
over a fixture on the wall and the room lit up, he stood there like
a complete idiot for what felt like forever.
Why did he expect something
otherworldly? Maybe because he was in another world? He had to bite
back a laugh, but it appeared that when he had fallen down that
rabbit hole he’d landed in a really nice hotel.
There was a couch along one wall, a
small table with chairs, and what appeared to be the Lemurian
version of a refrigerator. There was even a kitchen sink that
didn’t look much different from the one in his home in
Sedona.
A doorway led to another room. He was
almost afraid to look, but there was a large bed in there. One bed.
Big, but still one bed.
He didn’t risk even glancing at Selyn.
She’d gone straight through to what had to be the bathroom with her
small pack slung over her shoulder. “I’m claiming the shower
first,” she said.
Then he did laugh. It was either that
or cry.
Dawson left the bedroom to give Selyn
some privacy and went back into the main room. He left his sword on
the counter in the kitchen area. Curious, he checked the
refrigerator. There were a couple of bottles that looked like small
ceramic amphorae. When he pulled the stopper out of one, he smelled
yeast and hops. Beer? He couldn’t be that lucky, could
he?
It was, and he was. He took the bottle
with him and sat on the couch, slipped off his boots and socks and
stretched his legs out. He sipped the brew which, while it smelled
like beer, didn’t taste remotely like anything he’d had
before.
It didn’t act like beer, either. He
realized that when he awoke with the empty jug in his hand and his
neck stiff from sleeping on the couch. No sound came from the
bathroom, so he set the ceramic jug in the kitchen area and quietly
walked through to the bedroom.
Selyn slept soundly, curled up on one
side of the bed. Only the top of her head was visible beneath the
soft blankets. He stopped and watched her for a moment, imagining
what it would be like to sleep beside her, to hold her close in the
middle of the night, but he’d already figured he’d make do with the
couch. It was almost long enough.
Then she rolled over and blinked
sleepily at him. “Aren’t you coming to bed?” she
asked.
Startled, he stepped back.
Come to bed? With Selyn?
“After my shower,” he said. He took a deep breath. “In a few
minutes.”
“Good.” Selyn flopped back to her
stomach and tugged the blanket over her ears. “Be quiet, and don’t
wake me up. I’m exhausted.”
Now that was more like what he’d
expected. Grinning, Dawson went on into the bathroom. The shower
was rather old-fashioned looking, but the water was hot and
plentiful, and it felt good to wash the stink of the past day and a
half off his body.
It felt even better to crawl into bed
beside Selyn. He did it very quietly, and he didn’t wake her. What
surprised him most was how natural it felt to slide between cool
sheets, to pull the soft blanket up over his shoulders and close
his eyes.
Hovering on the edge of sleep, he drew
in a deep breath and filled his lungs with Selyn’s scent.
Carefully, he slipped closer to her sleeping form and buried his
nose in the sweet tangle of her long hair.
Sleep came more easily than he
expected. Being immersed in her scent, her warmth, and the slow,
even cadence of her breathing was a balm to his tattered senses.
Knowing Selyn was so close, even though he couldn’t touch her, was
a comfort he’d never imagined.
But it was one he fully intended to
experience as often as fate would allow.