Deliver (The Blades of Acktar Book 4)

by Tricia Mingerink

  But Stetterly was three days from the nearest Resistance town. The guards would be relaxed, thinking they’d reached the end of the dangerous journey. Instead they would ride into a war. Leith, Renna, Brandi…they would fight. But they would die.

  Martyn had to warn them. He stood and turned, joining the bustle of people in front of the command cabin. First, he’d get Wanderer. Then, he’d figure out a way to sneak out.

  “Martyn!”

  He froze. Why was someone calling his name? He didn’t recognize the voice. He cast about but didn’t see who was yelling.

  “Martyn!” The shout grew louder.

  People turned in Martyn’s general direction, searching for the source of the shout. What was going on? He spun on his heels. If this yelling stranger got Martyn caught…

  A hand grabbed his arm. “Martyn!”

  Martyn whirled, reaching for his knife. A boy of about seventeen faced him, wavy blond hair cascading into his deep brown eyes. That was it? Just a random kid? “What?”

  The better question would be how the boy knew Martyn’s name, but Martyn would get to that in a moment. If he could bite back the curses piling in his throat.

  The boy crossed his arms. “I know you’re all high and mighty now, but you could at least acknowledge your own brother.”

  24

  Impossible. His brother was dead.

  Martyn jerked out of the boy’s grasp. He had to get out of here before the Blades investigated the shouting.

  But…how did the boy know Martyn had once had a brother? Turning, Martyn studied the boy. He did have the Hamish blond hair and dark brown eyes. His chin wasn’t as square as Martyn’s, a softening of the features their mother had always claimed as her contribution in a pair of boys that so resembled their father.

  Martyn gripped the boy’s shoulders. He didn’t dare believe it. Not without proof. “What was my brother’s name?”

  The boy sighed and shrugged out of Martyn’s grip. “Seriously? You’re going to pretend you don’t recognize me? Give it a rest. Surely after eight years you aren’t still going to be mad.”

  Eight years. That was the right time frame. But this couldn’t…Martyn clenched his fists so tightly his arms shook. He didn’t have time for this. He needed proof, and he needed to get out of here. “Your name.”

  “Owen Hamish. Same one I’ve always had.” The boy crossed his arms. “Now that I’ve tracked you down, I won’t let you ignore me like you have all these years.”

  Ignore him? But Owen was dead. Wasn’t he?

  Martyn shook his head and dragged his hands through his hair. This couldn’t…he couldn’t be. But how had this boy known his brother’s name? As far as Martyn knew, none of the other Blades or Lord Norton or any of his enemies knew. None of them knew he was even here. Why would any of them go to all the trouble of faking this?

  Besides, what proof did Martyn have that his brother had died? All he had was King Respen’s word. No bodies. No graves.

  How trustworthy did Martyn believe Respen to be anymore? He’d once trusted Respen’s words wholeheartedly, but now, what was the truth?

  If King Keevan—one of Leith’s kills—could be alive, wasn’t it possible that Martyn’s brother, maybe even his whole family, could also be alive?

  Martyn squeezed his eyes shut, reopened them, and blinked. The boy was still standing there, still looking so much like an older version of the nine-year-old brother Martyn had lost. He swallowed. “Owen?”

  “Yes, it’s me.” Owen huffed and shook his head. “Why do you look so shocked? The war is over. It would be idiotic to keep avoiding me.”

  Avoid him? What was Owen talking about? Martyn opened his mouth, but movement caught his gaze.

  The former Blade Quinten Daas stepped to the side of the cabin, probably lured by all of Owen’s shouting. As Martyn raised his head, their gazes locked. Daas’ face hardened, and he gripped his knife.

  Too many yards and people separated them. Martyn wouldn’t be able to get out a knife and silence Daas before he raised the alarm.

  Martyn grabbed Owen’s arm. “We have to go. Now.”

  Daas whirled and dashed for the cabin door. Probably to gather the other four Blades. Martyn didn’t have time to worry about that. He had to get himself and his brother out of this camp and out of this valley before the Blades caught them.

  And, as soon as General Wentle heard Daas had spotted a spy in their midst, he would send the entire army of five hundred men after them.

  “What are you doing? Let go.” Owen dug in his heels.

  “I don’t have time to explain. We have to get out of here.” Martyn yanked on his brother’s arm. He didn’t dare leave Owen behind. Daas had seen them together. He’d know Owen was somehow connected to Martyn, and he wouldn’t be afraid to torture him to find out how. Daas had, after all, been the one to gleefully press red-hot pokers to Leith’s skin in the Tower.

  Owen must’ve sensed his urgency because he finally stopped resisting and matched Martyn’s pace. Martyn increased his speed to a jog. Would it be better to sprint and hope for speed to save them? Or would they be better off trying to blend in? Somehow, they had to get to their horses, get out of here, and warn King Keevan.

  Martyn glanced over his shoulder. The five Blades dashed into view. Daas pointed, and they broke into a run.

  Martyn bit back a string of curses. So much for stealth. “Follow me.”

  He sprinted through a narrow gap between two cabins, Owen at his heels. With a quick right turn, Martyn led them into the bustling crowd of men loading the supply wagons.

  After dodging through the chaos, Martyn slowed down on the other side once a row of lean-tos hid them from sight.

  Owen leaned his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. “What was that all about?”

  “The Blades are hunting me.” That was about as simple as he could make it. Any more explanation would take too much time. “Where’s your horse? We’ll fetch it, then get mine. Please tell me you already started packing.”

  “Mostly. My horse is that way.” Owen pointed, then fell into step as Martyn set out in that direction. His jaw was set, and his hand rested on his sword’s hilt, as if Martyn’s word that they had to leave was good enough for him.

  Martyn darted glances at the men around them and kept their pace to a fast walk. No sign of the Blades. Yet.

  Owen led him to a light brown horse standing next to a large lean-to constructed of logs and an interwoven mat of pine branches for a roof. Logs were piled along the front, turning the structure into a small cabin more than a lean-to.

  After helping Owen saddle his horse and stuff the last of his possessions into his saddlebags, Martyn led the way to the outskirts of the camp where Wanderer cropped grass next to the makeshift shelter Martyn had constructed a day and a half ago.

  Still no sign of the Blades. Had they managed to lose them? Martyn didn’t dare hope.

  It only took a moment to strap his things onto his saddle. He grasped Wanderer’s reins and studied the sides of the valley around them. They couldn’t leave by the creek entrance. General Wentle would have it guarded.

  The upstream end of Hawkpine Creek cascaded over a cliff and down into the valley in a roaring waterfall. No way to escape the valley in that direction.

  The southern rim of mountains sloped in tree-covered ridges rather than the sharp cliffs to the north. It would be rough going, but it should be possible.

  Should they leave now or try to hide until dark? Their chances of being spotted in the daylight were higher, but no one else would be moving at night, also making them noticeable. Leith would’ve known which was best. He’d outguess the Blades.

  Martyn could only go with his instinct, and his instincts told him that darkness was always best.

  Either way, they couldn’t stay here. General Wentle would order the camp searched. Martyn would have to find a place to hide until darkness could conceal their movements as they crossed the creek and made their way up and ove
r the mountain.

  “We’ll head in that direction.” Martyn pointed toward the far end of the valley where dense stands of pine, birch, and willow crowded along the creek’s banks so densely it was no longer visible. From here, they only had a short distance to cross until they reached cover. “Follow behind me exactly.”

  Owen nodded and gripped his horse’s reins.

  They set out in silence and crossed into the trees along the Hawkpine Creek. Martyn checked behind them, but he didn’t see anyone following them.

  A decent scout would be able to follow their trail. Did any of those Blades know how to track? With his own skills, Martyn had never relied on any of the other Blades for tracking. Leith would’ve known. He’d trained more of the younger Blades than Martyn had.

  After nearly half an hour of trudging through the underbrush, the camp disappeared from view behind several bends in the creek. Martyn found a secluded section of willows and birches, surrounded by a stand of pines beyond that. It was the best he could do until nightfall. “We’ll stop here until dark.”

  Owen loosened his horse’s girth, sank onto a fallen log, and eyed Martyn. “Well, are you going to explain what’s going on?”

  Martyn shook his head and perched on a log a few feet away. Owen was the one who needed to do the explaining. “Are Mother and Father still alive too?”

  Owen crossed his arms, his jaw jutting forward. “Mama and Papa. That’s what you called them growing up. At least give them the courtesy of that.”

  Martyn swallowed, fisting his fingers. Mama and Papa. When had he stopped calling them that? Leith had called his parents mother and father, as if to distance himself, and Martyn picked up the habit. Mother and Father had abandoned him. Mother and Father had died. As if the Mama and Papa of his childhood no longer existed.

  “Mama and Papa. Are they alive?” Martyn held his breath. Why was his heart beating, as if…as if in hope? Foolish, foolish hope.

  Owen shook his head. “No. Papa died a few years ago, and Mama died last year.”

  A year. Martyn closed his eyes, aching deep in his chest. If he’d known, he could’ve seen her one last time. He could’ve asked her why they’d never returned, why they’d chosen to abandon him in the first place.

  Mama. Martyn leaned his elbows on his knees, trying to breathe. What he wouldn’t give to have one more minute with her. One moment to feel her hug, her touch in his hair.

  “Wait, too? What do you mean, alive too?”

  “Until today, I thought you were dead.” Martyn swept his gaze over Owen. His brother. Alive and sitting across from him.

  Owen cocked his head. “Who told you that? How did you think I died?”

  Might as well start at the beginning. “You remember the night Mama and Papa abandoned me at the church in Blathe?”

  “Yes. I woke in a wagon that morning, not knowing how I got there. Papa must’ve carried me out while I slept.” Owen toyed with a stick as if unable to look at Martyn. “I was devastated when I couldn’t find you. Papa explained you were being looked after and we’d be back for you when we could.”

  Martyn looked away. He’d always harbored such anger toward Owen for being the one their parents chose that he’d never considered what it was like for Owen to wake up without his brother. “That morning, the minister turned me out onto the streets. I spent nearly a year alone before Lord Respen Felix took me in. He told me he’d tried to track down my parents, but all of you froze to death in a blizzard during the winter.”

  “We came close, but, no, we didn’t freeze. Or starve.” Owen cracked the stick. The snap resounded in the air between them. “It took Papa a year, but he got a job in Surgis working for Lord Conree. He paid off his debts and built a house. We returned to Blathe to find you, but the minister told us you’d died of a fever.”

  They’d come back for him. Martyn rested his head in his hands. All these years of hating his parents, and they’d come back for him.

  Being abandoned had hurt. But Martyn had understood it, somewhat. It was the only way to survive. But as the days had stretched into weeks and months, he’d tried to cling to the hope they’d return. When they didn’t, that hope had shriveled into something hard and dead.

  He’d been loyal to Respen because he’d taken Martyn in when his parents had abandoned him. But that wasn’t the truth. Not the whole truth, anyway. They hadn’t abandoned him forever. They’d come back and would’ve brought him home.

  Home. With his family. Mama. Papa. Owen.

  Years of bloodshed and loyalty for Respen. It had been built on lies. Nothing Respen had told him was true. Leith had been right all along to turn his back on the Blades the first chance he got.

  Martyn cleared his throat. “Respen was already training me to be a Blade by then. He had plans, and he couldn’t let me return to you. He must’ve heard Papa and Mama were asking questions and ordered the minister to lie. He then told me you had died so I’d never go looking.”

  Why hadn’t Respen just killed Martyn’s parents? It would’ve been simpler. But if they’d come to Blathe under Lord Conree’s protection, Respen wouldn’t have risked losing Lord Conree’s support for his planned rebellion.

  “It nearly killed Papa and Mama, you know.” Owen’s eyes glinted. “Something broke in them that day. We returned to Surgis, and Papa continued to work for Lord Conree, but his heart wasn’t in it anymore. He expected me to work harder and act better than ever before. When he died shortly after Respen took over, Lord Conree was kind enough to take me into his service, young as I was. He was generous, and Mama and I were able to get by.”

  If he’d been there, Martyn could’ve protected them. He fisted both hands into his hair. What would it have been like to grow up as a family?

  Respen had stolen that from him.

  “I’ve known you were alive for years.” Owen rested his elbows on his knees. “But I made sure Mama never found out.”

  “Why?” Martyn stared. Something stabbed deep in his chest.

  “I’m sorry, but I decided it was best she didn’t know. You were a Blade, and I thought you knew we were alive and were purposefully avoiding us.” Owen scuffed his boot into the dirt. “Mama was already fragile after losing Papa. She’d built this picture of who you would’ve been had you lived. So strong and brave. A hard worker. A godly man. It would’ve broken her to learn you’d turned into a Blade ignoring his family.”

  Martyn gripped his right shoulder, the one covered with his marks. The blood on his hands had kept him from his family. “I’m sorry. I would’ve been there in a moment if I’d known. But Respen never sent me to Surgis. I truly thought you were all long dead.”

  “I realize that now.” Owen scrubbed his thumb along his palm. “I resented you, you know. Papa and Mama were always telling me how great you would’ve been if you’d lived. I could never measure up to the image they built of you. Then I learned you were a Blade, and that only made it worse.”

  “I resented you too. You were the one Mama and Papa chose to keep, but they abandoned me.” Martyn ran his fingers through his hair. “All they would’ve had to do was ask. I would’ve volunteered to stay behind. I would’ve…”

  He wouldn’t have given up hope. He would’ve run away from the Blades to get back to his family.

  “I don’t think they could.” Owen shook his head. “What parents could look their child in the eye and admit they’d failed so badly they could no longer care for him?”

  Instead, they’d slunk off into the night.

  Martyn exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry. I’m sure a Blade is the last person you want for a brother.”

  Owen scrubbed the back of his neck. “Like I said, I’ve known for years. It’s not a shock. And I fought in Respen’s army. Lord Conree didn’t agree with Respen on everything—he protected the Christians in Surgis, after all—but he fought on Respen’s side, so I fought for him.”

  “You aren’t going to hear any judgment from me.” Something almost like a smile ached at the co
rners of Martyn’s mouth.

  “So why are the Blades hunting you? Aren’t you one of them?”

  “Not anymore.” The words warmed Martyn’s chest. He wasn’t a Blade anymore. This side—King Keevan’s side, Leith’s side—was the side he should’ve been on all along. “In the Battle for Nalgar Castle, I turned on Respen to save Leith Torren, a fellow Blade who became a friend and brother. He’d betrayed Respen to the Resistance. I’m now scouting for King Keevan.”

  “I see.” Owen’s eyes narrowed as he nodded. “You were looking for the Blades in case they returned.”

  “Yes.” Martyn checked the forest around them once again. He’d checked every several minutes this entire time, but he had yet to see or hear anything. “What are you doing here?”

  “I didn’t have anywhere to go last fall.” Owen shrugged.

  But there was something in his shrug, his words, that didn’t add up. From what Owen had told him, he wasn’t the type to turn into a Rover. So what was he doing here, really?

  Martyn couldn’t help a smile this time. “You were looking for me, weren’t you?”

  That’s why Owen had been loitering near the command cabin, near the Blades, and why he’d recognized Martyn right away. He’d been scrutinizing every face that passed.

  “Fine. Yes, I was searching for you. I assumed you had been banished with the other Blades. With Respen dead, I hoped…well, I hoped I could annoy you back to the straight and narrow if I had to. You’re all I have left, even if you were a Blade.” Owen’s dark brown eyes, so like his own, focused on him. “You were abandoned once. I decided I wasn’t going to abandon you again. It’s time you came home.”

  Home. Did Martyn even know what that word meant anymore? “And where would that be?”

  “Surgis, probably. The Resistance towns don’t want one of Respen’s soldiers or a Blade there, and many of the towns that supported Respen are still antagonistic to Christians.”