by Joseph Malik
Jarrod heard the all clear as he reached the top of the stairs.
Peric stood away as Jarrod cocked his foot back and drove it against the door near the latch. The boom echoed through the tower.
Dust floated down from the rafters.
In a moment, locks rattled and Edwin flung the door open, naked and enraged. “What the hell?” he demanded, at which point Jarrod grabbed him by the throat, kicked him in both shins, and threw him back into the room. Edwin buckled, weeping and holding his legs. Jarrod kicked him in the stomach.
“Cut her free,” said Jarrod. Peric unlocked the leather manacles holding the elf girl to the headboard while Jarrod dropped to one knee and continued to beat the crap out of Edwin. With astonishing strength, she bowled Jarrod out of the way and lifted Edwin by the testicles with both hands, slamming him against the wall. She leaned her face within an inch of his and revealed a set of catlike fangs. “Now you die,” she hissed.
Jarrod locked a hand around her arm to pull her off, and it was as if he’d grabbed a rattlesnake. She was all over him, knocking him to the floor and wrestling him across the room, ridiculously strong and with an arsenal of moves he’d never seen.
He rose to his knees and threw her over his shoulder onto the floorboards. Hard.
“We need him alive!” Jarrod shouted as they came to their feet. She hissed and snarled at him, swaying in a low crouch. “You can kill him later,” he said. “I promise.”
She was small, under five feet. Her skin was island-girl tan in contrast to her hair, which was white-blonde with brown streaks like a predator’s stripes. Thunderstorms lurked behind her violet eyes. Jarrod knew Slavic models who would have murdered her for her cheekbones.
Peric offered her a sheet, and she moved back from Jarrod and tucked it around her. “You will let me kill him?”
“Yes,” said Jarrod, “but not now. I’m Sir Jarrod, The Merciful, Knight Lieutenant in the King’s Order of the Stallion. I’m taking you back to the Stronghold. Once we’re there, we’ll render him to your people for justice. We’ll get you home or die trying. You will not be harmed again. I will die first.”
Edwin tried to shout for his guards, but only creaking noises came out.
“I did not know you could lift a man by his balls,” said Peric, his voice round with appreciation.
“I’m going to have you killed!” Edwin rasped.
“I doubt that,” said Jarrod.
“You want him dressed?” Peric asked.
“Socks and boots,” said Jarrod. “But put those manacles on him and stuff something in his mouth.”
Saril and Bevio had loaded the soldiers’ weapons onto the cart while Jack and Dog stood over the prisoners, looking fierce.
The castle was in an uproar, with dozens gathered in the antechamber, but no one approached as Jarrod and Peric led the elf woman, in a set of oversized clothes from Edwin’s chambers, down the stairs and through the main antechamber with the very nude, bruised, hobbling Edwin behind. Jarrod offered Lilith to the elf, and she looked back at him, crouched, and leaped onto the horse’s back from the side, swinging a leg over and landing weightlessly.
Jarrod stared. It was like watching a cat leap to the top of a bookshelf.
The team swung up. Peric led Edwin behind him, Dog trotting beside the duke as they left the castle. Jack climbed into the cart and snapped the reins, Jarrod saluted Orvyn, and they had done it.
XI
GAVOTTE
“There are two rules for success in war.
“Rule One: Never tell anyone everything you know.”
— Unknown
You kick that dog again, and I’ll bind your legs and drag you,” said Peric.
“You’ll die for this!” Edwin threatened for the hundredth time, gasping as he half-ran behind Peric’s horse.
“Bullshit,” said Jarrod. “Save your breath. It’s a long run to the Stronghold.”
Edwin screamed and pulled at the manacles. “They’ll kill me!”
“Not right away,” Jarrod assured him.
“When do you want to shuck this armor?” asked Saril.
“When we make camp,” said Jarrod. “I want to be good and sure that nobody’s behind us with delusions of grandeur.”
“Every man in the kingdom will be looking for me!” Edwin shouted.
“They saw the Order of the Stallion arresting you,” said Peric. “What are they going to do? Raise their hands against the king’s personal order?”
“Is that what this is about?” Edwin gasped. “About your knights?”
“Oh, no,” said Jarrod, turning to him. “We’re way past that. This is about high treason. It’s about a deal you made with Ulorak to arm the gbatu. It’s about you helping Ulo kill your brother. It’s about the kidnapping of the princess. It’s about war profiteering. And it’s got more than a little bit to do with the lady here. How are you doing, my lady?” Jarrod asked.
She nodded, tight-lipped. “Let me kill him,” she repeated.
“When we get there, my lady, we’re turning him over to your people. You can administer whatever punishment you think is just,” said Jarrod.
She smiled, and Jarrod saw the fangs. There was a calculating awfulness behind her eyes, a murderous seething patience that ached from its own chill.
“I knew you would return,” she said. “I saw it in you.”
“If I had rescued you earlier,” said Jarrod, “we’d both be dead, now. I had to wait. It was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to make. I’m sorry for what happened to you. I will get you home or die trying.”
“I understand,” she said. “I would rather you’d not killed us both.”
“May I ask your name?” said Jarrod.
“Call me Kaeili.” There were more vowel syllables in there, but Kaeili was as close as Jarrod could keep straight. He had always seen words in his head before he spoke them, even in English. He had been envisioning the Falconsrealm dialect of the Gateskeep language in English syllables, at least phonetically, but the sounds in her name would require a whole other level of turning his brain inside out.
“Kylie?” he truncated, hoping she wouldn’t notice.
“If you can get no closer than that.”
Jarrod had once had a long conversation at a party with a girl from Humboldt State named Marie who’d just returned to finish her undergrad after spending three years as a Tibetan nun. She could have taken serenity lessons from Kaeili, who had a stern, formal, yet yogi-swami-hippie vibe that made him actually afraid for what they’d do to Edwin. Not that the prick didn’t have it coming, but every now and again she’d turn to stare at her tormentor with the interested coldness of a cat watching a wounded bird flap around the yard. He made a mental checkbox to never piss off an elf.
“I can’t undo what he has done, as much as I’d like to,” she continued. There were long pauses between her sentences, as if forming each phrase perfectly. “But he’ll suffer justice. That will please me.”
“You hear that, asshole?” said Jarrod. “It will please her.”
Edwin screamed in rage and stumbled on.
“I’m rich,” Edwin said as they pulled the gag from his mouth.
Bevio offered him a squab on a spit. He accepted it. They hadn’t taken the manacles off.
“I know,” Bevio said. “You’re a Hillwhite.”
“I can make you a lord,” Edwin said. “I can give you your own manor and lands.”
Bevio shrugged.
“Is this about a reward for her?” Edwin assumed. “Because whatever they’re paying you, I can double it.”
Jarrod put a blanket around Edwin’s shoulders. “You trying to bribe my men?”
“I’m trying to make him understand,” said Edwin around a mouthful of roasted bird, “That loyalties exist for a reason. What good is loyalty if it doesn’t bring you anything? What good is an oath that leaves you destitute? Or worse, dead?”
&nb
sp; Jarrod shrugged. “Technically,” he said, “I am destitute. I left my home and my lands to come here and fight for the king. I own nothing but what I carry with me.”
“What about your life?” asked Edwin. “What’s that worth? My family will raise an army to come look for me.”
“My money’s on him,” Bevio nodded to Jarrod.
“I can make you so rich,” said Edwin. “Let me go, and you can return the girl, and I’ll give you your own mine. There’s a mountain between Wild River and Ice Isle, with a silver mine. The silver mine. All the money for the kingdom comes from there. A great castle on the sea, majestic views, hunting, it’s three days’ ride across it. There’s a city behind the castle that can provide a string of maidens for each of you that would take an afternoon to walk down. You’d be lords of the Wild River Reach.”
“Now, that does sound nice,” Bevio admitted.
“Do you know how hollow my life would be, in a place like that?” Jarrod clapped Edwin on the shoulder. “I enjoy this line of work. It makes me feel important. Make sure he gets enough to eat,” he told Bevio. “And wash his socks and dress those blisters. He has a long way to run tomorrow.”
“You can’t kill me,” said Edwin.
“I have no intention of killing you,” said Jarrod. “But I make no promises for the elves.”
It was Carter’s first time in the royal audience chamber, and he was blown away that he was invited to sit at the table directly across from the king.
Ravaroth Anganor coughed. “As best we can gather, Lieutenant Jarrod broke into Edwin’s keep with a small force of knights, stole Edwin’s concubine, and kidnapped Duke Edwin. Ran him out of there in manacles, stark naked, behind his horse.”
“Well, points for style,” Carter muttered.
“Indeed,” said Lord Rav. “The Hillwhites are raising a militia to go after him.”
“Do we know where he’s going?” asked Prince Damon, on his father’s right, down from Ice Isle for the emergency.
“No one knows,” said Rav.
King Rorthos Riongoran-Thurdin had once been a broad-shouldered and powerful knight of the Stallion, but years as a figurehead had softened him. His beard was nearly white, his belly large beneath a green jacket threaded with gold, but he had a grace and poise that made no small light of the fact that he had once been a commander.
He spoke. “The Hillwhites are throwing enough money at this that it won’t matter. In a week they’ll have raised a militia large enough to link arms and walk across Falconsrealm. They will find Edwin and kill those knights.”
Carter interrupted the murmuring that broke out. “I know where he’s going,” he said.
The table shut up.
Carter stood. “She wasn’t a concubine. She was a slave, and she’s an elf,” he said. “A Faerie. That’s what the Hillwhites aren’t saying. Edwin’s men captured her near the mine. Jarrod’s returning her to the Stronghold, and he’s going to turn Edwin over to the Faerie, where they’re probably going to kill him for slaving.”
The room erupted. King Rorthos held up his hands, and everyone quieted. “You know this how?” he asked.
“He told me about the elf, Majesty. He didn’t tell me what he was going to do.”
“Continue,” he told Carter.
“Jarrod figures we don’t need a third or fourth war going on, which is what Edwin is toying with by keeping an elf as a slave. If Jarrod does this right, he might get the elves watching our flank; they won’t take kindly to Ulorak and Gavria arming the gbatu. They’d be valuable allies. This is a goodwill mission, and respectfully, Majesty, we need it.”
“He’s been a lieutenant for ten days,” said the king. “He’s already taking on affairs of state, launching covert missions, and now he’s appointing himself an ambassador.” He laughed. “That’s initiative, damn it. Fine initiative. The rest of you could learn a thing or two from the boy.”
“That’s what you’re paying him for, Majesty,” said Carter.
“They’ll never help us,” said the king. “But the Hillwhites have a hand in this, so I don’t care if the Faerie flay Edwin alive and fly his skin over the Stronghold like a flag. Maybe it will pacify them for a while, and maybe the Hillwhites will learn something.”
The table broke into conversation. The king spoke loudly. “King Ulo holds my daughter, and that’s the priority here.”
“General Rav,” said the king after a moment of thought, “issue a decree. An instant call-up for a yeomanry. Make it a crime to sign up with a professional militia doing anything other than fighting for the crown. This way we break the Hillwhites’ backs and buy Lieutenant Jarrod and his team some time.”
“Done, Your Grace,” said Daral.
The king stood. “As of this moment,” he said, “we’re at war with Ulorak. Someone might want to let them know.”
The keep at Ulorak had been carved into the spire of a black mountain by skilled miners long ago, the pinnacle augmented by the lone mighty tower, once ripped down and now rebuilt. Adielle’s room looked out over the valley and the view was stunning, the drop below her window mind-numbingly sheer.
The food was excellent. The room was clean, and there were no rats or bugs. Quiet men in silver robes brought her clothes that were nice enough, coal for her fireplace, and some books every day, straightening the room, cleaning quickly and silently, removing linens. As prisons went, she had envisioned worse.
The door opened with no one knocking.
Ulo’s blue eyes flared as he stormed across the room. Behind him, two more silent men in silver robes brought a book and a set of quill pens and ink.
Ulo ground his jaw as they handed her the book and quills.
“Your father is building an army. I guess he doesn’t understand that I own you.”
“He’s coming for me,” she said. “He’ll kill you.”
“You will write a letter,” he told her. “You will address it to your father.”
She took the quill, and dipped it in the ink, addressing the letter. Her hand shook.
“Let him know that you are unharmed, and in good care.”
She scribbled.
“Tell him what you had for dinner.” He ticked off his fingers, “Roast fowl, honeyed trout, cakes. Tell him your room is nice, you have a view, your bed is warm, and it is yours, alone.”
She wrote.
“A missive carried by fast riders can reach the City of the Gate in nine days,” said Ulo. “He has ten days from the time he receives this—and you will tell him this exactly—for him to send me a disavowal of this declaration of war, and a signed proclamation that he has disbanded his yeomanry, or I will take this all away. Your next accommodations will not be as generous.”
“I can imagine,” she said.
“I assure you, you have no idea.”
“They call it Returning to the River,” said Saril. “They lay out a slaver on a raft in a quiet part of the river. An estuary. Someplace stagnant. Except there’s a hole in the raft, see, so his ass is hanging into the water. Then they force feed him milk and honey so he shits himself. They do this, day in and day out. After a few days of swimming in his own shit, the bugs come. They sting him, and bite him, starting on his cock and balls, usually. Then in a few days, they crawl right up his ass and lay eggs in his guts. Then they eat him from the inside out. Eventually, his guts will pop open and the bugs will spill out and eat the rest.”
They were far up the Dragon’s Trail, a day away from the Silver Gate, if their maps were right. The team was haggard, thin, and dirty. There had been no chase, and not a sign of habitation once they’d made it through the valleys into the thick of the Falconsrealm Mountains.
The Dragon’s Trail meanders between two towering mountain ranges northeast of High River, and they’d been able to make fantastic time once they’d weaved through the Falconsrealm Mountains. The sky-torn peaks of this place, as jagged as a spear wall, were impassable. They had on
ly to keep looking behind them. No one would come from the front, and no one could come from the sides.
The rivers that snaked through the mountains had kept the horses slaked, they lived on fish and berries and the occasional animal that Peric could bring down from his saddle with a small bow. They weren’t starving but they weren’t doing well, either.
“If they keep giving you water,” Saril continued, “it can last for twenty days or more. The elves will make you into a bug factory. Eventually there's nothing left, which is why they call it Returning to the River. They say you go insane long before you die. And the spirits of those who died that way haunt the river banks at night, because they’re too crazy to ever make it to hell.”
Behind them on a rock, still manacled and still nude, Edwin rolled his eyes. “Will you shut up?”
Saril grinned. “No.”
“You know this smoke is like a beacon.” Edwin nodded at the rack over the smoldering fire, where Peric was curing large strips of a small bear. “When they find you, I am going to have every one of you castrated,” he swore. “I’ll blind you and chain you in a dark hole—”
“—until everyone forgets about us?” asked Jarrod. “Funny, I heard someone threatening me with that not long ago. You know a guy named Ulo?” Jarrod clapped him on the shoulder and Edwin growled deep in his throat. “Of course you do,” Jarrod said. “You’re probably the asshole who was going to do that for him. Or die trying.”
“You’d fucking better hope that Ulo’s people find you before my family does. We have an army.”
“We have him,” said Saril, jerking a thumb toward Jarrod, who went off to see about Jack.
“You said that before,” said Edwin. “What’s so special about him?”
“He whipped every knight in your castle at the same time,” said Saril. “Don’t you remember? Then he killed seventeen of Gar’s best at High River the next day, single-handed. He kicked General Loth’s ass at hand-fighting a moon ago. And he fed your little brother his own teeth. If you say you’ve got a man in this kingdom who can take him, you’re a liar.”