CIRCE

xxii

Calon has been warded off by a circling patrol of guards. Sprinting through the rainforest, hastily trying to get to the capital city as Jaedah's order looms over them, Granger and Abbaas are brought to a sudden stand-still. The armor of those guards is nothing like that of the Eijoans. They halt and hide quickly, ducking into the brush, remaining carefully out of reach of the roaming patrol.

"Who the hell are they?" Abbaas asks.

Granger shakes his head.

"I don't know."

He doesn't recognize their uniforms at all. They're a mix of several silvery and gray shades, decorated and a bit showy, encasing men who stand greater in size than the average human or ardean. Not like Eijoan armor, which is a burnt umber and built close to the body for ease in the trees. Not like Orendi armor, which is black and gray and a frosty blue, made mostly of fabrics and leather for ease in the mountains. Not like Selenian armor, which is reddish and pale and layers of fabric to endure the sand. Looking closely, Granger doubts that they're even ardean. Their ears aren't the same, pointed but an angled point like a corner rather than the long point of an ardean's ear that extends back. Nor do they have lleyr, those fluorescent patterns on an ardean's skin. No.

"They aren't ardean," Granger murmurs.

"Well then what are they?" Abbaas asks.

Granger shakes his head. That's a question he can't quite answer yet.

Unblinking eyes pierced upon the guards, Granger watches them pass by and disappear into the distance, shrouded by the vegetation of the rainforest. The moment they're gone, Granger taps Abbaas on the shoulder and sprints out from their hide. Abbaas follows, and together they made a dash for the city streets, spotting the edge of Calon ahead. They slip through between two residential homes and reach the street beyond, but it's quiet here. Granger's skin prickles as an unmoving silence slicks his skin like cobwebs, the neighborhood desolate and soundless.

Abbaas turns to him, and though Granger can't hear him as he whispers, he catches the movement of his lips.

"What the hell?"

Granger just shrugs. Presumably whispering, he adds; "Let's move quickly."

With a haste in their step, they follow the city streets through to the heart of Calon, where the market lies. A market that is quite normally fully and boisterous now empty, barren and vast like open expanse of the desert. They traverse through to the government building, the Canstoll, where it sits wrapped around a tree and made of a white material that glitters beneath the sun.

Two more of those foreign guards stand post at its entrance, watching over the stairs and plaza below, eyes slick and cold. The hairs on the back of Granger's neck rise when their eyes flick to him and Abbaas, pinned upon them, piercing them even as the guards themselves remain stock-still.

Descending the Canstoll stairs, though, is Tannier. Granger recognizes him immediately in his Eijoan armor with his auburn curls and great height. There's a momentary glimpse of surprise on Tannier's face as he spots them, but it's surprise that quickly turns into ill-hidden distain. He's never quite been friendly to humans, Granger remembers. Still, Granger waits for him at the bottom of the stairs, and when Tannier tries to pass around him, Granger steps in his path.

"Where's the Pathfinder?" Granger asks.

Tannier meets his eyes, that sea colored gaze of his searching Granger's face, and then he tries side step around him. Again, Granger cuts him off, following that side step with his own.

"I need to speak with her," Granger states.

Tannier meets his eyes once more, though there's a fiercer look among their sea color, a sharpened cut.