by Kris A Hiatt
“He went straight to his friend’s house yet again.”
After finding that his friend, Joran, was still alive, Destin was more cooperative. He had thanked Brental for sparing the man. Brental didn’t bother telling Destin that he had nothing to do with it. It was Disdane that decided not to kill the old man. He said there was no honor in killing someone as weak as Joran. He wondered if the two old men were working against him in some way, but didn’t see any rational reason why they would. “What did they do?”
“They made lunch,” Herra replied. “A simple potato soup by the look and smell of it.”
“You were close enough to see it?” Brental asked with alarm.
“Don’t worry. I snuck under the window for a few minutes only. I wanted to be able to hear their conversation. I’m confident they had no idea I was there.”
“What were they talking about?” Brental asked more calmly. He was impressed with how well Herra had adapted to his new role. He may complain about doing it, but it seemed he was certainly putting forth effort to do it.
“You.”
Brental raised his brow.
“Destin said you weren’t as bad of a person as he originally thought. Joran disagreed completely, but Destin seems to have warmed to you,” Herra told him.
“No other visitors or any talk of telling others about what we’re trying to accomplish?”
Herra opened his mouth to reply, but before he could the door burst open and Disdane strode in.
“You’ll want to hear this,” Disdane informed him. “Come with me.”
Brental nodded at Herra, who bowed in return. “Lead on,” he told the man.
“Shall I continue on with my assignment?” Herra asked as Brental walked away.
“For a couple more days to be sure you’re right,” Brental called over his shoulder as he walked.
“That group of researchers you requested are here,” Disdane said, rounding the corner. “I’ve been questioning them for a while.”
Brental thought he knew how that line of questioning went. Disdane had a reputation for using his fists as question marks. From what he had heard, it usually didn’t take too many questions for him to get answers. That or the person being questioned was knocked unconscious. “What do you think?”
“It’s his family. I’m sure of that.”
“And were they involved?” Brental asked, knowing Disdane was speaking of Moffred and his family. It was clear they were headed toward the cells. He wondered how many others were in custody in there. He thought they were getting a good look at what could happen to them if they crossed the captain.
“They are adamant that they are not,” Disdane replied. “But I’m not sure I believe them. Any way you look at it, they will never do any work for the King again. We should remove them just in case.”
“Kill them for possibly being involved?” Brental asked. He held no love for Moffred or his family, but killing someone for something they might have done with no proof? That didn’t seem like a productive way of doing things.
“Would you put your life in their hands?” Disdane asked. “I wouldn’t. And I’m sure as hell not going to put the King’s life at risk either.”
Brental understood his point, but the methods the man employed were far from what he would consider traditional. But if he was going to kill them anyway, what was it that Disdane felt so compelled to get his thoughts on? “If you’re so convinced, what is it you want me to hear?”
“The King wants to spare them.”
“And you counseled him otherwise?”
“Yes, but the father was a constable for many years. They aren’t friends exactly, but they are familiar to one another. Worse, they’re also the same researchers who found the blood ties between Kaden and Shamir,” Disdane explained.
“So the King wants to spare them for their previous accomplishments?”
“They were to be publicly recognized after we took Kilindric. The King wanted the good news story to tell the public once the battle was over.”
“It would help silence dissenters with a positive message,” Brental said, catching on. “But they haven’t been told yet, have they?”
“No one knows except the King’s closest people.”
Brental took it in stride. He knew he hadn’t yet earned his way into Shamir’s good graces, but he was glad that it seemed he was in Disdane’s. The question was why? The man seemed incredibly loyal to Shamir. Why would he tell him? “And yet you tell me?” Brental stopped walking. They were close to the jail and he wanted an answer before he continued.
“Listen,” Disdane said, stopping to face him. “I know how committed you are to succeeding. The King doesn’t quite trust you yet. I do. At least enough to know you won’t compromise me or him on your way to getting what you want.”
“You truly believe that?” Brental asked. He was taken aback that the man would openly admit his level of trust. Maybe the captain wasn’t as cold as he originally thought.
“If I didn’t, you’d be dead.”
Brental took back his previous thought. He didn’t doubt Disdane’s sincerity in the least. “Fair enough.”
“You were wise in coming to me,” Disdane offered. “I can help you get what you want, but you’re going to help me get what I want.”
“You want Raythien’s job,” Brental stated. He knew it was true, he could see it in Disdane’s eyes the moment he originally brought up the idea of them working together.
“I’ll start with that.”
“What do you need me to do?” Brental asked. He was certainly glad he approached him instead of Raythien. He thought this was going to work out very well for him.
“First, you’re going to tell the King you think they should be executed,” Disdane explained. “Second, you’re going to offer to be the one to do it. I get what I want and you may even, what is it you said? Earn some favor from the King?”
Disdane stood looking at him with judging eyes. Brental knew he was at a crossroads here. Despite the captain saying he trusted him, Brental knew if he didn’t agree to his request, their partnership would be over. Perhaps he misjudged the man. He thought him nothing more than a brute. Disdane cleverly used Brental’s own words against him. He would need to take more care with this one in the future. Thinking of the future, he didn’t believe the man would allow him to live with the knowledge that he conspired against the King. He could see Disdane’s massive sword cutting him in two. He had no choice but to agree. “Gladly,” he told him.
“Very good choice,” Disdane said, turning to walk toward the jail.
“The King is in the cells?”
“No, but Raythien is.”
Disdane’s request made more sense now. He was certain Raythien was fully supportive of the King’s request. With Brental and Disdane united, the King would be more apt to vote on their side. Which would, again, put Raythien as the odd man out. He again wondered if he had misjudged the man’s intelligence.
Chapter 17
Treace’s wrists and arms ached from being bound and pulled in front of him. Considering they were in the same predicament, he guessed Kiril and Moffred weren’t faring any better. Their hands were bound and tied with ropes leading from them to Grag’s horse. They either drew numerous stares from those they passed, or they were given a wide berth on the road. No one bothered to question why three people were held captive. He supposed the armed individuals leading them was enough of an explanation for most people. That explanation was simple; it was none of their business.
The three of them had been captured the day before and were currently being led back toward Kadenton. Treace presumed they were being turned over to Shamir. Not that any of the four captors were talkative, except Jass, their female leader. She was cold, heartless, and as far as Treace was concerned, crazy. It was clear in how she randomly rode back next to him to comment about how she wanted to fight him to prove she was better, and minutes later she would comment on how they would be good together. If t
hat wasn’t enough to convince someone she was crazy, he thought the way she would burst into song describing the way her dagger slit the throats of men, women, and children alike surely would. Treace had killed two of her men during the fight and Jass had declined to bury them. She simply left them there to rot. Not a single word was said on their behalf, and as far as Treace could tell, not a single tear was shed. When his time came, Treace hoped the people he surrounded himself with cared enough about him to at least bury him and say a few kind words.
Treace pushed it from his thoughts and surveyed his surroundings. The furthest left of the three was Moffred, who was looking straight at the ground, limping as he plodded along. Kiril was in the middle of them and was looking straight ahead. Neither of them had spoken in some time. There really wasn’t much to say. Well, there were many things he wanted to talk about, but nothing he thought should be brought up in front of anyone but Kiril. Why didn’t she run? Did she really have feelings for him?
“I’ve got to have a movement,” Moffred announced.
“Shit yourself. I don’t care,” Grag said from his horse without looking back.
“Come on,” Moffred pleaded. “Stop.”
“It’s the second time today,” Grag said, whining and looking back at Moffred.
“Just stop,” Jass commanded. “I could use a piss myself.”
Next to him, Treace could hear Kiril sigh in disgust. Apparently she wasn’t used to hearing a woman speak so crudely either.
“Fine,” Grag relented. “Shit quickly. We’re moving when the boss is done.”
As Moff moved over to the weeds lining the road, Jass slung a leg over her horse and dropped to the ground. She walked over and stopped next to Treace, unbuckling her belt as she got closer to him. She faced him, pulled down her breeches and squatted beside him. Treace turned his head and looked at Kiril, who returned his gaze with a disgusted look on her face.
“Have you no shame?” Kiril asked, eyes still locked on his.
“You jealous?” Jass asked. “Yours not as pretty as mine?”
“Disgusting,” Kiril said, looking forward again.
Treace could hear urine splattering over the ground. He was again reminded that this woman was not right in the head. The jangling of buckles told him she was done. He faced forward again and was quickly greeted by Jass’s face in his.
“You get a good look, sweetheart?” Jass asked.
“Nothing I want to see,” Treace assured her.
She bent low and splashed her hand in her urine. She stood up and quickly wiped it over Treace’s cheek and lips, drawing some chuckles from the other captors. He didn’t have time to react and prevent it, but afterward he turned his head to the side, feeling it trickle down his cheek and chin. He curled his lips in disgust and squeezed them tight, trying to keep the foul liquid from getting in his mouth.
“You’re so disgusting,” Kiril told the woman.
“Just marking my territory,” Jass explained. “The next time you think about kissing him, think about my piss all over his lips.”
Treace spat several times.
Laughter erupted from the other captors and Moffred cursed them all as being bastards.
Treace leaned around Kiril and saw Moffred on his back with his breeches around his ankles and his hands over his head. He was trying to right himself, but the rope tied to his arms was too tight.
Grag laughed harder at Moff’s fumbling attempts to right himself.
Jass walked away and scrambled atop her horse as Moffred attempted to right himself. He had to roll over, literally rolling in his own feces to do so.
“Boss is done,” Grag said through his laughter. “Let’s go.”
Treace noticed that Grag held all three of their ropes in his right hand, which was currently on the left side of his horse due to the way he was turned around looking back at Moffred. Treace smiled before grabbing the rope that was holding his arms with both of his hands. He took a step to his right and back. He yanked as hard as he could on the rope.
Grag’s eyes widened in surprise as he was pulled toward the right side of his saddle. He paused there for a moment before toppling over backward. He had let go of the ropes in an attempt find purchase somewhere on the saddle, but apparently missed. He hit the ground hard, uttering a groan of pain. The other two male captors laughed hard at that.
Jass urged her horse to turn around and she rode it up beside Treace. He looked up at her and was glad the acidic smile she usually wore wasn’t on her face just then. She scowled hard at him and quickly pulled her boot from the stirrup and kicked Treace hard in the face. She was quick and the attack took him by surprise. His head snapped back and he immediately felt blood pour from his nose.
“If you do something I don’t like, I’m going to hurt her,” Jass said to Treace, gesturing to Kiril. “And if she does something I don’t like, I’m going to hurt you.”
“Why did you hit him instead of me then?” Kiril asked.
“Oh, he didn’t do anything wrong,” Jass explained. “I thought it was funny. But I didn’t like the smug look on your face so I took it out on him.”
Treace blinked, trying to reorient himself.
“And what if I do something you don’t like?” Moffred asked.
“Oh, sweetie,” Jass said in a sweet tone. “I just punish you when you screw up.”
“I’m going to kill you!” Grag said fiercely, rushing toward him.
“Grag!” Jass yelled. “Leave him alone.”
“You saw what he did,” Grag protested.
“You’re the idiot that put yourself in that spot,” one of the other men said, drawing a baleful look from Grag.
Treace hadn’t heard anyone call that man by name. He joined the others after Treace, Kiril, and Moffred had all been bound. Treace presumed the man was stationed out in the woods as a lookout or some such thing during the initial attack and only joined the rest of his band once they succeeded in securing their prey.
“Get back up on your horse and let it go,” Jass commanded.
Grag hesitated long enough to give Treace a hard look before he complied with Jass’s order. Treace supposed he wasn’t getting punched after all. Either way was fine with him.
“I hope he doesn’t pay for you,” Grag muttered as he pulled himself back on his horse.
Treace didn’t miss the comment nor the glare Jass shot Grag’s way. But what did the comment mean? Was Grag referring to Treace? He couldn’t be talking to Kiril. He’d want Treace to pay for something Kiril did wrong. So who was he referring to?
“Kaz,” Jass said. “Ride ahead and see that my demands are met. You know what to tell them if they baulk.”
“Yes boss,” the previously unnamed Kaz replied, nodding and turning his horse.
Treace understood it then. This was a band of mercenaries, not some of Shamir’s men. He should have known. They had found out that Shamir was looking for the trio and decided to try to cash in on it. He watched Kaz take off, leaving a trail of dust behind him as he brought the horse up to a run.
“Thanks,” Moffred said from a few feet away.
Moff had found a way to his feet and had managed to pull his shit-covered breeches up. He stunk terribly but Treace didn’t blame him for it. Grag was at fault for that.
Kiril stifled a cough and covered her nose with her hands.
“And I’m sorry for the smell,” Moff said with a red face.
Kiril had lost her father, Treace was nearly killed and had killed two people in the process, Moff was stabbed in the leg and had the wound cauterized by a red-hot dagger. Now Moff was being forced to walk for miles on the wounded leg wearing breeches covered in his own feces. Treace thought they weren’t exactly having a wonderful time. Considering they were about to be turned over to Shamir, he didn’t see their situation improving any. In fact, he thought it was about to get worse.
“Let’s go,” Jass ordered, getting them moving again.
Treace licked the blood from his lip
s and spit it back out, glad to be able to get the taste of urine out of his mouth. His nose was still slowly dripping blood, but it had already lessened dramatically.
“I’m sorry,” Kiril said to Treace, no longer covering her nose from Moff’s stench.
“For what?” Treace asked.
“For getting you kicked.”
“She doesn’t need a reason,” Treace said, speaking of Jass. “You were only an excuse. There’s no reason to apologize. She’s crazy you know?”
“I know,” Kiril replied. “But still.”
Treace understood what she was trying to say, but he wasn’t going to let her take the blame for it.
Jass started singing, as if on cue:
“Everyone should fear me
man and woman and child alike
Should they ever cross me
may they all feel my dagger’s bite
My skill knows no bounds
so don’t you try to face me
Because if you ever do
Jass’ll be the one that ends thee.”
Treace had to admit that Jass could carry a tune. She was certainly crazy, but the woman could sing. Even though it wasn’t to a proper time, if you only listened to the melody and not the actual words, it was beautiful.
Jass continued, finishing her tune:
“With each empty husk
my fame grows further and further
To the point that soon
you’ll hear of Jass and think of murder.”
“Jass,” Kiril said under her breath. “Synonymous with crazy.”
Treace smiled, but quickly hid it so Jass wouldn’t notice and decide to take it out on Kiril.
~~~
Treace opened his eyes, blinking them to find focus. It was dark out and they were still being led down the road. A light rain had started and somehow he had managed to sleep through the start of it while walking. It was like he was in some sort of trance. It reminded him of being in The Calm. He pushed it from his mind and tried to figure out how long he’d been asleep. He didn’t think it was for long, but he had no sense of time other than it being dark. With the cloud cover he couldn’t judge time by the stars. He looked around and found Jass looking at him. Even with the clouds, the moon was full enough that it produced enough light for him to be able to make out her face. She winked at him from atop her horse and smiled her wicked smile. He looked down at his aching feet, not wanting to look at her.