Deliver (The Blades of Acktar Book 4)

by Tricia Mingerink

  Nearby, a guard rocked back and forth on his heels while he patrolled around a paddock with the horses Lord Norton’s men had captured during the day.

  Leith pressed a knife to the guard’s neck. “Do exactly as I say, and you won’t get hurt.”

  The man stiffened, swallowed, and slowly bobbed his head. The fear of a knife in the dark still reigned in Acktar, despite Respen being dead and buried.

  “Release the horses.” Leith accompanied the words with a prick from his knife.

  The man scrambled to obey. Leith crept into the shadows while the man untied the ropes holding the horses in the makeshift pen and flapped his arms at the animals. Once one made a dash for the opening, the whole herd thundered through.

  The man stood there, panting, and glanced around as if searching for Leith. Any moment now, the man would realize he was alone, and he’d raise the alarm.

  It took the man almost a minute to gather his courage enough to grip his sword and shout for more guards. As guards scurried in all directions, Leith crept back the way he’d come, setting fire to two tents in a plowed section of field while he was at it.

  Lord Norton charged from his tent, yelling and waving his dagger. Leith suppressed his grin. Exactly as planned.

  He slipped into the nighttime prairie. Behind him, Lord Norton bellowed orders to the Blades.

  The hunt had begun.

  33

  A low rumble. Voices. The thud of horse hooves.

  Martyn blinked. Canvas stretched above his head. Where was he? Why was there a tent over him?

  Daylight filtered through the gap near the doorway. Why were they stopped in the middle of the day? Shouldn’t they be rushing toward Stetterly as quickly as possible?

  He tried to sit up, and the blanket slid down his chest. He peered down at himself. What had happened to his clothes? Again?

  This was getting a tad disconcerting.

  “I told them you weren’t going to die on us.”

  Martyn turned his head. A few yards away, Shad leaned back in a chair, his feet propped on a supply crate. He was binding goose feathers onto the end of a new arrow. Next to him, more unfletched arrows stabbed into the ground while a bundle of finished arrows rested on his other side.

  “Where are my clothes?” Martyn searched either side of the bed, but he couldn’t see any bundles of discarded clothing.

  “I’m not telling. You have to rest.” Shad gave him one of those commanding, know-it-all lord’s son looks. “You won’t be of any use when we reach Stetterly if you push yourself now.”

  Shad was even more annoying when he was right. Martyn flopped back onto the pillow. “Fine. As long as you give my clothes back before we ride into battle.”

  “Actually, they’re my clothes you’re borrowing.” Shad tied off the fletching and added the arrow to his pile.

  A face, pale beneath a thatch of blond hair, peered through the opening in the canvas. Owen’s eyes widened. “You’re awake!”

  As Shad gathered his arrows and strode from the tent, Owen bounded to Martyn’s side. Unhooking a canteen from a tent pole, he shoved it at Martyn’s face. “Here.”

  Martyn grimaced and drank. It wouldn’t be so bad drinking all this water if people didn’t keep insisting on watering him like he was some dying cornstalk. When Owen finally stopped dumping water into him, Martyn managed to gasp a decent breath. “How long has it been? Where are we?”

  And where was Kayleigh? Why wasn’t she here? Martyn tried to ignore the stabbing in his heart. She didn’t have to spend every minute of her day with him, even if he had been dying or something like that. It wasn’t like they were anything to each other. Not really.

  “We’re camped south of Aven. We’ve been here since last night while King Keevan rallies the lords. I think he plans to leave tomorrow at dawn if all goes well.” Owen held out the canteen again. “More water?”

  “No.” Martyn knocked the canteen away. Any more water and he’d choke. “Tomorrow is too late. We should be heading for Stetterly, not sitting around here.”

  “What is it with you Blades? You believe you know best when it comes to military matters.” A rasping voice came from the doorway to the tent. “When will you learn it does no good to rush into the battle until you have the means to make sure you win.”

  Martyn bolted upright, sucked in a breath of pain, and reached for the blanket that had fallen to his waist. “Sir…sire…Your Majesty…”

  “Don’t bother bowing.” King Keevan strode across the tent and took the chair next to Martyn’s cot as Owen vacated it. “I wish to speak with him alone.”

  Owen bowed and left the tent.

  Martyn swallowed and eased down onto his pillow. What did King Keevan wish to speak to him about? “Sire?”

  “I owe you my life.” King Keevan leaned his elbows on his knees, his head bowed. “And the lives of my wife and son. If not for your warning, I would’ve ridden into a trap with them beside me. Thank you.”

  Martyn drew in a breath, pain flaring across his skin. Had Respen ever thanked him for completing a mission? Ever said he owed Martyn his life?

  No, Martyn had taken lives and sold his soul for Respen. But King Keevan? He asked for lives to be saved, not destroyed. He was someone worthy of trusting and following.

  And Martyn had spent too much of his life following a liar and a murderer.

  Maybe that was where Martyn had gone wrong so often. Choosing the wrong loyalties. Following the wrong men. Following men at all.

  Tied to that lamppost, Martyn had changed loyalties. He wasn’t sure what that would mean, yet. He wasn’t sure how to go about following Christ and His commands. But if Christ was everything the Bible said He was, then He was the worthiest commander of all.

  No more ifs. No more doubt. Trust.

  “It was my mission.” Martyn managed a shrug and sucked in a breath at a blast of pain. The breath caught in his throat, turning into a coughing fit.

  His eyes watered with the force of his coughing. Had the smoke permanently damaged his lungs? He wouldn’t know until his body healed. If it healed.

  When Martyn caught his breath, blinking, King Keevan held out the canteen. Martyn fumbled to hold the canteen with shaking hands. With a sigh, King Keevan steadied the canteen while Martyn sipped at the water.

  “When you’re up to it, I’ll have one of my men take your statement.” King Keevan returned the canteen to its hook.

  “My statement? You mean, what I saw at Kilm and the hidden valley?” Martyn resisted a yawn. His muscles felt as if he’d coughed out all his strength.

  “That, and what happened with the mob at Flayin Falls. I already have Owen’s account, but I’d like yours as well. Once I’ve settled with Lord Norton, I’ll swing through Flayin Falls to arrest Dean Westin.”

  “You’re going to arrest him? For what he did?” Martyn swallowed down another tickle in his raw throat. Wasn’t Flayin Falls a Resistance town? “Why?”

  “He incited mob violence, decreed an unlawful execution without a proper trial, and nearly burned a man at the stake, a manner of execution that has been illegal for decades.” King Keevan’s rasp turned the words into a growl. “Doesn’t matter who breaks the law. It’s my duty to see that justice is done.”

  Justice. Even for a former Blade like Martyn.

  King Keevan’s tall, dark-haired bodyguard stepped into the tent. “Lord Conree has arrived. Owen Hamish has gone to greet him.”

  “Show him in here.”

  Lord Conree of Surgis. Martyn tensed and tried to catch his breath. Lord Conree had known Martyn’s parents. He respected Owen enough to give him leave to search for Martyn.

  Minutes later, a thin man with dark blond hair and drooping mustache stepped into the tent, Owen at his heels. King Keevan stood. “Lord Conree. Thank you for your support and your men.”

  “My pleasure, sire.” Lord Conree bowed.

  “There’s a meeting tonight to plan our strategy. Until then, rations will be distribute
d to your men and your horses cared for. Please let my general or captains know if you require anything else.” With one last nod, King Keevan strode from the tent. Through the opening, Martyn caught a glimpse of his two bodyguards falling into step behind him before the canvas flapped closed once again.

  Owen led Lord Conree across the tent and gestured at Martyn. “Sir, this is my brother Martyn. Martyn, this is Lord Conree of Surgis.”

  Martyn probably should try to get up again, just to be polite, but his body throbbed. His eyelids drooped. He’d been awake all of a few minutes, yet he was tired already. It was pitiful, really. Though, with all the people coming and going, his tent had to be the busiest one in the whole camp.

  He managed a nod. “Thank you, sir, for looking after my brother and parents all those years.”

  “Owen has served me well.” Lord Conree rested a hand on Owen’s shoulder, and Owen squirmed as if embarrassed. “Both of you will have a place at Surgis, if you want it.”

  “Both of us?” Martyn couldn’t have heard that right. No one invited a former Blade to their town.

  “Yes. Both.” Lord Conree studied Martyn and nodded as if he approved of what he saw. “Owen, we should let your brother rest. Would you show me where my men and I should camp?”

  Owen nodded but turned back to Martyn. “Go back to sleep. I’ll send someone in to check on you in a while.”

  As Owen and Lord Conree left, Martyn settled back under the blanket and closed his eyes. Middle of the day, and here he was napping. But his legs burned, his head was too heavy to lift, and perhaps he could go back to sleep for a few minutes.

  Kayleigh’s voice.

  Martyn cracked his eyes open as she perched on the chair next to him. “Wondered where you were.”

  “I had breakfast with Lady Lorraine, then joined Lord Shadrach’s sword drill.” Kayleigh glared over her shoulder. “And someone neglected to inform me you were awake. Being distracted by a king and a lord was no excuse.”

  Martyn caught a glimpse of Owen ducking out of sight outside the tent. There was something about seeing Owen and Kayleigh acting like friends, or even family, that lurched through his chest. Especially considering they’d fought on the opposite sides of the war.

  To distract himself, he checked the blanket, tugging it farther up his chest. He was getting better at the whole propriety thing.

  “How do you feel?”

  When Martyn glanced up, Kayleigh’s gaze focused on him. Her eyebrows scrunched so tightly he had the sudden urge to touch her face and smooth them out. He clenched his fingers. Great. More impulses like that, and he’d get all lovestruck and moon-eyed like Leith.

  He cleared his throat. “Fine. I’m…really fine. Can’t feel the burns anymore, actually.”

  To be honest, it wasn’t that he couldn’t feel the pain. He’d just gotten used to it, as if pain had become as a part of him as his scars or breathing. As long as he didn’t move, it wasn’t too bad.

  The wrinkles didn’t smooth from Kayleigh’s face. “You’re hurt pretty badly.”

  “I’ll heal.” He grinned. “And I’ll get a few good scars.”

  That got a smile out of her. She crossed her arms and huffed. “Scars? That’s all you can think about? You nearly died.”

  He shrugged as much as he could while lying down. “It’s not that unusual.” He glanced down at his right arm, where his marks ranged down his arm. Did he dare bring it up? She’d been so nice to him since seeing him tied to the post in Flayin Falls, but had she really forgiven him? “I was a Blade. It’s what I do.”

  She stilled, her gaze dropping from his. “I’m sorry I reacted the way I did when you told me. I’ve always told myself I wasn’t like the townsfolk in Flayin Falls, but then I pulled a sword on you and threw you out without giving you a chance to explain. I’m sorry.”

  Great. A heartfelt apology. Now what was he supposed to say? She probably expected something equally mushy back. “It wasn’t your fault. I pushed you into it, knowing I was leaving and probably wouldn’t come back.”

  “I hoped you would.” Kayleigh plucked at her skirt. “I regretted what I’d said as soon as you left. I checked your cabin every day to see if you’d returned.”

  He’d tried to kill her hope, but all he’d done was make her hope even more.

  But that was back when he’d had no hope.

  Now he had Owen, a piece of his family restored to him. He was on his way to save Leith and Renna, and that made him oddly hopeful that, if they all survived, he and Leith might repair something of what they’d once had. Even if they couldn’t, Martyn would have a place waiting for him at Surgis if he wanted it. Or King Keevan might ask him to continue scouting.

  And he might be on his way to figuring out how to have the faith he’d once had as a child. “I managed to keep our deal this time. I thought about…a lot of things that night.”

  “And?” Kayleigh leaned forward, her fingers still fidgeting with the fabric of her skirt.

  “I’m not good at trusting yet.” Or believing. Or praying.

  “Perhaps that’s why you were spared. You’re too deliberate and logical for quick belief and blind trust.” She reached out and straightened the blanket, her gaze focused on her hands. “God has work to do with you yet. But then again, He had a lot of work to do with me too.”

  This was still too new and raw. Martyn let the silence lengthen until he could safely change the subject. “I’m, uh, glad I stumbled across you in the Sheered Rock Hills. You turned out to be less of a nuisance than I thought.”

  “And you turned out to be even more of a hassle.” Her mouth turned up at the corners as if she was fighting a grin.

  He grinned back. Being a hassle to her was strangely satisfying.

  Blizzard’s snort alerted him.

  Leith eased onto his elbows and peered over the boulder sheltering him. Blizzard and Valor stood in front of the cabin in the hidden crevice. Their heads were up, ears pricked, staring toward the entrance.

  Voices. Leith slid into a crouch, thankful he’d changed back into his dust brown shirt and trousers after last night’s raid.

  The Blades had found him.

  Two figures, dressed in black, broke through the stand of pine trees and stalked to the edge of the clearing. One motioned over his shoulder. “There are his horses. He’s got to be here somewhere.”

  Leith suppressed a snort. Foolish mistake, shouting and standing in the open.

  Six more men stepped from the trees. Leith tensed, resisting the urge to reach for his knife. Three of the men carried strung bows, quivers filled with arrows resting across their backs.

  Archers. The best defense against a Blade.

  Two of the Blades stayed near the entrance while the other three Blades paired with the archers. The archers nocked arrows to their bows and stayed a few steps behind as the three Blades moved in different directions, searching each side and the center of the clearing.

  Leith slowly lowered himself out of sight. If they caught him, they’d shoot him down as easily as Shad shot Vane a year ago.

  He scrubbed dust through his hair since its dark color would stand out against the sun-dried rocks. For good measure, he rubbed dust over his knives, his face, his hands, and his boots. Anything that might stand out or glint.

  Wiggling forward on his stomach, he peered around the boulder. The archer and the Blade, Franklin Tooley, stalked closer.

  Leith was trapped.

  34

  Martyn gripped the saddlehorn, dressed and armed for the first time in far too many days. His legs already hurt where they rubbed against the saddle. But he’d tough it out. He had to.

  A few feet away, King Keevan sat astride a pale palomino. Fishing into his saddlebag, he pulled out a gold crown and settled it onto his hair. The setting sun behind them sent orange beams glinting off the gold.

  One of his bodyguards, the shorter and stockier one, grinned and adjusted the large shield on his arm. “Planning to overwhelm them with your
kingly majesty?”

  “That, and thirteen hundred foot soldiers.” King Keevan flashed a thin smile, the expression tightening the scar across his cheek. “Those are my people down there as much as here. I have to end this with as little bloodshed as possible.”

  He gestured at the ranks of men arrayed in battle formation in a sweeping curve at the base of the hill, out of sight from Lord Norton’s army surrounding Stetterly.

  Sierra, Dently, Clarbon, Keestone, Aven. All Resistance towns.

  But also Blathe and Surgis. Towns who had fought for Respen, but now rallied behind their Eirdon king.

  It was the most united Acktar had been in far too many years.

  King Keevan’s tall, dark-haired bodyguard unfurled the king’s banner, a silver cross on a light green background. King Keevan gestured to Martyn. “He’s going to carry it.”

  “Me?” Martyn pointed at his chest. “You want me to carry the king’s banner into battle? Isn’t that some sort of great honor?”

  “Yes.” King Keevan’s shoulders rolled in what might have been a shrug. “Carrying the banner takes both hands. Since you’re already wounded and can’t fight effectively from horseback, I won’t be down another soldier.”

  He was the practical choice. Martyn took the pole and braced the end against his saddle. The flag’s long tails flapped in the breeze wafting down the hill toward them.

  Kayleigh and Owen halted their horses on either side of him. Shad sat astride a bay horse a few yards away at the head of Walden’s foot soldiers.

  Kayleigh flexed her fingers on the hilt of her drawn sword. “Guess we’ll have to guard your back.”

  “A girl and my little brother. I’m dead, aren’t I?” Martyn huffed, but he couldn’t stop a grin.

  Kayleigh glared while Owen snorted. “The two of us managed to survive a war. Where were you? Oh, yes. Guarding a girl in a tower.”

  They had him there. Martyn didn’t have time to come up with a proper comeback because King Keevan was giving the signal to move out.