Page 82 of Sword & Sacrifice

The deal Penn had made to help Adelaide and Em escape.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, instinctively looking for an exit. The stone walls were seamless, impenetrable. He didn’t even know if she could leave.

Adelaide grabbed his hands and clasped them in both of hers. “Don’t worry about me, Penn. You’re the one in danger. The only reason we can speak like this is because Alistair ripped open your mental shields.”

Penn waited for another painful flash of memories, but this time, nothing. “He’s fucking with my head.”

“Yes,” she said, her gaze a mix of sorrow and pity. “Though I can’t guess at his goals. That whole scene was … not what I expected from him.”

It was too romantic, Penn thought. Alistair probably could have made Penn relive any memory, perhaps even created new scenes from scratch. But he’d chosen to impersonate Valerian, to continue their relationship as if no one had interfered. “How do I get him out of my head?”

“He’s spreading himself quite thin between you and Valerian. As you repair your mental shields, you can try to cast him out. But Penn,” her voice softened for the next part even as her grip tightened until his hands ached. “If you stay with him, he will simply tear through your shields again and again until you cannot fight him anymore. Then he will control both you and Valerian.”

“But Val—”

“Valerian is gone,” Adelaide said.

Penn shook his head sharply. “He’s still in there, he’s still fighting.” When she started to interrupt him again, he spoke over her. “This isn’t wishful thinking! I saw him, Adelaide. There must be some way to help him. Some medicine or potion or other gods damned magic—”

“Stop,” she ruthlessly cut off his plea. “I don’t know what magic could purge evil rooted so deeply into someone’s mind, but it isn’t any sort I practice. The best cure for Valerian is death. At least then he might take Alistair with him.”

Penn’s fist struck the stone wall beside them and Adelaide flinched. “Please,” his voice broke on the small word. “I can’t kill him or watch him die. I just … can’t.”

Adelaide watched him for a long moment. “He has to die.” Then carefully, slowly, she offered him a few words of hope, “But maybe you can bring him back—just Val. No parasite in his mind.”

Penn immediately latched onto this lifeline, clutching it until the hope twisted into recklessness. “Tell me what to do.”

Before she explained, she warned him, “I won’t be able to help you again, Penn. After this interference, Alistair will shut me out, and I can’t risk physically fighting him. He’s already proved to be more than my match, even in a stolen body. You will have to remember the exact instructions, and protect the information from his probing, do you understand?”

Penn nodded, but she waited until he said aloud, “I understand.”

Then carefully, step-by-step, she gave him one chance to save Valerian.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Archer’s group tracked the traitors through farmlands and lesser traveled roads, all the way to the mountain’s shadow. The border fence had been cut down, splintered wood scattered across their path. The area was too remote to have its own guard station, the ‘road’ barely more than an old animal trail.

Mahler grimaced as his horse picked its way over the debris. “What do the rats want in our home?” he demanded. “Haven’t they made enough of a mess of their own?”

“They’re certainly chasing something,” Norwin added, examining the hoofprints in the dirt. “But the mountain paths should slow them down.”

Even in the foothills, the paths could be steep and difficult to navigate. Arnsveldian horses were raised on those narrow paths, trained to trust their riders and follow one another in a single-file line. From the wide swath of trampled earth the Bellacostans left behind, they didn’t have the same discipline.

“Once we enter the forest, be careful,” Archer said. “We may be more familiar with the land, but their head start will give them the high ground and time to hide within the trees.”

“Yes, sir,” the others replied in unison as they remounted their horses.

Norwin, their best tracker, led the way. Everyone was silent except for the soft tramp of hoofbeats, only communicating with hand signals.

The Bellacostans had taken a winding path, but it wasn’t clear if this was because of the quarry they chased, or if they knew they were also being hunted. At one point, Norwin paused to indicate that the path split.

Archer grimaced as he considered which path to follow. One was a steep climb directly up the side of the mountain—even from a distance he could see the disturbed dirt and plants from their ascent—the other continued along the switchback trail, further north. Horses wouldn’t be able to take the first path, but there was no sign the Bellacostans had abandoned theirs.

They could split into two groups to track both paths, but they were already outnumbered three to one. No matter how ill-trained the Bellacostans were, they could still win a battle with numbers.

In the end, Archer assigned Carolin and Mahler to follow the more obvious path, while Norwin would remain with him in case the Bellacostans unexpectedly changed directions. Both soldiers dismounted their horses, leaving them tied near the path, and slipped into the undergrowth, using the clumsy path the Bellacostans had carved through the foliage to hide their trail.

Archer and Norwin continued silently on the narrow road.