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

by Kel Kade

  It was just after midday when Yserria turned toward the forest. Malcius did not bother to ask why since it was obvious. The sand was wet all the way into the forest in a strip about a pace wide. She used her sword to hack at the thicker foliage while Malcius ineffectually whacked at greenery with his stick. He had never ventured from a path into the wild. Even as others had explored Cael, he had remained behind to enjoy the meager comforts of the enchanted palace. He realized quickly that cutting through the forest was far more tiring than walking a cultivated path. He also learned not to walk too close to Yserria since she never bothered to hold the branches she had bent out of her way. It took only two good smacks to the face for him to learn that lesson.

  As they walked farther into the darkness of the canopy, the muddy soil turned to a trickle of water, and eventually it became a small pool at the base of a rocky cliff.

  “It’s very cold, and it smells fresh,” Yserria said. “I think it’s a spring.”

  “Does that mean it is safe to drink?”

  “It will be safer than dying of dehydration.”

  “Funny,” he said. “Perhaps Rezkin should have made you the fool instead of a knight.”

  “He may be saving that one for you,” she said. “What is your position in his court, again? I cannot seem to remember.”

  Malcius clenched his teeth. “I am his friend.”

  “Are you?” she said. “You seem awfully bitter for a friend. If you hold that resentment in too long, it will turn to contempt, which leads to betrayal.”

  “You overstep, Knight Yserria. I am still a count of Ashai.”

  “I doubt that. Caydean has already replaced your household. Your only chance at being anything is with Rezkin. You had best remember that.”

  “I do not need you to remind me of that.” Malcius glanced at the pool of fresh water. He fell to his knees and drank deeply, splashing it over his sun-ripened skin. Then, he sat and leaned against a rock. He glanced at Yserria as she attempted to wrestle her mane into a braid. He had never seen her hair down, but it triggered a memory. Palis had been so excited when he had first seen her running down the corridor of the arena, waving that red ribbon. Malcius had not been able to hear his own thoughts over his brother’s ramblings.

  He plucked a small white flower from a clump by the pool and twirled it between his fingers. “You did not know me as I was. I suppose you never will. Not now. That man died with Palis.” Her expression fell at the mention of his brother. “I do not know who I am anymore, but you surely see the worst of me. I cannot help it. In truth, I have not tried. I am not a bad man, though.” He looked up and met her gaze. “I carry my honor in my every breath. Rezkin is my king, and I will follow him wherever he leads, even if it is all for naught.” His gaze roved the canopy above them. “It is remarkable, really. I cannot imagine that anyone else could have achieved what he has. He keeps so many secrets, he lies and manipulates, yet I still feel confident that he will strive to do everything he has promised. Is it desperation that drives me to feel that way?”

  “I think we all do,” she said. “Perhaps that is his true power. He gives hope to the desperate. I sometimes feel like he could fix any problem, no matter how big.”

  “Except death,” Malcius said with an edge.

  Yserria looked away. She said, “Do you know how to make a snare?”

  “No.”

  “Come, I will show you. We should gather supplies for now and stay here tonight.”

  “Perhaps we should move away from the water.” At her curious look, he said, “In case predators come for a drink.”

  She nodded. “I did not think of that.” She pointed to a crevice at the top of a pile of rubble. “There.”

  The crevice was small and uncomfortable that night. Yserria had forbade him from even mentioning propriety as they slept back-to-back. Their mutual foul mood had not been made better by the fact that they had not caught anything to eat before they went to sleep. Sometime near dawn, Malcius’s stomach had grumbled loud enough to wake him. As he scrambled down the rocks to check the snares, he woke Yserria, which elicited a colorful diatribe. He was filled with glee upon realizing they had managed to catch three of some small mammal he had never before seen.

  “What are they?” he asked upon returning to the pond.

  She pursed her lips. “I do not know, but they look edible.”

  “Excellent,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “What now?”

  Yserria looked at him and shook her head. “You have never dressed an animal.”

  He grinned. “One time when we were children, Palis and I put our sister’s dress on one of our hounds.” Yserria frowned at him, and his smile fell. “I doubt that was what you meant, so no.”

  She drew her sword and laid one of the small animals on rock.

  “That is a little much, is it not?”

  “It is the only blade we have, or are you hiding a hunting knife in your pants?”

  Malcius grinned again. “We had best not discuss what I am hiding in my pants.”

  Yserria turned on him with her sword in hand. “What is wrong with you?”

  “What do you mean?” he said.

  “You never jest. You do not smile. Are you unwell? Did you eat some berries or mushrooms? If you did, I need to know.”

  Malcius sat back on rock and sighed. “No. I do feel a bit lightheaded. I am just hungry. I guess I no longer have the energy to be angry.”

  Yserria shook her head. “I will talk to Rezkin about wearing you out more often.”

  “You are an evil witch.”

  For four days, they walked along the beach, each night returning to the forest in search of food or fresh water. By the fifth day, Malcius’s clothes were ragged and his face had sprouted a dark beard. Yserria did her best to brush the tangles from her wavy locks with her fingers, but even braiding it was becoming a challenge. Malcius was glad that they could at least bathe in the ocean or streams to remove the stench. Yserria always led the way, and he was forced to watch her back all day, every day.

  As he walked along the beach, Malcius wrapped dried sinew around the end of another small twig. He had used a sharp rock to scrape the twig smooth and sharpen the tip, which he had also hardened in the fire that morning. Yserria had challenged him to make a decent weapon, but he had thought to try something else first. After several failures, he was finally making progress. By the time they stopped to eat that afternoon, he had finished his project.

  He walked up to Yserria and said, “Here.”

  She took it from him and stared at it in confusion.

  Malcius huffed. “It is a comb.”

  She turned her gaze toward him but still said nothing.

  “For your hair,” he said.

  “Ah, yes, I can see that. It is a very nice comb. I just—I thought you were making a weapon.”

  He scratched his scruffy beard. He wanted to say something, but he was not yet sure what it was. Instead, he said, “I did. We are in Lon Lerésh. Image is power. If we run in to anyone, you need to look good.”

  Yserria frowned. “You sound like Rezkin. You give a gift and then take it away in the next breath.”

  “What are you talking about? It is yours.”

  She tilted her head and said, “Thank you, Malcius. I am sure this will be of great advantage should we encounter any opponents.”

  Malcius nodded once then sat on a rock and started eating the dried meat he had been carrying in a pouch made from his old shirt.

  “Are you feeling well?” she said.

  “I am tired, hungry, and too hot or too cold. I smell, I itch everywhere, and I think I have fleas—on my face. No, I am not well.” He glanced at her. “You seem to be handling things.”

  She pulled her messy tangle over one shoulder and began tugging at the knots with the comb. “I, too, am miserable. We have no choice, though. We must keep going. Complaining does no good.”

  “I was not complaining. You asked.”

  “I k
now,” she said as she tugged at a particularly nasty tangle. “I was just saying that I feel the same as you.”

  Malcius paused in his chewing and looked toward the forest. He glanced back at Yserria who was also staring at the forest. “You heard it too?”

  She stood, and he followed, moving through the trees as quietly as possible. About a hundred yards in, the trees gave way to a verdant meadow. Yserria crouched behind a clump of thorny bushes, and Malcius ducked down beside her. There, in the clearing, was a gathering of men and women dressed in all manner of finery—and some not dressed so much, Malcius noted. An open tract was at the middle of the gathering, with targets erected at one end and archers in a line at the other. Spectators sat on benches or stood; and, with each thunk of an arrow in a target, they erupted in cheers or jeers.

  “We should go back to the beach and avoid them,” said Yserria.

  Malcius was captivated by one person in particular. “Look,” he said, pointing to a man standing on the back of a wagon. “They have ale. Casks of ale.”

  “No,” she said. “We can go around. There must be a village around here somewhere.”

  “It could be anywhere,” Malcius said. “I want food. Real food.”

  “And what will you use to buy this food and ale?” she said.

  “We have been shipwrecked. We will tell them who we are, and they will be generous.”

  “You are delirious.”

  “All the more reason to get some food,” he replied.

  Yserria sighed. “I will go ask some questions. I will not draw as much attention.”

  Malcius looked at her askance. He waved toward the people and said, “How many warrior women do you see out there? You will draw all the attention.”

  She looked at him quizzically and then dropped her gaze to his chest. She turned away, surveying at the crowd as she muttered. “Not as much as you will get.”

  He felt his hackles rise and crossed his arms. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  She sighed and looked at him. “You will not be dissuaded, will you?”

  “No, I am going out there to see if we can get some help.”

  Narrowing her eyes, she said, “Fine, but you need to stay behind me—and say nothing.”

  Malcius’s blood felt as if it would boil over. “Watch yourself, knight. You let this land go to your head.”

  Yserria quickly knotted her fiery hair atop her head, securing it with the comb he had made her. She said, “In this land, mine is the one that matters.” Then, she began skirting the crowd until they were behind the majority of the spectators. They went unnoticed at first, but as soon as they entered the crowd, people began to stare. Malcius started to wonder if she had been right, but his grumbling stomach was persistent.

  Yserria stopped in front of a young woman and started jabbering in Leréshi. The woman wore what looked like a single length of grey fabric wrapped around her body, leaving her shins, arms, and shoulders exposed, and a green ribbon was braided through her hair. Upon arrival, Malcius had noticed others with ribbons, ribbons like Celise wore. Now that he was closer, he realized that nearly everyone wore a ribbon, even the men, and all in the same place at their temples.

  As Yserria stood yammering with the other woman, he noticed that several women who had moved closer were eyeing his hair and openly perusing his body. Some of the men did the same to Yserria, while others refused to turn her direction, only glancing out of the corners of their eyes. Malcius had no idea what was happening. Their behavior made no sense. These Leréshi were crazy.

  Finally, Yserria turned to him. “We are near the town of Specra at the western border of the Third Echelon, which is bounded by the River Rhen to the east. We need only travel through one echelon to get to Ferélle.”

  “Thank the Maker,” Malcius said. “How do we get some food?”

  Yserria glanced around and shook her head. “I think we had better go now.”

  “Why? These people seem okay. No one and no thing has attacked us. It is a better welcome than we had in Gendishen.”

  “Too late,” she said, gritting her teeth.

  Malcius followed her gaze to where the crowd was parting to permit a woman who wore a long skirt but had the tiniest scrap of cloth covering her breasts. She was flanked by two large men in armor, each bearing a sword at his hip. “Who is she?”

  “That is the echelon,” said Yserria. “This archery competition is part of the celebration for her visit.” She gave him a pointed look and said, “She is the reason I wanted to leave.”

  The echelon stopped in front of them, and everyone in the crowd crossed their arms in front of their faces, touching their foreheads to their wrists. Malcius watched as Yserria stepped in front of him. She straightened her back, lifted her chin, and rested her hand on her sword hilt. Malcius was inundated with mixed feelings. He was angry that she thought he needed protecting and ashamed that she might be right. Under Rezkin and the strikers’ tutelage, he had become an excellent swordsman, but Yserria was still far better. A lot of people were at the gathering, and they were giving him an undue amount of attention, especially considering his present state.

  Yserria stood her ground before the echelon. She could show no weakness.

  The echelon, who was nearly a head shorter than she, stopped in front of Yserria. She peered around Yserria to get a look at Malcius and smirked. She returned her attention to Yserria. “I am Deshari Brigalsi, Third Echelon. Who are you, and why have you interrupted our festivities?”

  Yserria said, “I am Yserria Rey, Knight of Cael.”

  “Is that so? I have heard of the would-be Ashaiian king’s female knight.”

  “Your king,” said Yserria.

  Deshari shrugged. “He is only king of the military.” She motioned to the guards that had flanked them. “These are my private retainers.” With a lift of her chin toward Malcius, she said, “Who is he? Did you take his sword from him? Did he displease you?”

  “He is none of your concern. Our ship was attacked at sea. He and I were thrown overboard and swept away in the current. We made it to shore five days east of here. We are trying to get back to Cael. Will you assist us? The king will be generous in his gratitude.”

  Deshari tilted her head and smirked. “I understand that you have sworn fealty to a man. Do you have the authority to offer his money?”

  The woman’s syrupy, snide tone grated on Yserria’s nerves. Not knowing if it was true, she said, “He will honor any deal I make.”

  Deshari’s gaze dropped to the torque around Yserria’s neck. “Yes, perhaps he will, but we cannot know for sure.” She abruptly straightened and waved a dismissive hand. “I have decided. You may go, but I want him.”

  Yserria clenched her jaw. “You cannot have him.”

  “Oh? I heard that you had not claimed a man. He does not wear the ribbon; therefore, I am free to claim him, which I do.”

  Yserria glanced back at Malcius. “She has claimed you. Do you accept?”

  “What? No!”

  She schooled her face and turned back to the echelon. “He does not accept your claim.” She inwardly screamed as she said, “I challenge you for him.”

  Deshari smirked again. “Does he accept yours?”

  “No,” Yserria said firmly.

  “It is a pity you do not have a champion. He will come with me now.”

  Yserria said, “I need no champion. I fight my own challenges.”

  A wave of chatter surged through the crowd. The woman’s face soured, and she glanced at Yserria’s sword. “Are you the woman who fought in the fifth tier of the King’s Tournament?”

  “The same,” said Yserria.

  Deshari glanced back toward the archery targets. “Then I choose a challenge with the bow. We, in the Third Echelon, are hunters. This is Gemsbrick, my third consort,” she said as she raised a hand toward the man on her left. “He is our best archer. He will defend my claim.”

  Yserria’s gaze flicked to the targets and back to the
woman. With disgust, she said, “You already have three consorts, yet you seek another. You are not only poor in sensibility but also in decorum.”

  With a shrug, Deshari said, “It is not forbidden. As Third Echelon, I find that my needs are greater than those of lesser matrianeras.”

  “Then you are weak,” said Yserria. The woman’s lips twisted, but she did not take the bait. Having failed to shame the woman out of the challenge, Yserria said, “You underestimate my resolve and my abilities, Echelon. I have no consorts because I need none to bolster my strength.”

  “No, you expect your king to pay your debts and fight your battles.”

  “On the contrary,” Yserria said as she raised her voice and gazed over the crowd. “I am a Knight of Cael. I serve my king by choice. I fight his battles, and I claim the spoils on his behalf. I am a weapon at his side, a warrior at his call. My strength multiplies his strength. Through me, you will witness the might of Cael.” She turned toward the echelon. “I accept your terms, Echelon, and I challenge you for your seat.”

  Deshari’s smile slipped. She said, “I see. We shall discuss the terms of the challenge again. First, you must rest and eat. You will be my guests. Let no one claim that I took advantage of your dire circumstances.”

  “No,” Yserria said with all the sarcasm she could muster, “I am sure no one will say that.”

  Deshari abruptly turned and stalked toward the tents at the other end of the field, trailed by her entourage. Yserria and Malcius were encouraged to follow by the guards at their backs.

  Malcius tugged at her sleeve. “Wha—”

  “Not now,” she hissed.

  When they reached the encampment, they were escorted to a tent where several servants were scurrying out with what were presumably someone else’s personal effects. They both stood in the middle of the tent as people scrambled in and out with pitchers, trays of food, and a couple of small mounds of garments. The whirlwind abruptly ceased when everyone left without having spoken a word to them. Malcius rushed to the table and began stuffing food into his mouth, without concern for etiquette, while Yserria paced over the colorful carpet that covered the grass.