Kingdoms and Chaos (King's Dark Tidings Book 4)

by Kel Kade

  Alert to the shift in tone and the silent watcher at the road, Rezkin interrupted the exchange. “The woman’s got a point.”

  Malcius looked at him flabbergasted. “You’re questioning my honor?”

  Rezkin turned a sharp gaze on his friend and slurred, “No, ya idjit. Ain’t no honor to be had by the likes of us.” Malcius’s mouth snapped shut, and his shoulders dropped as he resumed his mercenary role. Rezkin continued. “I was talkin’ ’bout us getting’ spitted.” He slapped Wesson on the shoulder and motioned to the roasting meat. “Since Mal can’t keep his head straight, you get the food.” As Wesson crouched over the fire muttering incomprehensively, Rezkin said, “Them over there is sayin’ there’s lizard men goin’ around eatin’ people.”

  “Lizard men?” Brandt said hesitantly, as though hoping to avoid becoming the butt of a joke.

  Kai, the presumed leader of the group, leaned forward from where he sat atop Rezkin’s saddle, “You mean drauglics?”

  Rezkin nodded. “That’s what they’s sayin’. They was attacked less than two days ago. Drauglics killed ’bout a third of their men and took most of the horses.”

  “We’d best be on high alert,” Kai said, meeting each of their gazes. “It’ll be easy fer those creatures to sneak up on us in this high grass.”

  “You mean real drauglics?” Brandt exclaimed. “You’re serious.”

  Rezkin nodded. “Their scales are hard. A sword can get through with enough force, but it ain’t easy in a heavy battle. Got scales on the sides of their necks, so you gotta jab straight for the throat. Same with the torso. The middle’s soft, but they usually cover it with some kinda armor. Yer good to go fer the inner thighs, groin, and soft spot under the tail.”

  “They have tails?” Brandt said with too much enthusiasm.

  Kai grumbled, “You’d best hope we don’t run into any.”

  Rezkin nodded toward the others, silently indicating that man at the road had returned to his camp.

  “You sound like you’ve battled ’em before,” Brandt drawled, still wary of being overheard.

  Rezkin nodded. “About two years ago, a large band of ’em took up in the Zigharans. We went in a cleared ’em out.”

  “You and your trainers?” Kai said.

  “Nah, just me and my men. Men like them,” Rezkin said with a nod toward the party on the other side of the road.

  Kai narrowed his eyes. “I thought you said you’d just left yer trainin’ when we met.”

  “Right, but I weren’t always at the fortress.” He met Kai’s suspicious gaze and said, “Didn’t go near no settlements. There was trainin’ to be done. Battles to be fought. Wars to be won.”

  “You fought mock battles?”

  The others watched him with hawk-like gazes as he spoke. Even Millins had given up on his attempt at sleep. Despite the attention, Rezkin realized that he was no longer inundated with the persistent paranoia that had plagued him since landing on Cael. He said, “Only thing mock about ’em was the reason for fighten ’em. Men was captured or hired to fight on both sides, and none of ’em knowin’ why. Turns out, weren’t no reason fer it but me. I even went on campaign with a King’s Army unit called the Scavengers.”

  “You were part of the Scavengers?” Millins exclaimed, his expression soured with disdain.

  “Who are the Scavengers?” Malcius said as he took a bowl from Wesson.

  With a glance toward the other camp, Millins drawled, “Not all men make good soldiers. Some cause trouble—fightin’ in the unit, problems with the locals, offendin’ the nobles, deserters. Those men go to the Scavengers. Nobody wants to be a Scavenger. They get the worst assignments, the worst pay—most or all of it levied for fines before it even reaches their purses. As a reward for their sadism, the strictest officers are assigned to whip the Scavengers into shape.” Millins looked to Rezkin. “So, you were placed in charge?”

  “Nah, I was a green recruit. I got caught for desertion,” he said with a half grin. “My job was to fit in—to learn the ways of the army. It ain’t so convincin’ to fake if ya’ve never experienced it. I’ll tell ya, the deserters is treated the worst. The vilest degenerates in the army got too much honor … or fear … to abandon their posts. Even the foulest of the lot spit on the deserters. I had to work my way up the ranks—without exposin’ my trainin’.”

  Malcius said, “Who were you battling?”

  He looked angry, and Rezkin could only guess as to why. Rezkin shrugged and said, “Bandits, mercs, insurgents. We was at peace, but that peace was kept by maintainin’ close watch over the borders. Northern forces prod for weakness. We made sure no one survived to keep proddin’. Anyway, I made sergeant—”

  “Wait, you made sergeant in a year?” said Millins.

  Rezkin grinned. “Commander said I was the fastest learner he ever seen. After I made sergeant, I weren’t gonna get no more promotions in that unit, and I couldn’t transfer. I was there fer a reason, after all. So, we was sent to battle an army of four merc companies. We was outnumbered three to one, and I had to pretend to be an average soldier, except without gettin’ killed. The mercs killed most of our men, but we took out a lot of theirs. I had orders, though. When it looked like we was done for, I killed the rest of our men.”

  Leaning forward so he could see around Wesson, Minder Finwy looked at him with horror. “You killed your own men?”

  “Well, I let a few live—the ones that was loyal to me. Then, I challenged the merc commanders. They was confused and didn’t wanna accept. I killed ’em anyway, along with a lot more of their men. Eventually, the others accepted that I’d won the challenge, and I took command of what was left. That’s when we went to face the drauglics—a horde of the beasts. The rest of the men died.”

  “But you lived,” said a deep voice from the grass. Orin stepped into the firelight and kicked dirt over Rezkin. “Yer full of it. That’s a bloody fish tale if I ever heard one. Takin’ out army units and merc companies like they was children.”

  “I wouldn’t kill a bunch of children,” Rezkin protested. “No challenge in it. Senseless killing, that.”

  Orin spat. “Weren’t no battles. Weren’t no missin’ army units or merc companies. I’da heard about it. Men like you is what gives mercs a bad name. Makin’ people think we’re all soulless bastards.”

  Rezkin grinned. “You wouldn’t be the first to call me that.”

  “You brag like yer some kinda god of war. When the real fightin’ starts, we’ll see who holds the torch and who runs crying into the dark.”

  As Orin stomped back to his side of the road grumbling about fish tales, Farson emerged from the grass near where the mercenary had been hiding. He nodded at Rezkin’s questioning glance.

  “You knew he was there,” said Brandt.

  Malcius exhaled in a whoosh. “You had me going. I thought you were serious.”

  Rezkin got up to unroll his blanket and sleeping pad, ignoring Kai’s stare. Eventually, the striker turned his gaze to Farson who had bent over the fire to collect his dinner.

  Farson sighed and looked up at his comrade. “What?”

  “I’m tryin’ to figure out which parts are true.”

  “You mean some of it was?” said Brandt.

  Kai looked at Rezkin and said, “The best stories always got a bit of truth.”

  Farson looked to Rezkin who merely shrugged as he laid back to rest his head on his pack.

  “It was all true,” Farson said. “Except he left out a few parts—like the reinforcements.”

  Millins turned to Rezkin. “So, you had reinforcements against the mercenaries?”

  Farson said, “The mercs had the reinforcements—a cavalry unit from Jerea. It was probably the horses that attracted the drauglics. They said they’d been harried for more than a week as they rode and were already down by a third when they joined up with the mercs. By the time the battle between the Scavengers and mercs was over, the ground had become a bloody soup with body parts floating in
the muck.” Nodding toward Rezkin, he said, “He killed the rest of the Scavengers and took over the mercs, like he said. Then, drawn by the scent of blood, the drauglics came down from the mountain. They fought off the ones that attacked and then chased the rest into the mountains. Only he returned.”

  The others silently pondered the revelation. Finally, Millins said, “He really killed his own men?”

  Farson scoffed. “They were never his men. We put him there for the experience, but they were always meant to die. He might not have cared about the circumstances, but we did. You know who we are. We’re men of honor. We wouldn’t send him to kill a unit of our own men without good cause. What he didn’t mention was that the Scavengers had gone rogue. What would you expect to happen if you put the worst of men together with weapons and a semblance of order? There used to be a mining village at the base of the Zigharans near the Tremadel. The Scavengers raided the village—killed all the men and children. They saved the women until they were spent and then killed them, too. The soldiers he didn’t kill were the new recruits that had arrived in the unit with him afterward.” He narrowed his eyes at Rezkin and rubbed his chin. “We didn’t tell him to do that—to spare them. I suppose those few died honorably in service to the kingdom.”

  “It sounds like he did care about the circumstances,” said Brandt, eyeing Rezkin sideways. “I mean, he left the good ones alive.”

  Farson glanced at Rezkin as well. While he appeared to be ignoring them, he could obviously hear the entire exchange. “They all died in the end.”

  “You can’t blame him for that,” said Yserria. “It was the drauglics.” She fisted her hands on her hips and leaned over the striker. “You made him live with those horrible people for a year. He was what—sixteen?”

  Farson scowled at the woman. “Yet he’s the one who lived.”

  Wesson turned to Rezkin. Of everyone present, he had seemed the least fazed by the story. He said, “How do you do that? How do you deal with all the death?”

  Satisfied that everyone had been fed, Rezkin snagged the remainder of the roasted meat. Settling back down beside the mage, he said, “You have to remember, besides Farson, everyone I ever met before leaving the fortress is dead. Everyone. Ever.”

  Chapter 2

  “He should have been taking us with him,” said Chieftain Yuold.

  Frisha sighed. “Chieftain Yuold—”

  “Gurrell,” he said.

  With a placating smile, Frisha clasped her hands and said, “Gurrell, I know you’re concerned, but he had his reasons.”

  “Reasons that I am not understanding.”

  Tieran stepped forward. “Chieftain Yuold—”

  “Gurrell,” he said again.

  “Chieftain Yuold,” repeated Tieran. “King Rezkin explained to you that he did not want his connection with the Eastern Mountains men to be apparent until he knew which way King Privoth was leaning. It is in your best interest, and ours, to keep our cooperative agreement to ourselves for now.”

  Gurrell pulled the green strip of fabric from his bicep and held it before Tieran’s gaze. “It is not being a cooperative agreement. He is our chieftain. Until he does become defeated in challenge, he is being our leader. We are the knives at his side. We are the axes at his back.”

  Tieran said, “Ah, I am not sure that phrase translates well. In any case, he ordered you all to stay here and help us make this city livable.”

  Gurrell lifted his chin as a trickle of pride burned in his chest. “We are great builders.” Then, with frustration, he added, “But nothing is needing to be built here.”

  Tieran said, “Then you may join the patrols exploring the bowl.”

  “Gah! There is nothing to be fighting in the bowl. We have been traveling to the far mountains and back, and we have been mapping the caverns.”

  Frisha said, “Gurrell, perhaps you would help us with something of great importance.”

  Gurrell looked down at the small doe-eyed beauty and grinned. Finally, they were getting somewhere. “What is this great task we are to be doing for you, Lady Frisha?”

  She said, “You and your men are great warriors.” Gurrell grunted in agreement, and she continued. “Rezkin …um …King Rezkin wants Cael to be a warrior kingdom.”

  Gurrell smacked his armor with a meaty fist. “As should all great kingdoms be.”

  “Yes, well, perhaps you could assist in training our fighters to be warriors.”

  From beneath thick, harsh brows, Gurrell stared at her. His steely grey eyes were intense and unblinking. Frisha was suddenly concerned that she might have offended the very large foreigner.

  He said, “You are wanting the Farwarriors of the Viergnacht Tribe of the Eastern Mountains to be teachers?”

  Frisha tilted her head to look up at the beastly man. “Um, it was an idea—”

  Gurrell grinned broadly, his teeth bright in contrast to his bushy dark beard. “This is being a great honor!” He turned to his men who filled the remaining space in the room behind him and raised a fist in triumph. “You are hearing? We are to be the bringers of strength and courage to the lost people, the people of our chieftain. The farwarriors will be teaching the ways of our ancestors, the greatness of the way of the Viergnacht! The strongest chieftain in history will be leading the Viergnacht Tribe and the Kingdom of Cael, two supreme warrior nations!”

  The rumble that followed blasted through Frisha’s head, an explosion of mountain man enthusiasm. She peered up at Tieran who stood at her side. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

  “No, that was nicely done,” he said, his words nearly lost in the revelry. “It will keep them busy, anyhow.”

  Gurrell turned back to them and pointed at Tieran with the butt of a hand axe. “We are to be starting with him.”

  Tieran’s eyes widened. “Me? No, I do not—”

  “You are being the chieftain’s kin and must meet the challenge if our chieftain falls.”

  “No, I told you and everyone else that I do not wish to be king.”

  “Then you will be meeting the challenge as champion for the queen.”

  “What queen?” said Tieran.

  “Queen Frisha,” said Gurrell. “She is being the betrothed of the chieftain. As his kin, you must be standing for her.”

  Frisha shook her head. “No, I’m not—”

  His massive paw gripped her shoulder. He said, “And you will be training with us.”

  Frisha’s heart jumped. “What? But, I am a woman, and you only have men!”

  “Ha! Yes, this time the farwarriors are being only men. The women are being the protectors of our home while we are farwalking. Our women are the fiercest warriors. We do leave knowing our women will be fighting with the greatest strength and heart against any who do threaten our people. They are also having the strength of the other men who are not farwalking.”

  Frisha wrung her hands anxiously. She had already tried training with Rezkin and had decided being a warrior was not for her. “So, your women are warriors, too? Do you have women chieftains?”

  “No, our women do not be sharing in chieftain. The men are not to be fighting against our women. The women are being half of the council, and they do decide which women share in the council. The men are not being involved in this. The Viergnacht Tribe Mother is Auria.”

  “Is she your wife?” said Frisha.

  Gurrell laughed. “No, Auria is being Olfid’s wife. We are not kin. The women did choose her as tribe mother. After the chieftain wins a challenge, the council does vote to decide which will lead—chieftain or tribe mother. I was selected to be leader, and Auria is my second. While I am away, Auria is being leader.” He motioned over his shoulder to a dark-haired man with matching scars on each of his cheeks. “When I am with the farwarriors, Myerin is my second.”

  Frisha hesitated to ask, but her curiosity would not be deterred. “So, if the council is unhappy with the way you are leading—”

  “They will be voting for the tribe mother to
lead. Auria is a good leader. Our new chieftain must be joining the council. They must know him to make the vote. I am defeated, and now Auria will lead. I will be her second while the chieftain is away. Once the council does vote, he may be leader.”

  Inwardly cringing, Frisha said, “So, if the tribe mother does not have to be the chieftain’s wife, then why must I train to be a warrior?”

  “You did say that King Rezkin is wanting for Cael to be a warrior kingdom. You are to be his queen. You must be a warrior queen.” Behind him, Myerin grumbled something in their native tongue, and Gurrell stroked his beard thoughtfully. He said, “You are thinking it is not good for you to be learning the fighting of men.”

  Frisha was suddenly very pleased with Myerin. “Yes, it does not suit me.”

  Gurrell nodded. “You are being right. The women of the mountains tribes do fight differently from the men. Myerin is knowing more of this. His three older sisters did use him for practice as he grew. One of his sisters is now on the council.”

  Myerin grinned with pride and slapped his chest.

  Gurrell said, “We will be waiting for you in the training grounds.”

  The men filed out, and the space suddenly seemed to expand infinitely.

  Frisha looked at Tieran who stared at her in defeat. “I’m sorry?”

  He shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

  Kai strode up beside Rezkin. “May I speak with you?”

  The two paused to distance themselves from those ahead, and Jimson pulled the followers back to give them space to talk.

  “What is it?” Rezkin said as they resumed walking.

  Kai waited a moment and then switched to Leréshi since it was likely only Yserria, and possibly Farson, could understand them. Farson was out scouting, remaining hidden from the mercenaries, and Yserria was too far away to hear. Kai turned to Rezkin and said, “I know you have been confused.”

  “About what?”

  “Everything. Outworlders. I have been watching you for months now. Your mind is always churning. You observe everything. You think too much. You have been trying to figure them out—us out.” Rezkin nodded, and Kai continued. “What I do not understand is how you can be so confused when you were with the army for a year.”