Simban Read online

  “Are you all right?” Irielle’s worried frown went to his face, and she offered him a hand up.

  “Yes, argh,” he answered ungracefully. He jumped to his feet, angry that he looked like an idiot in front of the elven warriors.

  “Sorry that took so long,” she said under her breath, gesturing to the left. “They don’t like visitors.”

  “Itch. Shit.” He scratched at the back of his neck, so stressed he couldn’t put two words together.

  “It’s all right,” she said quickly. “Just calm down. They are taking us to their leader.”

  He surveyed the warriors in front of him. For the most part, their faces were impassive, but some of them held an unspeakable rage. He’d seen that emotion before on his own face. Or in the eyes of some of the other cyborgs and elves after the Ardak invasion.

  Why are they so angry?

  The warriors in front of them turned and began to lead them down the path, and those behind them prodded them with staffs to get them to walk.

  When Simban took a step forward, the snow melted away, and they were suddenly surrounded by a dense, thick forest.

  Where did the snow go?

  He craned his neck to look for it. Unfortunately, it was still behind them.

  “It’s a magic force field. The snow stops at the edges,” Irielle explained quietly as they walked. “But from the outside, it keeps the illusion. Both the force field and the surrounding mountains keep others from invading this space.” She deftly hopped over a fallen log.

  He nodded silently. It wasn’t just the magic of the force field that pervaded this place. The trees, flowers, and plants almost hummed with energy. If he had believed in such things, he might have said the forest was alive.

  “They weren’t going to let us in. But the head warrior finally admitted that they do have the Red Death sickness. Although it hasn’t killed anyone, they are not used to an illness they can’t heal.”

  One of the warriors in front turned and spoke to her, his voice harsh.

  She looked up at Simban and shook her head, and they both fell silent.

  The deeper they moved toward the center of the valley of the mountains, the warmer it became, and Irielle unwound the scarf around her head.

  “Why not . . . live here?” he asked. “Beautiful. Not alone.”

  “Yes. But . . .”

  He grunted at her skeptical expression. He’d seen enough of these elves to know that something wasn’t right about them.

  They walked for at least half a league, and he marveled at the size of their dome. They weren’t even close to the center of the large space. It was much larger than the one at Renwyn.

  The trail came to a fork, and they took the left to enter an elven village. The tree homes were beautifully constructed, utilizing the best aspects of the flora and fauna for each structure. In a way, it was exciting because the forest was so much different from Renwyn. Flowers of every color dripped from vines along the walls, bamboo-like palms with red trunks fanned out around the staircases, and ivy climbed the trunks of the enormous trees that sheltered them all.

  A slow-moving creek ran through the village, flanked by boulders for sitting and thick fan palms for shelter, and in the nooks and crannies, lily pads bloomed white and pink, and fish took refuge beneath them.

  And, yet, amid the beauty, there was something wrong with the village. He explored the feeling, his eyes searching the tree houses above. “No children,” he murmured, and Irielle nodded.

  “And few elves,” she answered so only he could hear her.

  The trail climbed slightly and came to a sudden stop in front of a tree. It was so enormous that, at first, he had thought it part of the mountain face behind it.

  The lead warrior pressed one of the branches and waited.

  An elf appeared to the left of the tree, and Simban realized he had opened a wooden door that was covered with leaves and branches, invisible from the outside.

  They entered the space to find several other elves waiting for them. The head elf was seated, two others on either side of him, and several warriors stretched out in a semicircle on either side.

  The leader spoke to Irielle. His words, in a language that should have been soothing, pelted at her like the hail that was probably pelting the dome outside at this very moment.

  He could feel her becoming angrier and more confused as the conversation went on.

  “What’s happening?”

  She didn’t answer him, but her voice and the leader’s rose, and finally the elf stood from his seat and came toward her, shouting in anger.

  She raised her chin and shouted back, and fire appeared from his hands.

  “Hey!” Simban started forward, but the head elf waved, and Simban froze where he stood.

  The elf waved his hands, and the warriors took hold of either side of him, leading him toward the side of the hut.

  Irielle was screaming behind him, but it sounded like she was also being led in his direction.

  He had never been so helpless. He’d thought the broken chip was like a prison, but at least, most of the time, he could work with it.

  The elves shoved him into a cell and left.

  Several seconds later, the paralysis finally let go. He sprang forward, grabbing at the bars, shouting after them, wanting to know what they had done with Irielle. “Bastards! Irielle! Where is Irielle? Fuck!” He kicked the stone wall beside the bars.

  What the hell were these things? He’d thought they were elves, but the elves he knew had listened to reason. These little beings radiated hatred, and he didn’t know why. They had their own little kingdom here that no one could penetrate. Not even the Ardaks had known about it.

  “Irieeeeeelle!” he roared in rage.

  A small fist hit the floor of the next cell. “Irielle?”

  She sighed, her voice defeated. “It’s me.”

  Dammit.

  Those scrawny bastards would pay for making her sound that way.

  Just as soon as he got out of this cell.

  Sighing heavily, he sat down near the bars of the wall between their cells.

  “Don’t feel bad, small elf.”

  She sighed again.

  “Will be okay. I promise.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Irielle

  Irielle sat on the floor, her knees drawn to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. Unsure what to do next.

  She’d never seen anything like this place before. But even more, she’d never felt anything like it. Immense power radiated from the plants and trees, and from the elves themselves. It was this power that had warned her to stay away from this place.

  Even this cell, tree roots growing down through the walls and forming the bars, was inundated with magic. She’d thought the throne room at Renwyn held the most magic possible, but she’d never really known the feeling of real power.

  The elves were stronger, too. She could see it in their eyes and in their movements. Magic poured from them.

  Her peoples’ eyes glowed with whatever magic they used: golden brown for earth, light blue for air, orange for fire, blue for water. But these elves had eyes that glowed with pure gold.

  Simban tried to reassure her from the next cell, but she wasn’t afraid.

  All she could feel was anger.

  What’s wrong with them?

  The warrior had admitted they had the Red Death sickness, but the head elf was obviously insane. He had screamed about how her kind wasn’t welcome there and hadn’t even listened to why she had come. He claimed she was the enemy, teaming up with an unholy demon.

  Why couldn’t they see Simban was good?

  She began to cough. Even worse, she had no idea how long these elves were going to keep them, or what they were going to do to them.

  What if they keep me so long that I die from the Red Death?

  After a few minutes, her sobs quieted, and she could hear Simban’s foot twitching against the bars. It made her even angrier, and she had no idea what to say to him.

  This is all my fault!

  Why did I think these elves needed help? I should have known better.

  She began thinking about what to say to Simban, and how she was going to get them out of there. But as it turned out, she didn’t have to figure out either.

  Because several warriors were back, pulling her out of the cell.

  “You don’t have to rip my arms off,” she grumbled.

  They pushed her ungently down a corridor, which became darker and colder, dipping down until she realized they must be belowground.

  She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “Are you going to torture me? Because I was tortured by the Ardaks, and sometimes, I have blackouts . . .”

  “Shut up,” one of the warriors said impassively, pushing her to the end of the corridor, which opened into a large room.

  Yep, a torture room.

  A horrible sense of déjà vu came over her. Why did these elves think they were more civilized than the Ardaks? Everything was the same except their race.

  “Can’t we just talk about this? You haven’t even asked me any questions,” she begged the head warrior.

  “We don’t want to hear your lies,” he responded without inflection.

  “The head elf said something about blaming ‘my kind.’ What was he talking about?”

  “Renwynians.” The warrior spat the term like a curse.

  “Why doesn’t he like Renwyn? You know that we don’t harbor you any ill will, don’t you? Most of us don’t even know you exist.”

  The head warrior and several others glanced at each other and barked in anger at her statement.

  “That isn’t true.”

  “It can’t be.”

  “She’s lying!”

  “I’m not lying.” She looked earnestly between them. “Why do you think I would know you?”

  “That is not for us to discuss.” The head warrior cut her off. “King Elsifan will be here shortly.”

  The king entered just moments later. “This has to be a Renwynian plot. If they kill us all . . .”

  “If we kill you all, then what? What do we have to gain?”

  “Maybe you believe Iris will open the Cavern of Knowledge again. Or you will have access to the Crystal Cave.”

  “The Cavern of Knowledge? The Crystal Cave?” Irielle said in bewilderment. “What are those?”

  “As if you don’t know!” the king scoffed. “But we don’t need to torture you to find out the truth. We simply have to see into your mind.”

  He put a hand to her forehead, and his magic seemed to seep into her skull. It was dark, cold. His terrible eyes bored into her, their depths fathomless, sucking her under. A feeling of nausea overwhelmed her, and she could feel him going through her mind, her thoughts, her memories.

  “Pathetic little elves,” the king muttered, his thin lips turning down into a frown. His gaze bored into hers as he continued searching her thoughts. “Little magic. No real power. It’s as if you’ve forgotten who you truly are.”

  Her heart began to pound, and she seemed to lose her breath, dizziness washing over her in great sweeping waves. She tried to fight it, but his power seemed to suck the life from her and darkness claimed her.

  “Where are the crystals?” the Ardak screamed in her face, his breath washing over her and making her nauseated.

  “What crystals? What are you talking about?” she asked frantically. She would never tell him what he wanted and betray her people, of course.

  “The crystals your kind are hiding from us!” the Ardak roared, all patience gone.

  “But we don’t have any . . . I’ve never seen the crystals you speak of . . .”

  Irielle could see the Ardak’s consternation, his disbelief. It was strange to see such an expression on a jungle cat. But they’d been at this for six months. So long that she knew him almost as well as he knew her. And finally, he was starting to believe her.

  His eyes went dark. “Then you are of no use to us.”

  Before, he’d only slashed her limbs, but this time, he bared his claws and slashed her across her stomach, and she knew it was the end of her life.

  As she bled, feeling her entrails start to leak out, she dimly observed him. He threw back his head, an angry rumble starting in his chest and turning to a roar, filling the room with a terrible vibration that would have scared her if she wasn’t already dying. “None of them know! Where are the crystals? We’re going to be stuck here forever!”

  Irielle came back to herself to see King Elsifan’s brows drawn together in thought, and he opened his mouth to speak.

  But she had been through too much, and fear clawed at her throat. Although she tried to fight it, her knees went weak, and she fell forward into the true blackness of unconsciousness.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Simban

  Simban paced his cell, sweating and shaking with anger. It seemed like forever since they’d taken Irielle away. He would kill them if they hurt her.

  But as he sat there longer, his anger gave way to worry. What were they doing to her? She was only in here because of him. If she hadn’t been with a cyborg, they probably would have trusted her.

  Pain spread through his chest. Would they hurt her even though she was one of their kind?

  He remembered her blackouts and grabbed two of the tree roots that were acting as bars, using his rage to try to bend them. To his surprise, they did bend a little.

  He should never have brought her here. He had no business being with her, except to help her get the cure for the Red Death. If they got out of there, he was going to get her back to Renwyn, cure her, and leave her with her people.

  Tordan may be able to be with Aielle, but he was the king. He could bring her honor and status. All Simban could bring was suspicion and ridicule.

  Three elven warriors reappeared and opened the door to his cell. The tree roots parted with a wave of their hands.

  He spluttered, trying to get his jaw and lips to work. “Where is Irielle?” he finally roared.

  The elves looked taken aback, but then shook their heads, and he realized they couldn’t understand him.

  He tried to charge them, his hand going for the throat of the one on the right.

  But at the last moment, one of the elves froze him with a wave of his hand.

  “Argh!” Simban raged, trying to struggle.

  Next time, I’ll throw a knife before they can paralyze me.

  But this time, he wasn’t completely useless. Using brute force, he found he was able to move his body, albeit slowly. But eventually, he would be able to reach his knife.

  The elf paralyzing him frowned and nudged the other with his elbow.

  The other snapped at him impatiently, and together, they began to push him down the hall. He slid heavily along the floor, and he could hear them breathing hard with the effort.

  The paralysis was beginning to fade, and he could move his lips.

  “Where going?” Simban demanded. “Where Irielle?”

  The warriors shook their heads, and he tried to focus on his surroundings so he could remember a way out. The corridor was dark and curved organically, and tree roots and small rocks were visible in the ceiling, walls, and floor of the passage.

  When they finally opened a door at the end, Irielle was lying on the floor just inside it, and she wasn’t moving.

  “Irielle!” he yelled, trying desperately to free himself. “Irielle!” He shouted again and again, but she didn’t move. “Bastards!” he shouted at them.

  How could they just leave her lying there? What kind of animals were they?

  He narrowed his focus to her, forcing his ocular to magnify her. She was still breathing, and didn’t appear broken in any way.

  To his surprise, the elven warriors didn’t appear happy at his pain. They glanced between each other uneasily. One of them went over and checked her pulse at her wrist, nodding back at Simban. Letting him know she was okay.

  They murmured between themselves, and this time, he quieted his breathing and simply listened. There was something about their language that seemed familiar. Several minutes later, he realized why.

  It reminded him of Ardak. He had downloaded the Ardak language while on the mission to Baihu. And this language sounded very much like it.

  Why does it sound so similar?

  He thought of the programs he had downloaded that explained the grammatical construction and found that certain words showed them to be from the same root language. What the program didn’t tell him was the origins of the Ardak language. They were still talking, so he scrunched his face, trying to understand them. One warrior glanced worriedly at Irielle and seemed to be saying that he didn’t like the situation. Another told him to shut up and do what he was told.

  The king entered, his robes scraping the floor beneath him. He gestured offhandedly to Irielle. “She told me everything I needed to know,” he stated with a hint of satisfaction. “Now it’s your turn.”

  The king’s brows rose toward the outsides rather than rounding down, mirroring his upwardly pointed ears. His hair was long and frizzed, and streamed out in all directions. He walked, statesmanlike, across the room, laying one hand on Simban’s forehead without hesitation.

  “What do you want? We’re not . . . dangerous.”

  “That will be my determination to make.” The king’s golden eyes bored into his, and he could feel the king try to reach into his mind.

  “Just don’t think of anything,” the king said inside his head, his voice growing louder until it engulfed him. “Free your mind to my voice.”

  A few moments later, the king repositioned his hand, bringing up the other to join it.

  Simban could feel the king’s magic stop at his forehead, and no matter how much the king coaxed it to his will, the magic wouldn’t go any further.

  Frustration pinched the king’s lips as the golden fire in his eyes flared with anger.

  The power grew stronger and stronger, growing until the pressure on his skull was almost unbearable. He didn’t realize he was shouting with pain until an enormous power shot from the back of his skull to the front, blasting the king away from him. The elven king flew across the room and landed in a heap against the far wall, unconscious.