Ted Dekker - Mortal

Roland held his ground, watching the crest of the hill.

ROM HAD PUSHED HIS HORSE without mercy, following both tracks and scent in a pell-mell rush south, desperate to catch Roland before it was too late.

A hundred thoughts had relentlessly pushed through the fog in his mind, chief among them the question surrounding Feyn’s attempt to escape.

Why?

Had she planned her move all along? Were other Dark Bloods waiting for her to exit the camp? Had he been played the fool, captured by misplaced love and hope?

But the most unyielding thought of all was Roland. Rom knew the prince had pushed her to the conclusion that she had no hope of leaving the valley alive. That when it came to Feyn, he possessed not a bone of trust. Nomads had always seen the benefits of life as their due inheritance-the prize awaiting them after generations on the run. Roland’s obsession was not love or truth but freedom and power, and in his mind Feyn posed a direct threat to both.

He knew he was closing as the sulfuric scent grew stronger-too strong. Not just the odor of Dark Blood, but of physical death.

Terrified that he was too late, he crested the hill, the stench of death burning his nostrils.

The scene in the wash below flashed before him as his horse thundered over the edge. Roland behind Feyn, knife at her throat-both staring up at him. Janus, the Dark Blood, dead on the ground with an arrow buried in his head. Roland’s and Michael’s horses tied to a shrub by the narrow creek.

But Feyn was alive. For the moment.

As his horse plunged down the stony slope, Rom knew that what must be said now would require finesse, not volume. Reason, not emotion.

He slowed his horse to a walk and approached, easy in the saddle. Pulled up ten feet from them. Michael stepped out from a tree on his left, hesitated a moment, then lowered her bow.

Rom spoke, paying her no mind. “Hello, Roland.”

The Nomad released his fistful of Feyn’s hair. “Good of you to join us, Rom. Please don’t tell me that you still trust the heart of any Dark Blood bound by loyalty to their master. Regardless of past intentions.”

Rom glanced at Feyn. Her eyes were fixed on him, brimming with tears.

“I trust no one who breaks their word and flees. But we have the Sovereign of the world in our hands now. She is more valuable to us as a hostage than dead.”

Roland spit into the dirt. “She’s dead already. Your problem, Rom, is that you find it difficult to place reality ahead of hope. She ran because it’s in her blood to run. As long as she’s alive, she posses a threat. Believe me when I tell you there are two Sarics still breathing. I would cut that number down to one.”

“True enough.” Rom dismounted, struck by the fact that he found Roland’s words compelling. “But we’re up against the end, close to the goal. All I ask is that you consider what Saric might offer us for her return.”

“Are you both fools?” Feyn cried. “Rom, still the naïve lover and Roland, the warrior too full of bravado to understand the subtleties of negotiation. At this rate you’ll both be dead long before Jonathan takes power.”

They stared at her. Rom wondered if Roland was as taken by her audacity as he.

“What do you gain by killing me?” she demanded.

“The satisfaction of delivering your head to the Citadel in a box,” Michael said, ambling easily toward them.

“My sister has a point,” Roland said. “There are advantages to an enraged enemy, whose calculation is thrown off balance.”

“You can hardly enrage Saric by my death,” Feyn said. “He would only take his seat as Sovereign under the guard of twelve thousand Dark Bloods and hunt you down at his leisure. The division among you will further widen under pressure and Jonathan will lose his unified defense. In the end you will all be purged. The hope Jonathan brought through his blood will be forever lost.”

Roland gave up an incredulous chuckle. “You see how self assured they are, Rom? We’ve avoided Order for hundreds of years. We’ll fight for hundreds more if need be. Jonathan’s no longer the Maker we depend upon.”

“I do see,” Rom said. “I also see that she isn’t a fool. She ran because you pushed her to it. She needs Saric’s blood or she dies. It’s Saric we should kill now, not Feyn.” And then he added, “At least, not yet.”

“She broke her word and ran.”

“You gave her no choice!”

“I can give Saric to you,” Feyn cut in.

“You expect to be trusted now, as you face death?” Roland snapped.

“No.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “What I can offer you requires no trust on your part. But the Nomadic Prince refuses to listen long enough to hear me out. He’s made up his mind, regardless of the consequences.”

“Do you blame him?” Rom said. “If you had something to say, you would have said it in our camp.”

“I should have. That was my mistake. And I may pay for it with my life. But as he says, I’m dead already. In Saric’s world I’m only his slave, waiting for his axe to fall so that he can take my Sovereign place. In yours, I’m nothing more than a prisoner who must die to make room for Jonathan. I have nothing to gain either way.”

Rom felt his heart falter at her words. She’d died for Jonathan only to be resurrected into Hades itself.

“We’re wasting time!” Michael said.

Roland looked from Rom to Feyn. Pushing her away from him, he said, “Speak.”

She turned, straightened. “It’s only a matter of time before Saric kills me. Do you have any doubt of that?”

Rom shook his head. “No.”

“With or without me, he will come after you. The only question is whether it’s under his terms or yours. You have nothing to lose by my returning to him.”

“We have the information you give him to lose,” Roland said.

“And this harms you how? You can simply move and be gone. He already knows enough about your numbers and skills. What could I possibly tell him that might compromise you at this point? He gains nothing with me at his side. My only hope is to free myself from him. It’s what Jonathan told me last night when he came.”

“He told you to free yourself?” Rom asked.

“It’s the only way I can live if you kill Saric. It’s the boy’s wish. Ask him yourself.”

A smirk pulled at Roland’s mouth. Rom knew Jonathan’s words held less and less credibility with the Nomad.

“Is it even possible?” Rom asked.

“I believe so, but that’s my concern. Yours is Saric. I think I can give him to you. And if I can’t, I’m the only one who stands to lose anything. You’ll be no worse off than you are now. Trust me or not, it doesn’t matter. I can’t hurt you.”

She made a good point. Surely Roland heard at least that much.

“Go on,” Rom said.

Feyn crossed her arms and looked at Roland. “You said last night that you could destroy Saric’s full army in the valley where you live.”

He frowned, then nodded once, slowly. “And if we could?”

“Tell me. Can you?”

“It’s possible.”

“Then I think I can convince him to bring his full army to your valley. Make what preparations you need, and then take him.”

They had all considered the possibility of thwarting an invasion in the Seyala, but no discussion had been made of purposefully leading the Dark Bloods to them. Even if they could, the odds would be astronomical.

“Roland?”

“Our seven hundred against their full army of twelve thousand… a considerable risk.”

“Risk,” she said. “Where’s that bravado? Consider what you would gain if you were successful. Your greatest threat is the existence of so many sworn to your end. They must all go. I can deliver them to you.”