The World of Samar Box Set 3

by M. L. Hamilton

  Kalas pushed the chair into the table and moved toward the door. “It’s already done. Allistar will have his men ready in the hour and then I’ll leave. I’d like your protection as well, Baron, but I’ll leave that to your discretion.”

  Parish rounded on him. “You know I don’t have any other choice. My men will be ready.”

  Kalas paused at the door and looked back. “Which is why I don’t understand the reason for this debate.”

  An hour later, the King of Eastern Nevaisser left his manor home in a heavily armored carriage with soldiers lined along the top and riding on either side. Stravad warriors guarded his flank and the Baron rode at the head of a wide column of infantry. Ellette and Dolan rode in the carriage with him, both sporting an array of weapons and body armor.

  No one attempted to stop them as they headed toward the docks. Kalas watched out the window, but he couldn’t see much beyond the flanks of the horses riding on either side of him. Neither Dolan nor Ellette spoke to him, sitting with their swords across their knees as if they expected Nazarien to materialize out of the air.

  “You know they aren’t going to attack such a heavily guarded vehicle,” he said conversationally.

  Dolan glanced over, but didn’t answer, returning his attention to the window almost immediately.

  Ellette wouldn’t even look at him.

  He leaned forward and placed a hand on her thigh. He could feel her muscles stiffen at his touch. She was beyond mad at him. “How long are you going to ignore me?”

  She didn’t turn, her gaze fixed on the window, her fingers tightening on the sword. She had a knife in the top of her boot and one strapped into a sheath on her shoulder. He suspected there were more weapons that he couldn’t see.

  “Ellette, you know you can’t stay mad at me forever.”

  “I would not be certain of that, Your Majesty,” she said.

  He smiled and leaned back, resting his head on the back of the cushion. “What exactly are you mad about? It helps if you tell me.”

  “As always you are making foolish choices that do not take your citizens into account. You do not listen to your advisors and you ignore those charged with your protection.”

  “Then why don’t you try talking to me as my lover?”

  That got both of their attentions. Dolan gave him a startled look, then shifted uncomfortably and Ellette glared at him. He gave them both a wicked smile and folded his hands over his belly.

  “Why do you play lightly with things?” she hissed, leaning forward.

  “I’m not, not at all. I couldn’t get a reasonable answer from you, so I tried a different approach.”

  “What sort of answer did you want? What I said is true.”

  “Not completely. You don’t want me going to the ship because you care for me and you wouldn’t know what to do if something happened to me. Why can’t you just tell me the truth?”

  Her jaw clenched and her fingers tightened on her sword. Dolan shifted again, trying to turn himself into the window. Kalas couldn’t help the smile that wouldn’t leave his face.

  He nodded at the sword. “Careful. You might cut yourself, you’re gripping it so tightly.”

  “Sometimes,” she said through her teeth, “I find I care very little for you. You are an aggravating, ridiculous man who knows nothing.”

  “Your Majesty,” he added with a lift of one brow.

  “What?”

  “You forgot Your Majesty.”

  She made a strangled cry and turned to the window, dismissing him. He chuckled, he was having such fun. Dolan wouldn’t meet his eye, so he looked out of the window again. The warehouses were beginning to rise around them, blocking out the late day sun.

  As they neared the dock, the soldiers fanned out and blocked off the streets, bringing the carriage to a halt. Allistar opened the door of the carriage himself and motioned for Kalas to descend. Kalas climbed out beside him and looked around. Soldiers and Stravad were everywhere. If he looked closely enough, he could see armed men manning the rooftops around them. Obviously, Parish had sent an advance guard.

  “Stay close to me,” said Allistar, moving toward the entrance to the docks.

  Kalas felt all of this was going a bit far, but he followed the Stravad as Attis and Dolan moved behind him. Ellette came up on his left side, her gaze turned outward, surveying the buildings and her hand gripped around the hilt of her sword. Kalas couldn’t deny he liked the assertive mien she was displaying. It was far better than the waif curled up in a chair beside his bed. He reached out to touch her arm, but she jerked away from him. He couldn’t help but laugh, a gesture that earned him a glare. Damn her anyway, he was falling for her faster than he expected.

  Parish met them at the entrance to the Tulip. He shot a look around, then moved close to Kalas, blocking him from the boat. Kalas wasn’t sure whether Parish expected Nazarien to spring up from the water like fish.

  “I wish you’d listen to reason, Your Majesty.”

  Kalas crossed his arms. “My sister is out there.” He motioned at the ocean, spreading away in a wash of blue and green around them. “No one can tell me how to find her. Are you so certain that you didn’t miss anything that you’re willing to consign her to death?”

  Parish hesitated a moment, then he stepped back and gestured toward the boat. “As you will, Your Majesty,” he said.

  Kalas crossed around him and dropped down into the boat before anyone could assist him. He was getting a little tired of being treated like a porcelain doll. The Tulip was small, so only Allistar and Dolan followed him.

  He went toward the cabin and ducked inside. It was hardly larger than a closet with a narrow bunk and a built-in cabinet, strewn with paper. He shook out the bedding on the bunk, then piled it on the floor and lifted the thin mattress. Then he climbed into the bunk and searched it, running his hands along the rough wood, feeling for any irregularities.

  “What do you think you’ll find?” asked Dolan.

  “A catch, a compartment that was missed, a loose board.” He climbed off the bunk and hunkered in front of it, running his hands along the facing, searching the floorboards.

  Finding nothing, he went to the cabinet and began methodically going through the papers, reading each one. He was pleased when he saw Allistar and Dolan began searching the walls, the ceiling, the casing around the one porthole.

  Parish stuck his head inside. “My people have already done that, Your Majesty.”

  Kalas ignored him, continuing to scan the papers. They were newspapers, notes from the landlady at the Rose Bud, playbills from the local dance parlor, a few bills for the boat’s berth, but nothing that had any coordinates on it. He swept them onto the bed and searched over the cabinet, running his hands across the surface. He found nothing.

  He turned and watched as Dolan and Allistar completed their search. Dolan gave him a concerned look, but Allistar held up his empty hands in frustration. Kalas drew a deep breath and held it, fighting for composure. Toying with Ellette had taken some of his tension, but after searching the cabin, it came roaring back.

  He climbed out onto the deck and moved to the bow of the boat. Once again, he felt along the surface, ignoring the many eyes he felt watching him as he angled his way around the small vessel. When he came to the stern, Parish was standing by the tiller.

  “Kalas,” he said, placing a hand on his shoulder, “we’ll find another way, but there’s nothing here.”

  Kalas looked beyond him at the ocean, swelling and surging toward the docks, the sea birds diving into the waves. Everywhere he looked was a vast wilderness of water, a boundless ocean with no landmarks, no beacons, nothing by which to track another.

  He moved around the Baron and took a seat in the stern, leaning forward to brace his arms on his thighs. The enormity of this task swamped him and he felt a suffocating pressure in his chest. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to find her. Maybe she was lost to him forever. A lifetime of protecting her, a lifetime of fighting to keep her saf
e and it was over. There was nothing he could do to save her now.

  He was dimly aware that Dolan and Allistar had joined Parish, watching him in concern. Ellette climbed into the boat and pushed her way past them, kneeling down in front of him and covering his hands with her own.

  “Please come out of here. Please. This place is not safe for you,” she said.

  He lifted his eyes and met hers. “I promised my father I would protect her. As I watched him die, I promised him.”

  “And you did. You did everything you could,” she said. She lifted a hand and cupped his cheek. “Other people need you now. I need you. Please, come away from this place.”

  He closed his eyes and exhaled. He’d promised Talar, he’d sworn that he would stay with her, protect her from all harm. He’d taken beatings for her, he’d suffered humiliation, debasement, fear and pain for her. How could he just give it up? How could he forget that she was out there? She might need him right now. She might be sick or injured or dying and he couldn’t help her. He couldn’t save her this time.

  He felt as if the world was tilting on its axis, as if he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs, as if his heart would stop beating. He lifted a hand and gripped his chest, worried he might be having a heart attack. With his other hand, he reached for the tiller to steady himself.

  His fingers tightened convulsively around it, holding on, praying the pain in his chest would ease, and there beneath his hand, beneath the frantic grip of his fingers, he felt it.

  Forcing himself to calm, he slid his fingers along the grooves in the tiller and the tightness in his chest eased. The pounding of his heart left his throat and he drew a deeper breath, expanding his lungs. Shifting on the seat, he leaned over the tiller and stared at the numbers carved into the wood, burnished with a rust-brown color, and he knew that Brodie had pressed his own blood into the etchings himself.

  Ellette leaned over him, studying the scratches, then Parish was there, running his fingers across the etchings.

  “I’ll be damned,” breathed the Baron in awe. “I’ll be damned.”

  Kalas slumped back in the seat, fighting the unmanly tears that threatened in his eyes. He’d found the coordinates after all.

  * * *

  Jarrett woke and shifted on the shelf, finding himself alone. He threw back the cover and climbed to his feet. Light filtered through the thin membrane of their enclosure, highlighting the fact that Tyla was gone.

  He hurried into the bathing chamber and found the water running, but he didn’t see her. Moving around the half wall, he found her sitting with her back pressed to the wall, the steam of the hot water rising around her.

  Ignoring the spray, he crossed around the wall and sank in front of her. She opened her eyes and looked at him. Her eyes were enormous in her gaunt face and the emerald glowed green in the hollow of her throat. Water or tears made a track down her cheeks and she reached out taking his hand. For the first time since he could remember, her touch was cool.

  He looked at her hand and then pressed his fingers to her forehead. He couldn’t feel a fever.

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, deliberately keeping her breathing shallow. “I started coughing and didn’t want to wake you.” Her eyes filled with tears and some spilled over, running down her cheeks.

  “Did you cough up a lot of blood?”

  She shook her head. “No, just spots, nothing worse than before.”

  “Why are you crying?”

  She closed her hand around the emerald. “I dreamed about my father, Jarrett.”

  He studied her closely. “All right?” He wasn’t sure why such a dream would drag so much emotion from her.

  “I’ve been dreaming about him a lot.”

  “You’ve had a fever for weeks now. We dream a lot of strange things when we’re feverish.”

  She wiped the tears away. “They’re not really dreams.”

  Jarrett felt a strange shiver race up his spine. “What do you mean they’re not dreams?”

  “I’m there with him. I can touch him.”

  Jarrett’s gaze dropped to the emerald. “Where with him?”

  “He calls it the mist. He says it’s a place between living and death.”

  Jarrett blinked. He suddenly felt dizzy. He didn’t know how to answer her.

  She touched his arm. “You’re breathing too fast, Jarrett. You need to slow down.”

  He ducked his head and closed his eyes, fighting for composure. She was cool to the touch for the first time in weeks. She had no fever. But was that a good thing? Had her body simply given up the fight? Was she losing so much blood that it brought her temperature down?

  “What are you muttering?” she asked.

  He opened his eyes and lifted his head, not even realizing he’d been speaking. “Nazarien chants. Of all the things they taught me, this was the most useful. It’s a self-meditation trick to calm one’s self.” It helped to keep a clinical distance, but as he looked into her face, his composure shattered. He loved her and he couldn’t lose her, he just couldn’t lose her again.

  Hooking his hand under her arm, he helped her to her feet, then he reached back and turned off the water. “Come on, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m going to heat breakfast, then I need to go searching for a bit. Do you think you’ll be all right?”

  She braced herself with a hand against his chest. “I’ll probably just sleep. That seems to be all I can do.”

  He moved closer to her, wrapping his arm around her back. “The dreams of your father are just dreams. They don’t mean anything else.”

  She forced a smile for him. “Of course not. I know they’re dreams.”

  He pressed his lips to her damp forehead, feeling the coolness of her skin. He held her there for a long moment, until he felt her trembling with fatigue. Hooking a hand under her arm, he supported her as they went back to their room.

  Zimran had arrived with their bowls and another bowl of rocks. Jarrett eased Tyla onto the shelf and tucked the blanket around her, then he took the tray and headed outside. Zimran followed him as Jarrett went through his ritual of lighting the fire and heating the food. Other Wryn appeared and offered him their own bowls to heat. He did so, then settled another pot next to the first filled with water. He dumped the rocks into the water and waited for everything to come to a boil. Zimran made a mewl of protest when he saw Jarrett boiling the rocks, but he didn’t say anything.

  Once both pots were bubbling actively, Jarrett ladled out the green gruel to the waiting Wryn, filled his and Tyla’s bowls, poured them both a cup of the water/rock mixture and carried it all inside.

  Zimran trailed him again as he returned to Tyla. Setting the tray on the table, he helped Tyla into a sitting position and braced her with his pack, then he gave her the rock water first. Sometimes it seemed to stimulate her appetite and she would nearly finish the bowl of gruel.

  As she sipped, Tyla smiled at Zimran. “Have you seen the injured Wryn?” She motioned to her back, then made a sewing motion with her hand.

  Zimran nodded. “Wryn ipse es ben.”

  Tyla exchanged a look with Jarrett, but he just shrugged. “Drink up,” he said, touching the bottom of her cup. She lifted it to her lips.

  Zimran moved restlessly. He held out a rock on the palm of his hand. It looked just like the others that Jarrett boiled each day. “Ty-la comedetus, Jer-rid.”

  Jarrett sighed. He’d been down this road with Zimran before and he didn’t have the energy to do it again. Tyla was watching him though.

  “Why is he so insistent about that?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, but we can’t eat rocks.”

  “I know, it’s just very odd.”

  He gave her a skeptical look. “That’s what you find odd about our current living arrangements?”

  She gave a half-laugh. “You have a point.”

  He settled his bowl on the tray and kissed her forehead. “Get some rest. I’ll be back soon.”

 
She nodded and accepted the bowl of green gruel he handed her. Before Jarrett could react, Zimran darted forward and dropped the rock into Tyla’s food. They both stared up at him in shock.

  Carefully, Tyla plucked the rock from it and turned it around, looking at it. “There is nothing special about this rock that I can see. It doesn’t even glow with pycantra.”

  Jarrett took it from her, scowling at Zimran, and settled it in his empty bowl. “That’s enough nonsense,” he said, rising to his feet and turning the Wryn around. “I’ll be back soon,” he called over his shoulder as he propelled the Wryn from the room.

  Zimran turned to him. “Ty-la comedetus, Jer-rid.”

  Jarrett sighed. Zimran had been helpful, caring for them with a singular dedication, so he didn’t want to get frustrated with him. “We’ll talk about this later, okay?”

  As he moved around him, Zimran reached out and grabbed his hand. “Jer-rid, Ty-la comedetus.”

  Jarrett pulled away. “I know. I know. Later.” Picking up the pace, he hurried into the communal domes, leaving Zimran behind.

  The sun was just cresting the mountains, shining down into the valley when he stepped outside. His long stride took him down the tree-covered trail, along the edge of the mountains. He stopped frequently and dug at the ground with the toe of his boots, but he didn’t find any of the glittering dirt. He studied the plants and pulled a few leaves, rubbing them between his fingers, but he felt nothing.

  Coming out of the woods, he found himself in the meadow with the strange rock formations. He spent a lot of time wandering around the formations, looking at the rocks and picking up a few of the smaller one. He kept a couple that looked promising, wishing the Delphi tunics had a place for pockets. Carrying them in his left hand, he continued across the meadow until he came to the line of mushroom shaped trees with the green globed fruit.