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

by Kel Kade

  After a few minutes, Malcius paused and said, “Are you not tired of walking? Sit and eat.”

  She glanced at him and continued her pacing.

  “What is wrong with you?” he said.

  She strode over to the table and leaned over him. “This is your fault,” she said, trying to keep her voice down. “You wouldn’t stay in the forest. You had to come looking for luxuries.”

  “Luxuries? I was starving! We have barely eaten in five days.”

  Yserria eyed the food on the table below her. The savory smell finally overcame her frustration, and she sat.

  “Why are you so upset?” said Malcius. “They brought us here and fed us.”

  Yserria bit into a sweet fruit she had never before tasted and said, “This food comes at a cost.”

  Malcius looked at the food with suspicion and then said, “What cost?”

  “The echelon has claimed you.”

  Malcius shook his head. “I rejected her claim.”

  “It does not matter. You are hers.”

  “Why would she do that?” he said.

  Yserria did not look at him as she said, “An attractive, young, virile man with a good sword arm does not go unclaimed in Lon Lerésh.”

  Malcius started to speak and then paused. “You think I am attractive?”

  Yserria rolled her eyes. “She does not know you as I do.”

  He scowled at her. “What are we going to do? Can we sneak out of here?” He eyed the food. “After we eat?”

  Yserria sighed. “I challenged her for you.”

  Malcius abruptly stood. “You cannot claim me!”

  “I don’t want you!” she shouted back. “It means nothing between us. I told her you rejected the claim, which means you would not fight on my behalf. Normally, that would be a problem for a woman without a champion, but I can fight for myself.”

  “So, it means nothing? We do not have to—um—like Rezkin had to—you know …”

  “Not unless you accept the claim,” she growled, “so do not accept it.”

  “That will not be a problem,” he muttered as he sat again. “So, you defeat her champion and I am free, right?”

  “No, it is not so easy. I challenged her, which means she gets to set the conditions for the challenge. She knows I am a swordswoman, so she chose archery.”

  Malcius groaned. “Please tell me you know how to use a bow.”

  “My skills are … acceptable.” With a sigh, she added, “The echelon’s champion is a master archer. I cannot beat him.”

  “Then, I am stuck here!” he cried.

  “I am trying to prevent that. As you pointed out before, image is everything. I took Rezkin’s example and made her look weak in front of her people. Then, I challenged her for her seat as echelon.”

  “You what? Why would you do that when you know you cannot win?”

  “Because the seat of an echelon cannot be won through a simple test of bowmanship. She will have to come up with a new challenge—something more difficult.”

  “And I am dependent on you to win this mysterious, difficult challenge,” he said. Malcius grabbed a tankard of ale and emptied its contents. A minute later, he said, “I thought the Leréshi could not prevent a foreigner from leaving, even if he was claimed.”

  “That is normally true, but we did not get permission to enter the Third Echelon. We are trespassing. She could have us arrested and thrown in the dungeon if she wanted. This torque and the fact that I am a member of House Rey, which currently serves on the queen’s council, are probably all that is preventing her from doing so.”

  Malcius reached for a stack of flatbread and scooped some kind of beige paste onto a dish. “You never told me your family was Leréshi nobility.”

  “It doesn’t work that way here,” she said. “My family’s house was raised after we visited Kielen because the queen was worried that I would steal her throne.”

  “Could you?”

  She tugged at the torque around her neck. “I probably have the power right now, but it would be suicide. No one lives long in that position, but Queen Erisial has devised a devious plan that might actually work for a while.”

  A servant ducked into the tent and said, “The challenge is set for three days hence.”

  Yserria looked at Malcius. “Three days.”

  Chapter 15

  The air in front of him shimmered like water filled with swirling colors. The colors suddenly merged into jagged lines of sharp, white light, as if it were shining from between the cracks of a broken mirror. The pieces between them began to dissolve, and then he was standing in a luminescent passage. Beyond the walls were fragments of landscapes, as if many worlds had broken apart, the remnants held aloft in smoky clouds. Between the clouds was a wash of stars and colorful dust. As he turned his head, the images shifted to reveal new worlds, each completely unlike the others.

  His nerves were on edge as he trod upon the translucent path. He turned, and directly in front of him was a black void. As he stood waiting, a light erupted at its center. It wrapped around him and drew him into the darkness. Then, he was staring at a mirrored wall. Silver eyes stared back at him. The image was not his own.

  Rezkin woke to the smell of horse and the ring of a hammer against an anvil. He rolled over and caught himself just before he fell out of the loft. Shaking his groggy head, he tried to remember the face he had seen in the mirror, but all he recalled were silver eyes. Although he had apparently slept deeply, he felt drained. He was also famished. After gathering his pack, he slipped out of the barn and made his way to the road without drawing notice from the farm’s few inhabitants. The land was located at the city’s edge, so he had not far to go,

  Rezkin was glad to finally be alone. Rather than arguing with his companions over his decision, he had simply disappeared. They would be upset, but at least he had done them the courtesy of leaving a note. A few would attempt to follow him, he knew, but he was already far ahead. Each day of his trek, he had passed lines of slaves working in the fields and repairing or paving the roads. Most of the men and women were prisoners. Some had probably been stolen and sold illegally. More than a few were likely refugees, driven from their homes by war, disease, or famine, people like his own.

  Bromivah was an old city, older than any in Ashai. The buildings reflected the architecture of a bygone age—one in which artistry and the old beliefs held supreme. Fairies, dragons, gnomes, and nymphs graced the mantles, balustrades, and rooftops. Rezkin thought they glorified the mythical creatures, even honored them, while the more modern pieces tended to idolize the knights who destroyed them. The sharp rooftops and abundance of towers gave the city a vicious appearance, as if it were a gaping maw ready to consume all who entered.

  He walked through the open city gates that were manned only at night. The streets were paved, and most of the buildings were constructed of the same grey stone. Some had slate rooves, while others were thatched, but every single one of them had a pole atop bearing a glowing orb. The official reason for the orbs was to allow mages to communicate with each other from anywhere in the city. The orbs also happened to provide the authorities with a method of citywide surveillance, but most of the mundanes were oblivious to that fact.

  Rezkin stopped at a stall to purchase a meal and then purchased another. By the time he reached Esyojo Castle, his head had cleared, but he felt lethargic and was still hungry. It was not the first time he had noticed the decrease in his energy since leaving Cael, but only now had it truly begun to concern him. Still, he had fought through worse, and he had a task to complete.

  The guards around Esyojo Castle were alert, which was not a surprise. Bromivah was a rough city, and Ferélli officials were always wary of the Adana’Ro. Moldovan would likely be concerned about Adana’Ro stealing the sword back, so it was unlikely he told anyone else where he had stashed it. Rezkin would have to confront the king directly. Given recent revelations, it was sure to be an interesting meeting.

  He did not
change into the garb of Dark Tidings or the Raven. He did not don the articles of court or those of a king. Rezkin slinked through the castle in his travel disguise—a vagabond. He wore a few armor plates hidden beneath his tunic, and his pack and swords were hidden in an abandoned hovel inside the city that he had passed en route to the castle. His homespun clothes were torn or patched in multiple places, his hair hung loose, and a couple of days’ worth of stubble graced his jawline. He needed to make a good impression after all.

  Three corridors led to the throne room, one to the main entrance, and two on either side with access to receiving rooms. The corridor and receiving room to the left of the throne room provided passage from the dungeon tower. Those on the right of the throne room were somewhat more comfortable since they were for guests and witnesses. Unsurprisingly, the passage from the dungeon had the least amount of security. Rezkin removed the two guards blocking his way into the receiving chamber and then the next two who were waiting within. He dragged the four unconscious men into a dark alcove beneath the tower stairs and left them gagged and bound together. Then, he proceeded through the final doorway.

  Moldovan’s throne room was grandiose. Like the rest of Bromivah, it was constructed of grey stone and had no windows. It was a dark cavern, the decorative flourishes appearing as fae creatures and monsters dwelling amongst stalactites. Candles or mage lights flickered among them casting eerie shadows in every direction. The room was also devoid of life, save for the guards that stood at attention every five feet along each side of the hall. Moldovan did not hold court. No one entered his throne room without permission, which few received. In fact, most prayed to their gods that they would never see its macabre decor. The chamber’s primary function was as a place of conviction and execution, as evidenced by the star-like splay of drainage grooves that radiated from its center into narrow troughs lining the perimeter. On execution day, the outer walls of the castle were literally bathed in blood. Esyojo Castle was the only colorful building in Bromivah.

  Rezkin took a moment to focus his will and then opened the door enough to permit his entrance. He moved with the shadows around the back of the hall toward the throne and then slithered into the seat. There, he entered a waking meditative state, one in which he split his focus so that his unconscious mind was cognizant of his surroundings, while his conscious mind maintained an air of nonexistence. Then, he waited. The stone around his neck heated, and his drowsiness returned, but preventing the guards in the hall from seeing him became easier. They were not aware of it, but they were becoming accustomed to his presence. He hoped Moldovan appeared before the shift change.

  From where he sat, Rezkin realized that every single pair of eyes amongst the mythical creatures was directed at the throne, as if in challenge or judgment. Knowing, now, that at least some of those creatures were not mere fantasies, he felt it a heavy weight to bear. Under their watchful gazes, he had sunk into the swirling colors that suffused the recesses of his mind when the king finally came tromping into the hall. As he strode across the stones, Moldovan brooded, staring at the ground, his arms clasped behind his back, his plush, regal robe swaying around his legs. He made it halfway through the room before he finally glanced up to notice that someone was sitting in his throne. He stopped short and then spun to look at the twelve guards that lined the hall.

  “What is this?” he shouted.

  The guards shifted as one to see what had disturbed their king. As soon as they saw the intruder, they rushed to surround Moldovan in a ring of swords and spears. Despite their prompt reaction, Moldovan was not satisfied with their blatant lack of awareness. His aged face contorted, and his eyes bulged as he fumed.

  “A man is sitting in my throne, and you all just stand there! A filthy beggar—” His rant abruptly ceased, and he turned to look more closely at the intruder. He stepped to the foot of the dais, his guards shuffling around him. Narrowing his eyes, he hissed, “You. I know who you are.”

  Rezkin lounged in the throne with his leg thrown over one of the gilded arms. He rolled his eyes and said, “I would be disappointed if you did not.”

  “You managed to invade my castle and claim my throne while a dozen of my guards stood here doing nothing, all the while dressed like that?” The man took a deep breath and lifted his chin. “I am impressed. You will do well.”

  “What do you want, Moldovan?” Rezkin said with feigned apathy.

  “Should I not be the one to ask you?” He waved his arm around the room. “You are the invader.”

  Rezkin sat up and pretended to admire the gilding on the throne as he spoke. “You know why I am here. You have known for months that I seek the Sword of Eyre. The fact that you insisted I come all this way to retrieve it means you want something.”

  Moldovan’s aged voice cracked as he laughed. “What if I do not intend to give it to you?”

  Rezkin shrugged and plucked a stray thread in the seat cushion. “I can take the sword, or I can take your kingdom and then take the sword. The choice is yours.”

  Moldovan grinned. “At least we are in agreement, then.”

  Rezkin was confused and a little concerned by the king’s statement, but rather than show his weakness, he sighed in boredom.

  “Leave us,” Moldovan said to the guards.

  “Your Majesty?” said the guard nearest the throne.

  “I said go!”

  The guards slowly filed out of the chamber, several glancing back as if to check that their king had not gone mad. Once the doors were closed, Moldovan ascended the steps. He stopped in front of the throne and looked down on Rezkin. He said, “You may drop the pretense. I know you are a cunning and devious man.”

  Rezkin rose and stared back at the man, peering down into eyes gone pale with age.

  Moldovan said, “It is strange to see that face looking back at me. You are your father’s son, no doubt, but I would recognize my blood anywhere.” He shook his head. “I have met Caydean twice, once as a boy and again as a young man. He was not like his father. He had a darkness in his gaze. I see that same darkness in you. The darkness, I can appreciate. An effective king needs a strong hand and a cold heart. The people will fear you for your ruthlessness and love you for your strength. Make no mistake, they are animals—all of them. They go where you guide them, but if you are weak, they will stray.”

  Moldovan’s gaze became distant, foggy, and confused, as if he were lost. He glanced at Rezkin, as if seeing him for the first time. “Bordran, have you come to claim my daughter?”

  Rezkin tilted his head. Just as quickly as the man’s mind had left, it returned. Moldovan continued as if he had never stopped. “Thresson was too much like his father. Weak. Unable to do what was necessary. At least, that is what I thought. The fact that you are here makes me rethink my opinion of Bordran. He was shrewder than I believed. I always suspected you had survived. Everyone said it was the Ashaiian royal curse, the death of every third child. I knew, though. If any blood were strong enough to break the curse, it would be that of Esyojo. I understand, now, why Bordran hid you away. Darkness was not all that resided in Caydean. In him, I saw madness.”

  Moldovan’s gaze turned toward the flickering forms on the walls. “Lecillia was a light amongst these shadows. I had thought to keep her here. I would have sent Merenia in her stead but for Ondoro’s insistence. He was a hard man, a worthy king of Ashai. Perhaps you are more like him than your father …” Again, Moldovan’s attention drifted for a moment before he spoke continued. “Ondoro, his wife Eyalana and brother Mandrite; my wife Belemnia, sister Erania, and brother Jonish—they are all dead now, have been for some time. I am the last.” He looked back to Rezkin. “What of my daughter? I have heard nothing of her in many months. Does Lecillia live?”

  Rezkin tilted his head. “She is torn by recent events but seems to be in good health. She now resides in my domain.”

  Moldovan nodded. “That is good. Perhaps … perhaps I may see her one last time.”

  Rezkin said, “Give
me the Sword of Eyre, and I will make that happen.”

  His expression hardening, Moldovan pushed past Rezkin and sat in his throne. “Yes, that. You have gained a reputation as someone who can get things done and has no compunctions. You are now a legitimate monarch, First King of Lon Lerésh. Never did I think to see the day one of those women took a husband.”

  Rezkin said nothing, and Moldovan smirked at him knowingly. “I am prepared to recognize your claim to Ashai and Cael, and I will give you that worthless sword, but you must first do something for me. You must kill my nephew Boulis and claim the throne.”

  Rezkin paused as he replayed the words in his mind. “You want me to claim your throne?”

  “I am sure it has not escaped your notice that my mind is not as sharp as it once was. It is time for me to step down. Does that surprise you?”

  It did. Moldovan seemed the kind of king who would insist on being buried with his throne. Rezkin said nothing, though, and waited for Moldovan to continue, which he did after a moment.

  “Ferélle needs a strong king, one who can stand against the likes of the Adana’Ro. I have become a liability, and I will not see this kingdom, which I have ruled over for nearly eighty years, fall into ruin. Bordran was blessed with three sons, while I was cursed to have only two daughters. Merenia, passed away several years ago. Her son Gereshy was killed at the Battle of Ushwick. It has always been my opinion that Boulis was responsible, either by intention or negligence. Gereshy died without an heir, so Boulis will claim the throne upon my death. It is the reason I have refused to die. Boulis cannot be trusted to manage the purse of a miser, much less the kingdom’s coffers. Thanks to you, an Esyojo will continue to sit upon the throne. The line will not die with me.”