CHAPTER NINE

The Road from Kyros to Escator, the Central Kingdoms

T hey enveloped her within a dark power that terrified Ishbel, and took her to a place that she could not comprehend, for it, too, was wrapped in dark power. She had thought the Great Serpent of infinite power, but he was a mere worm compared to the enchantment wielded by these nine men. She could not think nor act. All Ishbel could do was breathe, and try to hold on to life, and not panic—almost impossible given the circumstances.

She knew they were not Malat’s men, whatever they’d said to Maximilian. The man who held her spoke with a voice that imitated the Kyrrian dialect, but which she recognized as a fabrication. The man’s real voice, which she could hear shadowing the false one, was of an intonation utterly unknown to her.

He held Ishbel in a grip so tight, so strong, so implacable, she thought he would murder her. If not that, then she was sure he would crush the baby within her. In that first flush of sheer terror, Ishbel didn’t care.

She was in so much fear for her own life, which she was sure would be cut short within a moment, that she had no concern for anyone else, whether her husband or her child.

They took her to a dark place of power, and there they bound her and left her lying on a cold, unknown floor.

Even though Ishbel stared wildly into the darkness, she could see nothing. For an unknowable time she lay, her terror escalating with every breath, feeding her imagination until she began to believe that they did not mean to murder her, but to torment her into insanity.

Ba’al’uz drew his Eight aside, leaving the woman, Ishbel, for the moment, and they conversed in low tones so she could not hear them.

“Kanubai shall be pleased. We have the woman,” said Ba’al’uz. “She and her child will make a lovely sacrifice.”

Ba’al’uz was more than content with events. The murder of Borchard had been masterful, accomplished while Ba’al’uz was shrouded by Kanubai’s power, and would be sure to drag both Kyros and Escator into the war that would soon consume the east.

And now they had Kanubai’s sacrifice. Ba’al’uz almost floated on the glow of achievement.

“She’ll be trouble,” said Zeboul, the most senior of the Eight.

“We shan’t have to worry about that,” said Ba’al’uz. “I have just the thing.” He held up a small vial.

“Poison. Not enough to murder her—or her child—before Kanubai commands it, but enough to keep her quiet.”

“And now?” asked another of the Eight, a man called Salim.

“Torment her,” said Ba’al’uz, “just a little to amuse ourselves and to ensure complete compliance, and then we move down toward Deepend and the FarReach Mountains. You will need to take her back to Isaiah—I really don’t care what he does with her so long as he keeps her alive and under some semblance of control—while I attend to the other little matter Kanubai requested.”

Now all eyes glinted with delight.

“The Weeper,” said Zeboul, for Ba’al’uz had told them about the object Kanubai desired.

“Yes,” said Ba’al’uz, “the Weeper. Just think, my brothers. With that and the woman and her child…Kanubai shall reward us most handsomely, eh?”