“You had them again in the mountains?”
Lex nodded. “We had them pinned down. The Terrian is a devil with a bow, Your Majesty. He was picking off Orahim from behind a stand of boulders. I lost ten in the first few minutes, but I knew I could wait him out. Eventually he would run out of arrows.”
“But he didn’t?”
“We had begun negotiating. He was willing to give up the queen for safe passage back to Terra Antiguo…”
Kalas frowned. That didn’t seem like the man he’d met here in Adishian.
“Then?”
“Then she tried to kill me,” Lex answered, ducking his head again.
Rarick leaned forward. “If she tried to kill you, I’m sure she would have been successful.”
“I managed to order a charge.” He gave a shudder. “Then the phantoms arrived.”
“Phantoms?” The sneer was apparent in Rarick’s voice. “Really, Lex? Do you expect me to believe that?”
“They came out of nowhere. We couldn’t even see them. They picked us off, one by one, arrows raining down, no sign of the attackers. We couldn’t defend against them. I lost three quarters of my men in minutes, mere minutes…” His voice trailed away and he looked up, briefly meeting Rarick’s glare. “They were invisible. They were phantoms.”
“They were Stravad,” said Kalas, surprised he’d spoken aloud.
Rarick looked up at him, then back to Lex. “Stravad?” He sank back into the throne and closed his eyes. “Stravad? You damn fool, she’s lost to me now. Do you understand that?”
“Your Majesty,” moaned Lex, prostrating himself again. “We couldn’t defend against them. We couldn’t even see them…”
“And yet you came back here alive? You should have followed them, you should have trailed them where ever they went.”
“I lost most of my men.”
“Not all. Not all! You should have trailed until the last one was dead.”
Lex lifted his head and held out his hands. “You don’t understand, Majesty. She had help at every turn. She couldn’t have escaped Adishian without help, then in Kazden…”
“What I understand is that you failed me.”
“No, Majesty, I tried. In Kazden, we blockaded the city, we closed off all of the roads and bridges. We…”
“You returned. You fled.” Rarick pushed himself to his feet. He turned toward Kalas and reached for him. Kalas couldn’t stop the involuntary flinch at Rarick’s move, but the king simply closed his hand on the hilt of Kalas’ sword and drew it with a ringing whisk that echoed in the empty chamber.
Lex began babbling as Rarick turned toward him and stepped off the dais. “You don’t understand, Majesty. I had to come back. I had to tell you. There are rebels all over Kazden and Adishian. They are mobilizing as we speak. That’s who helped her, these rebels. They are like rats, like vermin infecting your kingdom, infecting your…”
Rarick stopped in front of Lex and without warning, swung the sword. It whistled as it cleaved the air. Kalas saw Lex’s eyes widen, then a moment later his head disappeared, landing with a thud on the opposite side of the chamber. His body remained upright for a moment, then toppled to the side. Blood gushed forth and then puddled beneath him, spreading out across the tiles and seeping into the cracks.
Kalas couldn’t move, couldn’t cry out. He just stared in horror as Rarick turned, his long robes sweeping through the blood, trailing it behind him as he carried Kalas’ sword to the dais. He dangled the blade by the grip, just the fingertips of both hands touching the hilt.
Kalas realized he was breathing too fast, hyperventilating, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Lex Prestar’s headless body. A moment before the man had been babbling for his life, now he was dead.
Rarick stopped before Kalas, blocking his view. Kalas lifted horrified eyes to his face.
With a grimace, Rarick sighed. “I probably should have asked more about the rebels before I reacted. Ah well,” he said and reached for Kalas’ hand, closing his cold fingers around the hilt. Kalas’ eyes lowered to the blood sliding down the blade and dripping onto the dais. “You will find out for me, won’t you?”
Kalas forced a nod, stunned by the way the drops pooled into larger drops with each passing moment.
“Have someone clean that up, won’t you?” remarked Rarick casually.
Kalas nodded again.
Rarick’s hand rose and closed over Kalas’ chin, lifting his face until their eyes met. His yellow fingernails rested just beneath Kalas’ left eye. Kalas swallowed hard, unable to school his features as he so wanted.
“Don’t fail me,” said Rarick, his breath fanning sour and cold against Kalas’ face.
Kalas shook his head frantically.
Rarick smiled. Tilting Kalas’ face downward, he placed a kiss on his forehead. “You are the son of my heart,” he whispered against Kalas’ flesh. Kalas tried hard not to pull away, but his body shivered in revulsion.
Releasing him, Rarick swept his robes about himself and descended the dais, walking past Lex Prestar’s body as if it wasn’t there.
Kalas stood stock still, the sword gripped in his hand, his eyes on Rarick’s back. Rarick’s kiss felt like an icy imprint on his forehead, a mark the whole world would be able to see. With the slightest of movements, the guards pulled open the audience chamber doors and Rarick glided out. As the door shut behind him, Kalas closed his eyes and gave himself over to the shiver that racked his body.
CHAPTER 21
Jarrett stepped out onto the porch of the barracks, cradling a hot cup of tea in his hands. Patches of snow lay scattered across the parade grounds between the dining hall and the other outbuildings. They had arrived at the outpost after dark last night, so Jarrett hadn’t been able to see their surroundings very well.
Allistar had told him that Nazarien had once manned this location, but when they returned to Nevaisser upon Talar’s death, the Temerian Stravad had taken over. It was a strategic post between the two lands and afforded an excellent vantage point from which to observe Nevaisser.
“Jarrett?” called the Stravad commander. He stood on the ridge along the farthest edge of the parade grounds. Jarrett jogged down the steps and crossed the open area before the barracks. Earon was lounging in a deep backed chair in the sunlight, his hair tied up in a brightly colored bandana.
Jarrett paused beside him and the runner opened his eyes. “How are you feeling?” Jarrett asked. He was trying to be less antagonistic since Tyla had called him on it.
Earon gave him a puzzled look, then shrugged. “Better.”
Jarrett’s eyes widened in surprise. “I guess so, you just moved.”
“I shrugged my shoulders. Don’t get your panties in a pinch. It ain’t a waltz or nothing.”
“But it’s something.”
“Yeah, it is.” He looked down with a triumphant smile. “I moved my toes today too. Her Highness thinks the poison might be wearing off. ‘Else that concoction the Stravad made might be helping.”
Jarrett nodded. “Well, it’s a good sign. Besides, I’m sure the Stravad would like to stop carrying your sorry ass around anyway.”
Earon made a mocking face in response. “Always the gentleman, eh, Terrian?”
“Always.”
Jarrett continued on to where Allistar was standing, looking over the edge of the ridge. Allistar absently offered his hand as Jarrett moved up beside him. Jarrett took it, but he too was captivated by the scene that spread out before him.
Loden was a land of green fields and dense forest, a land of rivers and lakes, a land of fertile, fecund soil. It stole one’s breath away.
“This is my home,” said Allistar.
Jarrett didn’t have words for what he felt. Listening to Lawyan and Shad, he’d dreamed of Loden, but nothing had prepared him for this kaleidoscope of colors. They were so intense they were hard to look at, painful in their brilliance and variety.
Once, shortly after he’d come to live with Tyla’s unc
les, Lawyan had taken him to an art gallery. He’d seen a painting there where the artist had used such vibrant colors that he’d had to turn sideways and view it from the corner of his eyes. It had made his brain ache with his inability to comprehend something so majestic. He felt that way now.
“Whenever we return to the outpost after a patrol through Nevaisser, I come here first the next morning and watch the sun rise over the valley,” said Allistar.
Last night, they’d arrived too late. Night had fallen and they’d gone into the dining hall, eating in silence, then dispersed to their various bunks, too tired to ask much about their location. In the light of a new day, Jarrett felt an overwhelming sense of calm. They’d made it to safety. He could no longer remember when he hadn’t felt that knot in his stomach, that dread that made him wary and hyper alert.
“What are you looking at?” came Kendrick’s voice on his right side.
Jarrett glanced at the Nazarien, then lifted his tea and took a sip. “The land of small trees,” he said.
He could see Kendrick stiffen beside him. “Do you always have to mock me?”
Jarrett considered the question a moment, then nodded. “Yeah.”
Allistar pointed to a spot at the base of the Grozik Mountains, nestled along a river. “That is Zelan.” He swung his hand away north-east. “There is Temeron.”
Jarrett could just make out another smaller mountain range, but nothing else beyond.
“You’ll have to ask Tyla Eldralin where she wants to go.” Allistar motioned over his left shoulder. Jarrett followed his line of sight and saw that Tyla was also looking out at the view below them. “Zelan is closer and her great uncle Taverand will send her to Temeron in the height of luxury. If she wishes to go straight on to Temeron, we can provide horses from the outpost, but it’s ten days, give or take if the weather holds.”
“I’ll ask her,” he answered, but he couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him.
Allistar patted him on the shoulder. “I have heard stories of her father. He was said to be quite head-strong,” he said with a laugh. “She would make him look indecisive. There is much to admire in such a woman.”
“And much to find frustrating.” He patted Allistar’s shoulder in return and left him with the Nazarien.
Kendrick was trying to start up a conversation, but his sentences were overly formal and sometimes…sometimes, just wrong. Jarrett wanted to laugh, but the look Tyla shot him was enough to stop him in his tracks. She immediately returned to looking out over the valley, but he shivered at the chill of her expression. Gods, she was determined to make him squirm.
“Allistar needs you to make a decision, Your Majesty,” he mocked.
She didn’t bother to grace him with so much as a glance. “It’s not right,” she said. She had her parka on and her arms crossed around her as if she were cold.
“What’s not right?” he asked, taking up a spot next to her and sipping at his tea.
“All this opulence in one land, but behind me, my people are starving.”
My people? His eyes shot to her face in alarm. “I think your people are all around you now. Your people are waiting for you in Temeron.”
She didn’t answer, but whirled away from him, walking back toward the outpost. Jarrett exhaled in annoyance, then followed like the servant she was determined to make him. “Tyla, Allistar needs a decision.”
She stopped with her back to him. Jarrett was distracted by Kendrick’s voice. “The beasts will bear us with problematic difficulties?” he asked. Jarrett grimaced and resisted the impulse to shoot a look at Allistar. Tyla slowly turned around. He focused his attention on her.
“What decision does he need?”
Jarrett curled his hands around the mug and gripped it for patience. “Our destination. Do you want to go to Zelan where your uncle rules as Lord of Loden? That’s only a few days journey and Allistar says your uncle will send you to Temeron in luxury. Or do you want to go directly to Temeron, where your grandfather is? That’s a ten day journey on horseback.”
“Temeron,” she said without hesitation, then she turned away again, but she stopped in mid-motion and turned back. “The Stravad will have to build a better litter to carry Earon.”
Jarrett nodded.
She shot a look at Kendrick. “And you will have to start teaching us Lodenian, immediately. All of us, including Kendrick. I want to be proficient at it by the time I reach Temeron.”
“In ten days?”
“Exactly.”
Jarrett shook his head. “Tyla, I lived with your uncles for years before I knew more than a few rudimentary sentences, and they spoke it at home all the time. I can’t make you proficient in ten days.”
Her look softened when he mentioned her uncles, then it hardened again. “You have ten days to teach me enough to talk with my grandfather without a translator. I won’t accept anything less.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but she whirled away from him.
“The land is like running mountain rocks, covered in whiskers of shale,” echoed Kendrick’s voice.
Jarrett closed his eyes and tightened his grip on his mug.
* * *
Dolan shuffled between the two guards, turning sideways to make it through the doorway with one of them attached at each elbow. His head ached and his knees shook, but the pangs of hunger had long ago left him.
The Prince of Sarkisian was sitting at the table in the dining hall, but he rose as Dolan and his entourage entered. He couldn’t hide the shock that briefly touched his features, but he quickly tilted back his head and narrowed his blue eyes.
Dolan looked down. Every time he saw Kalas and noted the resemblance to Talar in his features, he felt a wave of fury move through him. Dolan was too well trained to feel such emotion and it made him hate Kalas all the more.
“Remove the manacles,” the Prince ordered.
Dolan glanced up in surprise. His guards were also surprised because they didn’t immediately move to obey. Kalas drew himself up and gave the command again in a voice that rang with authority. Like Talar, he wasn’t a physically imposing man, but there was a quality about him that made people take notice. Dolan hated him for that as well.
Every little reminder of Kalas’ paternity rankled the old Nazarien because while Kalas might look like Talar and have a degree of his charisma, he was not his father. In fact, he was a disgraceful mockery of the man Dolan had secretly worshipped.
The guards knelt and unlocked the shackles. Dolan staggered when the weight fell from around his ankles. Then they rose and unlocked the ones on his wrists. Dolan didn’t want to betray any weakness, but he couldn’t resist rubbing his arms.
Kalas pulled out a chair at the table. “Please sit,” he commanded.
Dolan eyed the chair skeptically, but his knees were shaking too badly for him to rebel. He shuffled forward as if he were still shackled and sank into the plush cushions. Spots danced in his field of vision and he breathed a sigh, grateful he hadn’t blacked out a moment before.
“Bring him some food and drink at once,” Kalas said to the guards.
“Your Highness,” one of them questioned. “You don’t expect us to leave you unguarded?”
Kalas swung around to face him. “Do as I command. Bring him food, then you can wait outside the door.”
With a quick bow, both guards left the room. Dolan marked that they were regular infantry, not Front Guard. Curious, he thought, but he was more surprised a moment later when Kalas took a seat diagonal to him.
“Gods, Dolan, I’m sorry for the treatment you’ve received.”
Dolan cast him a wary look, then fixed his sight on the table. Clasping his hands in his lap, he rubbed his wrists.
“You’re like a walking skeleton.”
Dolan licked his cracked lips, but didn’t answer. He had nothing to say to Rarick’s whelp.
Kalas leaned closer to him, dropping his voice. “I had you released the minute I was sure Rarick was gone, but I shou
ld have done something sooner. Please forgive me.”
“Rarick’s gone?” muttered the Nazarien, but his voice cracked. He cleared it. “When?”
“This morning. He’s gone back to Sarkisian.”
“Where’s the Queen?”
Kalas leaned back in his chair. “She escaped. I think she made it to Loden.”
Dolan briefly closed his eyes and swayed in his seat. The words brought such relief.
“You’re free to go now. If you want to return to Chernow, I will see you restored to your proper health, then I’ll give you stores and a horse. I’ll even give you an escort if you want one.”
“Front Guard?” muttered Dolan, unable to hide his bitterness.
“No, whatever escort you choose. I’ll even send to Chernow and ask them to send a Nazarien escort if you’d feel better about it.”
Dolan studied the grains of wood in the table. He didn’t believe Kalas for a moment, but he wondered why his offer didn’t bring more than a flutter of hope up inside of him. He didn’t want to go back to Chernow, he realized. He’d been gone so long that it would feel foreign to him. He’d been advisor to Tarnow for so many decades…
Thoughts of Tarnow brought a wash of agony through him. He didn’t want to feel anything, but he couldn’t think of Tarnow without feeling like a failure.
The door opened and one of the guards poked his head through. Kalas waved him into the dining hall. The guard deposited a tray heaped with food in front of Dolan, followed by a goblet of wine.
“You can go,” Kalas said, waving the man away.
The guard reluctantly backed from the room and shut the door. Dolan watched him leave over his shoulder, then looked at his plate. His stomach gave a betraying grumble.
“Eat,” ordered Kalas.
Dolan didn’t move. He stared at the food, stared at the bread and mashed potatoes, swimming in a pool of gravy. A thick slice of roast occupied the center of the plate, surrounded by a mix of vegetables bathed in butter. Dolan felt his mouth start watering.
“You’re starving, man,” said the Prince in bewilderment. “What in the world are you waiting for?”
The World of Samar Box Set 3 Page 34