Elyon by Ted Dekker Read Free Book Online Page A

tunic. “My general.”
    She extended her hand. He jumped up and knocked the blade from her hand. Instantly Darsal punched him in the chest, then went into a defensive stance.
    “Darsal,” he growled. She was alive. He could kiss her. Slap her.
    Settle down, idiot. She’s alive. Thank Teeleh, she’s alive.
    She straightened. “You’re welcome,” she snapped.
    Cassak came into the room with several warriors. He tried not to gawk at the albino with blood all over her. What was he staring at, anyway? He’d seen a female albino before. Especially this one.
    “They’re gone,” she said.
    Thank Teeleh he still had the medallion. Yes, Cassak had barely stopped a war with the Eramites. But his messages had been growing increasingly inappropriate. His interference had cost Marak his entire family, and Qurong’s trust.
    Sucrow’s mockery echoed in his head.
    The surge of frustration continued, though Marak wasn’t entirely sure why he was so angry with his captain, his lifelong friend.
    Of course, Cassak had stood there and watched the priest torture Jordan and Rona. Cassak had carried out Marak’s order to kill them while Marak watched. Cassak had suggested the use of the Desecration on them. Cassak wanted Darsal to die just as badly as the priest.
    Cassak had been in command of this stronghold. Only he had access. Only he could have caused the breach.
    Sucrow was right about one thing.
    “General, they’re—”
    Marak exploded.
    “Did the entire watch fall asleep at the same time?” he screamed in Cassak’s face. “Was the only person awake in the whole building an albino slave?”
    “We’re looking into—”
    “Get the scouts on the move now! And when I find out who was asleep on the watch, they’re going to wish they were dead!”
    “Gen—”
    “Find them, fool!” Marak struck his captain with the flat side of his blade. Ignoring the stammering compliance, he grabbed Cassak by the scruff. “Now!”
    “Marak.” Darsal’s voice cut through the purple haze in his mind.
    He drew a hard breath at Darsal’s gentle rebuke and let go. “Was it rebels? Or someone else?” he asked. He turned over a body. Inspected it. Recognized it as one of Eram’s men.
    “We’re interrogating a hostage now,” Cassak assured him, slightly stunned at being the brunt of his best friend’s wrath. The thought crossed Marak’s mind that he should apologize. But what could he say to explain the outburst?
    Cassak slowly composed himself, finished his thought. “One of our men thinks he saw Warryn. Of course, if it was, the hostage won’t admit it.”
    Sucrow.
    He slammed his fist against the wall. “Sucrow, you bloody bat lover . . . !” He spun back around and got in Cassak’s face, the fool captain who’d caused this mess and nearly got Darsal killed.
    “Marak, we’ll—”
    “Get out of my sight, and get me answers,” Marak growled. He shoved Cassak toward the door. “We’re moving out. Now.”
    He swerved back around and surveyed the damage.
    Darsal remained. She eyed his sword. “You want my help?”
    Marak drew a breath, simmering. “I want you to pack up.”
    “Marak, don’t be stubborn. Not now.”
    He sheathed his sword and started for the door.
    “They’re my friends, my general,” she growled.
    “You’ll get yourself killed. Wait here.”
    “Mar—”
    “I said wait here, Rona!”
    Awkward silence slashed through the room.
    “My name is Darsal.”
    His jaw tightened.
    “What are you going to do?” Darsal snapped. “Storm Sucrow’s temple? At least if they kill me, it’s no big—”
    “I need someone here,” he barked. “Wait for the messenger; then find Cassak and tell him I’m going to kill that priest.”
    “Good riddance.” Darsal followed him out the door and snaked her hand around his waist, toward his knife.
    He grabbed her wrist. For a second they both stood still. All the fury drained out of him and turned to . . .
    Something else. He pulled the knife toward himself,