Elyon by Ted Dekker Read Free Book Online Page B

both their hands still wrapped around it. Darsal was almost touching his chest.
    “Let me go with you.”
    Marak uncurled her fingers from the weapon and slid it into a sheath, then turned for the door. “That priest will kill you.”
    Darsal started after him again. He turned sharply, and she ran into him. He held her at arm’s length. “Don’t follow me.”
    “I have to. Elyon’s orders.”
    Hating himself, Marak shoved her into the room and forced the door shut before she could yank it open again, then locked it.
    “Post a guard,” he barked at the warrior coming to his aid. “She doesn’t leave. Secure the premises, and prepare to move out. And fetch me a scout.”

six
    D arsal waited until Marak was long gone. She stewed and tried not to think about what might be happening to Johnis and Silvie. Or what could possibly have caused such a fight between general and captain. This whole mess was taxing on everyone. Marak had clearly lost his mind.
    Serve the mission. She loved the Horde, and she loved Marak. How loving them could help anything, how that would serve Elyon’s purposes, she wasn’t sure. Yet.
    But Elyon made the Horde, and he loved them, wanted them, as badly as the albinos.
    Finally, she could wait no longer. “You have another thing coming if you think I’m staying in here, my general.”
    She studied the room and took in the contents. Since the building had never been intended for a barrack, there was little to work with.
    Marak’s men had sealed the windows when Johnis and Silvie were quartered here. And aside from a long candle stand or a torch, there was little in the way of weapons. And the guard wouldn’t likely fall for a trick.
    Darsal eyed the window, considered breaking out the bars. No, too much time.
    The torches were still unlit, though. If she used one, the place would go up in flames too quickly. Instead Darsal scooted the candle stand right next to the curtains over the window, lit it, stood back, and watched them smoke.
    The flame caught.
    She ran for the door. “Fire!”
    “LET HER ALONE,” JOHNIS SNARLED. EVERYTHING WAS A HAZE. He drew a ragged breath. Silvie couldn’t die. Shaeda, help me. Together we can kill him now!
    “Entice me not,” the entity growled in his ear.
    “More important, you will do as I tell you, or I guarantee she won’t outlive the hour.” Sucrow took the knife from his servant and traced the tip along Silvie’s throat. She didn’t move.
    Johnis saw no way out. Not with Silvie one flick of the wrist from death.
    She caught his eyes and gave a slight nod, meaning for him to let her die. Let her go. Save himself, take revenge later. They could not kill the priest yet. Shaeda didn’t trust herself to not kill him if she unleashed.
    Johnis sagged and let out a soft groan. “Will you let her live if I promise not to defy you?” He spoke the words out loud. Of course, he still had his private thoughts of unlocking the keys to her power and keeping them—apart from her.
    Darkness and fog descended, a thunderstorm on the torrent of fire. Johnis felt the abyss of failing Shaeda—her punishment, her whipping—conquer his inner rebellion.
    “Josef,” Silvie warned, her eyes half-closed.
    Shaeda’s punishment grew more insistent: Finish the mission. Regardless of cost. Even at the cost of Silvie.
    Even if it meant an alliance with the priest.
    “The mission holds greater weight. We require the priest’s knowledge.”
    So she could restrain her passions, when she chose. Her hate she held at bay, knowing the result of the mission would bring far greater satisfaction than killing him now to save Silvie.
    “Only as long as you do as you’re told.” Sucrow played with the blade resting against Silvie’s neck. Revulsion snaked down Johnis’s spine, twisting his face in disgust. Of course the priest would think Johnis was talking to him.
    “Be careful what you wish for,” Silvie whispered, pulling away from the priest, her voice low and devoid