Bastial Steel

by Narro, B. T.

  Cleve caught the middle of a conversation between Jek and Lisanda.

  “…I did,” Lisanda said. “I visited a few days ago.”

  “How are they?” Jek asked.

  Jessend stepped up to them, dragging Cleve over. “How are who?” she asked.

  “My father and sister,” Jek answered, shifting back to Lisanda for the answer. He had a look about him as if he wanted to be touching her, the way he leaned forward, his eyes darting over her body.

  “Kalli met a man she likes,” Lisanda said. “He lives in Facian like her and Sannil, so they see each other a lot.”

  Jek’s eyes squinted in concern. “What’s he like?”

  Lisanda blew out hot air. “Please.” Her arms folded. “You’re going to pretend you know who would be good for Kalli? She knows better than you do.”

  The corner of Jek’s mouth scrunched, and his eyes relaxed. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “He’s a good man, anyway. At least she thinks so. Sannil’s thrilled, but both of them have been worried about you.”

  “You told them I was sent north to the desmarls?” A mix of frustration and urgency crossed his face.

  Lisanda’s hands flew to her hips. “I was supposed to lie?”

  Micah returned with Danvell just then.

  “No,” Jek whispered. He leaned over and kissed Lisanda’s forehead. “Thank you for visiting them.”

  “I wanted to.” She threw her arm around his and leaned against his shoulder.

  “I have some bad news,” Danvell announced, seating himself on the throne, looking mostly at Jessend and Lisanda. “We’ve received a demand from King Belwoll in Waywen. They have our family, and they want five thousand Bastial steel swords in exchange for their lives.”

  The fact that Waywen was at least making demands would’ve sounded like good news to Cleve, but the King’s tone was as if he was already announcing their deaths.

  The Takary sisters each gasped at the news. Jessend grabbed Cleve’s hand and squeezed hard.

  What am I missing?

  “Why am I getting the sense you won’t be agreeing?” Cleve decided to ask, disrupting the silence.

  “We can’t give them five thousand Bastial steel swords,” Micah Vail answered. “Or the war is lost.”

  “The only reason we won last time is because of the advantage the weapons gave us. There’s only been about ten thousand made, and the Bastial steel in the crater is running out. Now it takes weeks just to find enough to make one.”

  Cleve realized what this meant. “So how do I retrieve your family?”

  “You?” Jek blurted. It seemed to have come out by accident, for his hand shot to his mouth. “Sorry. I was just surprised by your statement. How are you so confident you’ll be going?”

  “He is, Jek,” Danvell answered calmly. “We’ve already discussed this.”

  Cleve found himself being studied by Jek’s deep blue eyes. They ran around his face, his mouth growing tighter and tighter with each breath. He turned to Lisanda and whispered something. She stood on her toes and cupped her hands around his ear to whisper back.

  “What’s your concern, Jek?” Micah asked.

  The mage answered without looking at Cleve. “I’m just not sure why someone from Kyrro is the best one to be sent to Waywen to retrieve Takary royalty.”

  “He’s not going to Waywen,” Danvell answered. “That would be suicide.”

  “Then where?” Jek asked.

  “Our scouts found the bodies from the battle that took place in Chanren. All of our men were killed except our family. Our scouts tracked those who took them to an uncontrolled territory—Karri Forest. They’re being held in a small encampment there. We believe the reason they didn’t take them back to Waywen was a fear that when they crossed through Zav, they would be discovered. Our allies are well aware of the situation and always on the lookout for suspicious activity.”

  “Have we heard from Rek?” Cleve asked.

  “Unfortunately, no,” Micah answered. “And you need to leave today. We don’t have time to wait.”

  No Rek? Cleve had found comfort with this mission only when he’d convinced himself that Rek would return in time. Now he could feel his body stiffening, the familiar tightness of worry returning to his stomach.

  “The note from King Belwoll of Waywen told us we have ten days before they give the order to kill,” Danvell said. “They also wrote that Raymess and Vala will die if anyone attempts to break them out. They’ve probably assumed we know where they’re being held. Luckily, it’s not too heavily guarded. They weren’t able to send too many men through Zav without being seen. Our scouts have reported somewhere between one hundred and fifty to two hundred enemies in the encampment.”

  “But look at him!” Jek gestured at Cleve. “How can someone of his size not be seen?”

  “That’s why you’re going with him,” Danvell said firmly.

  “What!” Lisanda shouted. “No.” She stepped between Jek and the throne. “He just got back.”

  Jessend stepped forward. “Send me, Father.”

  He stood from his throne. “Absolutely not.”

  “Don’t make Jek go, please!” Lisanda pleaded, grabbing her father’s arm.

  But Jek turned her away from him with a hand to her shoulder, pulling her in for an embrace. “I was going to demand to go even if he didn’t request it.” Jek’s tone was soft, nearly a whisper.

  “I’m sending another as well,” the King said, sitting back down. “Lysha. She’s on her way here now.”

  Cleve heard an audible slap and turned to find Lisanda had struck her own forehead. “Her?” she mumbled with her hand still over her face. “She’s never had less than two boyfriends at once, always younger men, and it seems to even be a matter of pride for her! She should be ashamed of that, not proud! I don’t want her going.” With a scrunched face, Lisanda folded her arms tightly.

  Jek laughed and squeezed her shoulders into him. “You're worried?”

  “She’s very beautiful.” Lisanda’s tone was so low and rough that her words grumbled out like a river of rocks rolling downhill. Cleve couldn’t tell whether the Princess was trying to be comical, but her voice was.

  Jek laughed even harder. “We’re being sent to save your mother and brother against two hundred men, and this is what you worry about?”

  “I’ve seen you get out of nearly every situation,” Lisanda said. “But none of those have involved another woman who’s going to be trying to seduce you.”

  “If you two are done, we have more to discuss,” Danvell stated plainly, his arms now folded.

  “Sorry, Father,” Lisanda said.

  “Lysha knows Karri Forest well. She’ll be in command,” Danvell said. “Time is going to be the biggest issue because it’s probably going to take nine days just to get to the encampment in the middle of Karri Forest. That leaves only one day to get Raymess and Vala out. Then you’ll send back a pigeon to let us know it’s done. Cleve, I’ll have Gerace help you pack for the trip. She’s been given instructions what you’ll need to bring. We’ll supply the clothing.”

  Danvell’s gaze sank to Cleve’s hip, where he wore the Bastial steel sword on his belt. “I would’ve reminded you to bring that weapon, but it looks like it won’t be leaving your side anytime soon.”

  “Only when I sleep and bathe,” Cleve admitted.

  A few people laughed, making him realize it sounded like he was joking.

  He wondered why the mood wasn’t more solemn. Even he himself felt no dread, no terror. Cleve searched within and was surprised to realize he was eager.

  Was it Lisanda’s humorous response to all this that had done it? Maybe the confidence he could feel from Jek? Something during the recent conversation had prevented him from worrying. Or maybe it was from knowing this was the last task he needed to do before he could go home.

  Whatever it was, he was ready.

  Gerace stepped in and bowed her head.

  The King st
ood. “It’s time.”

  Chapter 17

  Gerace was unnervingly silent as she thumbed through the wardrobe in Cleve’s room, tossing some clothes onto the bed. She folded a shirt and coat and placed them neatly in the backpack. His undergarments were tossed in after.

  She hadn’t given him much, but he didn’t mind. He wouldn’t be changing often anyway.

  The young servant brought another bag to his bed, taking out pouches of food and telling him what each of them contained. Only when she handed over his water pouch did she look him in the eye. For a heartbeat, she just stared.

  “Gerace.” Cleve spoke slowly to make sure he got it right. “Thank you.”

  She lowered her head, then left without a word.

  Jessend came in soon after, shutting the door behind her. “This is going to sound strange, but I want you to hear it anyway.” She walked up and patted his stomach. “I love you like I love Lisanda.”

  “You’re right. That is strange.”

  A faint giggle came out as she said, “Shut up. You love me, too.”

  They hugged.

  “Bring back my family, but be careful,” Jessend said, jabbing a finger at him. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “I can’t guarantee that.”

  She laughed.

  Again, my words are taken facetiously. Cleve had made more statements that were taken as jokes than actual jokes since entering the palace. He thought this time he should clarify.

  “I’m serious. You should expect me to do something stupid with such a risky task.”

  She leaned back to look at his face, tilting her head as she studied his eyes. “You are serious.”

  “I am.”

  “Well then, if you’re going to be stupid, at least make sure you have support from Jek and Lysha. Cover each other.”

  “I will.”

  She leaned back in for another tight squeeze.

  Lisanda appeared in the doorway. “Lysha’s outside the palace.”

  “Then I should go,” Cleve said, releasing his grip around Jessend.

  After throwing on his backpack, he extended his hand to Lisanda. But she ignored it and moved in for a hug.

  “Make sure Jek doesn’t do anything stupid,” Lisanda said, her tone completely serious.

  “I can’t promise that,” Cleve admitted. Jek seemed like a brash man, not easily controlled.

  “Well then, promise you’ll try!” Her voice squeaked.

  “Alright, I promise.”

  The King was already at the bottom of the steps, discussing something with a woman Cleve assumed to be Lysha. Her skin was a darker tint than the golden brown hue of the King’s, a mix between black and brown. She was tall and muscular, matching the King’s height, though he wasn’t very tall himself.

  A bow was over her shoulder, a quiver on her hip. Cleve thought to ask why he wasn’t given a bow and quiver, but then he realized he’d have too much too carry. Lysha had less bags than he did.

  There was a knife on her other hip. Like Cleve’s sword, it was made from Bastial steel. When she turned to greet Cleve, it reflected the sun like a mirror and exploded with light.

  “Lysha,” she said, squeezing his hand hard, competitively hard.

  So he squeezed back. “Cleve.”

  Instead of the grimace he expected to find from his firm grasp, she formed a wry smile.

  “I’m going to have fun with you,” she said.

  Cleve tried to hide his feelings of discouragement. Another confident woman…and he’d figured he’d already reached his lifetime quota. Reela, Effie, Jessend…the shyness of Gerace was a relief at first, but it didn’t last.

  Lysha didn’t seem likely to keep to herself. In another situation, he wouldn’t have minded. But the last thing he wanted in this mission was any other distractions.

  “So, this is the famous Lysha,” Jek announced, walking down the steps with a speculative glare.

  “You the Sartious mage?” Lysha asked.

  They shook hands.

  “Jek,” he introduced himself.

  Lysha whistled. “Two young men. A pretty boy…and a handsome brute.” She brushed her thick locks over her shoulder. The weight of them against her skin made a sound like fingers drumming.

  “Keep your pants on, Lysha,” Danvell warned her. “This is serious.”

  “Sorry, my king. You know me. I can’t help but make jokes. My boyfriends would be upset with me anyway.” She smiled wide. Her teeth looked almost blindingly white.

  “Are you sure you don’t need a map?” Danvell tried to hand it to her for what seemed like the second or third time.

  “I’m sure.” She held her palm out as if to block it. “I’ve been through Karri Forest enough to know how to navigate around safely.”

  Safely?

  “What’s in the forest?” Cleve asked.

  Lysha’s eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open. She turned to Danvell. “You didn’t tell him about the mookers?”

  “Tell him on the way. It’ll take many days to cross through Zav before you even reach the forest. You’ll have plenty of time to go over the rules.”

  Rules? Cleve wished he had the mind to ask earlier if there was anything he should know. The mention of rules was unnerving.

  Their horses were brought to them by guards. Nulya approached Cleve and rested her head on his shoulder. He stroked her mane.

  “Extra food and water are strapped to the horses,” Danvell said. “Travel fast, but don’t push them too hard. A twisted ankle could mean the lives of my son and wife.”

  Nulya spluttered out air, her lips flapping with the sound.

  “Sounds like Cleve’s horse is saying not to worry,” Lysha teased, getting on her mount.

  She turned her horse and sped off without a look back, expecting Cleve and Jek to follow.

  They tore through the city like a knife through stretched cloth, everyone jumping out of the way and cursing at them. Cleve wondered why he didn’t receive the same reaction when he was with Jessend and her guards. Then the obvious answer came—because I was with a Takary princess.

  By the time they were through the western wall, Cleve started to wonder how old Lysha was. He was having a tough time figuring it out. She was clearly older than him and Jek, but it could’ve been by five years or fifteen.

  They rode without rest until the sun began to set. Then Lysha’s horse slowed to a halt and she jumped off, leading the animal to a small stream for water.

  Cleve and Jek followed suit.

  “Hungry yet?” Lysha asked.

  “Yes,” Cleve admitted, only now realizing his mission had begun. In a little more than a week’s time, he’d be breaking into an encampment to rescue a Prince and a Queen.

  They let their horses drink, and then tied them to trees, breaking out the food next.

  “What’s in Karri Forest that’s dangerous besides men from Waywen?” Cleve asked.

  “Aren’t you cute, already worrying about that when we’re not even out of Goldram yet.” Lysha reached over to pat Cleve’s cheek. He whipped his head back reflexively. “Ever been with an older woman?” Lysha blurted.

  “Bastial hell,” Jek said. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Just having some fun, trying to get a sense of what kind of men you are. The only way this is going to work is if we know each other very well. Want to guess how old I am?”

  Cleve turned to find a disgruntled expression on Jek’s face. Because no one was speaking, Cleve decided to break the awkward silence. “I’ve been told not to guess a lady’s age.”

  Lysha laughed, some crumbs flying from her mouth. “I’m no lady. I’m a damn woman.” She pointed at Jek. “You…Pretty Eyes. How old do you think I am?”

  Jek shrugged and answered plainly. “I don’t know, twenty-five.”

  Put off by Jek’s disinterest, Lysha ignored his answer and turned to Cleve. An excited grin returned.

  “What about you, Muscles?”

  Cleve decided to
give an age years older than he really thought, just to see how she would react. “Thirty,” he answered as indifferently as he could.

  Her eyes squinted, looking deep into Cleve’s. He felt a tickle within his mind, the touch of an outside source. It was so subtle it felt like a drop of warm water had splashed on his brain. It still created a disruption, though, as if his thoughts were a massive lake and Lysha had dipped her toe into it.

  All his training with Rek had paid off. It was psyche.

  “You don’t really think that,” Lysha answered, confidently gesturing at him with her bread. “Give me your real answer.”

  “You’re a psychic.”

  Shock filled her eyes, and she nearly fell backward. Jek started coughing from his food. “She is?” he sputtered.

  “Not a very strong one, but yes,” Cleve said.

  The shock was gone now, Lysha staring coldly at Cleve. “I’m no psychic. Why would you say that?”

  Cleve sighed, remembering how psychics in Greenedge were treated. “Fine,” he muttered, unwilling to deal with it. He was confident she couldn’t do anything to him anyway. She didn’t even have a tenth of Rek’s power.

  “Wait,” Jek said. “What do you mean, ‘fine’?”

  “I mean I don’t care to argue.”

  “But she is a psychic?” Jek asked, his pitch rising.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not.” Lysha stood and pointed. “I don’t know why you’re lying, but I’m getting sick of it.”

  Cleve waved his hand petulantly to show his frustration. “Fine. I don’t care.”

  “No.” Jek stood. “I see what’s going on here.” He opened his palms, turning to face Lysha. “You said we need to get to know each other for this to work. But how can we trust you when you won’t tell us the truth about yourself? How could we ever tell you the truth about ourselves?”

  Jek waited, but Lysha seemed reluctant to reply.

  “We won’t tell anyone,” Jek added. “So be honest. Are you a psychic?”

  Lysha bit down on her lip, let out a grunt, and whipped her head to show Cleve a gut-punching glare. “I have some psychic ability. But how did you know?” She was near shouting, but not there yet.