The Redstar Rising Trilogy: (Buried Goddess Saga Box Set 1: Books 1-3)

by Rhett C. Bruno

  A sudden movement made her yelp. Whitney slid back into the booth from the other direction, carrying what looked like a leg of lamb. He stretched it toward her but she declined.

  “You had me worried sick and you were getting food?” she asked.

  “Sora, you’ve gotta learn to relax a little. Take it all in. We are exploring the wide world together. No agenda. No worries!”

  “Except the little bit about a man wanting us dead. Oh, and the mounting army. Oh, and—”

  Whitney groaned. “Do you want to know what I found out about Tayvada or not?”

  “Fine.”

  “Turns out one of his servants came about an hour ago to leave message that he fell ill and wouldn’t be...” Whitney puffed out his chest and put on a distinguished effect, “‘…attending any of his appointments this evening.’”

  Sora threw her hands up in frustration. “Great. Now we have to wait for him?”

  Whitney took a bite of lamb, then with his mouth still full said, “Nope. I got his home address.”

  IX

  THE KNIGHT

  “Your Grace, please help me understand,” Torsten said to Pi, keeping his voice low. “Why would you free him?”

  They were in Pi’s old chambers now, high up in the Glass Castle’s West Tower. He hadn’t yet found reason to move to his father’s quarters—besides, Oleander still occupied them. There were bars on the window, an unpleasant reminder of Pi’s fall.

  “You could just ask me,” Redstar said. He sat at Pi’s desk, the same smug grin plastered on his face that he’d worn when revealing his true self in the Webbed Woods.

  “Silence!” Torsten snapped. He stood behind him, claymore in both hands, the tip grinding into the stone floor.

  “Pi, my precious boy, don’t you remember what he did to you?” Oleander sat beside him on a bed two sizes too large for him, stroking his hair.

  He remained indifferent.

  “I forget, sister, which of us has more of your people’s blood on our hands?” Redstar remarked.

  “Sir Davies was worth a thousand of any of us!” Torsten said. “He died because of you.”

  “Just kill him, Torsten,” Oleander spat. “I will not have him poison these halls any further.”

  “You will do no such thing, Wearer,” Pi said, calm and collected. He turned to face them, head and neck only. “No harm will befall my uncle.”

  “He tried to kill you! To destroy everything inside of you.”

  “What, with this?” Pi reached across his bed and lifted the tiny, Drav Cra effigy sewn for him by Oleander at his birth. By the ancient customs of her former people, an orepul was said to bear a piece of its owner’s soul.

  The young King lifted it, then without a second of hesitation, ripped the head from its stitches. The Queen gasped as it fell to the floor in two pieces. Torsten’s heart sank with it. Not that he believed it wielded any power—such would be heresy—but he’d been through exile and back to retrieve it for the Queen.

  “Not with that, Your Grace,” Torsten said after a brief silence. His fingers squeezed so tight around the handle of his sword it hurt. “He put a spell on you with blood magic. A spell that had you seeing awful visions of darkness and terror and the Buried Goddess. I know because I felt them too shortly after you fell from this very window.”

  “Excuse me for trying to open his eyes by showing him the truth,” Redstar said. “How was I to know that children grow up so soft here in the capital that he wouldn’t be able to handle it?” He walked across the room as he spoke and lifted the two pieces of the orepul to study them more closely. Torsten imagined seeing an effigy supposedly holding a piece of Pi’s soul would unnerve him, but he didn’t seem so in the slightest.

  “Because of your dark magic, my son, your king, leaped from that window!” Oleander shouted. She tried to stand, but Pi extended one of his short arms in front of her.

  “My uncle acted vindictively because you refused him,” Pi said. “Because you forgot that the ice of the Drav Cra runs through your veins, as it does mine. I may not approve of what he did to me, but I do understand.”

  “What have you done, Brother?” Oleander asked. “How have you twisted his mind this time?”

  “Oleander, I’m hurt.” Redstar stuffed the orepul into a pouch, then placed his hand over his heart in mock-surprise. “I’ve been locked away safe and sound. Pi came to me.”

  “You don’t deserve to breathe the same air as him!” Oleander grabbed a small letter opener off the bedside table, sprung to her feet, and charged him. Torsten caught her just in time, the blade only inches away from Redstar’s eye. A heartbeat later, he wondered what in Elsewhere he was thinking by stopping her.

  Redstar didn’t even flinch. “Now we both owe each other, Sir Unger,” he said. His grin deepened as he stood and patted Torsten’s back.

  “Torsten, don’t let him do this,” Oleander said. “He can’t be trusted. He tried to kill my son.” She tried to squirm free, but Torsten’s brawny arms didn’t give. “He tried to kill my son!”

  “I know, Your Grace,” Torsten whispered. “But not like this.”

  “Guards!” Pi called. Not a second later, the door flew open and two members of the King’s Shield entered, weapons drawn. “Please remove my mother to her chambers until I see fit. She is feeling ill again and I worry what she might do.”

  The guards glanced between the King and Torsten.

  “You will not lay a hand on me,” Oleander hissed. “I am your Queen.”

  “They will do as their king asks, Mother, and so will you,” Pi said, a man’s timbre in his tone. “When I met with Redstar, he called on the names of Iam and his goddess in heartfelt apology. He has repented for what was done out of spite and anger.” He lowered his voice and said, “When will you?”

  Torsten felt all the fight leave Oleander. Her arms went slack. The words were harsh, yet partially true. An apology from a deceiver like Redstar meant as little as one made in the name of the Buried Goddess, but Oleander too had acted from a dangerous place.

  “Pi…” Oleander’s voice cracked. “He’s a monster. You have to trust me.”

  “Our weakness after Father grew ill has emboldened our enemies,” Pi said. “Perhaps monsters are exactly what we need now.”

  Torsten regarded Redstar. He’d manipulated the entire kingdom to help him destroy Bliss, the apparent enemy of his people’s own fallen deity, but doing that didn’t even seem to compare to how self-satisfied he now appeared.

  “Just go, Your Grace,” Torsten whispered in Oleander’s ear. “I’ll make sure he never sees daylight again.”

  She turned and took Torsten’s hands. Hers were quaking.

  “Oh, Torsten,” she sniveled. “Loyal, Torsten. Show him the light of Iam that breathed life into him again.” Her fingers slid apart from his, then she slowly backed away between the two guards.

  Torsten nodded the Shieldsmen along but didn’t break eye contact with Oleander until she was through the door. She’d been a terrible queen when she was in charge, one who had senselessly murdered so many of her loyal servants. But at least Torsten knew why. Perhaps she was a monster too, but if that were true, there was no term foul enough to describe her brother.

  Redstar sighed. “Perhaps now we can discuss how to handle the Shesaitju situation in peace and quiet, Nephew.”

  Torsten lashed out and grabbed him by the collar. He pulled him close. The Drav Cra were inherently tall, but Redstar was the runt of his family. Torsten towered over him.

  “You will address him as your King,” Torsten growled, then shoved him back into the chair.

  “Relax, Sir Unger.” Pi stood and paced in front of his window. His head barely reached over the sill, but Torsten wasn’t foolish enough to believe he was a child anymore, even if he looked it. Whatever had happened between his death and rebirth, he was as much a man as they were.

  “I understand your hesitance to trust my uncle,” Pi said.

  “Beyond bein
g a murderer, he is a heretic and practitioner of blood magic,” Torsten said. “He is the enemy of the faithful and the scorn of Iam’s vigilant Eye.”

  “And he is not only one of the most respected leaders in Drav Cra as dradinengor of the Ruuhar Clan, but also named High Warlock by the rest of his order.”

  “Arch Warlock,” Redstar corrected.

  Torsten scowled his way. “That is not a title we of the Glass should abide.”

  “Maybe so, but it is a title which allowed him to gather thousands of capable warriors to our cause in only a month. My father turned from their lands because he knew they were a hard, unconquerable people. Yet the tomes of history teach us that all men descended from the tundra. Drav Cra is in all our blood, and it is half of mine.”

  “Liam knew they couldn’t be trusted. He knew how far Iam was from their hearts.”

  “Yet he brought one home. Made her queen. Because my father knew that worth could be found in the strangest of places. He knew that the wild tribes of the North would have bowed to my mother if only she remembered them. That was how he planned to conquer them. Through blood, not by blood.”

  “How do you know that’s what he planned?” he asked, even though it sounded exactly like something Liam would do. He hadn’t only been a fearless commander who charged into battle and inspired his own men, but a tactician without equal.

  “Sir Davies said as much when I was very young,” Pi said. “But then Father grew too ill and our borders stopped expanding. My mother could have been useful to him then. Instead, she remained a cruel, foreign treasure locked up in this castle scaring everyone away.”

  “Your Grace, she gave birth to you. She sat at your side every night while you were ill.”

  “And she let the kingdom crumble. You said it yourself, our armies are weaker than ever. We don’t trust any of our allies in Panping or Brotlebir to come to our aid. Instead, we’re calling on conscripts who’ve done nothing but plow fields for a decade.”

  “And drink,” Redstar added. “For centuries, my people have been battling cold that makes this seem like summer. Scraping and clawing for leftovers of the few beasts that still roam the tundra.”

  “After two decades as queen, my mother’s failure will be rectified,” Pi declared. “The mighty warriors of the Drav Cra will march at our side.”

  “The heathens should never be allowed into this city,” Torsten bristled.

  “I sent for them weeks ago.” Pi stopped at the window and had to lean up on the balls of his feet to look down over the sill.

  Torsten rushed to his side and threw open the window. Cold air and flurries blasted his cheeks but he craned his neck over the edge so he could see the castle’s entry bailey. Snow and clouds dulled the light of the twin moons but there was no mistaking the gathering. Hundreds of tall, pale Drav Cra men wearing heavy furs and axes stood waiting. Enough of them to slaughter everyone inside, King and Queen Mother as well.

  Among them were others dressed in ragged robes of layered animal furs, wearing necklaces festooned with strange totems and bones—true Drav Cra warlocks, not just in the capital, but within the walls of the castle. They didn’t even bother to pretend they were cultists to the Buried Goddess or cover their faces with hoods and white masks like the ones who followed Redstar in the Webbed Woods. They let their faces show, black paint covering their eyes with a line of red over the lids. Cracking, white paint covered the rest of their faces and ran down their necks as if they needed to make their pale skin paler.

  “By Iam, what have you done?” Torsten’s voice shook.

  “I’m finally using every advantage at our disposal,” Pi said.

  “Had I known how wise the young King was, I would have come straight to him a year ago and skipped all the nonsense,” Redstar said.

  “You call that nonsense?” Torsten growled as he whipped back around. “Your Grace, I am your Wearer of White, commander of your armies. Why wasn’t I told about this?”

  “You are loyal and you are respected, Sir Unger,” Pi said. “But I knew your piety would hinder your ability to see the benefit of this alliance.”

  “And the only pay they require is food,” Redstar said, grinning so wide Torsten wanted to slap it off his face with his spiked, glaruium gauntlet.

  “You expect my men—you expect me to march beside these heathens? Those are warlocks of the Buried Goddess down there.” Torsten took Pi by the arm and the glare he received sent him reeling back. “If my men cannot trust their brothers in arms, I cannot lead them effectively.”

  “And you will not have to,” Pi said. “As part of this arrangement, I have named my uncle Emissary of Drav Cra. You will command the armies, but he will lead his people under you. You will work together to bring this Shesaitju rebellion to an end. Then, my father’s blessed work will be continued.”

  Torsten fell to his knees. “My King, I beg you, don’t trust this man. The things he’s done. The things he can do. He is a snake in the flesh of a man.”

  “‘Iam is mercy. Iam is compassion. Light.’ All my life I’ve heard this, yet all those who love gods of other names are ridiculed and condemned. I spent a great deal of time reading as a child. The holy texts beg for peace in Pantego. And here, those of Nesilia stand ready to fight by our side. Wren the Holy speaks of her evil. Redstar however, says that she was as close to Iam as skin to bone.”

  “Lies from the mouth of a deceiver.”

  “Possibly. Yet the God Feud teaches us that fighting amongst each other helps no one. And so, Torsten Unger, you will find a way to work with my uncle for the good of the kingdom, or you will find yourself exiled again.”

  Torsten glanced back at Redstar, at a man so wicked Iam sought to mark him eternally with the red of blood. A man who wore the guise of Sir Uriah Davies after luring him to his death. A man who’d been willing to risk everything to vanquish the Spider Queen Bliss, and for what?

  Now he had the ear of the young, impressionable king after he drove the boy mad with dark magic. Torsten’s fists clenched. He knew he could take Redstar down right then, ending whatever game he played. But as he looked back to Pi, he also knew that wasn’t the way of Iam.

  Perhaps Pi wasn’t as ready for rule as Torsten had thought earlier that day, but he was right about what Iam stood for. And Torsten would be there when Redstar’s true nature was revealed to him again. As he always would be.

  He bowed his head. “I will serve in whatever way you see fit, Your Grace. But I will never trust him after what he did to you and neither should you.”

  “That is why I have a Shieldsman who served my father for so long at my side.” Pi laid a hand on Torsten’s shoulder.

  For a moment, Torsten felt silly being so proud of receiving the praises of a small boy. Then Pi’s arm fell away and he longed for it to return. The young king lay back onto his bed, all energy seeming to fade in an instant as the color drained from his face. It might have been the light, but Torsten thought the dark rings around his eyes seemed more pronounced than ever.

  “Now leave me,” Pi said weakly. “Both of you.”

  “Of course, Your Grace,” Torsten said, rising. “You must be exhausted.”

  “Yes, seeing reason can be so tiring.” Redstar bowed exceedingly low.

  It reminded Torsten of the way the thief, Whitney, used to praise him in jest. Just the sight of it had him nearly swinging his sword in a wide arc across Redstar’s neck. He controlled himself for Pi’s sake.

  They started off out of the room, side by side until Redstar stopped. “Ah, Your Grace, before I forget,” he said. “I spoke with Yuri Darkings in the dungeon—the former Master of Coin who fled your mother’s scorn. He is eager to return to his post, and in this time of war and uncertainty, it seems wise to have an experienced hand in charge of finances.”

  “You eavesdropped on my—” Torsten was cut off by the gentle voice of the King. He remained staring up at the ceiling with his limbs stretched out, now totally drained.

  “Exce
llent idea, Uncle,” he groaned. “Have him reinstated immediately.”

  “At once.” Redstar bowed again and hurried out of the room.

  Torsten seized him the moment they got outside and slammed him against the wall. His nostrils flared. His blood felt like it was on fire. It took all his willpower not to crush the traitor’s neck.

  “‘Excellent idea,’” Redstar gurgled, repeating Pi’s words. “Thank you for shedding light on the Council’s needs. I needed to build a little faith.”

  “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I swore to you I wouldn’t let you hurt him again,” Torsten snarled, squeezing tighter.

  “Can’t…” he gurgled again, “…can’t a loving uncle do what’s best for his nephew?”

  “Every word out of your mouth is poison.” Torsten released him. Redstar fell to the floor, coughing and rubbing his neck. Once able to breathe again, he looked up, wearing that same annoying smirk.

  “As I told you in the dungeon the day you brought me back, my work is already complete. Nesilia smiles upon me, and now she wants me here, serving my new king. Who are we to question her?”

  “The name of the Buried Goddess will never be uttered here with impunity.”

  “I believe I just heard Pi utter it in the same sentence as your loving, wonderful Iam.”

  Torsten shoved a boot against his chest and pinned him back against the wall. “Don’t you dare use His name.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or I will do what I should’ve done in the Webbed Woods.”

  Redstar grinned through the pain of Torsten’s full weight. “You can try,” he said.

  Suddenly, Torsten felt heat on his shin and looked down at a smear of blood on Redstar’s hand. A glimmer of fire swirled around it. Blood magic, being used in the very halls of the Glass Castle.

  Torsten’s grip on his sword tightened. He couldn’t stop it. A moment of weakness washed over him, or perhaps it was Iam guiding his hand. The King might banish him, or worse, but at least they’d be free.