by Kel Kade
Rezkin found a cauldron in a cabinet beside the hearth and began wiping it clean.
“What are you doing?” said Malcius.
“Is it not obvious? I am cleaning the pot so that we can make dinner.”
Sergeant Millins gingerly walked over, offering to perform the task, and Rezkin acquiesced only because he had other concerns.
Wesson mumbled, “Perhaps it is unlike other talents and breeds more strongly in the blood.”
“Why would you need to make dinner?” Malcius said. “We are on palace grounds. We are guests, even if they do not care to have us here. I am sure they will prepare a meal for us.”
“We will not be eating anything they serve,” Rezkin said. “You should know better.”
“So, lame travelers’ stew again?”
Rezkin glanced up from inspecting the underside of the table. “Lame? I thought you liked my stew.”
Yserria sat down in the chair Malcius had just finished dusting, much to his chagrin, and said, “Ignore him. He is a spoiled noble who doesn’t appreciate what others do for him.”
Malcius’s eyes widened in fury. “I could lash you for such insolence!”
Yserria laughed. “You think you could? I’d like to see you try.”
“So would I,” said Brandt with a snicker.
Malcius blurted, “Rez, this woman is insufferable.”
Yserria batted her lashes and said, “Oh, Lord Malcius, do you always go running to daddy for help?”
Malcius spun around and growled in frustration. When he turned back, he waved a hand at the woman and said, “You look stupid made up like that, by the way.”
Yserria stood and narrowed her eyes at Malcius, a retort hanging on her lips.
Rezkin could not see what Malcius found offensive in her attire. He went back to examining the contents of the trunk beside the divan and said, “I think she looks powerful and sensuous—a goddess of war.”
His senses went on alert as the room suddenly became still and silent. He glanced up to see everyone staring at him. Yserria’s face flamed nearly as red as her hair. Malcius gave her an uncomfortable glance and then stomped into the adjacent room, slamming the door behind him.
“What?” Rezkin said.
No one said anything, but Farson stood in the doorway with a smirk, shaking his head.
He thought for a moment and then looked at Wesson. “I think they are stealing them.”
Wesson blinked several times as his brain worked to catch up. “Um, what?”
“The readers. You said they are extremely rare in all the other kingdoms. Master Reader Kessa did not join Privoth willingly. I think they may be hunting and kidnapping them.”
Wesson nodded. “Yes, that would make sense. It would be even easier considering readers are apparently born with ability to see the talent. It does not activate in them later in life, like other mages, although their other powers will if they have any. Not all readers can perform spells. When I first met Master Reader Kessa, she explained that the more powerful the reader, the smaller the chance of his or her having any other affinities. It also would make them easier to capture and control. Plus, if they take them very young, they can raise them to believe in their twisted doctrine.”
Brandt said, “If they hate magic so much, why do they want the sword? What good is it if they do not believe in the prophecy?”
Kai sat in the chair Yserria had vacated and said, “Oh, they believe in magic. They believe in the prophecy, strongly, I might add. They just hate power they cannot control, and the prophecy is a favorable one for the king.”
“I thought prophecies were myth,” Brandt said. “I have never heard of any prophets. Not real ones, anyway.”
Rezkin said, “According to ancient Adianaik texts, prophecy is reserved for the Blessed of Mikayal, the God of the soul and knowledge—also sometimes referred to as the God of war. Mages are the Blessed of Rheina, the Goddess of the firmament and the Realm of the Living, and thus they do not possess the power of prophecy. I have not heard or read of any Blessed of Mikayal since the prophecy of the sword was foretold. That prophecy was recorded twelve hundred years ago by a Knight of Mikayal, although he noted that he was not the prophet. He was merely one of the Graced.”
“Graced? Blessed? What does that all mean?” Brandt said.
Rezkin noted the brown and black feline that abruptly jumped from outside to sit on the window sill beside where Minder Finwy was standing. The others stared at the cat as well. He knew that everyone was unnerved by the furry little creature that tended to appear and disappear at will and seemed to follow him everywhere without trouble, but it was a conversation he was not ready to broach.
“It is a long story,” Rezkin said. “It is a tale of the beginning of time and of the land and of the sky—of different realms and of all the peoples who have dwelled within them. In this realm, the Realm of the Living, the story does not begin with humans. There were ancient beings and peoples long before us. That is the tale of the Ahn’an, Daem’Ahn, and Ahn’tep. Unfortunately, the few remaining records of such things were poorly preserved, and most of the knowledge has been lost with time. What I have been able to put together would not do the story justice.” He glanced at the cat that watched him with interest and said, “I hope to be able to fill in the blanks someday.” The cat blinked lazily, and he might have imagined that it grinned.
Rezkin surveyed the room. Wesson and Brandt were fixated on his telling, Millins was filling the cauldron with the water Farson had collected, Jimson had gone out to retrieve more, and the minder, Farson, and Kai were watching the cat, which was just being a cat. Yserria sat at the table with a small bowl of water rubbing furiously at the paint on her face. It was now smeared in a grey mess, as if she had stuck her wet face in a pile of ash. She would not meet his gaze, and he thought it had nothing to do with the paint.
Chapter 4
Hilith Gadderand dropped her bag as she stepped down from the gangplank onto the blessed ground. She stumbled as the solid stone of the dock seemed to sway beneath her feet. Smoothing her skirt in vain, she surveyed her surroundings. The grandest doors she had ever seen stood open to reveal a chamber large enough to fit her entire estate—well, what used to be her estate. Now, it belonged to the Raven, like everything else in the Ashaiian underworld, including her.
Small white specks were shuffling about the chamber, moving crates and bags, sweeping, and cleaning. She narrowed her eyes for a better look, and then one of the white specks turned toward her. As it got closer, she could see its pasty white skin, long claws, and sharp teeth more clearly, and she began to backpedal. Just before it reached her, she bumped into something that stopped her retreat, and she yelped. She looked up to see a handsome blonde looking down at her.
He said, “Careful, my lady. You would not wish to fall into the water.”
“Oh, that thing!” she said pointing to the creature that seemed to be grinning up at her with pleading, pale blue eyes.
The man took her elbow and moved her aside as he bent to retrieve her bag. He handed it to the little white creature who grasped it with care as it waited. “He will not harm you,” said the big blonde. He tilted his head as he looked at her again. “Have we met? You look familiar.”
She blinked at him and realized he was wearing the uniform of a soldier but with an unfamiliar tabard. She hated when she ran into people she was supposed to know but could not remember. Who was she supposed to be? “Um, I-uh—”
The man smiled as his gaze lit with knowledge. “Lady Gadderand. I remember you, now, from Port Manai.”
“Oh?” she said, still not making the connection.
He smiled and said, “I would not expect you to remember me, my lady. You were rather preoccupied with Lord Rezkin at the time.”
Hilith flushed, a rare reaction for her, but she could not deny her attraction to the mysterious young lord. She said, “He is a most distracting individual.”
“Many concur,” said the guard.
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br /> After an uncertain glance at the little white creature, Hilith turned to the man and gave him her full attention. Her appreciative gaze blatantly roved over his form, and she said, “You are an impressive specimen, as well. Your name, sir?”
The man gave her a polite bow and said, “I am Second Lieutenant Drascon of the king’s army. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Gadderand.”
“Yes, of course it is,” she said playfully. “But, the King’s Army—here?”
He motioned toward the massive opening in the mountain and said, “Welcome to Caellurum. I serve the King of Cael, True King of Ashai.”
“It is true, then? I was there when the mysterious Dark Tidings announced his claim to the Ashaiian throne, and I heard rumors of the new kingdom.” Hilith placed the back of her hand to her forehead and swooned. “It was a dreadful voyage. We had not even been allowed to disembark in Serret before more refugees were shoved onto the ship. We were held there for weeks before we were finally sent to Uthrel. We had no guarantee a ship would collect us once we were there. They said that if none arrived, we would be sold to the slavers. I have been terrified for months.”
“I am sorry for your troubles, my lady, but at least you managed to escape Skutton. Many were not so fortunate.”
She laid a hand on his arm and said, “Thank you, Lieutenant, your concern is heartening. Such sentiments are rarities these days.” With a fearful edge that was only partially feigned, she said, “But, what of this new king—Dark Tidings? Is he severe? Will he be gracious? What will become of me—of all of us?”
The lieutenant said, “He is certainly severe with his foes but seems gracious enough with those in his charge. I am sure you have little reason to worry since you are already acquainted.”
“I know the king?” she said, genuinely surprised.
“Yes, the Lord Rezkin is now our king.”
“Lord Rezkin?” she mumbled in shock. “But he is so—um …”
“Young? He may be young, but he is more knowledgeable than anyone I have ever met. Please, Lady Gadderand, follow me. I will personally see that you are assigned decent quarters.”
“Thank you,” she said absently as she followed the lieutenant. The little white creature scurried after them, lugging her bag, and he seemed overjoyed to be doing it.
Hilith had no such feelings. She was supposed to stay close to Lord Rezkin, to keep an eye on him. How was she going to get near the king? Prior to this assignment, she had never even heard of Lord Rezkin. He was no one—insignificant. She had chased the mysterious man the length of the Tremadel, through battle and misery, and across the Souelian Sea, only to find that he was completely out of her grasp.
She had thought the Raven’s assignment was meant to punish her—to get her out of the way; but now it seemed a pivotal role. The Raven had to have known. It could not be coincidence that the Raven had proclaimed his support for the True King and that the True King was the very man to whom she was supposed to ingratiate herself. She was now certain that the Raven would reappear; and, when he did, he would expect her to deliver.
Hilith was shaken from her thoughts by the mesmerizing display of glowing crystal mosaics, and she nearly bumped into the lieutenant when he stopped to allow a couple of women pass in front of them. Something tickled her memory, and then a flutter of hope snaked through her.
“Lady Frisha!” Hilith said as she rushed forward.
The young woman paused and looked at her with surprise. “Uh, L-lady Gadderand?”
Hilith took Frisha’s hands in an overly familiar grip and said, “It is good to see you well. I was so very concerned for you—for you and all your companions. Please tell me you all made it to this wondrous refuge safely.”
Frisha’s confusion was instantly replaced with melancholy. “Thank you for your concern, Lady Gadderand, but no. My cousin, Palis, did not make it. He was”—her eyes welled with tears—“he was killed in the escape.”
Although unexpected, Hilith was glad for the boon. “Oh, you poor dear,” she said as she stroked Frisha’s hair. “I know what it means to lose someone you love dearly. If you ever need to talk—or just sit in silence—with an empathetic friend, I would be honored to be of service.” Frisha shied away, and Hilith pulled her hands back with a gasp. “Oh, I am so sorry, Lady Frisha. I only just found out that you are to be queen!”
Frisha shook her head. “Oh, I—”
Hilith fluttered her hands as if flustered. “I have acted inappropriately. Please forgive my lack of formality. It has been an arduous journey, and I am out of sorts.”
“Of course, Lady Gadderand. You are most welcome here. It is good to see that you are well, but I am sure you must be terribly exhausted.” Frisha waved to a man who had several pouches tied to his waist, each overstuffed with scrolls. “We should see that you are assigned quarters immediately.”
Drascon said, “I was just escorting Lady Gadderand to the quartermaster.”
“There is no need. I will make the assignment,” said Lady Frisha. She looked at Hilith. “We all share quarters here—at least for now. We had a bit of trouble some weeks ago, but it seems to be over, so we shall not worry you over it now. Still, it is better if someone knows where you are at all times. You may share quarters with Lady Evena in the ladies’ wing of the palace.” She smiled and said, “You will only be a few doors away from mine.”
Hilith’s grin was genuine. Things were going better than she had hoped.
Rezkin sat at the table in his suite poring over the map. Like all maps, it was slightly different from those he had previously studied. Some cartographers were better than others, and maps that had been reproduced were not always as accurate as the originals. This one had been provided by Privoth, and it was a far more recent and detailed accounting of eastern Ferélle than he had expected. It seemed Privoth had been planning this for some time.
He glanced out the window as something bright captured his attention. A woman in a long, flowing red skirt ambled from stall to stall examining the wares. The vibrant red fabric rustled in the breeze, and it reminded him of the ten statues standing in a ring in a plantation courtyard beneath a flowering vine. He did not know why his thoughts should go to those men now. They were no longer of consequence. A loud clap sounded in the distance from the direction of the docks, breaking him from his reverie, and he went back to examining the map and making notes. Several minutes later, he heard a rat—tat, tat—tat, tat, thump. He rounded the table to admit his companions.
Kai entered first, lugging one end of a squirming, overlarge burlap sack. He was followed by Farson, who maintained a tight grip on the other flailing end. They tossed the lump onto the settee, and Kai laughed as the subject struggled to free himself. Farson leaned against the wall with a bemused smirk. His face straightened as soon as he met Rezkin’s hard gaze. Rezkin had not yet figured out the striker’s intentions, but he would be prepared upon revelation.
A head of shaggy brown hair emerged, and Tam shouted, “Hey now, what was that all about?” His gaze landed on Rezkin, and his face brightened. “Rez! You’re here!”
Before Rezkin could reply, Tam began a rambling monologue of his experiences in Uthrel over the past few weeks. “And then he just threw his ale, and what was I supposed to do?” He blinked at Rezkin, but the question seemed to be rhetorical because he did not wait for a response. “Now, I know I was supposed to keep a low profile, but come on! I was drenched, and the Golden Dripper’s ale smells like piss. So, I—”
“Tam—”
“—told him I’d meet him out in the alley and we could settle it like men, and then—”
“Tam—”
“—well, you know, he got all huffy saying he wasn’t gonna wallop some desperate refugee kid—”
“Tam—”
“You know that’s what they call us, now, right? Every Ashaiian outside of Ashai is called a refugee. It doesn’t matter if they’re here on legit business—”
Rezkin raised his voi
ce, “Tamarin Blackwater!”
Tam’s rambling abruptly stopped as he stared at Rezkin. “There’s no need to shout, Rez, I’m like four feet from you.”
At that, Farson burst into laughter.
Rezkin stared at him in wonder. “You find this humorous?”
“Yes, yes, I do,” the striker said. “That young man has no idea who you are, and to hear him scold you in such a way, and you just stand there … I am almost inclined to believe he is actually your friend.”
Tam huffed and squared off with the striker. “I am his friend. Who are you to talk? You trained him. You’re like the only family he’s got, and all you ever do is talk about him like he’s some evil menace. I may not know everything about him, but I know he’s a good person and a good friend.”
Farson looked back at Rezkin. “You have done well, even managing to incite true loyalty. I wonder how long it will last.”
Rezkin gripped Tam’s shoulder halting his response. “Pay him no heed. We have more important things to discuss.”
Tam threw the striker a vicious glare. “I don’t know why you let him stick around.”
Rezkin returned to his place behind the desk and leaned over the map. He met Farson’s gaze over Tam’s shoulder and said, “Better to keep your enemies close.” Farson clenched his jaw and then looked away. Rezkin said, “Let us move on.”
Tam said, “Why did you kidnap me?”
“You are not supposed to be associated with us. You are here to spy. We did not want anyone seeing you enter the building.” Rezkin glanced at the strikers. “Your abduction was probably overkill. I might have erred in allowing Kai to choose the method.”
Tam scowled at the grinning man and then turned back to Rezkin. “Don’t you think dragging an unwilling person through alleys in broad daylight is kind of obvious?”
Rezkin shrugged. “Gendishen takes a hands-off approach to slavery. They do not engage in it but do not interfere, either.”
“So, they just let people be kidnapped?”
“No, I am sure these two”—he motioned to the strikers—“were surreptitious, but the few people who might have seen would probably rather not get involved. Now listen.”