Bastial Energy (The Rhythm of Rivalry: Book 1)

by Narro, B. T.

  Cleve didn’t wish to move. Wherever they wanted him to go, he felt safer where he was. “Come along, it’s fine,” the councilman said, walking toward the throne. Cleve reluctantly followed him, finding there to be a hidden walkway that was blocked from view until he was closer.

  He was the last one into the tunnel, followed by no one, not even a guard. He had his bow but no arrows. How far would I get if I ran right now? Then the solid ironbark door that stood between him and the rain outside jumped into mind. There’s no way through that door, and I don’t know how it opens, probably some lever somewhere. That’s even if I made it to the first floor. He decided his odds were better doing as he was told.

  Chapter 31: Target

  CLEVE

  The tunnel was dark, made from brown, flammable wood instead of ironbark, so there were no lamps or torches to light the area. Unlike the rest of the castle Cleve had seen, there were no windows or arrow slits either. The sound of the rain bouncing off the low ceiling echoed within. There was an incline as well, Cleve found out as a surprise when his step came down onto the ground quicker than he anticipated and he stumbled but quickly regained his footing.

  “Did you fall?” Kerr asked.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Sorry, I should have mentioned the slope. I’ve lived in this castle for so many years, I forget about small things like that.”

  “Not a problem.” Cleve found himself wondering again why his father would’ve been meeting with Kerr and what other clues might be in his memory that were buried so deep that some sort of reminder would be needed to dig them out. He felt something else coming loose as he searched through his mind—the image of his mother using her wand to light the wood in the fireplace as a storm was setting in outside. Sorrow came with it, filling his stomach like a gallon of water.

  He gave his head one violent shake before his memory could fill in other details about her. Think about something else, he commanded himself and pushed that memory away. Suddenly, Reela’s burning green eyes appeared. They were the last things he’d seen as he’d shut the door to their house. He could feel his heart beating harder as her face and bosom took shape. Not that, he thought, and resorted to multiplication tables to distract himself—a strategy he found to work quite well when his mind became relentless. The sorrow had dissolved, but his focus was lost by then.

  The tunnel led them outside to the castle’s roof. There was a walkway in between parapets that was designed for archers to use when defending the castle. Not even the King’s own staff was allowed bows, so Cleve figured it just wasn’t worth the expense to change the design. The walkway was square, wrapping around the entire top of the castle. Pelted by the heavy rain, he remembered where he was again, and his mind cleared of all other thoughts as he prepared himself for whatever would be asked of him.

  The King met with a nearby guard, who handed off an arrow. The King took it with two fingers as if its touch might poison him and stretched his arm toward Cleve. After a moment of hesitation, Cleve accepted it. He bobbed his hand up and down to feel its weight. It was definitely one of his arrows.

  “You have one chance to hit the target.” The King pointed to the other side of the roof.

  Cleve found what he believed the King was referring to—a cut of wood maybe as wide as a man’s shoulders.

  “That?” he asked incredulously as he pointed.

  “And the arrow must stick. It’s soft wood, so if the arrow doesn’t, it wouldn’t be a kill shot.”

  Cleve judged the distance to be around seventy-five yards. Simply shooting an arrow that far wasn’t the main problem because his weapon was a longbow, nearly as tall as him. Instead, it was hitting his mark over that far a distance and in the rain.

  “What if I miss it?” Cleve asked before he could determine whether or not he wanted to know.

  “Then bringing you here was a mistake,” Welson replied with a frown. The rain was splattering against his scalp, bouncing off in all directions. The guard nearby offered the King his cloak, but he denied it with a shake of his hand, keeping his eyes on Cleve. “I need to know you’re capable of the mission before I tell you its details. If you’re incapable, then I’ll have to send you to a cell for disobeying the bow law until I decide what to do with you. Make it easier for both of us and hit your target.”

  Cleve’s heart was thumping and a slight shiver ran through his body. I need to calm myself. He closed his eyes to meditate, clearing his mind of everything except a tranquil river. Trees began emerging along the banks, filling in all the empty spaces. Soon the sun appeared, bouncing off the water to make it shimmer. The sound of the rain disappeared into that of the river coursing lightly over rocks. Cleve pulled in the hot, red Bastial Energy he imagined he could see floating about, sucking it into his stomach and chest. The more he pulled in, the warmer he became. When he opened his eyes, he was calm and itching to use it.

  He secured the arrow onto his bow and began to draw the string. He didn’t think of the target, not at first. Instead, his focus was directed within as he transferred hot energy to his arms and back so that he could pull hard without a shake. His heart slowed, and he held his breath. Strong wind blew at him, so he aligned the arrow a few inches straight above his target and released.

  The arrow shot through the air with so much speed it hissed. When it pierced the head of the wood there was a faint thud, no louder than a whisper.

  “Good!” King Welson shouted. He clasped Cleve’s shoulder and turned to walk back. “Come.”

  Cleve obeyed and walked beside him back into the tunnel.

  “Did you learn to shoot from your father?” Welson asked.

  “Yes.” Cleve held onto his longbow tightly. “What now?”

  “You make the same shot tomorrow, but it will be a man you shoot this time.”

  His nerves were jumpy again. “Who is it?”

  “He’s the most dangerous man known to us. He can sense your presence and use psyche against you, so you have to take him out from afar, at least fifty yards. If he gets too close, you’ll have no chance against him. Bring his head back to show it has been done.”

  “What did he do?” Cleve needed far more than that to feel comfortable taking another man’s life. He wanted to hear that this man had killed women and children, raped them first. He wanted Welson to describe the most sinister man who’d ever drawn breath.

  Instead, the King said nothing.

  They returned to the secluded room where the King poured a glass of water for himself and offered one to Cleve as well. He accepted it, glad to relieve his dry throat.

  “I must explain something first for you to understand why he needs to die,” Welson said. “Right now, Javy Rayvender is delivering a message to Liaison Wilfre at the Academy. Tomorrow, Wilfre will make an announcement to all the students. The same announcement will be made by my liaisons in Oakshen and in Trentyre. It will even be announced to the few hundred who live at Gendock by a messenger who I’ll send at sunrise. The purpose will be to notify all of Kyrro of that which I’m about to tell you.

  “The treaty between Kyrro and Tenred is renewed every year at this time, and each year it has been more difficult to agree to peace.” The King took another sip of water, only to make a face as if it were sour. He handed it to his psychic. “Could you have someone fetch me some wine? I won’t need you just yet, but hurry back soon.”

  The psychic moved his long legs quickly, shutting the door behind him as he hustled out. Councilman Kerr stood silently beside the King, and that’s when Cleve noticed the similarity in their stares. The gray-haired councilman must have been thirty years older, but both he and the King had the same eyes. They looked battered and swollen from overuse, with long crow’s feet wrapping around their temples. It seemed like just keeping them open was a struggle. Welson gave a smile to Kerr and told him, “You should get some rest. We have many busy days ahead.”

  “Thank you,” the councilman replied, nodding graciously. He stopped in front o
f Cleve on his way out. His head hung low on his shoulders. “We’re all doing what we think is right.” He took Cleve’s hand and whispered quickly as he shook it, “No matter what anyone tells you, make sure you do the same.” He grabbed the guard from the room with him as he walked out, leaving just the King with Cleve, now more worried than ever.

  “This is where you tell me we’re at war and the target is someone from Tenred?” Cleve asked to disrupt the silence.

  “Close. It would be more accurate to say Tenred hasn’t agreed to renew the treaty, and the target isn’t someone from Tenred, but he is on their side. What you’ll be missing in the announcement tomorrow is a brief history lesson and what we can expect in the near future. All kings should study the history of Kyrro. I wish I had when I became king at just fifteen. Instead, I was determined to find the man who killed my father. His death was not all that different from your parents—killed by an arrow from an unknown shooter—but that is a discussion for another time.”

  Never is the time for that discussion, Cleve thought.

  “History reoccurs, so it’s almost like looking into the future to revisit it. The roots of our rivalry with Tenred started earlier than even the creation of their territory. It began with the birth of Lansra Tarcos seventy-nine years ago. Who thought one baby girl could cause so much chaos? Her mother was Doree Rose. Her father was Sid Takary—at least that’s what Sid Takary thought.”

  Cleve knew of the Takary family; most everyone did. They were the original rulers of Kyrro, coming from Goldram across the Starving Ocean, and with great wealth. To his knowledge, they still ruled in Goldram, but their legacy had ended here when King Welson Kimard’s father and his army had taken over the kingdom by force. Cleve didn’t know much about Sid Takary, though, and certainly nothing about Lansra Tarcos, who the King said had started this rivalry in the first place.

  Welson had paused as if expecting Cleve to speak. Perhaps he wondered whether Cleve would say how much of this he already knew, but Cleve knew little and figured it would be faster just to listen, so the King continued.

  “Sid Takary was by far the worst king of Kyrro, in case you didn’t know. The marriage to his wife, the beautiful and wealthy Doree Rose, was forced upon her. She did get pregnant eventually, but it was by another man, one more famous in history—the Piranha.” Welson paused again, but this time he asked, “Have you heard of him?”

  “Jenick Tarcos.” Cleve knew his real name. “Yes, I’ve heard of him. No enemy of Kyrro’s people stood a chance against him and his army. He was exceptionally skilled at close-range combat.”

  “So, you must know he led the first rebellion against the Takary family’s rule over Kyrro?”

  Cleve nodded, still unsure what this had to do with anything.

  Welson gestured toward the throne as he continued. “When the Piranha defeated Sid Takary, he became king, with Doree Rose as his wife. Shortly after, Doree Rose announced that the daughter she supposedly had with Sid Takary actually belonged to the Piranha—Jenick Tarcos. From then on, the baby girl was known as Lansra Tarcos instead of Lansra Takary, but later in history she would be nicknamed ‘The Catalyst.’ For when Sid Takary died, he still had a brother, Jinn Takary, and his ambition for power came from his need for revenge. He took back the throne five years later after the Piranha died from heart failure, the unfortunate curse that most men of the Tarcos family have shared throughout history.”

  Welson sighed sadly. “Jinn Takary, even with the Piranha dead, would stop at nothing until revenge had been dealt in full. He demanded Lansra Tarcos be executed, an innocent little girl mind you, along with every person of the Tarcos or Rose families for supporting the traitor who killed his brother.”

  There was a click as the door behind Cleve opened with a quick push. He spun to see the sun-deprived psychic rushing over. A reflex caused Cleve’s hand to reach over his back for a quiver that wasn’t there. The psychic had a glass of wine in hand and hurried past Cleve with a quick nervous glance.

  “Thank you,” King Welson said, closing both hands around it and taking a sip. “Obviously, many people did not take kindly to the demands of eliminating two popular and powerful families, nor to the King calling for the execution of an innocent child. Another rebellion had begun to form, but it was discovered before becoming powerful enough to act. Someone on the inside gave up everyone to Jinn Takary, the King at the time. There were a few who escaped the city; ten to be exact. They were chased all the way to where Tenred castle is now, northwest of the Fjallejon pathway. The rest were killed where they were found.”

  Cleve nodded as he prepared himself to hear the story of the battle over Tenred. Most knew the details, although the specific numbers seemed to differ depending upon who told it. Even though history portrayed Kyrro as the enemy, it was a story where few had come together to defend themselves against many; a tale everyone could appreciate no matter what side they were on now.

  “The ten who escaped couldn’t have had better positioning. They were up miles of hills, mountains at every side and the ocean behind them. The one hundred men who Jinn Takary sent after them were defeated in a slow battle of range weapons. The surviving attackers retreated back to Kyrro when they knew they’d lost. Jinn Takary sent five hundred men next.” Welson was using both hands to gesture, one holding on to his glass of wine, which threatened to spill over the side.

  “By the time those five hundred got to Tenred, many people from Kyrro had brought supplies to the newly formed territory, and some even stayed to join the fight. Three more battles ensued, with Kyrro losing them all, before Jinn Takary finally agreed to speak about terms for a treaty. Part of the treaty was that no members of the Tarcos or Rose families would be harmed.” Welson gestured his glass toward Cleve. “The master chemist at the Academy is a Rose, if you didn’t know, Jack Rose.”

  Cleve did know that, but he never would’ve thought to make the connection. He didn’t spend much time thinking about chemists. Welson paused for more wine, which he sucked down in a quick slurp to hurry back to the story. He seemed to enjoy telling it, holding a faint smile and using a loud voice. Cleve suspected there were many more details in the private history books of the castle that the King wasn’t sharing, though.

  “That same year, Jinn Takary died mysteriously of heart failure, which was the first case of heart related death to be known within the Takary family. His son took over, believing the death of his father was an assassination through poison by someone within Kyrro who sided with Tenred. Against the advice of his council, he negated the treaty and tried to attack Tenred. He was easily defeated and reluctantly agreed to terms of peace again.

  “By then it was clear there would be no hope of overcoming the great advantage Tenred had defensively, and there were far too many more in Kyrro for Tenred to ever take and hold any of our cities. There have been no more battles since then, but peace was never really reached. There have been many more deaths within Kyrro at the hands of Tenred spies, even within these castle walls since my coronation. It’s as if both sides have immunity from total annihilation, so there has been no end to the growth of hostility and covert operations to diminish power.”

  “So why did they wait until now to disagree with the terms of the treaty?” Cleve asked.

  “They’ve gained an extremely powerful army.” Welson sipped his wine. “I know,” he said the moment his swallow had finished, “how does one simply gain an army? It didn’t come from Kyrro, that’s for sure. These men have lived in Ovira well before we Humans came…I’m not sure if ‘men’ is even the right word. They’re called Krepps, somewhat intelligent creatures with scaly skin who stand taller than us, are stronger than us, and most importantly are thousands more than us. For reasons we haven’t yet determined, they’ve joined forces with Tenred.” He had a quick gulp from his cup. “We believe they may attack in the near future.”

  “I have no problems shooting a Krepp that sides with our enemy.” Cleve had heard of Krepps from Terren but knew l
ittle of them. If they were to attack Kyrro, that’s all he would need to know.

  “I’m thankful for your attitude, but remember you are to kill a psychic, and there are no psychics among the Krepps—no mages, chemists, or warriors, either. We have people here who know much about their race, and they have told me that the Krepps have no grasp on Bastial or Sartious Energy. They do fight like warriors, however, possessing great skill with swords and bows, even without the use of Bastial Energy. Your target is no Krepp, though. He has been seen meeting with the King of Tenred, Tegry Hiller, in Corin Forest. That is where you’ll go to find him.”

  Cleve listened closely, knowing full well this was how he was about to be connected to everything. His nerves were on edge, making him feel like he was either about to explode or become overwhelmed with great relief.

  “With war coming, the law against bows will have to be rescinded. As much as it’s an insult to me and to my father’s memory, protecting Kyrro is more important. Training will take some time. Meanwhile, you’re the only one with the skill to take him out from the necessary distance. But be aware, if you have any doubts about your ability to shoot him, I’ll find a way for him to be taken out through force, and many will die in the process. However, this would still be better than sending you if you cannot do it. A failed attempt would alert him of our plan, and he would retreat to Tenred castle. Surprise is our only advantage right now.”

  “If it’s to protect Kyrro, I can do it. What does he look like?”

  Welson had another gulp of wine, swishing it in his glass while his eyes steadied at Cleve’s feet. “I hate to command his death, but I have no choice.” The King finally answered, lifting his head to show his sadness. “He’s an Elf, one I’ve known for a long time.”

  An Elf? A wave of shock stormed through Cleve, tightening his throat so that he gagged. “Do you mean Rek?” he asked when he was capable of forcing out the words.