The World of Samar Box Set 3

by M. L. Hamilton

Adison had never been clear why. “I know I’ve asked this before, but…”

  “It’s none of your business. What was your business was eliminating your brother. You bungled that.”

  “That’s not entirely true. I did eliminate my brother. And this problem with Eldralin is easily solved. A little poison in his drink and…”

  Halish crossed the room so fast, Adison almost didn’t see him. He grabbed the arms of Adison’s chair, forcing him back into the cushions, and loomed over him. “Nothing happens to Kalas Eldralin, do you understand?”

  “Just hear me out.”

  Halish wound his hand in Adison’s lapel, dragging him closer. “Nothing happens to Kalas Eldralin!”

  “Right. Nothing happens to Kalas Eldralin,” said Adison, struggling to keep his voice level. It occurred to him that a King shouldn’t be manhandled, but he didn’t think the Nazarien were much concerned with Human nobility.

  “Here’s what you do, and you do it exactly as I say.”

  Adison nodded, afraid to speak.

  “You entertain Kalas, you play nice. You show him you are doing everything in your power to find your brother. In fact, you introduce me at court and tell Kalas you’ve employed me to track your brother. I’m well known among my people for my skill.” He slammed Adison back into the chair. “I don’t care what you do, but you get Kalas on the road again, headed for Adishian, believing you have this under control. Do we understand one another?”

  Adison nodded. He had a lot of questions, but truthfully, he was too afraid to open his mouth.

  “Nothing happens to Kalas Eldralin,” Halish repeated, smoothing Adison’s lapel almost gently. “Nothing...because if it does, you’ll wish you’d been sold into slavery instead of your brother. The things I will do to you…” He slowly shook his head.

  Adison didn’t move, just stared as the Nazarien walked to the door and slipped outside. As soon as it closed behind him, though, the King of Dorland dropped his face into his hands and shook violently.

  * * *

  Adison watched the enormous entourage from Sarkisian ride through the gates of his castle and come to a stop in the courtyard. There were more armored warriors than he’d even imagined and he wondered where Lyell would sleep them all and how he’d feed them. He’d certainly have to raise taxes once this bedamned scourge left again.

  His eyes roamed over the warriors once more. He didn’t have even a fraction of the number at his command and he knew, with sickening certainty, that this was only a fraction of Kalas’ force. He also knew that Kalas knew his enemy’s weaknesses.

  More daunting still was the fact that Adison wasn’t sure which of his warriors he could count on to defend his right as King of Dorland. Most were and had remained loyal to his slave brother.

  Adison scratched at his beard. He’d worried it so much of late that a red, angry rash had broken out under his jaw, giving his face a swollen, paunchy look.

  He knew about the King of Eastern Nevaisser, although he hadn’t seen the man since he was a boy himself. He knew that Talar Eldralin’s bastard was well loved by his people. He’d united two kingdoms under the promise of peace, and damn him if he hadn’t achieved it. Even the people of Dorland turned to him when things were difficult at home.

  Adison searched the crowd looking for his adversary. Lyell Vito was among the warriors, making them welcome and making a complete ass out of himself. He was so anxious to please he looked like a bobbing chicken after grain. Again his eyes raked the crowded courtyard. Which one of these men was the King himself? He started when someone moved up beside him. Looking down, he grimaced. Carona. What better way to make an intolerable situation even worse.

  “Good morning, my Queen,” he said, scratching at his jaw. “You’ve made quite a habit out of leaving your bed of late.”

  She gave him a withering look from the corner of her eyes. “Stop scratching, Adison,” she said in honeyed tones. “You look like a dog with fleas.”

  His hand stopped mid-motion, the muscles in his jaw bulging. “So you’ve come to gawk at the parade of arrogant asses.”

  Her eyes took in the courtyard. “You’d do well to remember a shade of your manners. The King of Eastern Nevaisser will eat you alive.”

  Adison’s dark eyes swept the courtyard again. Where was the bedamned man anyway? “And just why are you here?”

  “Did you really think I’d let you bury Aiden before his body was returned?”

  Adison frowned at the cryptic response. “Your concern for your husband is touching, my Queen.”

  “And your lack of it is chilling,” she said, catching his glance and holding it.

  Adison looked away, his stomach knotting in anxiety. Damn the shrew, but she threw him into fits whenever she made her unexpected appearances. He’d have to change his plans and bed her quicker or he’d never survive this turmoil.

  His eyes roved the courtyard again and his hands clenched into fists. Carona tilted back her head and drew a deep, satisfied breath. “He’s the man on the common bay, surrounded by the four largest warriors. Lyell Vito’s approaching him now.”

  Adison found his advisor and then followed the line he was drawing through the chaotic assembly. He sucked in his breath, cursing himself. He should have recognized Talar Eldralin’s bastard from the first.

  He was dressed no differently than his warriors and rode a horse no more remarkable. The unsettling effect of his blending caused a shudder to course through Adison’s body. How much had the bastard observed from astride his mount without ever tipping his hand? Worse yet was the fact that Adison should have spotted him immediately as Carona had.

  He might be dressed as his companions, but the comparison went no farther. The way he sat, his back ramrod straight, the arrogant tilt to his head, the ebony black of his shoulder length hair. In the sun, the strands glimmered like spun silk or like a panther’s fur. His pale blue eyes were shifting, taking in everything, one gloved hand resting on the pommel of his sword, the other on the horse’s mane. His face was serene, his finely chiseled features showing no hint of what he thought. He was more handsome than Adison expected.

  True, Adison had seen renderings of Talar Eldralin, but he’d always thought them overly fanciful. Before him was blood of his blood – his features so perfect they could be called beautiful if they didn’t have such a hard, masculine cast to them, and they were hard, cold, calculating. Adison hated him immediately.

  With surprising ease, the bastard swung out of the saddle and dropped to the ground. The motion was catlike, the sleek ripple of taut muscles showing in his finely shaped form. He wasn’t over tall, in fact, he looked almost short compared to Lyell’s gangly, long frame, but Adison wasn’t fooled. This man radiated power and Adison felt the first taste of fear.

  Carona chuckled beside him. “He’s quite handsome. I’d heard as much, but the myth pales to reality.” She shot Adison a glance. “In fact, next to him, you are a toad.”

  The grinding of his teeth would have been audible but for the confusion all around them. “Step carefully, my Queen, lest you trip.”

  Again the shrew chuckled. “You’d do well to take your own advice, although, you’d likely step in the dung from one of Lord Kalas’ many mounts.”

  Adison forced himself to breathe evenly. He hated to be baited and he knew how good Carona was at the baiting – hadn’t she kept his slave brother in near fits for eight years – but damn him if he was going to be caught in her petty trap. He was King of Dorland and no one was going to take that from him.

  Especially not the bastard of Talar Eldralin.

  He descended the steps of the castle, aware of how awkward he felt next to Kalas’ accomplished warriors. They all seemed larger the closer he got – large and mean. As he passed through them, their voices fell silent and they followed him with their shrewd eyes like wolves sniffing after prey.

  Still he went, throwing his head back and fixing his eyes somewhere in the middle of Lyell’s groveling back. He’d giv
e his kingdom (metaphorically speaking of course) for a dagger which he’d gladly sheathe between his advisor’s shoulder blades.

  He reached Lyell only to be ignored by both him and the bastard. Rage was a blinding force within Adison as he carefully lifted his fist and tapped the old man on the shoulder. Lyell turned, seemingly surprised, and stepped back.

  Before Adison could speak, Carona pushed between them and extended her hand to Kalas. The man’s pale blue eyes shifted from Adison to Carona and then he smiled. Adison bit back the groan that rose in his throat. The smile transformed Kalas completely. If he’d been a handsome man before, he was doubly so now.

  “Your Majesty,” said Carona, dropping a polite curtsy. Adison didn’t ever remember seeing the shrew show any measure of respect to either him or his slave brother. In fact, he felt sure her knees didn’t bend. “It is a great honor to have you here.”

  Kalas brought her pale, white hand to his lips and kissed it. “The pleasure is mine. I’d heard Dorland was blessed with a beautiful Queen, but the rumor belies the truth.”

  Adison couldn’t stop the twitching at the corner of his mouth. How long were they going to exchange inane pleasantries and ignore him? If they started talking about the weather, he was sure he’d burst a blood vessel.

  “We’re sorry that your visit has come at such a difficult time. Our kingdom has been in an uproar since my lord was taken from his bed.” Her eyes narrowed slightly at the words and Adison felt his hands close into fists.

  Kalas drew a deep breath, his eyes shifting and passing over Adison. “I’m alarmed and dismayed by this news. I can assure you my kingdom is doing everything in its power to find Lord Aiden.” He leaned closer. “It’s a subject I would like to discuss during the evening meal, but out here…” He made a sweeping motion that took in the entire courtyard.

  “Of course, Your Majesty, I understand,” said Carona with a polite incline of her head. “It’s only that I’m anxious to have my husband returned to me. Not only for my sake, but for all of Dorland.”

  Adison couldn’t stop the mutinous grunt of disgust that escaped his lips. It did have a desired effect however, for it drew Kalas’ attention. Carona stepped back, motioning dismissively with her hand.

  “This is the King’s eldest brother, Adison, Your Majesty, attempting to act in his brother’s stead.” Adison didn’t miss the intended insult, but to his credit, he forced it aside and held out his hand.

  “Your Majesty.”

  Kalas took the hand in a strong grip. “Prince Adison, I’m delighted to see you again. It’s been many years since we were boys here together.”

  “Yes, it has.”

  “I’m sorry for your great loss.”

  Adison’s false smile dried. “Yes, we’re all devastated. Although I’ve done my best to act as King in my brother’s stead.” He placed particular emphasis on the word king.

  “I’m certain you have,” said the bastard. “But have no fear, we’ll discuss our next plan of action tonight, yes?”

  Adison gave a polite nod.

  “However, I must see to the needs of my men. We’ve had a long journey from Chernow.” He paused and narrowed his eyes. “The Nazar wished me to offer you the aid of the Nazarien in this search.”

  “How kind,” said Adison.

  Kalas gave a humorless smile. “Now, to my men.”

  “This way,” answered Lyell, motioning him toward the castle.

  Gallantly, Kalas offered his arm to the shrew, which she accepted. Then they moved off, leaving Adison behind.

  CHAPTER 8

  Shandar led Amaroq and Nakoda to a run-down building with a warped walk and a sign above it reading The Blind Archer. Amaroq frowned and motioned to it, but Shandar turned and grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him and Nakoda off to the side. Two men in worn-down work clothes and battered boots pushed past them and walked through the swinging front doors.

  “What is this place, Shandar?” asked Amaroq. The entire building gave off a feeling of desperation. It made his skin crawl.

  “It’s a tavern. The best way to get information, and probably our only way now, is in a tavern.”

  They’d spent the day, wandering the town, asking people for news. Shandar hoped someone might let slip something about the slavers, but no one mentioned anything. Their inquiries grew bolder until they were forced to blatantly ask about trouble in the region. Someone mentioned that Kalas Eldralin had passed through a few weeks ago, headed to Chernow, but nothing else.

  Finally Shandar broke down and asked the proprietor of the dry goods store.

  The man’s face had shut down, the rise in his anxiety palpable, and he’d refused to answer anything even when Shandar offered him money for his information. Amaroq felt defeated and afraid. His sister had been gone nearly a week. Eldon knew what could have happened to her by now.

  “Let’s go inside then,” said Amaroq.

  Shandar glanced between the two of them. “This place’ll be hard on you, Wolf. And it’ll be dangerous. Worse than that, we’re gonna have to drink.” Shandar motioned between him and the younger man. “Nakoda, you have to stay sharp and watch our backs.”

  Amaroq’s frown deepened. “I’ve never drank before.”

  “I know.” Shandar looked over his shoulder at the tavern. “And worse yet, the minute you walk in there, they’re going to mark you for Nazarien.”

  “So?”

  “They’ll shut down unless we can show them we’re just like they are. You’re going to have to drink a lot.”

  Amaroq wasn’t liking the sound of this. The Nazarien had always warned against mind-altering substances, but he wanted information about his sister. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  Shandar’s grip tightened. “You remember what I told you about people being drawn to you.”

  “Yes.”

  “There are women in there who will gravitate toward you. These aren’t your sort of women, Wolf.”

  “Prostitutes.”

  “Yes.” Shandar gave him a surprised look.

  “I’ve been educated.”

  “The men will be drawn to you as well.”

  “They’re also prostitutes.”

  “Well, no, but...just be careful, okay? Don’t leave my side, no matter what. You don’t go anywhere unless one of us is with you.” He motioned between him and Nakoda.

  “Got it.” Amaroq jutted his chin at the tavern. “Can we just go now? Standing out here’s making me edgy. I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to take it.”

  Shandar gave him a final stern look, then nodded and led the way to the swinging doors. Smells assaulted Amaroq the moment he stepped into the room. Nakoda made a choking sound, but Amaroq fought his own reaction.

  The smell was a sickly sweet mix of sweat and sour, rotting wheat. The floor felt sticky and tables crowded the tight, narrow space. A fireplace dominated the middle of the room, but thankfully it wasn’t lit because the heat in the tavern had climbed 10 degrees from outside. Chairs were arranged around the tables, but no two chairs were alike and quite a number of men lounged in them, some with the chairs tilted back, their feet braced on the edge of the tables. Across the back wall was a long wooden plank with stools pulled up to it and behind the wooden plank was a mirror, reflecting the room.

  Amaroq realized he wasn’t going to be able to stand it in here for long. The dank, dark interior only increased the bombardment of emotions from the patrons. A wave of despair flowed over him, making him want to run.

  Before he could bolt, Shandar gripped his shoulder and pulled him up beside him, then pointed to a stool in the middle of the bar. He wasn’t even going to be allowed to remain on the periphery where the pulse of Human emotions was diluted. He was going to be thrust into the epicenter.

  He took a seat at the bar next to Shandar. Nakoda sat down on his other side, blocking him in. The bartender, a middle aged man with thin wisps of dark hair combed over his scalp, moved down the bar, wiping it with a cloth that had seen better tim
es.

  Amaroq looked up in the mirror, surprised by his own reflection. His mother had a hand-held mirror she used frequently, but this was the first time he could see his full face and upper body too. His dark hair lay on broad shoulders, his blue eyes almost aglow with an inner light. Suddenly he realized why people might pick him out from the others. His eyes looked almost unnaturally brilliant. Winking beneath the thick fall of his hair, he caught the glimmer of his medallions, the mark of his order.

  “What’ll it be?”

  “Three whiskeys,” said Shandar, plunking down a strange paper bill.

  Amaroq wanted to pick it up and inspect it, but the bartender’s gaze was on him as he placed three glasses before them, then reached behind him and grabbed a bottle off the shelf below the mirror. He poured the amber-colored liquid into the glasses, slid them over to the men, and went back to scrubbing the planking with his rag, but he didn’t move away.

  Shandar grabbed one of the glasses and tossed back his head, pouring it down his throat. Amaroq’s brows rose in admiration. Placing the glass back on the bar, Shandar jerked his chin at the other two. The younger men grabbed their own glasses and mimicked the older one.

  Fire blazed in Amaroq’s esophagus and into his belly. He curled over the bar, coughing violently. Shandar slapped a hand on his back. “The first one’s the worst,” he said.

  Amaroq glared at him through watering eyes. “My lungs are burning.”

  “It’ll pass.”

  The bartender gave a laugh. “Never had a drink before?”

  Shandar shrugged, continuing to pat Amaroq’s back. “Been a bit sheltered in Tirsbor.”

  “No shit.”

  Casting a glance at Nakoda, Amaroq marked his friend didn’t seem to be having any problems. “It isn’t burning your lungs?”

  “I’ve been to Dorland, remember?”

  Amaroq frowned. That seemed to be the answer for a good many things with Nakoda.

  “So what brings you to Raimondi?” asked the bartender, conversationally.

  Amaroq glanced into the mirror and saw a number of men were listening to the conversation, but pretending not to. A few scantily clad women were also. One, a pretty redhead, was making her way toward them.