Faces of Deception

CHAPTER 7

A second boat floated around the bend, also holding a dozen slaves The captives sat three abreast, with a single chain running through their wrist manacles from one side of the boat to the other. They had the dark hair and golden skin of the Mar, but their faces were rounder and their eyes narrower. Their cheeks and black eyes were bulging, most had a crust of dried blood beneath their nostrils, lips so swollen they could barely close their mouths. Their clothes were filthy, ripped, and too flimsy for a journey through the cold swamp. Most were shivering. All were staring into the water with hopeless, unseeing eyes.

At the rear of the boat stood a pair of guards, larger and of lighter complexion than their captives. They dressed in warm furs and held furled whips in their hands. At their sides hung long padded clubs, no doubt used to beat slaves senseless without damaging their market value. The two men were frowning and looking past Atreus and Rishi into the willows, where Naraka's patrol was rustling toward shore.

A wave of revulsion rose in Atreus. The thought of buying help from slavers sickened him, but their boats seemed his only hope of survival. Whether or not he defeated Naraka, he would need plenty of warm food and a dry place to sleep if he wanted to see the dawn.

"Perhaps now the good sir sees why we may not ask for a ride," said Rishi. "It is death to anyone who reveals the Swamp Road to the Queen's Men. We must lead the patrol away and circle back to the inn, or the river-men will kill us as surely as our pursuers."

Rishi turned away from the shore, suddenly crying out and pressing himself flat to his mount's back. A pair of wooden lances flew out of the willows, one striking the gold-filled rucksack on his yak and the other sailing over his head into the river.

A grunt sounded downstream from Atreus. He ducked, then heard a lance hiss past and splash into the water. He twisted toward his unseen attacker, automatically bringing his sword around in an inverted guard, and deflected a second lance corning at his ribs. He urged his mount deeper into the willows, not because he cared whether Naraka's men saw the slave boats, but because it was death to be trapped against the river.

He was too late. There were two riders lurking in the willows ahead. On the other side of Rishi, another pair-these still armed with lances-were easing through the thicket upstream. Naraka and four more men were coming from downstream, ready to sweep in from behind the instant Atreus and Rishi engaged either pair of riders.

"Yago!" Atreus called. "Need help! Where are you?"

Yago did not answer, and Atreus's heart fell. He could only guess at Naraka's casualties in their last clash, but it seemed to him the patrol should have been larger by three or four riders. Whether Naraka had lost those men slaying Yago or simply left them behind to delay the ogre Atreus had no way to know. But had Yago been in earshot, he would have answered.

A cold fury rose inside Atreus, and he turned his yak downstream toward Naraka. Whatever had happened to Yago, the patrol leader's prejudice was to blame-the patrol leader's and that of his queen.

"This way, Rishi!"

Hoping to make good use of the yak's size, Atreus eased his mount into deeper water. Ten paces ahead, Naraka and his group mirrored the movement, two men holding lances and two holding swords.

Rishi came up from the rear, stationing himself a pace back and just inshore of Atreus. Behind them, the other four riders began to splash through the water, slowly tightening the noose.

"Will the good sir have any objection to killing?" Rishi asked quietly.

"The choice is no longer ours," said Atreus. "Take the two with the lances."

No sooner had Atreus spoken than a silver blade hissed past his head, flashing toward Naraka's. The lancer on the end cried out and tried to duck away, but the knife caught him at the base of the skull. He went limp instantly and splashed into the water.

As the other lancer raised his weapon Rishi suddenly cursed and cried out in pain. Atreus glanced back to see the Mar leaning down, groaning and tugging at a lance lodged in the calf of his leg. The rider who had thrown it was moving up from behind with his three companions, their ponies half swimming in the deep water.

A grunt sounded from Naraka's group, and Atreus looked forward to see the second lancer hurling a wooden shaft in Rishi's direction. He flicked his sword up, hitting the weapon in mid flight and sending it arcing out into the river. Oblivious, Rishi was still tugging at the lance lodged in his calf.

"Leave that for later!" Atreus yelled.

"Later?" Rishi gasped. "It is stuck through my leg!"

"Forget it," Atreus said as he urged his yak forward. "Stop the men behind us. I'll clear the way."

He angled toward the river as if he were trying to squeeze past his foes. Naraka moved to cut him off, guiding his mount into water so deep that it began to lap at his saddle. On the patrol leader's arm was a red stain where Rishi's knife had found its mark earlier, and he held his elbow close to his ribs. His eyes were filled with doubt, and his face was pale with the fear any man would feel when riding out to battle a devil, but his gaze never faltered.

The other two riders swung around toward Atreus's flank, their legs splashing as they frantically kicked at their mounts. The ponies snorted and whinnied, but they were moving as fast as they could in the deep water. The whole battle seemed to be taking shape in slow motion.

There was a startled cry behind Atreus, then a splash. Three more splashes quickly followed. He looked back to see a wounded rider flailing about in the water, clasping at the shiny hilt protruding from just under his collarbone. One of his fellows was beside him, trying to keep the wounded man's head above the surface. The other two were swimming alongside their ponies, ready to dive the instant Rishi raised another throwing dagger.

Curious voices began to roll across the water from the slave boats, and the rattle of chains grew louder and more agitated. The first two dugouts had already passed well downstream, and three more were floating around the bend. The passengers-captives and guards alike-were staring at the shore in bewilderment.

The sound of rippling water drew Atreus's gaze back to his foes. Naraka and his men were only two paces away now, almost within reach of a wild thrust.

"I am sorry for what has passed between us," Atreus said, "and for what is about to."

He raised his sword and kissed the blade, then drew the locks of hair he had collected from his belt and cast them into the river. The eyes of the Mar widened. Then his soldiers hurled themselves into the battle with wild abandon. Naraka came in from the front, standing in his stirrups to lean between the yak's horns and thrust at Atreus's ribs.

Atreus twisted away, at the same time leaning back to escape the second rider's wild head slash. When the third attacker came in with a low thrust, he blocked with his weapon's cutting edge, then circled over the top and brought the blade down on his foe's wrist. The hand came free with a sickening pop and sank into the river still holding its sword.

As the man screamed, Atreus twisted back toward Naraka and slashed at the second rider's mid-section. The man managed an awkward inverted block that left his head utterly exposed, and Atreus switched attacks smoothly, smashing his sword pommel into the fellow's face. The rider's nose shattered, and he tumbled out of his saddle.

Naraka's sword caught Atreus in the flank, passing entirely through that little roll of flesh just above the belt. Atreus yelled and lashed out with his sore arm, grabbing the patrol leader by the wrist and jerking him forward onto the yak's head.

Naraka's other hand arced around, a shiny dagger flashing in his grasp. Atreus released his foe and jerked back and the blade came down on the fleshy hump between the yak's shoulders. The beast bellowed and whipped its head sideways, flinging the patrol leader into the willows.

Naraka's sword tore free with a ghastly slurping sound, as Atreus's waist erupted into molten anguish. He heard himself scream in pain, then felt himself touching a huge flap of skin without quite realizing that he had reached down to probe the sticky mess above his belt.

A roar went up from the slave boats, which had come closer to watch the battle. The guards were facing him as they drifted past, grinning and shaking their fists in approval. The slaves were staring in wide-eyed horror.

"Help!"

The cry came from Rishi and was followed by an unintelligible scream.

Atreus spun around to find three riders swimming up behind them. One grabbed the lance in Rishi's leg and was trying to drag the Mar off his yak. The other two were circling out to approach from the sides. All three had blue lips and chattering teeth, and they were shaking so hard they could barely hold their weapons.

Atreus grabbed Rishi's yak by the horn and pulled the beast alongside his, dragging along the man holding the lance. The Mar screamed and flung himself flat on the beast's back, his fingers digging deep into its shaggy fur.

"Lift your leg!" Atreus ordered.

"Lift it?" There were tears streaming from Rishi's eyes as he said, "It is not possible. They have me by… lance…"

"Lift it!" Atreus shouted, then raised his sword and leaned around behind his guide. "Lift it or lose it."

Rishi buried his face in his mount's fur and tried to obey. The lance came out of the water just enough to see, and Atreus brought his sword down. The blow severed the shaft a foot behind the Mar's calf, leaving the man at the other end to fall back into the water.

The other two riders continued forward, wading through water up to their chests. Rishi kept his face buried and screamed as though Atreus had struck his leg instead of the lance. Naraka began to work his way back through the willows, barking orders and pulling along the rider with the smashed nose. Atreus grabbed the lead of Rishi's yak and turned away from shore.

"You cannot do this!" Rishi yelled. The water was already lapping at his thighs. "The river-men will kill us."

"So will Naraka," Atreus said, nodding back toward the willows where the patrol's survivors were gathering their ponies. "And if they don't, the cold will. We can't let these boats past."

Rishi raised his voice to protest but lost his breath to the cold when the yaks stepped into deep water and began to swim. Atreus's muscles stiffened, and the strength began to seep from his body. He glanced back and saw Naraka leading four riders into the river. The one who had lost his hand to Atreus was in no condition to fight, but the fellow with the smashed nose had found the strength to continue, and of course Naraka would not stop until he was dead.

The guards on the slave boats began to call back and forth, and the dugouts started to angle toward Atreus and Rishi.

"You see? Does that look like they mean to kill us?"

When Rishi did not make the expected disparaging reply, Atreus glanced back and saw the Mar's poor yak swimming along with little more than its nose above water. Even that slipped beneath the surface sporadically, only to pop back up spewing water and mucus.

"Rishi, what's wrong with you?"

"Me? It is my yak that is too dumb to swim."

"It's not dumb, it's drowning!" Atreus said. Behind Rishi, Naraka and his men were swimming along beside their ponies, holding their saddle horns and coming up fast. "Cut the gold free!"

Rishi looked as though Atreus had uttered a sacrilege. "You would sacrifice all this gold to spare a yak?"

"If you lose the yak, you lose the gold."

Atreus pulled hard on the beast's lead, drawing it alongside his own. The poor creature's eyes were as big as saucers, and it was breathing so hard that it sprayed his face with water. Behind the yak, Naraka and his men had closed to within five paces of its tail. Atreus plunged a hand into the icy water and managed to locate the rucksack, then slipped his sword under the cargo rope and began to saw.

"No! You are mistaken in this," Rishi begged, clutching Atreus by the elbow, but the Mar's grasp was too weak to pull his arm away. "I am as heavy as the gold. If I swim-"

"You float. Gold doesn't."

Atreus's blade bit through the rope, and the rucksack slipped into the muddy depths. The yak's head bobbed out of the water at once, but its neck and shoulders remained submerged. It was breathing harder than ever. Atreus slipped his sword under the coffer's rope, but Rishi leaned down and clutched the chest in his arms.

"The yak can carry this much!"

Atreus's yak gave a sudden jerk, and he looked back to see one of Naraka's men holding its tail. Two more riders were coming up behind Rishi. Atreus cut the rope. When Rishi continued to hold the coffer, he slammed the Mar in the shoulder and shoved him off the struggling yak.

"Forget the gold! Fight!"

The Mar vanished under the waves, still clutching the heavy coffer to his chest. Atreus spun on his mount's back, drawing his sword tip across the faces of two men behind him. They screamed and clutched at their wounds, and the current carried them off.

Rishi surfaced behind a third rider, taking him completely by surprise and planting a dagger in his ribs. The man shrieked and began to flail about in anguish. Rishi shoved the fellow's head underwater, then grabbed hold of his pony's saddle.

A deep, unearthly voice rasped across the water. Atreus glanced upstream to see a huge, barge-like boat coming around the bend. Twice as wide as the dugouts, it had a flat profile packed with slaves, a square bow manned by four guards, and a double set of oars being worked by two rowers. On the stern, a gaunt manlike figure with sloping shoulders and a pointy head stood in front of a crude cabin watching the battle.

That was all Atreus could see before a fourth rider splashed up behind Rishi, his sword scribing an arc toward the Mar's head. Rishi rolled into the assault, leaving the blow to slice harmlessly into the river, and dived. The rider began to slash madly at the water, cried out, and sank from sight.

Naraka swam up alongside Atreus, dagger flashing in one hand and sword flailing in the other. Atreus rolled off the far side of his mount and let his sword sink into the river, pulling himself under the beast's shaggy belly. He could see Naraka's legs in front of him, kicking madly as the patrol leader pulled himself onto the yak's back. One foot nearly caught Atreus in the head. He ducked out of the way, then kicked hard and came up behind his foe.

Naraka realized his mistake as soon as he heard Atreus's head break the surface. He pushed off the yak, turning to face his attacker. Atreus cupped both hands and slapped the patrol leader's ears. Naraka's eyes lit with pain. He began to sink, too dazed to keep himself afloat. Atreus caught him by the arm and knocked the dagger loose, and by then Naraka had recovered enough to raise his sword.

Atreus knuckle-punched him in the throat, but even that did not stop the determined patrol leader. The sword flashed down. Atreus shoved a hand up and caught hold of the wrist. In the next instant, the fingers of Naraka's other hand were ripping at his waist, gouging into his wound and tearing at the flap of loose skin. Atreus screamed and felt his chest fill with cold water, and he began to sink.

He reached up and caught Naraka by the throat, trying desperately to crush his attacker's windpipe, but the cold water had sapped his strength. It was all he could do to keep squeezing. Naraka tried to jerk his sword arm free, but the patrol leader was growing weak too. He followed Atreus beneath the surface, and they hung in the icy current for a long time, clutching and tearing at each other with cold-numbed fingers.

Something crackled in Naraka's throat. His eyes bulged, and a filmy white bubble slipped from his lips. The sword tumbled from his hand, but Atreus continued to squeeze, even after he saw water fill the dead man's open throat. He wanted to shake the patrol leader alive, to rebuke him for the prejudice and ignorance that had made them enemies in the first place. Of course, Naraka would not have listened. He was too good a soldier; he did as his queen commanded, whether that meant hunting down innocuous explorers or hurling himself into battle against ghastly devils.

Feeling no regrets for killing him, Atreus pushed Naraka's body away. The patrol leader might not have deserved to die because of his ignorance, but neither had Atreus, nor Yago, if that was what had become of the ogre.

Atreus broke the surface coughing and gasping for air. He felt more weak than cold, though he could sense the river sucking more heat from his body with every passing moment. His yak was gone, swimming for the far shore, and the small slave boats were well downstream, zigzagging back and forth after the surviving members of Naraka's patrol.

Atreus thrust an arm up. "Here!" His voice was a mere croak, his legs so stiff he could barely tread water. "Help!"

The distant dugouts paid him no attention. One of the little boats slowed, as a slaver pulled a limp rider half out of the river and slit the man's throat. Atreus was too exhausted to be shocked. He merely hoped he would not meet the same fate.

Upstream, Rishi cried out, "I have g-gold!" The Mar sounded as weak as Atreus felt. "Help me, and you shall be r-rewarded"

Atreus turned and saw Rishi splashing toward the big slave barge where half a dozen men stood just forward of the ramshackle cabin with the gaunt figure he had glimpsed earlier. There were no more boats coming around the bend, and all the others were well downstream, murdering the last of Naraka's wounded riders.

Rishi raised his hand, holding the small purse of gold Atreus had given him earlier. "I have gold," he said. "It is yours!"

The gaunt figure turned toward the center of the boat and barked a command. At once, the two oarsmen began to row against the current, holding the vessel in place. Rishi tucked his gold away and began to swim. Atreus followed, determined to find a place on the boat.

As he neared the barge, Atreus saw that the gaunt figure looked more like a demon than any sort of human. His slimy, snake-like torso was covered in green-glistening scales, while his spindly fingers ended in filthy-looking claws long enough to disembowel a yak. To protect him from the frigid weather, he wore nothing more than a loincloth and a soiled yellow cape, and a long barbed tail flicked back and forth over his shoulder.

His face was even more hideous than his body. He had a narrow, pointed head with a bony brow ridge, a pair of beady black eyes set deep in dark hollow sockets, and a huge nose dribbling mucus and shaped vaguely like an arrowhead. His flaky-lipped mouth stretched a full hand-span across his face, exhibiting a row of jagged fangs that rose up from his lower jaw like saw teeth. Hanging from his chin was a greasy black beard braided into long spikes and teeming with white lice.

When Rishi reached the boat, the hideous figure- Atreus supposed he was the slave-master-dropped to his belly and thrust an arm over the side. "Pay up!" the demon called.

To Atreus's surprise, Rishi did not insist on being pulled aboard before yielding his gold. He simply withdrew the purse from inside his tunic and placed it in the fellow's hand. "I c-can get you more… much more…"

Leaving Rishi to kick against the slow current, the slave-master tore open the purse and pulled out a gold piece. He tested it on his teeth, then glared down at the Mar.

"How much more?"

"Enough to drown a yak!" Rishi reached up. "And it is all yours, for no more than sparing my life."

The slave master's eyes narrowed to tiny slits. "You try to peel me, sod, and you'll wish you drowned."

With that, he plucked Rishi out of the river and tossed him onto the deck like some half-dead fish. Atreus reached the boat, then began to scratch at the slimy hull, too sore and exhausted to call out for help. A scaly hand reached down and caught him by his wounded shoulder. Recalling the fate of Naraka's men, Atreus raised his good arm to block the expected dagger, already starting to explain why his life should be spared.

There was no need. The slave-master jerked him out of the water and dropped him on the deck beside Rishi, then kneeled down and brought his face close to Atreus's. His breath stank of rotten fish.

"You don't smell like no Walker!"

"Walker?"

"If you got to ask, you ain't," said the slave master. "So what in the Thousand Darkness's are you?"

"A m-man, of course," Atreus said indignantly. "A human being."

The slave master's lip curled into a sneer, revealing a stringy mass of rotten gum. "You're a funny one, bubber. Could be worth something in Baator." He faced the ramshackle cabin in the stern. "Seema! Gather up your brews and come out here. I got something for you."

The slave master turned to Rishi, who was lying beside Atreus shaking. "Now, where's this gold you were jabbering about?"

Rishi paled and said, "Just up the river." He cast an angry glance in Atreus's direction. "In the river."

"What do you mean, in the river?" The slave master asked angrily, jerking Rishi up by the collar. "Like on the bottom?"

"It is his fault, Terrible One," Rishi said, pointing at Atreus. "He sank it!"

The Terrible One's barbed tail began to twitch. He rose, casually lifting Rishi with one hand. "It don't matter who sank it, addle pate," he said. "You tried to bob me. All the gold in this squalid little world does me no good on the bottom of a river!"

"The river is not deep," Rishi offered, pointing upstream. "Take me back to that bend tomorrow, and I can dive down and find it for you!"

The slave master considered this, his fangs scratching his upper lip. Finally, he tucked Rishi under one arm and started forward. Rishi's feet clipped the heads of some of the captives as the fiend stepped over rows of neatly chained slaves. The two oarsmen heard him coming and scrambled out of the way, allowing the boat to drift as the Terrible One passed. Even the bow guards scurried away to give him a wide berth.

The slave master draped Rishi over the side. "Prove it," he said.

The slaver opened his hand, and Rishi splashed back into the river.

Atreus gasped and started to rise, but stopped when a stinging whip wrapped itself around his throat.

"Sit down," said a gruff voice behind him. The guard at the other end of the whip jerked the handle, and the coil grew so tight that Atreus began to gasp. "Tarch didn't say you could watch."

"And yet, did he say you were allowed to harm this man?" The question came from the shack on the stern. Though heavily accented with a strange dialect of Maran, the woman's voice was as pure and lyrical as a lyre. This man should not be strangled."

The guard continued to hold the whip taut, choking Atreus. "What?" he asked, then turned to the door. "You think you're giving orders now?"

"It is an observation, not an order. This man will die if you keep strangling him."

Atreus grasped the whip cord and managed to loosen the coil enough to breathe, then twisted around to see a dark-haired woman emerging from the shack. In her hands, she held a wooden tray.

"Did Tarch not say that this one is meant for Baator?"

"Tarch says a lot of things." Despite his words, the guard flicked his whip, loosening the coil. He kicked Atreus in the thigh, then said, "We're watching you. Try anything, and we'll whip you skinless."

The woman kneeled on the deck beside Atreus and said to the guard, "I am sure he will be very cooperative."

She was dressed simply, in a heavy tabard of dark yak-hair over an equally heavy tunic, and she wore her black hair twisted into silky braids. Her face was round and gentle, with a small nose and almond eyes as deeply brown as mahogany. There was a peacefulness in her bearing that seemed to well up from inside and envelope her in a halo of grace, and when she smiled at Atreus she was more beautiful than any priestess of Sune.

"I am Seema. I will look to your wounds, yes?" the woman said. She looked straight into Atreus's eyes and betrayed no sign of revulsion or abhorrence, or even that she had noticed the hideousness of his face. "How do you feel?"

"Yes… er, fine." Atreus was so stunned by her beauty and her reaction to his ugliness-or rather, her lack of reaction-that he could hardly follow her questions. "Perhaps a little cold, Atreus-uh, I mean I am Atreus… Atreus Eleint."

Seema nodded, pulled his arm away from his waist, and examined the wound there. Her hand on his skin felt as warm as the sun. "Do you feel weak, Atreus?"

Atreus nodded, unable to take his eyes off her face. "Tired."

Seema smiled again, displaying a set of teeth as white as snow, and pulled off his sopping cloak. She tossed it aside, then started to unlace Atreus's tunic. He found himself wondering how such a beautiful and kindly woman could be working with a crew of slavers. Certainly, it was not unusual for attractive women to associate with evil men, but such women were never truly beautiful. They lacked the grace and serenity that Seema radiated so clearly.

"This man is very wet and tired," Seema said, glancing at the guard who had lashed Atreus earlier. "There is danger of the cold sleep."

The slaver scowled, then hung his whip on his belt and disappeared into the cabin. A moment later, he tossed a pair of dry blankets out on the deck, calling, "I'll find some clothes."

Seema smiled to herself and pulled Atreus's tunic over his head. When she saw the festering wound beneath his collarbone she raised her brow and poked around the edges until a stream of yellow ichor poured out. She grimaced and started to unfasten his empty sword belt.

Atreus caught her hands between his. "I, uh… I can manage."

Seema glanced down at his shivering fingers and looked confused, but she shrugged and said, "As you wish."

As Atreus struggled to remove the last of his clothes, Seema began to take cloth satchels from inside her tabard and drop pinches of pungent, brightly colored powders into an earthenware bowl. Atreus wrapped a blanket around himself and became so caught up in watching her lithe fingers that he did not remember Rishi until one of Tarch's men called out.

"There he is! He's got a rock or something." An instant later, the guard added, "He's going under again I think he's drowning."

The rest of the guards rushed over to the side where the lookout was pointing behind the boat. Tarch roared a command, and the oarsmen began to row against the current The slave master came rushing back, kicking the heads of helpless captives in his mad scramble to step over them.

"I've lost him," the guard reported.

"Get in there and find him, berk!"

The slaver glanced down at the river. "You mean jump in?" he asked, surely knowing the answer.

Atreus started to rise, but Seema caught him by the arm and shook her head. "Leave it to the guards," she told him. "You are too weak."

Tarch cleared the last row of slaves and bounded toward the side of the boat, his tail whipping back and forth so fiercely that it swept the feet from beneath one of the men guarding Atreus. The slaver at the side peeled off his weapon belt and reluctantly hopped into the water.

Seeing the attention of the guards fixed on the river, Seema leaned in closer and whispered, "Your friend is safe enough for tonight, but I think he should not show Tarch where to find the gold. Tarch says he must die for what he did."

"Leading the queen's men to the river?" Atreus asked.

"Tarch did not say what angered him," Seema answered. She put away her pouches and poured water over the pungent mixture she had prepared. "I suppose leading those men here may be the offense."

"You don't know?"

"Why should I?"

Atreus raised his brow, then glanced at the slavers lined up along the side of the boat. "I thought you were one of them," he said.

"By the lotus, no!" The anger in her eyes vanished as quickly as it had appeared. She pointed her chin at the rows of slaves ahead and said, "I am one of them."

Atreus did not know whether to despair or rejoice. Enslaving someone as beautiful as Seema was a terrible outrage against Sune, and it would have been an equal blasphemy for her to be one of the slavers.

"Forgive my witless tongue," he said. "I am as stupid as I am ugly." Atreus felt himself blushing and turned away, knowing that the color only served to emphasize his motley complexion. Hoping to excuse his affront with an explanation, he gestured at her feet. "When I saw no chains, I thought you were one of them."

"You are no more stupid than you are ugly," Seema said. "Tarch wants no scars on me. He says his buyers will pay a hundred times more for the chance to 'paint their own canvas.' "

Atreus did not know what to say, so he said nothing.

Seema began to stir her mixture with a finger, at the same time speaking in a soft Maran dialect that sounded more ancient and delicate than any Atreus had heard so far. Wisps of steam began to rise from the bowl. She continued to stir and avoided looking into Atreus's eyes.

"I am not sure I understand what kind of buyer Tarch is thinking of," she said. "Do you know, Atreus?"

"I can only guess." Atreus reached out but stopped short of actually clasping her shoulder. He had long ago learned that few women found comfort in his touch. "Don't let it worry you," he said. "Whatever Tarch has in mind, I'll stop him."

Seema raised her gaze. "Now you are sounding foolish," she said simply. "No one can stop Tarch."