Ren skirted them around the fields, heading deeper into the hollow. The roar of constant activity reached the small group, and Hadrion pulled away.
“This is where I leave you, big sis,” he said cheerily. “I look forward to speaking with your guests later.”
“You’re avoiding father again, aren’t you?” Ren murmured.
“For now,” Hadrion furtively avoided her eyes. “He’ll only put me in charge of caring for the refugees, Ren, and I can’t do it again. I just can’t. Their blank faces remind me too much of-”
He cut off and refused to continue.
“Then maybe you should drill more so that he’ll let you go with Kylorian next time,” Ren suggested.
Hadrion brightened considerably.
“Thanks, big sis,” he chirped before hugging her and trotting away.
“He’s your brother?” Raimie asked, watching the teenager skip down the street.
“Adoptive, yes, and you’re about to meet my father.”
They strolled into an open square, full of angrily shouting people. It was the largest empty space Raimie had seen in Tiro, and its purpose was blatantly obvious from the platform on the far side. A large, stocky man stood on the platform waving his hands for quiet. Surprisingly, the angry crowd gave it to him.
“I understand your concerns, truly. We’re stretched thin for food as it is, and there’s simply no more room, but I’m asking for your compassion and patience.
“Each of you is running from some horror that Doldimar inflicted upon you whether that be harvest, the arena, or slavery. You remember what it is to be desperate, frantic for any form of aid, and you were lucky enough to receive it when you needed it. Well, that’s what the survivors of Lindow require from us now.
“I assure you that I’m working on something that will bring us more food, but in the meantime, let’s open our doors once again and refuse to allow Doldimar total victory in Lindow.”
There were some grumbles, but most of the crowd nodded along with the big man’s request. He caught Ren’s eye over the top of the crowd, and she tilted her head suggestively.
“You all know how this works,” he addressed the crowd. “Come by the hall and draw your lots before nightfall, and we’ll make sure these people have homes for the night.”
He stepped off of the platform and pushed through the crowd.
“Ren!” he exclaimed, drawing the woman into a hug. “I was beginning to worry.”
“Dury, we have guests,” Ren managed to gasp past the man’s crushing grasp.
“Of course!” he said, releasing her and turning to Raimie and Oswin. “And who might you be?”
“Maybe somewhere a bit more private?” Ren nervously suggested before Raimie could respond.
“That would be a good idea, my dear, wouldn’t it?” the big man said, eyeing the crowd. “We can borrow Ky’s house since he’s not using it at the moment.”
He took them to a small, wooden home facing the square and held the door open. The interior was starkly bare. A single table and chair occupied one side of the single room, and a pile of blankets composed a mattress against another. A partition separated the kitchen from the rest of the home, but besides that small break in line of sight, everything that could be seen was everything there was to see.
“I should have some furniture made for Ky,” the big man mused. “Another chair perhaps. Then at least his guests could have a place to sit.”
“That’s assuming he ever has guests,” Ren laughed.
“Too true, my dear,” the big man rounded on Raimie. “So, who are you?”
Raimie looked to Ren for permission to start, and she gave it.
“My name’s Raimie. This is Oswin,” he pointed at his companion. “Are you the leader of Tiro?”
“Leader’s a strong word,” the big man hedged. “I’m more the father, or guiding influence, of Tiro. I’m called Riadur. Why are you here, Raimie?”
“Originally, I came to ask for Tiro’s help, but after listening to your speech, I think we may be better positioned to assist you.”
“How do you plan on doing that?” Riadur asked with hooded eyes.
“I don’t know exactly what our provisions look like after one of the ships sank, but if there’s anything to spare, it’s yours. I wouldn’t want these people to starve after all.”
“Ships?”
Riadur had grown very still.
“Of the fleet, yes. We were attacked, but fortunately, only one of the ships was lost to the chaos. The rest made it through unscathed.”
“You’re not from Auden,” Riadur stated as if it was a question.
“Supposedly all of us can claim Audish descent, but no, we’re not from here.”
“Who is us?”
Raimie cocked his head. This conversation was following a very strange and unexpected path.
“My family and a bunch of crazy soldiers who decided to follow us.”
“How many soldiers?”
Raimie looked to Oswin for help.
“Two hundred and eighty-two mercenaries and other hangers-on,” the spy began reluctantly, “four hundred and four Zrelnach- oh, those are Esela elite fighters-”
“I’m aware of what Zrelnach are. We used to have them here,” Riadur interrupted. “Go on.”
“And then there’s the rest of us: former navy men, soldiers, and spies.”
“How many?” Riadur insistently asked.
“Four thousand five hundred seventy-six,” Oswin answered with a sigh.
Riadur’s eyebrows soared into his hairline.
“That’s a significant number of men following you, child,” he commented. “Tell me why they do so, if you don’t mind.”
Raimie immediately opened his mouth with a hasty answer, but he reconsidered. He took a moment to actually contemplate the question.
“Honestly, sir,” he said, firmly meeting Riadur’s gaze, “I don’t know. I suspect that for most, they’re expecting me to carry out a task I’m not sure I’ll be able to accomplish.
“In any case,” and here his gaze slid to Oswin, “I certainly intend to try.”
The spy nodded once, and in that gesture was a wealth of approval and appreciation.
“What do your men want from you?” Riadur asked.
Raimie shifted uncomfortably. The question trod close to invasive and inappropriate, especially for a first meeting between leaders, and he didn’t know how to respond.
Oswin tsked and stepped in front of him.
“Your Majesty, he’s fishing, and he’s been fishing for most of the conversation. I say we give him what he wants and get out of here. It’s pretty obvious he has no intention of treating with us.”
“Oswin, no!”
The spy ignored him and stepped to the side.
“May I present His Majesty, King Raimie, finder of Shadowsteal, destined destroyer of Doldimar, and rightful claimant to the throne of Auden.”
Raimie’s hands balled into fists.
“I am not a king,” he hissed through clenched teeth directly into Oswin’s face.
“You’re the only one left who believes that, sir.”
“Get out.”
The command came softly from Tiro’s leader. Forgetting his anger at the spy for the moment, Raimie returned his attention Riadur.
“OUT!” the big man bellowed, advancing threateningly on the two visitors. “Get out of this house, out of the square, out of my city!”
Raimie stood his ground.
“We’ve angered you somehow,” he said, curious. “Please tell me how to remedy what’s upset you, and I’ll do my best to comply.”
“You can’t remedy who you are,” Riadur spat.
“I don’t understand,” Raimie said, cocking his head. “I only want to help.”
“We don’t need your help, Raimie from the line of kings,” Riadur spat his name like it was a foul word. “You and your whole cursed family should have withered like the rotten fruit you are on the other side o
f the ocean!”
Suddenly, Ren was there, a hand on each of the men’s chests.
“Enough!” she shouted, glaring at the both of them. “This is going to become a bloodbath if you two don’t calm down! Dury! Go assist with housing the refugees!”
Riadur took a step back and crossed his arms.
“I want him out of Tiro.”
“He will be. Tomorrow morning,” she plowed on through his objections. “He’ll die if he traverses the forest by himself, and I can’t return him to his people until morning. What do you think his army of five thousand will do when they find out we could have prevented his death by allowing his refuge for one day?”
“Fine,” Riadur grumbled, “but you’re in charge of finding them a place to stay.”
He stomped out of the house. No sooner did he cross the threshold then Ren shoved Raimie to the ground. Oswin went for his weapons, but he halted at a hand signal to wait.
“How dare you think of drawing on my father!” Ren snarled. “Did you think I wouldn’t see your drifting hands? Any self-respecting warrior has better self-control than you!”
“I’m sor-”
“No! An apology isn’t enough.”
“Why do you care so much for him?” Raimie yelled back. “I was offering help that he needs, and he turned around and insulted me.”
“He saved me!” Ren screeched.
She stood over Raimie, panting hard.
“After Kheled left me on that riverbank near our burning home, I was sure I was finished. Kiraak don’t bother with five-year-olds during a harvest. They do… unspeakable thing to the children.
“The two of us hadn’t made it very far before I broke my ankle. Death would be soon in coming, and I resigned myself to that. My only hope was that it would be quick.
“Imagine my surprise when the first Kiraak to find me died on another’s blade. Riadur’s resistance fighters had come to evacuate my hometown, but they’d arrived too late. They took me back to their camp and to safety.
“I waited weeks for my brother to come find me, but he never did. So Dury did the next best thing: he gave me a family. Suddenly I had a father and mother again. I even had an older brother they’d adopted years earlier to fill the hole Kheled left behind.
“Dury saved me in every way. He saved my life and kept me from giving up on life. Forgive me if I take offense to you attempting to draw your sword on him.”
She stalked to the door.
“You can stay here for now,” she told Oswin. “I’ll return with food and blankets in a little while, but I wouldn’t leave this house in the meantime if I were you.”
The door slammed behind her. Oswin pulled the chair out from under the table and dusted it off before sitting.
“Was that your first fight with a woman, sir?” he asked.
Raimie nodded. He was stunned into place on the ground.
“You’ll learn to avoid those when you can,” the spy informed him wisely. “You see, there’s only one conclusion to such a fight: the woman wins. Now, are we doing as we’re told, sir?”
Raimie cleared his throat.
“How good of a spy were you?” he asked, doing his best to cover up his embarrassment.
“The very best, sir,” Oswin answered with a toothy grin.
“Get out there and gather as much useful information as you can.”
“Understood!” the spy saluted from his chair. “And you, sir?”
“I’ve other matters to address.”
* * *
Ren escorted them through the forest until they were within sight of camp. They’d dispensed with the blindfolds on the return trip. She must have decided that they were either trustworthy enough not to need them or too incompetent to retrace their steps. When the trees thinned, she stopped abruptly
“Raimie?” she said, gripping his arm. “Can I speak to you privately?”
Oswin waited for permission to continue on alone, and Raimie gave it.
“My father came to see me this morning,” Ren said once the spy was out of earshot. “He wasn’t pleased.”
“I’m sorry, Ren. I had to apologize,” Raimie cut in. “You were right. It was deplorable of me to consider harming him because he insulted my family.” Thanks a lot, Nylion. “I couldn’t stand leaving Tiro with that in between you and me. You’re my friend’s little sister, and I’d like it if we were friends as well.”
Ren burst out laughing, and Raimie wondered what he’d done to offend her this time.
“Here I am gearing up to tell you I’m sorry for screaming at you, and you apologize to me!” she gasped.
“You’re not angry?” Raimie asked.
She nearly doubled over with laughter at the baffled expression on his face.
“No! I was going to thank you for braving Dury’s wrath again simply to apologize because you knew you’d upset me.”
“You’re… welcome?”
She clutched her stomach.
“Please,” she gasped, “please stop. Alouin, I have to go before you kill me with laughter. I’ll try to make Dury see reason. We could truly help one another, after all. I’ll return when I can with news.”
She disappeared into the forest, her chuckling fading before long.
“Did you find anything useful?” Raimie asked.
Oswin stepped from behind the tree concealing him.
“Tiro’s much worse off that you’d think from looking at it, sir,” he reported. “There’s been an uptick in these ‘harvests’, whatever those are, in recent months that has put a great strain on the city’s limited resources. Their leader, who’s unquestionably Riadur no matter what he might say, refuses to deny safe harbor to any refugee seeking it, ignoring the looming disaster on his hands.
“Some of the residents unsatisfied with Riadur’s leadership have been pushing to take a nearby fortress, Da’kul, in order to expand the resistance’s influence in the region, but for now, that plan seems farfetched. They don’t have the manpower or weapons for such an attempt.
“I also uncovered some interesting information about Ren. If you’re interested, sir.”
Raimie glared at Oswin’s perkily mischievous face.
“No, thank you. Let’s get back to camp. I’m sure Eledis will want a report of what’s happened.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, sir, why do you defer to him?”
“He’s my grandfather. I suppose that’s a good enough reason for me,” Raimie furrowed his brow. “He’s surprisingly knowledgeable about all sorts of things that he shouldn’t be, and he pulls solutions and miracles out of thin air like magic.”
“But he’s not king,” Oswin argued.
“Neither am I,” Raimie muttered, and to his relief, the spy didn’t protest.
When camp surrounded them, Oswin went his separate way to take care of business he wasn’t inclined to share, content that his charge was safe with so many allies around him. Raimie promised the spy, upon his insistence, that he’d inform him before going on further outings. He found the spy’s dedication to his new post of bodyguard amusing. After all, Raimie could only imagine the job was a thousand times more boring than the exciting life he’d led as part of the Queen’s Hand.
With no clue where his grandfather might be hiding, Raimie asked several soldiers if they’d seen him, and eventually, their directions guided him to the beach. The clack of wood on wood greeted him from far away, and when he arrived at the edge of the sand, he took a moment to appreciate the sight before him.
Eledis sparred with Marcuset on the beach. The old man held his own and in some cases overshadowed the younger commander, and although Raimie should have known better by now, his grandfather’s proficiency with the blade surprised him.
Marcuset wasn’t too shabby either. Together, the two men displayed such a beautiful combination of finesse and sheer mastery that it had drawn a crowd. Sand flew about with every step they took, rising up to blur their legs to mid-thigh in grainy filminess.
Raim
ie stripped off his armor, leaving on the sweat soaked breeches and tunic beneath.
“Hold this for me, would you?” he asked one of the fresh-faced boys watching with awe.
He handed the kid Silverblade and slid carefully over the sand.
“Might I join you?” he called out when he was close enough for them to hear.
They came to a halt with Eledis landing a final strike on the commander’s arm.
“We don’t have another blunted blade, Your Majesty,” Marcuset said uncertainly.
“Oh, that’s all right! I brought my own weapon.”
Raimie planted his staff into the sand beside his feet.
“If you insist…”
All three stood off and bowed. They lifted weapons and at a nod, began. Almost immediately, Raimie was on his back, blinking sand and sun out of his eyes.
“Your Majesty! Are you all right?”
“You can’t be learning all that much if I can get inside your guard that easily.”
Raimie laughed loudly. Rubbing his chest where Eledis had swatted him, he struggled to his feet.
“You only got through because I’m not used to this loose footing,” he told his grandfather, “and that’s why I joined in. I need practice in all types of situations so that something like this doesn’t get me killed in a real fight.
He raised his staff to a ready position, and Eledis and Marcuset exchanged a dubious glance.
“Maybe I should bow out for now, Your Majesty,” the commander offered.
“I just said that I wanted to practice in varying circumstances. Multiple opponents are a likely scenario in my immediate future. I’d like to prepare for such likelihood while I’m still in a controlled environment, yes?”
Marcuset and Eledis reluctantly brought their blunted blades to bear, and the fight began once more. Now that he was actively aware of how the shifting sand affected his footing, Raimie held his own admirably. At first, the other two held back, concerned about hurting him, but after he scored a few direct hits, they came at him in all seriousness. He took a few glancing blows to his arms and legs and one particularly stinging rap on his knuckles, but he never faltered with his counterattacks, forcing them both to work to avoid his staff’s longer reach.
The Undying Champions (The Eternal War Book 1) Page 61