Jamie’s face blanched. His throat bobbed as if he wanted to swallow but couldn’t. A shiver wracked his body and traveled up the knife into Leith’s hand.
Leith couldn’t do it. He couldn’t torture any of the trainees like this. Training didn’t banish fear. Only trust in God. Leith stepped back, his hand falling to his side.
Jamie’s face relaxed only for a moment before he stiffened again. Leith sensed movement behind him as King Respen’s voice slithered across his skin. “Is he ready?”
Leith’s stomach scurried into his toes. He turned, clenched his fist, and thumped his chest, gritting his teeth as a throb shot through his shoulder. “Not yet, my king. He’s young.”
Respen tapped his fingers against the knife strapped to his waist. “You had killed at his age. He is not so young.”
Leith eased himself a few inches to the left, placing himself between Respen and Jamie. Could he protect Jamie without giving himself away? “I had more years of training.”
“None of my Blades have as much training as you, yet that did not stop any of them.” Respen pointed at the youngest trainee, a boy of eight, and stared at Jamie. “Kill him.”
The eight-year-old squeaked. Jamie glanced between the boy and Respen. His fingers closed over the knife at his waist, but he didn’t draw it. His face turning the same gray-green as the dead grass along the moat’s edge, Altin gripped the eight-year-old’s shoulders, preventing him from running.
Leith had to intervene. Somehow. He couldn’t stand there while Jamie was forced to kill. But what could he do without getting both him and Jamie killed?
Jamie drew his knife and stared at it as if trying to picture himself plunging it into another boy.
A roaring filled Leith’s ears. Act. Move. Do something. But his feet stuck to the grass, his hands immobile at his sides.
Jamie raised his chin, faced King Respen, and dropped his knife. “No. I can’t kill him.”
If Respen hadn’t been standing there, Leith would’ve given Jamie a slap on the back. But that would have to wait.
Leith’s stomach tightened even before Respen’s mouth curved downward. “Then you are worthless to me. First Blade, kill him.”
Jamie clenched his fists and held his ground. A breeze brushed his shaggy brown hair over his blue eyes. At that moment, warning the Resistance didn’t matter. Preserving his cover didn’t matter. Leith had to do what he could to save this boy who had the guts to stand up to Respen.
Time to use his role as First Blade. Leith strode forward and lowered his voice so only Respen could hear. “Respectfully, my king, I disagree that the boy is worthless. He has courage, something too many of the recent trainees have lacked. That courage merely needs the right hand with the correct amount of patience to turn it in the right direction.”
Respen’s fingers strummed against his knife’s hilt.
Leith had him thinking. Now to drive the point home. “It took me longer than most to make my first kill. The boy will be the same way. Let me take him on a mission. It will be good experience for him.”
Respen’s drumming fingers halted. “Very well, my First Blade. I will heed your counsel. Finish your training, then report to my study in an hour. I will outline your mission then.”
Every muscle in Leith’s body wanted to sag, but he held himself rigid. He clenched his right fist and pounded it over his heart. “Yes, my king.”
Respen spun on his heels and marched away, sunlight glinting on his black hair and beard.
As soon as he was gone, Altin released the youngest trainee and pressed a hand against the Tower’s wall, his face so green he looked about ready to vomit his breakfast into the moat. Jamie’s face looked no better as he shook so hard his teeth clacked.
Leith would have chaos on his hands in a minute if he didn’t take command. “All right. Back into line, everyone.”
Altin straightened. The eight-year-old swiped at his face. The other boys stepped into line. The muscle at the corner of Jamie’s mouth flexed, but he picked up his knife and took his place.
Leith split them into pairs and partnered Altin with Jamie to run through the basic knife-fighting moves. When the hour was up, Leith dismissed Altin and the trainees. Jamie lingered, shifting from foot to foot. Leith crossed his arms and waited for him to ask his question.
Jamie peeked at him. “Why didn’t you kill me?”
Leith couldn’t tell him the truth. “The king has lost too many Blades to waste all the training that’s been put into you.”
Jamie’s eyes sharpened. He raised his chin. “I won’t kill.”
Would Jamie have been this defiant if he’d been facing Vane instead of Leith? Probably not. “Perhaps not. Now go pack your things. You and I are leaving on a mission.”
Jamie’s mouth opened, like he was going to ask another question, but he snapped his jaws shut, whirled, and hurried away.
Leith touched each of his knives and strode across the wooden bridge that connected the Blades’ Tower with the rest of Nalgar Castle. Below him, only an inch of sludge, more mud than water, filled the bottom of the moat. In a few more weeks, even that would dry up.
He passed under the arched entrance into the tunnel-like passageway that connected the cobblestone courtyard on the north side of the Great Hall with the grass-covered Queen’s Court at the southern end of the castle. Across the passageway from the wooden bridge, a set of stone stairs rose into the darkness.
Drawing a deep breath, Leith strolled up the stairs and knocked on an oak door.
“Enter.”
Leith pushed the door open. Respen stood in front of a wide window overlooking the cobblestone courtyard. Burgundy rugs muffled Leith’s footsteps as he crossed the room and knelt at Respen’s feet. “My king.”
Respen flicked a hand at him. An order to stand. Leith stood and crossed his arms.
“I have received word that my northern army has taken Aven and is poised to strike Sierra. You and the boy will join them and assist in taking that town.”
Sierra. The home of Lady Paula Lorraine and her daughter Jolene, the girl Leith’s friend Shad was courting. Was Shad still in the Sheered Rock Hills? Or had he returned to Walden? Not that it mattered. Leith wouldn’t have the time to ride to Walden to give a warning.
“How much did Vane know about the army?” Leith tried to sound as casual as he could. “If he knew about it, Sierra will be prepared.”
Respen’s dark eyes searched Leith’s face. “Vane knew little about my army and my plans for it. I never entrust my entire plan to one person.”
“A wise decision, my king.” Leith bowed his head to hide his whirling thoughts. Even if Vane knew only a little of the army’s existence, then according to the lies Leith had been spinning, the Resistance should know of its existence as well.
Or was Respen testing him? Telling him Vane knew about the army when he didn’t? Or Vane knew more than Respen was telling him?
“Once you have finished at Sierra, I’d like you to go to Walden rather than continue with my army. How much did Vane know about your undercover work there?”
Most of it, though Leith wasn’t going to tell Respen that. “He didn’t learn of it until the Meeting of the Blades. I doubt he would’ve had time to report to Lord Alistair before he fled into the Sheered Rock Hills.”
“Monitor Lord Alistair’s response to the attacks and glean whatever information you can on Vane’s whereabouts.”
Leith had to bite his cheeks to stop his smile. He’d been ordered to Walden. Perfect.
The urge to smile faded. Respen’s silence waited for him to ask the next question, the question a First Blade would ask. “Lord Alistair trusts me. If you wish, I will complete my failed mission and kill him.”
Respen shifted his clasped hands. “If the lord of Walden were dead, Vane will report to no one. He will become harder to track and trap. No, we will capture Vane first. Alistair can watch his plan fail around him.”
He stared at Respen’s back and claspe
d hands, a cold sensation creeping into his fingers. He was alone with Respen and armed. Respen had his back turned. Leith’s fingers crept to the hilt of his knife. He could draw it and stab Respen in the back. He could end this. Right here. Right now. No more battles. No more deaths.
He should do it. His knife slid a fraction in its sheath.
It would be murder. But would a murder to save lives be justified? Leith had lied to save lives. Was murdering to save lives any different?
With trembling fingers, Leith shoved his knife back into its sheath and dropped his hands. A knife in the back had been Vane’s way of fighting. Respen’s way. Not the Lord’s way. Renna had chosen to spare Leith’s life when it would’ve been smarter to let him die. Leith had to do the same with Respen and hope the cost in lives wasn’t too high.
Besides, Leith had little hope of success. There was a reason Vane had never turned on Respen. Even Vane didn’t dare chance it.
“You were always meant to be my First Blade. But you hesitated. You let Vane and Hess take the ranks of First and Second Blade away from you.” Respen faced Leith. “Do not slip back into your old weakness. If the boy fails, he dies.”
“Of course.” Leith’s tone rang as hard as the stones of the Sheered Rock Hills.
Respen believed he’d bled compassion out of Leith. That was Respen’s flaw. He assumed, once he’d forced them to kill, they could never regain what they’d lost.
But he was wrong. God’s grace was stronger than whatever bonds of blood Respen used on his Blades.
One day, Leith would show him how wrong he was. For now, Leith had to settle for getting Jamie out of this place of darkness before it captured him as it had once captured Leith.
5
Renna brushed her fingers along the broad leaf of one of the cornstalks. They were past her knees and growing taller each day. It’d been two weeks since Leith left. How tall would the stalks be when Leith returned?
If he returned.
A rustle accompanied Aunt Mara as she eased under the vine-covered trellis separating the flower garden and the kitchen vegetable garden. She knelt next to Renna, both knees popping. “This garden looks wonderful. You’ve done a good job with it.”
Renna touched the leaf again. “It was mostly Le—Daniel’s doing. Daniel is what that friend we talked about last night is called when he’s here. He did all the planting and weeding at first. All I’ve done is keep it up.”
Aunt Mara reached for a weed and eased it from the ground. Renna did the same. The cool air wrapped around them, so still that Renna could taste the sweet green of the growing corn and the moist earth.
After several minutes, Renna peeked at Aunt Mara. “When did my parents know they liked each other? They told us the story of how they met, and they always made it sound like love at first sight.”
Aunt Mara pushed two cornstalks aside. Her gray-blond hair fell across her face. “In their case, it was near enough, I suspect. At least, your father knew right away that your mother was the one for him.”
“And what about you?” Renna shuffled a few feet. Dirt caked the front of her skirt.
“When your Uncle Abel and I met, I didn’t feel any interest at first.” Aunt Mara’s tone lowered. “I’d lost my patients—a woman and her baby—and I couldn’t feel anything but guilt. But when Abel came back the next day to see if I was doing all right, that’s when I felt he might be the type of Godly man I was interested in.”
Renna picked at the dirt under her fingernails. That still didn’t help the jumble in her chest. “But how do you know? How do you know if he’s someone you should be attracted to or if you should fight it or if you’re even attracted in the first place?”
Aunt Mara plucked another weed. “I can’t give you an easy answer to that one. Because there isn’t one. You feel attracted to him, yes, but also interested in his Godly character. He listens to you but is also willing to talk. He encourages you to be a better person and is in turn encouraged by you. You’re comfortable with him.”
Did Renna feel like that about Leith? He was a Blade. Dangerous.
But he’d encouraged her. And that last day he’d been at Walden, she’d felt safe with him.
Aunt Mara sat back on her heels. “Any reason you’re asking all this?”
“No.” Had she said that too quickly? Renna bit her lip and stared at the weed flopping in her hand. “Just curious.”
Drumming hooves drew her gaze. A rider crested the hill above Walden and charged down the other side.
Renna scrambled to her feet. “Something’s wrong.” She gripped Aunt Mara’s elbow and helped her to her feet.
By the time they joined the crowd in front of the manor, the dust-caked rider had jumped from his horse and tottered to Lord Alistair. “My lord, I beg to report that Aven has been overrun.”
“Overrun?” Lord Alistair gripped the rider’s shoulders. “What do you mean?”
“An army came from the south flying Respen’s banner. Lord Donton and his family escaped, but most of his guards were killed.” The rider coughed. Dust puffed from his hand. “The army left a small force to occupy Aven while the rest marched toward Sierra. I gave Sierra warning before riding here.”
“You did well.” Lord Alistair patted the man’s back as Lady Alistair stepped forward, carrying a glass of water.
Renna tangled her fingers in her skirt. Aven overrun. Sierra threatened.
Walden was next. She could see it in the hunch of Lord Alistair’s shoulders and the tightening of Aunt Mara’s expression.
A shiver traveled down her arms into her fingertips. Why hadn’t Leith warned them of this? Was he dead? An ache tore at her throat. No, he couldn’t be dead. But what else could explain it?
A hand rested on Renna’s shoulder. She glanced at Uncle Abel. His eyes had hardened to blue ice.
Lord Alistair faced the crowd. “This is hard news, but not unexpected. Plans for the defense of Walden will be put into place immediately. Please return to your duties until you receive further orders.”
Aunt Mara patted Renna’s arm. “Come. Let’s find Walden’s healer. Anyone can wield a sword, but only trained healers know what herbs to collect and how to prepare the poultices. Brandi knows enough to help too.”
Poultices. For wounds. For war.
Renna eyed the rider one last time and shook.
War had come to Acktar.
6
After scouting the army’s position hidden in a valley south of Sierra, Leith rode Blizzard straight towards one of the sentries stationed at the perimeter. Jamie trailed him on a scrubby buckskin.
As they approached, the sentry straightened so fast his back cracked. Leith glared down at him, a hand near one of his knives. “Where’s the Second Blade?”
“There, sir. By the command tent.” The sentry’s finger wavered so much Leith could only guess at the direction it pointed.
Leith didn’t even nod in acknowledgement. A First Blade didn’t waste courtesy on a common soldier. He nudged Blizzard. Blizzard snorted and trotted forward, tail raised like a battle flag.
As he and Jamie rode through the camp, soldiers halted what they were doing to stare, though they quickly ducked their heads if Leith turned his gaze in their direction. Vane would’ve reported them to their superiors for their insolence, but Leith settled for cold haughtiness.
The tan canvas of the commander’s huge tent billowed in the center of camp. On either end, poles flew Respen’s banner of black, crossed daggers across a dusty blue background.
A few yards away in a clearing formed in the middle of the soldiers’ tents, as if no one dared encroach too closely, the three Blades assigned to the northern army had laid out their bedrolls in a neat triangle to protect each other’s backs. Their horses ranged in the grassy stretch between their camp and the rest of the army tents. As Leith rode up, one Blade repacked his bedroll while another worked a sharpening stone along the edges of his knives.
Leith swung down from Blizzard and handed his
horse’s reins to Jamie. “Take care of the horses.”
Jamie nodded and led the horses in a wide circle around the Blades.
Eighth Blade Kent pointed the dagger he was sharpening towards the commander’s tent. “The Second Blade is in there with General Wentle.”
Leith strode toward the commander’s tent. The guards at the door opened their mouths as if to protest, but one look at his knives and black clothes snapped their mouths shut. Being the First Blade did have its perks. Few dared question him.
Brushing the guards and the tent flap aside, Leith stepped inside. Smoke from the oil lamps laced the stifling air.
As his eyes adjusted, he spotted Second Blade Craven hunched over a table across from a slim, willowy man who hardly looked strong enough to raise a sword, much less fight. He had to be General Wentle. Both men looked up, and the lamplight fell across the general’s pinched face, sharp nose, and squinty eyes.
“King Respen sent me to assist with the assault on Sierra.” Leith sidled to the table.
“We were just discussing the final plans.” Second Blade Craven tapped the sketch on the table. “Once it’s dark, two thirds of the army will swing around and behind Sierra while the third will head straight north. The town will be surrounded and crushed.”
Something Leith had to do everything in his power to prevent. He studied the sketch. “Do you know what defenses Sierra has? Thanks to Vane, they might be prepared for an attack.”
General Wentle shook his head. His straight, blond hair flung out from his head, revealing small, rounded ears. “The Second Blade told me it’s too difficult to get close enough to properly scout the town and manor.”
Leith eyed Craven. Was it too dangerous, or had Craven taken one look at Sierra’s defenses and decided it’d be too much effort? It’s not like Craven cared one way or another if more soldiers were killed because he neglected to scout the town and manor first.
Deny (The Blades of Acktar Book 2) Page 3