by Kel Kade
“Yes, your slippery fingers,” said Uthey.
“If you hadn’t fallen over the ravine, nearly yanking my head off, I wouldn’t have dropped it.”
“It was not my fault that I lost my balance due to the fever,” said Uthey.
“No matter,” said Tam. “We will rid you of the fever soon enough.” Then, he lurched to his feet and dragged Uthey from the sand. Wiping their tracks as they shuffled along, he pulled Uthey back into the forest on the other side of the sand bar. They had walked a few dozen feet into the thicket when Tam tugged Uthey down to crouch behind the undergrowth.
“What are we doing?” said Uthey, “I thought I was the one who was supposed to go mad from fever.”
“Sh,” hissed Tam, and then he pointed toward the river.
A boat came into view. It carried only nine soldiers, but it was followed by at least a dozen more like it. The soldiers pulled the boats onto the sand bar and then set to making camp. Tam watched them for a few minutes and then motioned for Uthey to leave. They hurried deeper into the forest, trying to make as little sound as possible. Once they were far enough away, Tam allowed Uthey a moment to catch his breath.
Uthey looked at him and said, “What are Ashaiian soldiers doing this deep into Verril?”
Tam said nothing as he listened to the wind and trees.
“Maybe they’re here to rescue you,” said Uthey, his chuckle becoming a wheeze, but he continued to jest. “Maybe it’s your king.”
“They do not serve my king,” said Tam. “They are the enemy—for now.”
They both jumped at the sound of branches crackling behind them. When they turned around, they were confronted by three grinning men in armor bearing weapons. One stepped forward as two more appeared behind them.
“What do we have here?” said the leader.
“Looks like two escaped slaves,” said one of his men.
Uthey whispered, “What are they saying?”
Tam realized the men were speaking Verrili. He knew he could not defeat them all. If Uthey had been well, they might have put up a fight; but, as it was, any protest would end in pain and suffering.
“I think we made a mistake,” he said in Gendishen.
Another man with broken teeth, who also spoke Gendishen, said, “I’d say you’re right.”
The man nodded for them to move. After another ten paces through the forest, they reached the edge of the tree line where the land dropped off a cliff. It looked to be more than a hundred feet to the base. At the bottom was a massive pit where hundreds of slaves were pushing carts, hauling rocks, and breaking boulders. Some disappeared into caves in the sides of the cliffs, some were whipped as they worked, and others were thrown into a smaller pit for the dead.
The man with the broken teeth leaned over Tam’s shoulder so that Tam could smell his putrid breath as he spoke. “Welcome to the quarry.”
There was only one way in and out of the quarry, and it was by a platform on the other side of the pit that was raised and lowered with ropes. Once Tam stepped off the platform onto the rugged detritus, he knew he would have to find a way to escape. He was practically as far from Cael as he could get—on the complete opposite side of the Souelian. No one knew where he had gone. No one had witnessed his kidnapping; and even if they had, no one in Uthrel would talk. To his friends, he had just disappeared. In the unlikely event that someone tracked him to the Isle of Sand, they would never know where he had been sent afterward. He would be trapped in the quarry for the rest of his short life. There was no way Rezkin could find him. Not even the Rez, himself, would find him.
“I’ve found him,” said Connovan, and Tieran looked up with a sigh of relief.
“Where is he?”
“He was taken by slavers to the Isle of Sand,” said Connovan. With a mischievous grin, he said, “Perhaps I should go after him.”
“No,” said Tieran, a little too hastily. “Rezkin should return soon. He will decide what to do.”
Connovan tipped his head. “I leave it to you; but, remember, many do not survive the Isle of Sand. He will eventually be sold, if he has not been already. The longer we wait, the harder it will be to find him.”
Tieran exhaled heavily. “Tam is strong. We must have faith that he can hold out.”
Connovan tilted his head in the same unnerving way he had seen so many times from Rezkin. “Perhaps he is, perhaps not. If he fails, he was not worthy of his apprenticeship. Testing Rez’s pet is not your motivation, though.” His tone shifted to accusation. “You have orders to keep me from leaving.”
Tieran sat back and tapped his finger on the desk. He forced himself to meet Connovan’s predatory gaze. He said, “I was not supposed to allow you off the island. I permitted your trip to Uthrel due to the exceptional circumstances.”
“Permitted? You practically begged.” A small silver knife appeared in Connovan’s hand. He spun it over his fingers, seemingly without effort. “If I desired to leave, you could not stop me.”
Tieran sucked in a breath. He felt a shift in the space around him as if something was there but just out of sight. He said, “No, but they can.”
Two of the shielreyah materialized, one beside him, the other next to Connovan. The former Rez’s gaze traveled the length of the vaporous warrior. He said, “I was not aware they respond to your call.”
Neither was I, thought Tieran.
“We respond to the will of the Spirétua Syek-lyé,” said the one closest to Connovan. Tieran thought his name was Cikayri, but he found them difficult to tell apart.
“He is not here,” said Connovan.
“He is everywhere,” said the Cikayri. “You will not leave Caellurum. You will not harm the kin of the Spirétua Syek-lyé.”
Tieran scowled at Connovan. “You were considering killing me?”
“Of course not,” said Connovan. “Maiming, perhaps—just a bit.” He glanced at the shielreyah next to Tieran. “These things do present a challenge. Still, they can be fooled. I heard about the attack. People were kidnapped. People died.” He glanced at the one next to him again. “They are not infallible.” Connovan stood and performed an unnecessary courtly bow. He paused as he was about to speak. Then, he said, “You really should decide on a title. People do not know how to formally address you.”
Tieran grumbled, “Must we lean so heavily on titles?”
Connovan said, “You are not sounding like yourself, Lord Tieran. So many years of your father’s teachings spoiled. Has being labeled a traitor caused this destruction? It is such a little thing, really.”
Gritting his teeth, Tieran said, “My father did not seek to make me a great man. He only wanted to make me like him. Rezkin has shown me a better way.”
Connovan nodded. “I believe he has, Lord Tieran. The question is why?”
When Frisha lay down, she thought she would never be able to sleep. As it was, though, she slept soundly through the evening, night, and half of the next morning. She wiped the sleep from her eyes then washed and combed her hair before reapplying the face paints as Celise had shown her. She then headed to the king’s office in hopes of finding Tieran. She opened the door to find him slumped over the desk.
“Are you busy?” she said.
He lifted his head. “I am excogitating.”
Frisha’s face flushed. “Uh, sh-should I give you some privacy?”
His slack jaw and furrowed brow expressed utter confusion. Then, he laughed and shook his head. “It means to think through or figure out something.”
Frisha huffed, her face heating again. “That is a ridiculous word. Why did you not say that in the first place?”
Tieran picked up the book that lay open on the desk, turning it so she could see the title. The Inviolable Mind: A Guide to Tactical Supremacy. “I read it in here,” he said. “I have been lax in preparing for my duties and am now making up for lost time. Do I sound more astute?”
“It makes you sound pompous.”
“Ah, we do not want that.�
�� His gaze traveled over her, and she shifted uncomfortably. He said, “Are you rested?”
She smiled. “I think I slept too much, but I do feel the better for it.”
He nodded. “Shall we walk, then? Perhaps the garden will be a welcomed respite after so many weeks at sea.”
“That sounds pleasant,” she said.
They spoke of his struggles and the decisions he had made while she was away, and she told him the story of their voyage as they strolled along their usual routes through the gardens. The plants had grown much in her absence. Tieran had even cultivated his own plot that had all the herbs Frisha’s mother had grown at home. She asked if he would not mind sitting there for a while as she enjoyed the familiar scents.
“There is something I need to tell you,” said Tieran, “and you are not going to like it.”
She laid a hand on his where it rested on the bench. “Please, I cannot take any more bad news right now. Can it wait?”
“I think you will be angry with me for not telling you sooner.”
“Is there anything I can do about it?”
He swallowed hard as he met her gaze. “No, there may be nothing to be done about it.”
She glanced at the garden. “Then Rezkin will fix it.”
Tieran looked away. He said, “I wish I could fix it. I feel so inadequate at times.”
“It’s not your fault, Tieran. Rezkin was trained for this. It is his life’s purpose.” She met his gaze and said, “You have a different purpose.”
He laughed. “I wish I knew what that was.”
“And I, mine,” said Frisha. “Perhaps that is why he has such clarity. He knows exactly what he is supposed to be doing.”
“I think he has no idea what he is doing. He just makes it up as he goes.”
Her brow furrowed. “Considering who he is, that is even more frightening.”
They sat in silence for a while. Questions hung in the air like a thick blanket—all the subjects they had not yet broached. Finally, she said, “I called off the betrothal.”
He appeared uncomfortable but not surprised. He said, “I suppose having your betrothed marry another woman would give one pause.”
She shook her head. “No, before that. Sometimes I wonder if he would have accepted her deal if I had not. Still, I would not change my decision. He is not the man I thought him to be. I think I have accepted who he is, for his sake and that of the kingdom, but he is not the man I wish to marry.”
“You would be empress,” said Tieran.
“But I would not be loved.”
Tieran looked surprised. “You think he does not love you?”
“He said as much.”
He was silent for a while as he appeared to struggle with something. He said, “I think he does, but he is not aware of it. I think he does not know what love is because he has never been given any. At least, not before he met us.”
“I have considered that many times,” she said. “While we were gone, I learned things about him—things I cannot forget.”
“More than what Connovan revealed?”
She nodded. “I have tried to connect it with what I thought I knew of him, and I cannot. I think he is truly different people—or no one, as Connovan said. I realized that I only love a part of him, and I do not think it is the biggest part. Who he truly is, in every aspect—I do not love that man.”
She looked up to find Tieran staring at her. He pulled a kerchief from his pocket then reached over and gently wiped the paint from her lips.
He said, “You do not need it.” He took a deep breath and met her gaze. “I did not notice at first. I was so wrapped up in myself—in the usual customs—that I could not see the natural beauty before me. I have struggled for some time now. I am dedicated to my cousin, and I will remain loyal to him, always; but, he does not deserve you. He showed me that you are driven and brave, that you are honest and trustworthy; but, I see something he does not. You are passionate and deeply romantic. You offer your heart to people and plead with them to do the same.
“Rezkin opened my eyes to who I was and who I should be, but you opened my heart. I was distraught when you disappeared. I even thought to take a ship and go after you, but everyone assured me that you were safe with Rezkin. The truth is, you have never been safe with him. Your heart is open and bleeding, and he does not see. I am no longer the man I was when we first met. I hope that you can learn to see me as the man I am struggling to become.”
Frisha was struck speechless. She wondered if she were truly still asleep in her room. Perhaps she had not yet left the ship. The herbal scents were real, though. She reached up to touch his face. He was real. He lifted his hand to grasp hers and then pressed a kiss to her fingertips. Then, he moved closer, and she did not move away. She asked herself why she was not moving, then realized she wanted to be close to him.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “You were so upset when I told you I was having doubts about Rezkin. You were pushing me to stay with him.”
He held his hand to her face as he stroked her cheek. “I was angry but not with you. I loved you even then, but I am loyal to Rezkin. I was wracked with guilt for wanting you, but I feared what would happen if you left him.”
“What would that be?”
“This,” he said as he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.
Her belly fluttered, and her skin flushed with heat as a thrill surged through her from deep within. She wanted him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts to his chest and kissed him with the passion she had kept bottled up for so long. They stayed like that, locked in each other’s arms for an eternity wrapped in a few short minutes. Tieran eventually pulled her arms from his neck and backed away. She made to follow, but he pressed his fingers to her lips, stalling her, then trailed them along her jaw to rest his palm on her neck. She knew he could feel her wildly beating pulse, but she felt no shame in it. They were both breathing heavily.
He said, “We must stop, or I will dare go too far. I do not want that for you.”
Frisha’s heart sank, and it must have shown on her face.
He shook his head. “Do not get me wrong. I want to, but I want this to be right between us. I wish to court you properly in hopes that, someday, you might do me the honor of becoming my wife.”
Frisha struggled to find words, and then a terrible thought struck her. She said, “Rezkin.”
Tieran’s face scrunched in pain. “That is not what I had hoped to hear.”
“No! I mean, what if he does not approve?” She shook her head vigorously. “I have seen him angry. I do not want that directed at you.”
Tieran exhaled in a rush. “I have considered that more than is good for my sanity. In truth, I am petrified, for I may not survive the encounter. You are worth it, though. I would face an army of elven wraiths to keep you at my side.”
Wesson was relieved when the procession stopped to water the horses around midmorning. His rear was sore from riding for so many days after spending the majority of the past couple of months on a ship. Besides that, it seemed the entirety of Gendishen was devoid of shade, and although the autumn breeze was cool, the sun was still scorching. He wiped his forehead and looked up at Rezkin. “I have no idea where to begin.”
Rezkin handed him a leather pouch, which Wesson discovered contained pottery shards. Rezkin said, “These are the remains of the vessel that housed the demon in Ferélle. It is covered in runes. I thought it might shed some light on the subject.”
“You were carrying these around with you?”
“I did not want to risk losing them, so I kept them in my pack.”
“I see.” Wesson picked up one of the pieces, rolling it over to examine the runes. He said, “I think … I think I have seen something like this before, a long time ago. I once found a vessel with similar markings. It was empty but whole. I did not know what to make of it at the time. I could be wrong, though. I was young. Maybe it was just an unusual design.”
“What can you tell us about this one?” said Farson.
Wesson scratched his head and tugged at an errant curl. “There was one other place I have seen similar markings.” He glanced at Farson. “You have seen them, too.” Farson and Wesson both looked at Rezkin.
“What?” said Rezkin.
“It was the first time we were in Ferélle, when we met the Adana’Ro. Just as you walked through the ward that Mage Threll and I constructed, we caught a glimpse of markings nearly covering your body. It was rather obvious at the time due to your state of undress.”
“It is true,” said Farson.
“They were these markings?” Rezkin said in alarm. Although he had heard people call him one often enough, he did not want to be associated with demons.
Wesson shook his head. “I cannot say for sure. It was only a brief flash. I think they were not exactly the same but perhaps written in the same language.”
Rezkin said, “Connovan told us the markings on my skin were made by the Sen to document the events of death and resurrection, or retrieval, as they called it; but, according to the histories, the Sen were forbidden from performing demon magic. The Sen are said to derive their power from Nihko, Goddess of Death and the Afterlife. It is Nihko’s power than binds our souls to our human vessels. Demons are the product of Nihko and Rheina, and they reside in the realm of H’khajnak. In order for them to enter this realm, they must be bound to a vessel. Perhaps these runes bind them to the clay pot in the same way that the shielreyah are bound to Caellurum.”
Wesson nodded. “That would make sense. Perhaps this is where I went wrong with the stone men. I crafted the power into a spell that I attached to their persons, but spells are sometimes fickle when attached to living beings because we are in a constant state of change. These runes would not change, so they would hold the spells better.”
“How would you do that?” said Farson.
“Well, as is said to have happened with Rezkin, they could be tattooed on, or branded, or scarred. One could be temporarily drawn in ink, chalk, or stain.”