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

by Kel Kade

  Creatures Rezkin had never seen nor heard tell of, some larger than a horse, swam past, some disappearing into the branching caves. Rezkin finally inhaled, his mouth filling with bubbles. They abruptly coalesced and filled his airway and lungs. It was a strange sensation, but he was glad to not be drowning. Then, he saw her. Swimming toward him was not some insubstantial nixie but a real woman. When she drew closer, he realized that she was not human. Her pale, seafoam-green eyes were far larger than those of a human, her cheeks narrower, and her cheekbones sharper. Her thin mouth was set above a pointed chin. Long, ash blonde hair floated in the water around her head, from which he could see the protruding tips of pointed ears. The entirety of her skin sparkled from the tiny, translucent scales that covered it down to her waist where the scales grew larger and darker over the length of a long, sinuous fish tale. She was one of the fabled merfolk, and in her hands was a sword—the Sword of Eyre.

  Rezkin reached out and stroked a strand of the mesmerizing woman’s hair. She blinked at him curiously and then stroked his own. She was fascinating, but she was not the woman from his dreams. He grasped the sword. The water abruptly wrapped tightly around him, and his entire world became a rush of bubbles and rough currents. His ears throbbed and then popped as he ascended, and he gasped as his head breached the surface.

  Rezkin’s companions shouted and reached for him, pulling him onto the platform. He lay there for a moment, staring at the shadows dancing among stalactites on the ceiling. After taking a deep breath, he pulled himself to his feet and then looked down at the sword. So much trouble he had endured to gain this worthless blade. It was not worthless to Privoth, though, and that was what mattered. His ears popped again, and he realized that buzzing sound was his companions talking to him.

  “What?” he said.

  Mage Threll said, “You were down there forever. You are not even wearing your mask! How did you not drown?”

  Farson said, “Perhaps he did, and his body refuses to accept it.”

  Rezkin frowned at his former trainer and then said, “We have the sword.” He glanced back at the water almost longingly. He gained his feet and turned toward the walking path that lit as he approached.

  Farson’s voice held a hint of laughter as he said, “You lost your crown.”

  Rezkin brushed his hand across his head and realized that Farson was right. He did not care for the crown anyway. He was halfway across the walkway when Mage Threll gasped. Rezkin turned to see what had elicited such a reaction. He followed her gaze to a glinting object in the water. A feminine hand with slender fingers covered in tiny, sparkling scales held his crown above the water. He took the crown with one hand and held her hand with the other. She grasped his hand in return as he peered past the surface into her green gaze. Then, she slipped into the depths and was gone.

  As Rezkin left the cave, he felt a loss, as if a part of him had been left behind. He glanced at his hand and found that some glittery flecks remained. It was a small token, but it was one he realized he wanted far more than the crown. He also realized that he longed for Cael.

  Chapter 17

  Yserria bristled as she approached the echelon’s tent. The battle had been delayed until they could reach the staging ground; and, after having traveled north for two days, she was supposed to be in the midst of preparing for it. She was, instead, needlessly summoned to speak with the echelon while the woman broke her fast in comfort. Yserria did not wait for an invitation to enter. She had been summoned after all. She was not going to give this woman the power to make her wait. Yserria stalked through the opulent travel accommodations to the small table that held an assortment of preserves, breads, and cream.

  Deshari’s smile was affable, while her tone held only contempt. “Would you care to join me? These are some of the finest preserves the Souelian has to offer. This one is from Ferélle, but perhaps you prefer a taste of home? I have an Ashaiian mint-fig. I am not entirely sure what a fig is, but I do enjoy the taste.”

  “What do you want?” Yserria said.

  Deshari motioned to a chair. “Please, sit down. I do not care to strain my neck looking up at you.”

  “No, your neck should feel great as you watch me go into battle.”

  Deshari laughed. “I would never watch such barbaric sport. No, I shall enjoy the company of Gemsbrick, while you are dallying in the field, and shall be ready to celebrate our success upon your return.”

  “You wish for my return?”

  “Of course. I do want to prevail over Orina after all. I have no concerns that you will fare better than my Ifigen. He is a seasoned commander and is familiar with the style of Orina’s champion Carthano.”

  “Then what do you want?” said Yserria.

  Deshari placed her butter knife on her plate and said, “Very well, to business. I wanted to give you a chance to withdraw the challenge. There is no need to risk your life when we know that you have no intention of staying to rule as echelon. You cannot retain the position from afar. It will be pointless.”

  “I will withdraw my challenge for echelon if you withdraw your claim for Lord Malcius.”

  She tipped her goblet back and said, “Well, you know I cannot do that. It would appear weak. My adversaries watch closely. Many covet my position.”

  “After today, you will no longer have that problem,” said Yserria.

  “You fancy yourself a wolf, but we both know you are a mere pup. Without the weight of that torque and support of your master, you and your house would have no standing in this queendom.”

  Yserria said, “He is not my master. He is my king and yours as well. He chose me because I can fight for him, not so that he may fight for me. If you have nothing more to say, I must return to my preparations. I go to win a battle today.”

  Deshari pursed her lips, so Yserria stood and then stalked out of the tent, heading toward the staging ground. When she arrived, she was surprised to see that her force had grown to nearly double what it had been at dawn. Several dozen men ceased their chatter and stood at attention. As one, they saluted her, not the formal bow given a matrianera, but a one-armed, fisted salute of a soldier. Yserria nodded and said, “Thank you for volunteering for the battle challenge for Third Echelon. I am honored by your gift of service. It is time to solidify our plan of engagement. As you were.” The men relaxed and returned to their preparations as Yserria looked for Balen.

  She found him going over plans with Malcius. For Malcius’s sake, she spoke in Ashaiian. “The echelon is worried. She tried to get me to withdraw my challenge.”

  “As she should be,” said Balen. “The echelon likes to think her consort a military genius. He is a brutal warrior and a good leader, but he has always depended on his second to devise the plan.”

  “How does that help us?” she said.

  Balen grinned. “I am his second.”

  Yserria smiled. “That is good news. I am unfamiliar with the terrain, my opponent”—she thumbed over her shoulder—“my men—pretty much all of it. I am depending on your experience and guidance.”

  “That will make you a good general,” said Balen.

  Yserria nodded. “Rezkin says it is important to recognize your followers’ strengths and capitalize on them. He says that I should not believe that I can or should do everything better than everyone else.”

  “This Rezkin sounds like a wise man. Is he your trainer?”

  “Yes, he is my king—and yours.”

  “I had heard rumors, but I did not believe them all. I did not realize you were so close to your king.”

  Yserria’s face flushed. “We are not close in the intimate sense, if that is what you are implying.”

  “I should say not,” said Malcius. After seeing her frown, he said, “What? I am trying to defend your honor, as you asked.”

  She blinked in surprise. “Oh, um, thank you, Lord Malcius.”

  Malcius crossed his arms and nodded once, then looked at Balen who seemed utterly confused. Balen shook his head and th
en withdrew a map. He explained how he thought Ifigen would conduct his battle and then covered his own plan. Since Deshari was defending her claim to the land, she had the privilege of choosing the battle site. She and Ifigen would each be defending their own small hill. The Fourth Echelon’s forces would be attacking from the north, and a small tributary bounded the hills to the south.

  Yserria pointed to the river bend on the western flank of her hill. Ifigen’s hill was not adjacent to the river. “Can they use this to flank us?” she said.

  Balen shook his head. “That would be difficult. The river flows in the other direction.”

  “Could we use it to flank them?”

  He rubbed his chin. “It would be a good plan, but we do not have enough men.”

  “Orina knows that,” Yserria mused. “She knows that my force is smaller than Ifigen’s. She would not expect us to split the few we have.”

  “Because it would be suicide,” said Malcius.

  “Maybe not,” she said. “Is this map accurate?”

  “Very much so,” said Balen.

  “Then, look. Our hill is steeper on the northeastern side. This means that Orina will not be able to attack us from due north. It will force her to move slightly to the west, but there is a rise here. Her troops will be closer to the river, but they will not be able to see our unit in the water until it is too late.”

  Balen nodded. “What you say is true, but we still need more men.”

  Yserria placed her hands on her hips and said, “How can we get them?”

  “Perhaps a demonstration. Some of the men are not convinced that you can fight.”

  She huffed. “I made it to the second round in the fifth tier at the King’s Tournament.”

  “You would probably have made it to the third if Rezkin had not defeated you,” said Malcius.

  She glanced at him, uncertain if he were chiding her. He appeared sincere, so she said, “Thank you.”

  He furrowed his brow. “For what?”

  Balen said, “It is true, then? You are the female swordmaster who was at the King’s Tournament?”

  Yserria paused and then lifted her chin. “Yes, I am the swordmaster.”

  “I see. This is why the echelon chose archery instead of the sword.”

  Malcius said, “What kind of demonstration did you have in mind?”

  “Never mind,” said Yserria. “I know what will do.”

  Malcius and many of the warriors who had committed themselves to her cause followed Yserria as she stalked to the center of the encampment. Others stopped what they were doing to investigate the commotion. She turned and faced her men, bowed, then turned to face the gathering crowd of onlookers. She bowed again and drew her father’s sword, holding it in front of her, the tip toward the overcast sky. Then, she began to move. Her form was graceful, but her motions strange to Malcius. After the first few passes, some of the men began to clap. Others joined them, and after a minute, Malcius was surrounded by an intense cadence of long and short claps. Every so often the men would root as one, a barking sound that complimented the patterned claps.

  Malcius leaned over to Balen and said, “What is she doing? I have never seen a sword form like that.”

  “It is not a sword form. It is a sort of ritual, a dance but with meaning. It is only performed by the royal guard upon a queen’s death or crowning, or when the army goes to war. It is meant to provoke dedication and instill strength. I do not know how she knows the dance, but she must be a swordmaster if she is capable of performing it without killing herself.”

  Yserria tossed the sword into the sky, allowing it to flip, end over end, before catching it. She then swept it behind her back and did the same. Each time she caught the sword, she performed some acrobatic that might have even impressed Rezkin. Malcius became more anxious with each turn, and his sense of relief when it was finally finished was surprising.

  To Balen, he said, “Her father was a royal guard. He taught her the sword.”

  Yserria ended with a flourish, and the crowd erupted in cheers. Men and a few women came to speak with her, and Yserria urged every one of them to join her force. Some of them accepted immediately, while others said they required time for consideration. After she had spoken with the majority, she rejoined Malcius and Balen.

  Balen shook his head. “It is a risky move, but we might have enough to pull it off.”

  Malcius looked at Yserria and said, “May I speak with you privately?” They walked a short distance to where they could still be seen but not heard. He said, “You do not have to do this. Let me be your champion. I will go to battle in your stead.”

  She scoffed. “What are you talking about?”

  “Look around you, Yserria. This is a real battle. People will die. You need not risk your life on my account. I will fight the battle for my own freedom as your champion.”

  “You cannot be my champion,” she said. “I have claimed you. You could fight as my champion in any challenge except the matter of the claim. For this matter, you would need to accept the claim, and we would be required to consummate the bond before witnesses.”

  “I thought that was only for marriages! I thought that anyone could fight as your champion.”

  “Anyone can, unless I have claimed him. Then, we must complete the bond. It does not matter if it is for husband or consort, although the requirements for a husband are more—intense.”

  Malcius’s thoughts were thrown into chaos as his heart raced. Palis had lost his life to save Yserria. He could not just let her walk into a battle and get killed. Why had he never considered that before? He needed to keep her safe. He said, “Would it be so terrible? It is certainly better than dying.”

  She slapped him. Malcius raised a hand to his stinging cheek. The shock of it woke him from his panic. “What—”

  “You are a horrible person, Malcius Jebai.”

  “But—”

  “What I do with my body might be acceptable here in Lon Lerésh, but anywhere else, I would be a ruined woman. Do you hate me so much that you would sentence me to a long life of loneliness?”

  “No, I—”

  “And, you have no faith in my abilities as a warrior. I have trained hard for this, and I am capable. I risk my life to keep you free, and this is how you repay me?”

  Yserria stalked away, and Malcius was left wondering what in the world had just happened. Balen strode over as he watched Yserria storm off toward the staging ground. He said, “I know not what you said to her, but I think you are lucky to have gotten away with a slap. She looks furious enough to win the battle on her own.”

  Malcius groaned and followed her through the crowd. Some of the men laughed at his misfortune as he passed, while others offered their condolences. He was so preoccupied by the attention that he nearly ran into a hulking man who stepped in front of him. The man grabbed hold of his shirt as he lost his footing, preventing him from further embarrassing himself by falling onto his rear.

  The man said, “I am Mage Dolinar. I will fight at your side.”

  Malcius looked up at the dark-skinned man, obviously of Pruari descent. He was one of the largest men Malcius had ever seen, and his voice rumbled like a war drum.

  Malcius grasped the man’s hand. “I am Malcius of House Jebai. I thank you, but I must ask why? You have only seen me make a fool of myself.”

  Dolinar grinned, his broad smile lightening the mood. He slapped Malcius’s shoulder and said, “It looks like you need the help.”

  “He is not wrong,” Balen said with a smirk.

  Mage Dolinar turned and pushed Malcius toward the staging ground. He waved a hand toward the men and said, “We have all been in similar situations with our matrias. Well, perhaps not exactly yours. Most of our matrias depend on our strength as champions for physical challenges. Your matria is a she-wolf. She readily bares her claws and teeth, but I think she would not be satisfied with a docile man.”

  “She is not my matria,” said Malcius.

  “N
o, but she will be once she defeats the echelon’s champion. You are a lucky man.”

  “You seem confident that we will prevail.”

  “I am a truthseeker.”

  “You can see the future?”

  Dolinar laughed. “No, that is not a talent I bear. I see things as they truly are. Knight Yserria is worthy of her title. Her confidence is genuine. The echelon fears her.”

  “So, you chose the side you think will win?”

  “I choose the side that I desire to win. I do not care for the echelon. She is devious, always scheming. It hurts my eyes to see so much deception, but it is most common in women of power in our queendom. The only way to gain power here is to take it, and the support of their peers is crucial. The good are eventually corrupted of necessity. That one, though, she shows her true self. It is most refreshing.”

  Malcius followed Dolinar’s gaze. Yserria was standing at the war table speaking with Balen’s sons. A ray of light shined through a crack in the clouds to glint off the torque around her neck. Malcius said, “Perhaps she can afford to be true because she is backed by one more devious than the rest.”

  “You speak of your king?”

  “And yours,” Malcius said, meeting the man’s dark gaze.

  “Hmm, it is not wise to speak of royalty with such disdain.”

  “He would not deny it. I think he prides himself in the effort, but he seems to feel no pride—or anything, for that matter.”

  “You know him well?”

  Malcius glanced at Yserria. “I once called him friend.”

  “But no longer?”