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

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “He will help,” Codar said.

  “Always happy to serve.” The blind man bowed, hiccuped, and almost spilled the bowl. Codar had to keep him upright.

  “Get a hold of yourself, Father,” he hissed.

  The blind man wriggled himself free, then took Rand’s face and went to paint it. Rand pulled away.

  “Only priests are meant to do this,” Rand protested.

  “I am one!” he slurred. “Father Morningweg of Fessix... or I was before those filthy savages razed it a few years back.”

  “Many combatants won’t enter the arena before unburdening their souls,” Codar explained.

  “And I’m a gr… great listener.”

  The Father grasped Rand’s head, then nearly toppled over. Rand wound up holding the man upright while he spread the paint around his eyes. It was sloppy, dripping down Rand’s cheeks and over his nose in a way that masked much of his features. By the time he finished, Rand figured he looked more like one of the Drav Cra heathens than a Glassman on the Dawning.

  “Priase Iam, my son,” he said when he’d finished. His breath reeked as Rand imagined his own had for so long. “May His light always be with you. Praise be the Vigilant Eye.” Father Morningweg circled his vacant eye sockets in the gesture of prayer. “Good’nuf for you?”

  “We’re all going to Elsewhere,” Rand said.

  “Not where I’m from,” Codar said. The drunken priest then painted his face, along with the three of Valin’s thugs accompanying them. Rand didn’t bother learning their names.

  “All right...” the priest said. “Good.. uh... luck boys. May Iam watch your feet or whatever.” He took a step, stumbled into Rand’s chest, then put on a nervous smile as he patted his arm and went to pass.

  “No, you don’t.” Codar grabbed the priest and shoved him out the door. “Valin is paying you well enough. You’ll escort us to the mountain.”

  One of the thugs nudged Rand in the side. “Ain’t nobody gonna question a priest’s party on the Dawning. Valin’s a genius.”

  “That’s a word for it,” Rand mumbled.

  Rand watched as the cold air greeted the priest’s face. His cheeks went green, and he leaned over on the patio to vomit. The sight sent a shiver up Rand’s spine. Sorrow had sent him on a similar path of sin. If a priest, willing to burn his own eyes out in the name of Iam, could fall to vices so severely, he couldn’t have imagined what would have happened to him had Wren not shown up...

  I would have been a corpse swinging from the ceiling, he reminded himself. Just like Tessa and the rest.

  “Keep your eyes up,” Codar said, forcefully tilting Rand’s head back toward the door. “No distractions. You are a Shieldsman from the moment we step out that door.”

  “You told me to keep my head down,” Rand said. “Make up your mind.”

  Codar wasn’t amused.

  “Do you think this is my first mission?” Rand questioned.

  “It is your first with me.” Codar folded his hands behind his back and headed outside, giving the priest another shove to get him moving. The thugs sneered at Rand as they all followed.

  The air was warmer than it had been in many weeks. It still snowed lightly, but Iam’s mercy was upon the city for the Dawning. The street was empty. No line of beggars waiting for handouts from the richest man they knew of. Everyone was off to church, nary a guard in sight.

  Valin was right about something. It was the perfect day for Rand to walk the streets without drawing suspicion.

  “Today’s your lucky day, my son,” Father Morningweg said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

  “Why is that?” Rand asked.

  “Not everyone gets to die on the Dawning.”

  XXII

  THE KNIGHT

  The steel doors of Torsten’s cell flung open, slamming hard against themselves. He jumped up, not even realizing he’d fallen asleep. So deep underground, it was impossible to know night from day. His sleeping came in spurts whenever exhaustion finally took him. After seeing Redstar’s plans further unfold, he was trying his best to stay awake. He had to keep his eyes open, searching for a chance to escape and put an end to the Arch Warlock.

  Torsten heard a commotion as Sir Austun Mulliner stormed in, grabbed Torsten by his dirty tunic, and chained his wrists while another unlocked his ankles.

  “Come on,” Mulliner said as they hauled him out of the cell.

  “What is this?” Torsten questioned. Out of his peripherals, he saw two warlocks leering from the darkness. “Another of Redstar’s tricks?”

  Nobody answered. Mulliner simply dragged him along while the warlocks followed in their shadows. With Nikserof gone, Torsten had seemingly lost his greatest potential ally in the castle. His only potential ally—just like Redstar wanted. Nearly all the distinguished members of the Royal Council were strangers after Oleander chased so many away or hung them, and while he knew the Queen Mother better than anyone else alive, she was unpredictable. She’d fetched Wren for him as was his last request, and there was that moment outside the throne room when she seemed eager to ask him something, but when last they spoke she remained furious with him for not killing Redstar and refused to support his position with Pi. Her fury rarely waned.

  Mulliner took him out of the dungeons, through the courtyard, and then down dark castle halls until they were at the entrance to the royal stable. The ground was splotches of white and brown. They dragged him through the snow, not caring to avoid puddles or piles of shog, throwing him down in front of a stable gate.

  “Thank you, Sir Mulliner,” Oleander said. She turned from brushing the mane of her beloved horse, a trim, Panpingese Whitehair gifted to her by Liam after the last war in the East. The beast came from perfect stock.

  “You can leave us.”

  “Your Grace, he is a—”

  “A criminal?” she interrupted the Shieldsman. “A killer? I’ve been called the same thing. Now leave us, or you’ll find out why.”

  “Right away, Your Grace.” He didn’t seem pleased, but Oleander either didn’t notice his insolent tone or ignored it. “We’ll be right over there with them. Prime Minister’s orders.” Mulliner pointed to the warlocks, standing on the opposite side of the grounds in their ratty cloaks, watching their every move.

  Oleander exhaled and clenched her jaw. “What joy.”

  Mulliner released Torsten.

  “Do you know why I prefer horses to men?” Oleander asked.

  “What is it, Oleander?” Torsten said. He’d always been proper around her, even diffident, but now that his arms were chained and he wore rags he couldn’t find a reason to be. All he could think about was her silence back in the Throne Room when he needed her help more than ever.

  She ignored him and continued stroking her horse’s mane. “They cannot speak, or lie, or cheat. I hated this horse when Liam brought her home to me. I knew what it meant when Liam gave me an extravagant gift. Now, I have nobody else in this gods-forsaken castle.”

  “Oleander, what do you want?” Torsten took a hard step toward her and heard the rasp of Mulliner’s blade sliding from its sheath. Torsten acknowledged the threat and gave her space. Oleander didn’t let it stand. She turned all the way from her horse to take Torsten’s hand and drew herself closer.

  “Must the Queen Mother have a reason to call upon a knight?” she asked.

  “I’m a prisoner now, no thanks to you.”

  “Oh, Torsten, don’t be so dramatic.”

  “Dramatic? I stood by you, after everything you did. Not just hanging those men. For a year you ruled this kingdom in Liam’s sickness, and you ran our coffers dry with parties you barely wanted to attend, let our streets and trading agreements wither, our armies rust.”

  “Sounds like you weren’t a very good advisor.”

  “Advisor? That’s never been my job. I was simply the only one on the Royal Council who wasn’t terrified of being near you. Even Yuri Darkings chose to keep his distance and now… he’d rather betray t
he kingdom he’s served loyally for decades.”

  As it had in the dungeons, the back of her hand lashed out. Torsten winced, but she stopped just short of his face. He couldn’t say he didn’t deserve it, but he’d had far too much time to think in his cell—about every little thing that had happened since the day Liam’s sickness had become known.

  Oleander lowered her hand. “And I asked you to do one thing as Wearer,” she growled, keeping her voice low so as not to be overheard by their watchers. “More than ending the rebellion or proving the might of your arms, I demanded he not return home.”

  “I guess we’re both inspired failures.”

  He could tell she was about to continue scolding him when she heard what he said. Torsten noticed a grin pull at the corner of her lips.

  “I suppose we are,” she said. She sauntered to the other side of her horse and continued brushing. “Why were you never so honest with me before?”

  Torsten rolled his shoulders. “Chains have a way of bringing it out.”

  “I like it.”

  “I’m glad someone does.”

  A long moment of silence passed between them. All he could hear was the sound of her brush against coarse fur.

  “Thank you for sending Wren,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, Torsten,” she said softly at the same time.

  His brow furrowed. Those were words he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard her speak, let alone sound genuine saying them.

  “My Queen?”

  “After Liam grew ill, I had no idea what to do,” she continued. “I knew what everyone called me. How they looked at me—the Council like I was an imposter, you and the other soldiers like they were all keeping secrets about my husband. I was just so…”

  “Angry?” Torsten finished for her. “It isn’t too late to make amends.”

  “Just because your prison has a name doesn’t mean you’re the only person in one. They watch me everywhere I go. I had to ask my brother’s permission just to speak with you outside of that foul-smelling dungeon, like I’m a child.”

  “And why did you invite me here?”

  Her brush got caught on a knot in the horse’s mane. The horse snorted, and frustration twisted Oleander’s features, but she kept her composure as she calmly smoothed it out. “Would it sound unqueenly to say I just wanted to talk?”

  “Not at all.”

  She inhaled deeply. “I was getting through to Pi while you were off to war. I know it. And the moment Redstar returned, it all vanished. He’s not even cruel anymore, Torsten. He just ignores me so he can spend every waking moment with the beloved uncle who destroyed his childhood. They’re out joining the hunt for the Caleef right now as a ‘lesson.’”

  “I should have left him to rot on the cold dirt of the Webbed Woods. Maybe we would have lost Winde Port without the Drav Cra at our side, but we wouldn’t have lost the throne.”

  “Every night, as my head hits the pillow, I find myself wishing Liam were here. Even after his mind started to go, or as he screamed at me for not bearing him a son. I wonder what he’d think of his heir now?”

  “A child who’s been through what King Pi has needs a father. Redstar saw that and took advantage of it. We were always a step behind.”

  “It should have been you.”

  Torsten choked on his next breath. “Your Grace?”

  “To help bring him up strong like his father. Guide him. You’re the closest man to Liam I’ve ever known, the good parts at least.”

  “I’m barely a shred of him.” He stared up at her and saw her nose twitch like it always did when she was annoyed. He hadn’t ever realized he knew that about her, but he’d spent a lot of time watching over her; listening to her rants about every ‘worthless wretch’ living in the castle.

  “Thank you, my Queen,” he said softly. At the same time, he reached around the horse with his chained hands and took hers. “We’ve had our differences, but I know you did the best you could. To live in the shadow of so great a leader for so long; none of us were prepared to take the reins, even knowing his days were numbered. It is all our failings.”

  “No, it is him.” She released Torsten’s hands and glared at the warlocks. “My vile brother.”

  “I wish that were true. I’ve had a lot of time to think down there, and I’m certain about a few things now. Redstar cannot stay, but we gave him the power he now possesses. We let the people feel scared and neglected in the absence of their King. Pi’s rebirth comforted them for a short while, and then he kidnapped the Caleef. They grew fearful of the cold, of rebellion, of—”

  “Of me.” Oleander turned her gaze to the floor. “No need to be coy, Torsten.”

  Torsten reached out further and lifted her chin. Mulliner cleared his throat, and Torsten ignored him. “I threw blame around for a long time. Now we’re both killers. Redstar isn’t a plague destroying us; he’s a symptom of what was already here.”

  “Then enough of us wallowing. End him like you were supposed to. I’d kill him myself at this point if I ever had a moment alone. Anything is better than this.”

  Torsten rattled his chains. “As would I. But it’s been left in the hands of Iam now.”

  “You’re blind as a priest, aren’t you?” She patted her horse on the back. “She’s the fastest steed in all the West.” She leaned close and whispered. “Take her. Find a blacksmith to break your chains, and do what the assassin you sent failed to. I’m sure that oaf in the castle, Hovor, Hovom? No matter, I’m sure he would do it. I hear him muttering incessantly about having to repair weapons for the savages who raided his home when he was a child.”

  Torsten repositioned himself in front of Oleander so their watchers couldn’t read her lips. “You can’t be serious? Who knows what he’ll do to you.”

  “He’s robbed me of the love of my only son. There is no worse he can do.”

  Torsten swallowed and looked down at his bindings. He remembered when Redstar enraged him enough to kill one of his own men, him posing as Sir Uriah Davies in the Webbed Woods, ready to murder Torsten and his companions. “Trust me, my Queen. There are no limits for him.”

  “Am I not still your Queen?”

  “Always, Your Grace.”

  “Then you will steal this horse and escape. Find your assassin. Band together. Do it whatever it takes to get back here and take our city back before his lies spread too deep.”

  Torsten glanced down and saw that Oleander had unlatched the gate—the only thing between a mounted horse and freedom. The impressive beast took one step forward, and soon he’d have no choice but to mount her before she trotted out onto the grounds alone. He looked back to Oleander. Happy was never a word he’d used to describe her, but she seemed content in her decision to openly defy her brother. He then glanced back at Mulliner and the warlocks. They watched, but the stables were too darkened for them to be able to see what was happening.

  “No more fear of false gods?” Torsten asked.

  “Let them smite me,” Oleander sneered.

  “Then this time I will not fail you.”

  “I hope not. I don’t know how many more times I can bring myself to forgive you, my dear, sweet Torsten.”

  The horse took another step, and Torsten grabbed a handful of her mane.

  "At least once more." Torsten smiled.

  The wall into the castle gardens was low enough for a Panpingese Whitehair to jump. After that, using a few secret doorways groundskeepers used so they could keep out of sight, he could traverse the outer fortifications toward one of the main gates and escape through the guard exits. If he was fast enough, all he’d have to do was barrel past a few sleepy guards. Nobody would even need to die. There were blacksmiths in South Corner or Dockside who would break his chains without question. Then he could return and do what Rand couldn’t.

  He didn’t blame the kid. He had no idea what he was up against, but Torsten knew all Redstar’s tricks. And he knew the castle better than anyone. He’d grown up in it. He could fi
nd Redstar when he was at his most vulnerable, fulfill the will of his Queen, and let Iam decide where his actions would send him.

  “I will help your son, my King, see the light again, and you will know his love once more,” Torsten told her. He pulled on the mane to yank himself up onto the horse and then raced by Oleander, the wind brushing back her exquisite dress.

  Mulliner and the others had grown lax and scrambled after him. Torsten kicked the horse and set his sights on the garden wall. He went to spur it a second time when suddenly, the horse stopped in her tracks and flung him off.

  He skidded through the snow so hard his head rebounded against the stable wall. The horse whinnied and reared back, and as he gathered his bearings, he noticed the vines growing from the frozen dirt now wrapped around her back hooves so tight she was rendered immobile.

  Oleander sprinted down from the stables. “What is this?” she shouted.

  “Redstar hoped you could be trusted,” Freydis said, emerging from behind the stables. Her sliced hand dripped blood into the fresh snow, turning it pink. “He hoped there was a bit of the tundra left in you. I let him have faith for his sake, but I knew you’d betray him. That you would choose lust over blood.”

  Oleander pointed to her horse with a long finger. “Let her go, you filthy daughter of a—”

  “Silence.” Freydis ran a bloody finger across her lips and Oleander’s sealed shut.

  “You will release your Queen!” Torsten hopped to his feet and charged at her, but Freydis slid a knife out and swung it toward Oleander’s stomach. It didn’t cut her, but she kept it close enough to make an incision in her stomach should Torsten come nearer.

  He froze.

  “Careful, Redstar may have a soft spot for her, but accidents happen when criminals try to break out of their holes.” Freydis clicked her tongue to the guards, and they hurried over like trained pups. Mulliner and the other Shieldsman seized Torsten while the two warlocks drew their daggers and watched.