Tasmakat (Tuyo Book 7) by Rachel Neumeier

Author:Rachel Neumeier [Neumeier, Rachel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-07-14T23:00:00+00:00

The sorcerer had been a young man. He looked like any Lau to me. In death, there was nothing that set him aside from any other man.

He had been dead before any of us had come to the place. He lay crumpled in a spreading pool of blood, great wounds gaping in his chest and belly. His eyes were open; his gaze fixed. The expression on his lifeless face was not fear, not even anger, but simple surprise. He had not had time to understood what fate had come to him.

His own slaves had killed him; I understood this after the first moment. Five men, all now weaponless and on their knees, their hands empty, their faces twisted with shock, horror, fear, rage—with every kind of violent feeling. Some of our people had run into this place ahead of Aras. They had found nothing to do and now stood, watchful, but understanding that everything was finished.

Everything about this was very different from the way I had imagined it.

“It’s always a shock,” Geras said. He came up beside me, setting a hand on my arm—a gesture of comfort. I did not resent that. My whole body had been clenched tight with fear and resolve and anger, and now I felt entirely off balance, unable to let any of that tension go. But Geras went on, his manner not exactly relaxed, but calm. “It’s always different, but one way or another, it’s always rough. This was nothing for us, but I guess it was pretty bad for them.” He nodded toward the kneeling men.

Then, raising his voice, he asked, his tone crisp and professional, “My lord, you’ve got these people secure, right?”

Aras had been standing still, not looking at anything ordinary men could see, his gaze unfocused. For a heartbeat and another heartbeat, he did not move or change expression or show in any way that he had heard that question. Then he drew a long, slow breath, blinked, blinked again, and turned. His manner was contained, but the set of his mouth had hardened. When he glanced at the dead sorcerer and then around the temple, his expression tightened.

This was a big chamber, rectangular, with tall, narrow doorways in each wall. Lanterns hung from ornate stands set beside every doorway, their flames high and bright. Everything here was fire-washed white stone. The blood showed shockingly vivid in this place.

The kneeling men were beginning to recover themselves, or so it seemed to me. One and then another looked around, their stunned confusion and horror beginning to give way to understanding, to an awareness of themselves. One after another, they turned their faces toward Aras. One, an older man and the nearest to me, drew a shuddering breath and closed his eyes, wrapping his arms tightly around himself as though he were cold, then covered his face with his hands. A heartbeat later, another did the same. None of them rose. Plainly they could not stand.

“Thank you, Troop Leader; I’ve got them,” Aras answered Geras.

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