“Once there lived a king’s son named Jonathan. He was a good man and a mighty warrior. He once defeated a big chunk of the enemy’s army with just himself and his servant. But one day, a new warrior was brought to the palace, a shepherd and giant-slayer named David. Jonathan and David became best friends, so close they were almost brothers. At first, King Saul, Jonathan’s father, was pleased with David. But after the people in the kingdom began praising David more than Saul, King Saul became jealous. One night, he threw his spear at David, and David had to flee for his life.”
Great. A Bible story. Two friends. An angry king. Could she get any more obvious?
One big difference. David had done nothing to earn King Saul’s anger besides doing his job a little too well. Leith had betrayed King Respen and deserved to be hunted. “And Jonathan turned on David, is that it? Stayed loyal to his father and broke his friendship.”
“Nope.” Brandi eased under Blizzard’s neck and started brushing the horse’s other side. “Jonathan intervened and pleaded David’s case with his father. King Saul listened to Jonathan and let David return. A little bit later, David won another victory, and King Saul got jealous all over again. Again he threw his spear at David, and David had to run, this time even farther away.”
“Now Jonathan chose his father over David.”
“Nope. Jonathan tried again to intervene. This time, King Saul accused Jonathan of being more loyal to David than to him and threw a spear at his own son.” Brandi wrinkled her nose. “Jonathan sneaked away and told David that King Saul wasn’t going to calm down this time. The two friends promised they would always remain friends, and they would honor that friendship even to each other’s children and grandchildren. Then, they parted, and only saw each other one other time.”
Martyn’s throat closed. When Leith had ridden away with Brandi, Martyn had hoped against hope he’d never see Leith again. That would’ve been better than having to face him across the wrong end of a knife. “What happened to them?”
“Jonathan and King Saul were killed, and David mourned his friend and became king. He remembered his promise to Jonathan and gave Jonathan’s crippled son a place at the royal table, even though it would’ve been smarter to kill off King Saul’s grandson.”
Martyn rested his forehead against his horse’s shoulder. Even Brandi thought he should be dead. Wasn’t that the point of the story? He was the friend on the wrong side who needed to die and get out of his friend’s way.
Besides, he and Leith were hardly Jonathan and David. Instead of remaining loyal, they’d nearly killed each other. Leith wasn’t an innocent David, and Martyn not the loyal Jonathan.
Martyn didn’t belong. Leith had a family here Martyn couldn’t join. They might’ve once been brothers, but they weren’t any more.
He’d tried, but trying wasn’t enough.
It was time to face the facts and move on.
He dropped the brush and reached for his saddle blanket. “I can’t stay. Thanks for making that obvious.”
“What? But I…that wasn’t what you were supposed to get from that story.” Brandi tossed her brush into the bucket and glared. With her hair spiked like a porcupine, the look wasn’t all that intimidating.
Martyn ignored her and hefted his saddle onto his horse’s back. Best to leave now, quickly and quietly, before anyone tried to make a big hubbub about it.
Brandi sighed and hurried from the stables, pausing only long enough to whisper something to Jamie. Jamie remained at his horse’s side in the stall across the way, eying Martyn.
One to distract him, and one to fetch Leith. How totally predictable. Martyn shook his head and reached for his horse’s bridle. Leith could do all the pleading and arguing he wanted. Martyn couldn’t stay.
He strapped his bedroll and saddlebags behind the saddle and led his horse from the stall.
“Leaving without saying goodbye?”
Right on time. Martyn bit back a groan.
Leith leaned against the wall next to the stable’s outer doors, his arms crossed. Jamie had disappeared, leaving only the horses and Martyn and Leith.
Martyn planted his feet and gripped his horse’s reins tighter. If Leith wanted Martyn to feel guilty about leaving, he was going to be disappointed. “Yes. It’s for the best. This is your life, not mine.”
A second of silence dragged into two, then three. Their friendship already frayed. Would this be the last tug that would tear it forever?
“All right. You’d better go then.” Leith’s stance relaxed. “Renna and I will be praying for you.”
Martyn snorted. Prayers to an empty sky wouldn’t do any good, but at least they’d be thinking about him. It was the parting of friends, not enemies.
Leith shoved himself away from the stall door, blocking the doorway. “I know I gave up on you too soon last time. I’m not going to make that mistake again.”
Martyn eyed him. Was there enough space to lead his horse around Leith? “It wouldn’t have made a difference. Perhaps I might’ve turned you in to King Respen sooner.”
“What do you plan to do?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? Leith seemed to have it all figured out with his hoity-toity new friends.
Martyn shrugged. “King Keevan has asked me to be his…” What did he want to call it? “Tracker. He fears that bandits will overrun Acktar without the Blades to keep them in check.”
“And he wants you to watch for the banished Blades?” Leith’s gaze was too keen.
“Yes.” Martyn fussed with his horse’s bridle. “Not sure if I’ll take that part of the job on. I don’t want to…”
“Turn into me?” Leith’s voice was flat.
Martyn swallowed down the bitter taste in his throat. Betrayer of his fellow Blades. No, Martyn didn’t want to turn into that. Instead, he’d betrayed his former friend.
But someone had to guard against the Blades’ return, and Leith was too distracted with Renna and his new family to watch properly. Maybe Martyn couldn’t repair the torture he’d done or regain their friendship, but he could do this.
Leith extended a large book. “Will you at least take this?”
Martyn took it. He’d been a Blade long enough to recognize the once illegal book. “A Bible?”
Leith’s mouth quirked at the corners. “I stole it from Lord Alistair’s study months ago, and when I tried to return it, he gave it to me instead. I’d like you to have it now.”
Martyn stuffed it in a saddlebag. He couldn’t refuse, not with Leith looking at him like that. “I’ll try reading it.” Try. That was the most he’d promise.
Leading his horse from the stable, he swung on and nudged the horse’s sides with his heels. When the horse didn’t move, he kicked harder and slapped the reins against its neck. “Come on, horse.”
The horse didn’t budge. Martyn swore under his breath. What was wrong with the stupid horse?
“Brandi named your horse, didn’t she?” Leith limped from the stable.
Martyn swore again. What had that girl said the name was? Something that started with a W. Winifred? Winter? Water?
Wanderer. That was it. Martyn slapped the reins again. “All right, Wanderer. Time to get moving.”
The horse set out at a canter.
Martyn didn’t look back.
6
Martyn halted Wanderer at the crest of the hill overlooking Nalgar Castle. It had once been home. The placed he’d belonged.
Now? Now it was nothing but stone and memories.
King Respen lay buried in an unmarked grave in Blathe. Most of his fellow Blades had similar graves across Acktar, the Sheered Rock Hills, and the Waste. In a few years, no one would even remember most of them had lived, much less where they had died. The Blades that were left were either behind him at Sierra or somewhere out there, either sticking to the rules of their banishment or lurking at Acktar’s corners until a new leader rallied them.
And he would have to hunt them. Could he? They’d once been almost
his brothers. Then again, he’d once thought Leith was his brother and look how that had turned out.
The guards at the gate eyed Martyn as he entered, but he ducked his head and sagged his shoulders like a worn farmer. In his patched, brown clothes and most of his knives hidden in his bedroll, he no longer looked like someone they should worry about, much less like a Blade.
After passing Wanderer to a stablehand—a new man he didn’t recognize and who thankfully didn’t recognize him—Martyn strolled the familiar passageway from the stables to the dark stairwell leading into the rooms that had once been King Respen’s, but now belonged to Renna’s cousin King Keevan.
When Martyn was First Blade, the guards at the bottom of the stairs never dared question him. But now the guards at the bottom of the stairs barred his way. “Who are you and what’s your business with the king?”
Martyn ran a hand through his curls, now gritty with dust. If only he could return to his room in the Tower and wash the trail dust from his body before he approached the king.
But he didn’t have a room here. He didn’t belong.
He forced himself to stand straighter. “I’d like to speak with the king about an offer of a job he made me.”
“Name?”
Martyn clenched his jaw to stop his frown. He hadn’t bothered coming up with a false name yet. Leith had been so eager to throw aside his past to become Daniel Grayce, but what would Martyn be without his past or name? He’d be starting all over again.
He’d done that once before.
Then again, why did he cling to his family name? It wasn’t like it meant all that much to him. Why not abandon his name? It was far less than what his family had done to him.
“Well?” The guard angled his sword toward Martyn.
“Owen.” Martyn barely stopped himself from swearing. Why had he said that name? Of all names he could’ve chosen, why that one? Too late now. He’d said it. “Owen Hill.”
“Wait here.” The talkative guard thumped up the stairs. The second guard remained, blinking and scowling as if he thought the expression made him look menacing.
Martyn could show him a thing or two about menacing.
A few minutes later, the other guard returned. After making Martyn go through the whole search-for-weapons hassle, the guard nodded. “Follow me.”
The guard led the way up the stairs, his gaze focused on his feet as if he was still unused to the dark, narrow steps. Martyn gritted his teeth, not looking as his feet. How many times had he climbed these stairs in the past weeks and months as First Blade?
The guard opened the door and stepped inside.
Martyn halted in the doorway. In the two days since he’d been there, the king’s chambers had been torn apart. All the furniture except for the two chairs and the desk in the corner had disappeared, along with all the rugs, tapestries, and curtains.
At the far wall beside the door to the bedchamber, several men pried the wainscoting off the wooden interior wall. An older man with black curls sketched something on a piece of paper.
King Keevan stood in the center of the room, his ever-present bodyguard a few yards behind him. King Keevan’s hand pressed against Queen Adelaide’s back where it arched to support the weight of the child growing within her. Martyn didn’t know much about such things, but she didn’t look like she could stand to get much bigger. Something else for Acktar to celebrate. A new king. A new queen. And a new prince or princess to distract them from the hurt still festering.
Queen Adelaide had her hand stuck in the air, her mass of brown curls puffing around her head. “…have to get someone to clean the cobwebs from the corners. My mother would never have let the king’s apartment get into such a state. I’d climb on the desk to do it myself, but—”
“You’re not going to be climbing on anything.” The rasp in King Keevan’s throat deepened into a growl. With all the rugs and tapestries gone, his voice echoed against the bare, stone floor.
Queen Adelaide bumped King Keevan with her elbow. “Of course not. I can’t even see my feet right now, much less see what I’d climb on. But I’m not going to just sit around. I’ve been cleaning these rooms since I could walk, and I cleaned our cabin in Eagle’s Heights. I’m not about to go soft and spoiled now.”
Martyn raised his eyebrows. So this was the new queen. She wasn’t quite the fine china he would’ve expected.
The guard coughed. “Your Majesties, Owen Hill to see you.”
King Keevan turned and stiffened, his smile thinning and hardening. He took a half-step in front of Queen Adelaide, as if to shield her. “I need to speak with this man alone.”
King Keevan’s bodyguard darted a hand to his sword’s hilt and stepped between Martyn and the king and queen.
The workmen looked up, then set their tools down and followed the guard down the stairs.
Queen Adelaide cocked her head, eyed Martyn for a moment, then kissed King Keevan on the cheek. “I was starting to feel a mite peckish anyway. Papa, could you help me down the stairs?”
As she held out her arm, the black-haired man joined her and matched her pace as she waddled from the room, leaving Martyn alone with King Keevan and his glaring bodyguard.
Martyn was getting really tired of being glared at. He crossed his arms and focused on the tall, brown-haired bodyguard. “Your king is the one who invited me back here. So unless you’re questioning your king’s judgment, I have as much right to be here as you.”
The bodyguard tensed, and his fingers flexed on his sword’s hilt.
King Keevan rested a hand on his arm, halting him. “Take it easy, Frank. I’m safe enough for the time being.”
Safe enough. Martyn resisted the urge to snort. Safe enough wasn’t the same thing as safe. Apparently King Keevan didn’t trust him enough for that.
“Have a seat.” King Keevan claimed his chair behind the desk while the bodyguard took his position near the window. From there, he could effectively glare holes in Martyn’s back.
Martyn sank onto the chair. This time, it would probably be best if he waited for the king to speak first. He’d already pushed rather far into disrespectful territory.
King Keevan crossed his arms, his flattened mouth tugging at the jagged line of the scar across his cheek and neck. “You’re back sooner than I expected. You’ve decided to scout for me?”
Martyn held back another snort. Why else would he be here? It wasn’t to apply for a job as castle cook or stableboy. But this was polite conversation, and polite conversation usually consisted of a lot of inane questions.
Besides, he couldn’t fault King Keevan for his surprise. Martyn should’ve agreed to King Keevan’s offer the moment he’d made it rather than waste a trip to Sierra and back. He should’ve realized that trying to fit into a peaceful sort of life would last about as long as an ill-fitting pair of boots.
He drew in a deep breath, but for a moment, he couldn’t make himself reply. Did he want to hunt his fellow Blades? Pledge himself to a new king? Once he gave his loyalty to King Keevan, he wouldn’t ask for it back. Would King Keevan take advantage of that?
What choice did he have? He didn’t know how to do anything besides track, fight, and follow orders. Like the banished Blades, he had no choice. They would find their new master, and he would find his.
“Yes.” It was done.
King Keevan spread a map across the top of the desk, pinned the corners down with four, dust-colored rocks, and pointed at the northwest corner. “The remaining Blades were escorted out of Acktar here. They were last seen headed straight north. I want you to patrol the Sheered Rock Hills from Walden to Kilm. Watch for anything suspicious, Blades or otherwise.”
“You sound like you’re expecting trouble from more than just five former Blades.”
King Keevan ran a finger along the scar on his neck. “After the Battle of Nalgar Castle, the remnants of Respen’s army scattered. Some returned to their towns. Others had no families and no ties to any town. They’re drifting, angry
because they lost, and looking to cause trouble.”
Acktar was a country divided. Hurt remained. Anger. King Keevan walked a dangerous line. Violence could erupt across the country if left unchecked, yet too much military rule would mirror Respen’s actions.
“Do you think Ki—” Martyn cleared his throat, “Respen’s soldiers will turn into Rovers?”
Back before King Respen took the throne, the bands of outlaws, known as Rovers, had terrorized Acktar, pillaging towns, kidnapping for ransom, and plundering trade wagons. The Blades had killed most of them, though a few Rovers had joined the Blades. And for the last two years, no Rovers had dared wander Acktar. It just wasn’t healthy.
“Several already have. I’ve received several reports yesterday and today about Rover attacks.” King Keevan tapped the map. “The Hills have always been the Rovers’ main hiding place. That’s why I need you there.”
“What do you want me to do should I see anything suspicious?” Martyn forced himself to remain relaxed. This was the main question. Was King Keevan any different than King Respen? Was Martyn going to be his scout or his assassin?
“Report to Lord Alistair at Walden. He will be alerted to assist you.” King Keevan rested his arms on the map. “But if you think you can encourage the troublemakers to leave without too much bloodshed, then by all means, handle it yourself. Then report to Lord Alistair.”
Martyn nodded. He had a new master, and now he had a new leash.
“Any questions?”
“Nope.” Martyn stood. Finally, he had a mission.
7
After a long day of riding south toward Stetterly, Leith sprawled on the grass, his ribs and thigh sore, but not throbbing like they had been a week ago. The time at Sierra and Walden had done him good, even if the busyness of Shad and Jolene’s wedding hadn’t left a lot of time for resting.
Dusk pooled below the hills and faded the horizon into black. A hush had settled across the prairie, the breeze and daytime sounds gone, and the nighttime crickets not yet awake.
Deliver (The Blades of Acktar Book 4) Page 5