Deliver (The Blades of Acktar Book 4)

by Tricia Mingerink

  DELIVER

  TRICIA MINGERINK

  Copyright © 2017 by Tricia Mingerink

  Triciamingerink.com

  Published by Sword & Cross Publishing

  Sword & Cross Publishing and the Sword & Cross Publishing logo are trademarks of Tricia Mingerink. Absence of ™ in connection with Sword & Cross Publishing does not indicate an absence of trademark protection of those marks.

  Cover by Tricia Mingerink

  Cover images

  © yurkovska

  © OlenaKucher

  © jocker17

  © welcomia

  Edited by Nadine Brandes

  Nadinebrandes.com

  All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in written reviews, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and settings are the product of the author's overactive imagination. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, events, or settings is purely coincidental or used fictitiously.

  All Scripture quotes are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Epilogue

  Map

  Acknowledgements

  My Newsletter

  About the Author

  But we had the sentence of death in ourselves, that we should not trust in ourselves, but in God which raiseth the dead: Who delivered us from so great a death, and doth deliver: in whom we trust that he will yet deliver us.

  II Cor. 1:9-10

  1

  To former Blade Martyn Hamish, victory sounded like the thud of an ax.

  Martyn had managed not to flinch as the ax severed King Respen’s head. He had even kept his composure while he’d been handed clemency for his actions in the Blades.

  Now his former best friend Leith Torren was kissing Lady Rennelda Faythe, and Martyn grimaced.

  He had to either grimace or punch something. King Respen had been dead for only a few minutes. This chamber, with its deep burgundy rugs and dark wood paneling, was the same room where King Respen had met with his First Blades.

  Yet Leith didn’t seem to care. After all their years in the Blades serving King Respen, he should’ve had some respect. Something.

  Instead, Leith and Renna smiled and laughed and kissed.

  Martyn dragged a hand through his hair and swore under his breath. Not that anyone was paying enough attention to overhear. Leith and Renna’s…distraction made sure everyone’s eyes were fixed on them, from former Blade Ranson Harding huddled in the corner to Renna’s sister Brandi perched on one of the chairs by the fireplace, smirking and whispering something to Jamie Cavendish, a former Blade trainee. Shadrach, Leith’s new best friend, just shook his head and stared at the ceiling.

  Prince Keevan’s clenched jaw tightened the scar across his cheek and neck, the scar Leith had given him on the night Leith was supposed to kill the prince.

  The night Martyn had killed his targets without hesitation. Without regret.

  Shadrach Alistair bowed to Prince Keevan. “With your leave, I’d like to prepare the body for transport to Blathe as soon as possible.”

  King Respen’s body. Martyn’s stomach tightened. Thanks to Renna’s intervention, King Respen would at least have a decent burial in Blathe next to his long-dead wife. But it would hardly be the funeral of a king. More a pauper’s grave dug by his enemies.

  Prince Keevan waved a hand, and when he spoke, his voice rasped like stone on steel. “Instruct General Stewart about the change of plans. He can organize a few men to bury a decoy coffin in the Sheered Rock Hills. Even the men must believe they’re guarding Respen’s body.”

  Because King Respen wouldn’t even get the courtesy of a marked grave. No place for former followers to enshrine. If not for one choice there in the final battle, Martyn would’ve gotten the same sort of unmarked burial.

  As Shadrach turned to leave, Martyn shoved away from the wall. “I’m going too.”

  Shadrach halted, his square jaw clenching. The brown eyes he turned Martyn’s way burned. “Why?”

  Martyn shrugged. He couldn’t explain to Shadrach about duty or a lingering loyalty to King Respen. He wouldn’t understand. “It’ll take two men to transport the coffin, dig a grave, and bury it, and you can’t ask anyone outside of this room to go on this mission with you. Leith is obviously too hurt and Ranson too young. That leaves me.”

  Shadrach glanced at Leith, but Martyn forced himself not to glance that way as well. Leith would guess Martyn’s real reason for wanting to see King Respen properly buried. Did Leith harbor any of the same thoughts? Surely he did. King Respen hadn’t been a father to his Blades, but he’d been the closest thing any of them had known for years.

  Killer or not, King Respen should have at least one mourner at his graveside.

  Shadrach’s hand rested on his sword’s hilt. “Fine. Come along, then.”

  Martyn followed Shadrach from the king’s chambers, down the dark stairway, and into the passageway that connected the main cobblestone courtyard north of the Great Hall with the grassy Queen’s Court on the southern end of Nalgar Castle.

  At the edge of the cobblestone courtyard, Martyn paused in the patch of deep shadows. Many of the execution spectators remained in the courtyard, talking in groups or drifting toward the servants’ wing. Guards wearing Prince Keevan’s silver and green uniforms stood around a knot of well-dressed men, including the silver-haired Lord Beregern of Mountainwood and the tall, angular Lord Norton of Kilm.

  Ducking his head, Martyn waited until a contingent of guards marched between him and the lords before he slipped into the courtyard, around the stables, and out of sight. Four and a half years ago, Lord Norton’s and Lord Beregern’s men had reinforced the soldiers from Blathe as they took Nalgar Castle for King Respen.

  Best not to find out what sort of trouble Lord Norton could cause if he spotted Martyn wandering freely around Nalgar Castle, Prince Keevan’s decree of clemency rustling in an inner pocket of his shirt. At the very least, Lord Norton could point out Martyn was a Blade to a crowd drunk with vengeance after seeing King Respen’s blood spilled on the cobblestones.

  Martyn caught up to Shadrach at the door to the section of rooms in the servants’ wing that had been turned into a temporary morgue in the aftermath of the battle. General Stewart stood outside, hands clasped behind his back.

  While Shadrach caught General Stewart’s arm and whispered their two-pronged burial plan, Martyn shoved past them into the dim room. By this time, only a few
bodies remained unclaimed. Most had been carted away to their towns or buried on the hill above the castle to reduce the flies and smell.

  King Respen’s body lay sprawled on a moldy blanket in the middle of the floor, his head unceremoniously tossed next to his arm. Blood still drained from his severed neck, staining the blanket a dark red. Death had reduced his figure to a pitiful, floppy rag of his former self. His eyes no longer burned; his voice no longer boomed.

  Kneeling, Martyn gingerly placed King Respen’s head in line with his body, tucked his arms along his sides, and wrapped the blanket around him as befitted a corpse.

  As he finished, Shadrach and General Stewart entered the room. Shadrach scowled and crossed his arms. “You shouldn’t have bothered. The martyrs of Stetterly weren’t given the courtesy of proper coffins or shrouds. Respen doesn’t deserve more than that.”

  Martyn bit back a curse and forced himself to take a deep, slow breath of air rancid with decaying body. Only a few minutes ago in the king’s chamber, before all the kissing had started, Martyn had promised Leith he’d try to stick around. Even if it meant putting up with Leith’s annoying new friends.

  General Stewart rested a hand on Shadrach’s shoulder. “Let it be. Best if we just get this matter over with as quickly as possible.”

  Together, Martyn, Shadrach, and General Stewart lifted King Respen’s body into a coffin and nailed the lid shut. Shadrach scratched an x into the lid with a knife. If not for his promise to Leith, Martyn would’ve told Shadrach the x sort of looked like King Respen’s crossed daggers symbol.

  Setting the coffin in a corner next to other bodies to be returned to Blathe, they found the coffin containing the body of Seventh Blade Yees. After the battle, no one had known what to do with the body of a Blade.

  But perhaps this was the most fitting burial possible for a Blade. Even in death, the Seventh Blade would perform one last duty for King Respen as the decoy body and coffin.

  After nailing it shut, they placed the Seventh Blade’s coffin in the center of the room. General Stewart called four soldiers into the room and ordered them to guard the coffin. The soldiers stood at attention, their hands grasping their swords’ hilts while Shadrach and Martyn loaded a cart with the coffins meant for Blathe, including the nondescript one containing King Respen’s remains.

  Martyn shook his head. Nothing like guards and intense secrecy to get everyone talking. By nightfall when General Stewart and his four guards “sneaked” out the gate, everyone in the castle would know they were going to bury King Respen’s body in the Sheered Rock Hills.

  As expected, no one glanced twice as Shadrach and Martyn rode from Nalgar Castle, leading a mule pulling a cart heaped with coffins. It was a common sight in the days after the battle, and everyone was too busy gossiping about the coffin guarded in the morgue.

  For the first hour, the rumble of the cart’s wheels and the clump-thump of the horses’ hooves were the only sounds interrupting their journey. The rolling prairie hills stretched into the distant horizon, most of the grass nipped short by cattle or bison. An occasional breeze stirred up the smell of dust and the stench of rotting body. Somewhere in the distance, a prairie dog chittered a warning to the rest of its clan and dove into a hole.

  It would be so easy to turn his horse, kick it into a canter, and disappear into that distant horizon. With Prince Keevan’s clemency, Martyn was free to go.

  But then what? Where would he go? He had no friends. No family. No king.

  And he’d promised Leith he’d try.

  Why had he let himself get talked into that promise? What had he expected? That he could step into a new life with the ease of changing his shirt from black to brown? Leith was doing exactly that just fine.

  Martyn couldn’t. He should’ve died in the battle in the Tower or been executed along with Respen. His loyalties hadn’t changed the way Leith’s had. He wasn’t a traitor. Or a hero.

  He was someone neither side wanted.

  Shadrach’s tall, chestnut horse and his few extra inches of height gave him a great perch to look all lofty and condescending. “Why did you come?”

  Martyn clenched his fingers against his thigh. His horse tossed his head and trotted a few steps. Martyn relaxed his muscles and his grip on the reins. What could he tell Shadrach? Not his loyalty to King Respen. That wouldn’t go over well at all. “Maybe I want to know what made Leith choose your friendship over mine.”

  The words still hurt. He’d tried to forget about it. Tried to drown the sting with the guilt of what he caused Leith. But it didn’t change anything. What made Shadrach’s friendship more important than Martyn’s? Why had it taken Leith only months to turn his back on a bond they’d built over six years together in the Blades?

  Shadrach scowled. “I didn’t chain him to a wall, whip him, and stand by while Respen tortured him.”

  “He betrayed me first.” Martyn’s horse hop-skipped below him, but he couldn’t force his muscles to relax this time. “His betrayal nearly got me killed at Uster. He knew that, yet he did it anyway.”

  Shadrach yanked his horse around so quickly the horse twisted its head in protest. The mule pulling the cart skidded to avoid crashing into them. “You think it’s an accident you survived that ambush? Leith asked us to tell Lord Segon not to kill you.”

  Was that the reason Martyn had survived? He’d slipped into Lord Segon’s room, expecting no one besides the sleeping lord. Instead, he’d been confronted with a row of guardsmen. They could’ve filled him full of arrows then and there. Instead, they’d fought him. Driven him back until, wounded and exhausted, he’d finally had to admit defeat and return to Nalgar Castle.

  Still, if Martyn had pressed harder…if he’d let anger override his good sense, he would’ve died that night.

  And Leith had been willing to take that risk.

  Martyn gripped the reins. His horse stomped but couldn’t continue walking with Shad’s horse still blocking their way. “He couldn’t guarantee Lord Segon would spare me or even attempt to spare me.”

  “He had my father’s word, and that was more than enough.” Shadrach’s finger jabbed him in the chest. “You keep your distance from Leith, got that? Leith might trust you, but I don’t.”

  Martyn gritted his teeth and met Shadrach’s hard, brown eyes. Of course Shad didn’t trust Martyn. Not after what Martyn had done. “I wouldn’t hurt Leith now.”

  That’s all Martyn wanted from Shad. Not his trust. Not his friendship. Just his understanding that Martyn had done everything he could to prevent Leith’s torture.

  Leith was the one who’d so stubbornly headed for it anyway.

  Shadrach’s finger stabbed his chest again. “I barely managed to watch him cauterize his own wound once. You stood by while Respen had a red-hot poker pressed to his skin over and over again until even he couldn’t help but cry out. Forgive me if I don’t believe that is friendship.”

  Leith’s screams still rang in Martyn’s ears. Would he ever stop hearing their echoes?

  He shoved Shadrach’s hand away. “What was I supposed to do? Stand up to King Respen and get chained to the wall next to Leith? What’s the sense in that? Without me helping where I could, he would be in far worse shape than he is.”

  Leith and Renna wouldn’t have been fed half as well nor Leith have received any medical care had Martyn not been there. That reasoning had kept Martyn’s mouth shut and his hands at his sides while King Respen had carried out torture after torture on Leith. If Martyn had stood up for him, he wouldn’t have been able to help him.

  It didn’t make the memories any easier to swallow.

  Shadrach’s jaw muscles flexed. Of course he didn’t understand. The perfect, flawless Shadrach would never do what Martyn had. “You shouldn’t have stopped him when he tried to rescue Renna the first time. You should’ve trusted him enough to go with him.”

  “Trusted him? When he’d stopped trusting me months ago?”

  “Based on the way things turned out, he was
right not to.” Shadrach wheeled his horse, his back straight, his voice hard. “We’d better keep going.”

  Martyn swore, kicked his horse, and cut Shadrach off. Shadrach didn’t get to ride away thinking he was all self-righteous when it came to Leith’s torture. “Not so fast. Don’t pretend you’re innocent in this. You’re the one who let him walk into Nalgar, knowing he’d face torture. If you were so almighty concerned for him, you should’ve stopped him then.”

  “You don’t think I wanted to?” Shadrach’s fingers tightened on the reins as if he wanted to punch Martyn.

  Let him try. Martyn would be more than happy to oblige him with a few punches of his own. “Why didn’t you?”

  “You don’t know why he turned himself in, do you?” Shadrach’s eyes took on a hard glint.

  “He did it for Renna. That’s pretty obvious.” Martyn huffed. The whole kissing in front of everybody proved it.

  “For being a Blade, you’re rather blind.” Shadrach blew out a breath and shook his head. “You were Respen’s best tracker, yet instead of sending you after Leith or tracking me to Eagle Heights, he had you stay behind at Nalgar Castle guarding a girl with a broken leg. Why do you think that was?”

  “I was his First Blade. He knew I was the only Blade left who could fight Leith one-on-one.” Martyn swallowed. King Respen had expected him to fight Leith when he returned for Renna, just as Martyn had done in the North Tower dungeon the first time Leith had tried—and failed—to rescue Renna.

  Shadrach snorted. “You still don’t get it. Respen used you. He knew Leith wouldn’t fight you like he’d fight someone else. Leith left Renna behind once because he refused to fight you. She might’ve been the bait, but you were the jaws of the trap. You prevented Leith from slipping in and sneaking Renna out quietly.”

  Martyn gripped his saddlehorn, his stomach hurting as if he’d taken a knife to the gut. Leith’s torture hadn’t been for Renna. It had been for him.

  He should’ve seen it. He should’ve realized King Respen had needed more than Renna to make Leith surrender himself to torture. What had King Respen said when Martyn refused to kill Leith? I expected such foolishness as friendship out of Torren.