Green: The Beginning and the End by Ted Dekker Page B

Guard, before it had been defeated and assimilated by the Horde. Indeed, most of the original Forest Guard had left Qurongi and joined Eram in the northern desert. The Horde’s greatest fighters were now Eramites.
    But they were vastly outnumbered by his full army, Qurong reminded himself. His own Throaters were gaining strength too. The whole matter was an absurd mess. He hated the albinos with a passion, but he feared the Eramites more, regardless of what Teeleh said. He doubted nearly everything attributed to the bat god, whom none of them had seen for a very long time.
    “Perhaps. But our dark priest may be right, this is a war to be waged on a different front. And if he is right and he can summon this red dragon Teeleh to do his bidding, we will be rid of the thorn in our side once and for all.”
    “And . . .” Cassak hesitated on the next obvious point.
    “Go on, say it.”
    “Teeleh forbid, but I must serve my king.” He dipped his head to Ba’al in respect. “But if, however unlikely, this dragon we serve does not devour this albino child, surely no one is suggesting that Qurong do as Thomas has demanded and drink their red poison.”
    The mention of poison knifed through Qurong’s belly, and he wondered if the ailment in his gut over these past thirty days was the result of bad food. Or worse, real poison. Served to him by Ba’al. Or an Eramite spy.
    “I have no intention of nearing, much less entering, one of their cursed red lakes,” he snapped. “But if Ba’al fails in his promise to summon the beast, I will have permission from him to throw him into poisonous waters.” He paused, eyes on the priest. “Won’t I?”
    The three freshly opened wounds on the witch’s forehead glistened in the flame light. His thin lips morphed into a grin. The evil man was as much serpent as he was human.
    “I’ve lived in Teeleh’s bosom. He will never allow any harm to come to me.”
    Qurong nodded. “It’s a day’s march. We will leave in the morning. Bring the Throaters.”

7
    THOMAS PULLED up his steed and looked out over the Beka Valley, a jagged, stone canyonland. His stallion snorted and sidestepped a blue scorpion that scurried across the sand.
    He held the mount steady with a soft cluck of his tongue and lifted his eyes to the high place on the far side. The canyons rose to a plateau that swelled on top, making it look pregnant. With what? Thomas could only assume evil.
    This was Ba’al Bek. The highest plateau in this part of the desert. A place claimed by the dark priest. A comet, or perhaps Elyon’s fist, looked to have landed at the center of the rise, creating a massive crater the breadth of Qurongi City.
    Beside him, Mikil spat to one side. “I don’t like this, Thomas. This whole valley stinks of death.”
    “Sulfur,” he said.
    Jamous harrumphed on Thomas’s left. “Call it what you want. She’s right. It smells as if it’s rising from Teeleh’s hell.” He pulled out a kirkuk and bit into the fruit’s red flesh. A single bite could keep a man on the move for a day. They each carried a small supply of various fruits taken from the trees near the red pool. Some nourished; others had medicinal value. Without the fruit, the Circle would surely have been wiped out by the Horde long ago. It was their primary advantage, allowing them to heal on the fly and travel for days into the deep desert without any other source of food or water.
    Lake fruit. Cherished by albinos, bitter to the Horde.
    They had left the Gathering within an hour of Thomas’s ultimatum, and the moonless desert night welcomed them in perfect silence. There were no great cheers, none of the customary embraces or wishes for safe travel, no calls for Elyon’s blessing on the mission.
    Thomas had taken his son Jake out into the desert for a half an hour and assured the boy of his undying love for them all. Whatever happened, Jake must never abandon his love for Elyon, Thomas urged. Never.
    “Of course not, Father.