by RJ Blain
The healer’s code of Kelsh wasn’t much different from the one used within the Rift.
“If Derac will not move his hand, then the task falls to you. Should you care at all for your people, and desire any hope of preventing what may come, you will take up the sword and ensure that it takes my life. When the Rift Rides, then you will know the significance of the words that you wrote with your own hand.”
“I take orders from no one but my King,” Lord Delrose said in a low and even tone.
“The second week of the harvest, the tenth year of the reign of Aelthor, son of Toretec, son of Horinst the Wise, son of Veritin, born of the Silent Queen. The harvest goes as well as ever, though there are vines that need pruning. I fear the trellises will tip, should anymore of these once fine grapes were to perish before they can be picked. Corasan.” The spy’s missive had caught Kalen’s attention when he’d first received it, on the virtue of how easily that the Kelshite Akakashani had transformed the evidence of his treachery into a simple harvest report.
“How do you know of that?”
Derac opened his mouth to speak, but Lord Delrose’s raised hand silenced the man.
“The reply contained but one thing,” Kalen said. “The parcel sealed clean through with wax unbroken until it reached your hand. There are three people who know what was stated within, and two of them are within this room.”
“Lady of Light. Why are you here?” Lord Delrose leaned forward and covered his face with his hands. “Bring my sword, Derac.”
“Uncle!”
“I will not allow you to cut down the man I am trying to save!”
The scream was torn from Kalen’s throat as Marissa faltered. The strength flowed out of him and his vision darkened. While he was aware of words being spoken, they were so faint he didn’t catch their meaning. Waiting for him in the still and quiet dark of his fading consciousness was the presence within. The First didn’t speak, but no words were needed. It offered power, but Kalen rejected it. It offered strength, but he didn’t claim it. It tempted him with revenge, and he wished he could smile.
There was no sweeter revenge than passing his crown made of dirt, his battered saddle that served as his throne, and his court that was composed of serpents and men as harsh as the land they thrived in to the man he hated the most.
Chapter Six
Something cold and wet dripped down Kalen’s spine. Death wasn’t supposed to be cold or wet. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but that wasn’t it. It also wasn’t supposed to hurt. Or was it? Maybe he’d really earned some sort of eternal punishment for how he’d lived his life.
“Hellfires!” The curse burst out of him. Dead folks couldn’t speak, either. That left one other option: He lived.
“That did it,” Marissa said in a pleased tone.
“They aren’t used to cold in the Rift, let alone to ice,” Lord Delrose murmured in reply.
Kalen cursed again and struggled to open his eyes.
“Kalen, Garint’s here,” Derac said.
A shiver coursed through him, and it wasn’t from the water dripping down his back. Lord Delrose had been right. They’d led the Danarites right to the villa. “And?”
The word came out a lot stronger than Kalen had expected. While his left eye still refused to open, he managed to crack open the right enough to peer through his lashes.
At first, he feared himself blind, but the shadows solidified to from the porch outside of the villa. He sat on the stairs. Lord Delrose stood before him with a bucket in his hand.
“We have until an hour after sunrise. Then Garint will lead them directly to us. Directly to you,” Lord Delrose said.
“How long was I out for?” Kalen muttered. Water fell down his brow, along the edge of his nose and dripped from his chin. His teeth chattered from the cold. He ached from head to toe, and the shivers made it worse. A blanket was draped over his shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” Marissa said. Kalen shook his head in reply. The blanket did little to warm or dry him, but he said nothing of it.
“I’d say it is maybe two hours before dawn. Marissa thought it wise to let you rest, but we don’t dare wait any longer,” Lord Delrose said. “I can’t get everyone out of the villa in time. There aren’t enough horses.”
“I’m so glad to see I hadn’t wasted my efforts,” Garint called out. Moments later, the Knight appeared from around the corner of the villa. He led two horses. “I was taking back my horse and thought I’d be kind enough to leave you a warning in exchange. I wish you luck. You’ll need it. Two hours after sunrise, and you’ll be back where you belong. They won’t stop until you’re both dead.”
“You play a dangerous game.” Lord Delrose’s voice was too similar to the lifeless tone Kalen adopted when he didn’t want anyone to know how angry he really was. Kalen wrinkled his nose and frowned.
“How does it feel to be the first council member to last less than three months in service? Enjoy the time you have left.” Garint mocked them with a bow. “I can’t thank you enough for your cooperation, Rift King.”
Lord Delrose reached for his sword, but the gold-clad Kelshite was mounted and gone before the sword was freed from its sheath. “We’re in trouble, aren’t we?”
“You’re giving up already? Just because of that? Do you think so little of yourself—of your people—that you can’t fight at all? Can’t they defend themselves?” Kalen shook his head. “You’re supposed to be complaining why I haven’t given a strategy to you so you could draw lots to see who got the best role.”
“We aren’t barbaric like you Rifters,” the Kelshite Lord growled.
“Barbaric would be poisoning them, but that’s what refined and delicate kingdoms do, isn’t it?”
“What are you implying by that?” Lord Delrose clutched the hilt of his sword and stepped forward. Kalen met the older man’s eyes without flinching. The weapon was thrust back into its sheath.
“My Lord,” Marissa exclaimed. “Please, he is still weak.”
“Weak? Giving up without a fight is weak. Giving up without trying to do anything is weak.” The rest of the words Kalen wanted to say choked him and wouldn’t spill out from between his lips.
He shouldn’t have been surprised. He shouldn’t have hoped for anything else. A man willing to poison his own son couldn’t be relied on. Couldn’t be trusted.
Akakashani or not.
“If you aren’t willing to try to save your own people, crawl into a hole and die so those who are willing to can fight without your cursed corpse getting in the way,” Kalen said, spitting each word out. “You’re not fit to feed to the nibblers.”
“How dare you!”
Kalen didn’t remember getting to his feet—wasn’t even sure how his throbbing left foot supported his weight—but with the aid of the stairs, he stared the man who’d sired him in the eye and growled, “Are you going to try to save your people or not?”
“What do you expect? A Lord I may be, but I’m not Rifter-kin. I’m no mercenary. My people are farmers! Lady of Light spare us all, but I don’t think you could even hold a sword with that hand! We’ve no more than three, maybe four hours. We’re outnumbered and unarmed. It’ll be a slaughter.”
Kalen waited for the First’s anticipation of bloodshed, but its presence was gone as if it’d never existed. “So you’d rather they be slaughtered as they sleep, unknowing of their Lord’s treachery? Maybe you could run Garint down before he gets too far and kill him before he returns to his Danarite friends.”
“I’m not a murderer. Even if he deserves it. What would you have me do, Rift King?” Lord Delrose quivered, and it reminded Kalen of a bowstring on the verge of snapping.
“Marissa.” Kalen let the blanket fall from his shoulders and welcomed the painful chill of the morning air. “You can deceive the sight of another healer, can you not?”
“You need to keep warm and rest,” The woman replied, reaching down to retrieve the blanket.
“Answer.”
<
br /> Marissa froze. “It is a child’s trick.”
“How many live here?”
“The Lord’s family and thirty-six others, myself included,” she whispered, straightening without picking up the blanket.
“What is the meaning of this?” Lord Delrose demanded.
Kalen twisted around and glared at the older man. “How long can you hide the lives of that many, Marissa?”
“It’s never been done before! How can I answer that?” Marissa replied.
“I didn’t ask if it’d been done before. Can you do it? How long can you do it for?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never tried. Without a source, not very long.”
“So we break someone’s arm. You’ll have a source, one way or another. How long can you hide that many people?”
“You’re a monster,” Marissa whispered. “How can you ask me to do that?”
“A broken limb or the lives of all of those people, Healer. Choose. There’s always a price to survival. They’re your people, not mine. If you won’t even consider taking such a risk, then you all deserve to rot.” Kalen tried to clench his hand, but his fingers were stiff and didn’t do much more than twitch. It should’ve hurt more, but he didn’t dare worry too much about it. He didn’t have the time. “If you won’t run and you can’t fight, you’re only hope is to hide and wait for them to come.”
Lord Delrose grabbed the front of Kalen’s tunic and yanked him forward. “My family sleeps in this villa. Do you think I take such a decision lightly?”
Kalen didn’t move, meeting his sire’s eyes. “You could escape with them on foot if you hurried. Them, and those farmers who can’t fight.”
“They would follow us.”
At that, Kalen smiled. Lord Delrose released him and stepped back a pace.
“Who do you think they want more? A little Lord who sits on the council, or the Rift King?”
“Why? Why would you do such a thing?”
“Because—”
“Will you stop trying to get yourself killed?” From the darkness, the outline of a horse appeared. The black animal was covered in a lather and breathed hard. If it weren’t for the full moon reflecting in the eyes of its rider, Kalen wouldn’t have noticed Ceres at all. Moments later, another horse stumbled into view.
Lord Delrose drew his sword.
Kalen laughed, and the tension flowed out of his muscles. “Which one of you do I beat first for treating your horses like that?” he asked, ignoring the fact he couldn’t even manage to ball his hand into a fist.
Both of the Guardians dismounted. With a muttered order, the horses were set loose to walk themselves cool. Neither animal strayed far, roaming in circles without letting their riders out of their sight.
Varest drew his sword and eyed the Lord of Kelsh. “Which one do I gut first, Father?”
“You’re their father?” Lord Delrose asked.
“Save your sword for worthy enemies,” Kalen replied. “We’ll have unwelcome guests not long after dawn.”
“How unwelcome?” Varest asked.
“I don’t want enough left of them to feed to a nibbler. We Ride.” Kalen turned to Marissa. “Heal my hand enough to wield a sword. Lord Delrose, give me one of your horses. In exchange, you will take your family, and your farmers, and head west. Run, and do not look back. Give me a blade, and be gone.”
“I will stay and fight,” Derac said.
“My family and my workers will leave, but I will stay,” Lord Delrose replied.
Kalen clenched his teeth together and shook his head. “You’re a fool walking right into their little trap. If you stay, don’t get in our way.”
~I wish to join you,~ the voice of Garint’s Yadesh whispered in Kalen’s thoughts. He wasn’t the only one to draw a hissed breath.
Hobbling on three legs with blood still oozing from the wound stretching from shoulder to foreleg, the Yadesh stepped out from among the trees. Its head hung low, and it struggled for breath. The golden eyes cast stares the way it’d come, ears turned back.
“That changes things. Heal that miserable creature,” Kalen said. “Of all of us, it has the most right to be here.”
Marissa let out a low noise in her throat. When Kalen turned to face the woman, she wiped away the tears from her eyes with her sleeve.
~My name is Satrin,~ the Yadesh said.
“It talks!” Ceres said, pointing at the Yadesh.
“Don’t be rude,” Kalen said.
“Xorisi, Father.”
“I can heal your hand a little, but you won’t be able to fight. Not like that,” Analee said, emerging from the villa. “That way, you can help with the Yadesh, Lady Marissa.”
“I can work with that.”
“What’s the plan, Father?” Varest asked.
Kalen shrugged. “Not sure. Haven’t gotten that far yet.”
“Not the bait,” Ceres blurted out.
Kalen whistled the melody of a festival song and stared at the shaking form of the Yadesh. He didn’t bother to hide his grin. “I think I may have an idea.”
~~*~~
Kalen stretched his legs out and used the still body of the Yadesh as a footrest. The front steps of the villa gave him the ideal view of the clearing and the forest beyond. The shapes of horses drew closer, reminding him of phantoms wafting through the morning fog.
One by one, he wiggled his toes and luxuriated in the warmth of a pair of boots that almost fit him. It distracted him from the chill in his hand, which rested on the pommel stone of Lord Delrose’s bloodied sword. Holding the weapon upright at least spared him from drumming his fingers.
Analee had been too effective at blocking his pain, and he was too weak and tired to risk another healing session.
Not that he was going to admit that to anyone.
The Lord Priest of Danar, clad in the red robes of his station, rode into the clearing, but well out of Kalen’s reach. “I thought I was going to have to chase you farther than this. You’re looking much better than I expected. Perhaps I had been too hasty forming my opinion about you.” The man’s gaze dropped to the body of the Yadesh and a smile played across his lips. “I see that we, perhaps, share similar interests. I could use someone who is efficient. Would you consider putting aside our differences for an even greater cause?”
“I’m listening,” Kalen replied, speaking in Danarite to match the Lord Priest’s choice of language.
“What’s the cost of your cooperation? Wealth? Power? Slaves? Tell me, and I will make it yours.”
“And these things are yours to give? I am curious as to why you didn’t suggest this from the very beginning. For now, I’ll let it go as a misunderstanding. Wealth and power are things all men want. What is your proposal?”
“I desire the Lord that calls this villa his home. Where is he?”
“That fool and coward? He’s gone.”
“I’m aware of the covenant. I’m aware of your role in the Six Kingdoms. Your flaunting of it pleases me. I can offer you a palace within Danar, slaves that are yours to command, and enough wealth you will want for nothing. You’re not yet bound to a woman, or so I’ve been made to understand? I could acquire for you any woman you want. Speak the word, and she’ll be yours. In exchange, you will give us the power of your people and tell me where that Lord has gone.”
Kalen matched the man’s sly smile. “I hope you didn’t need him alive.”
“I do not.”
“Then perhaps we can discuss your suggestion in more detail. I am afraid that they tried to deceive me, and I grow tired of such things. Look around you. I’ve been made to understand men of your standing possess the Healer’s sight. What do you see? Who do you see alive?”
Lord Priest Helethor lifted a hand. “Check the villa and the surrounding area. Leave no building unchecked. Be quick about it!”
The robed Danarites scrambled down from their horses. Those in tunics gathered the reins of the abandoned animals. One hesitated near the Yadesh.
“This beast is dead.”
“I can see that the horse demon is dead, fool! Tell me something I don’t know, like whether or not there are any Kelshite filth remaining at this villa.”
The man’s robes slapped against Kalen in his haste to dart up the stairs and onto the porch.
“Ah, this one.” Kalen nudged the Yadesh’s body with the toe of his boot, leaving a bloodied print on the golden shoulder. “I finished this creature off with that Lord’s sword. A nice enough blade, but unfit for such a novice’s hand. I trust you don’t mind, Garint. It wouldn’t do if it talked, would it? Even in the Rift, we’ve heard rumors of these foul creature’s cunning.”
Garint stared at him with baleful eyes, but said nothing.
“I will provide you with sufficient reward if you spared me the trouble of eliminating the man myself. I am impressed you avoided its curse. You’ve done me quite the favor, Rift King. At the very least, we must work together so that the faithful can descend into your Rift with more ease. This would let us both become more powerful. There are few feared as much as the dark riders of the trenches. You continue to surprise me.” Lord Priest Helethor paused when the first of the robed men staggered out of the villa. Kalen glanced out of the corner of his eye. The man was young, and his dark skin had an ashen cast to it.
“Well?”
“They’re—they’re all dead, Lord Priest. Slain in their beds. The men, the women, the children. All of them. Even the walls are stained red with their blood. It reeks of death and fear.”
Lord Priest Helethor’s brows arched high. “You’re merciless.”
“For one such as you, I will take that as a great compliment indeed. They refused to cooperate. I trust you understand that.”
“Together, we can do as no others have before. They will turn to the true way, or they’ll die. Those Kelshite filth. Had I known, things would’ve been much different. You speak the true words with grace, unlike our friend here.”
At that, Garint scowled.
“They weren’t very satisfying, I must admit. I hope you can offer me a greater challenge. This worthless blood is an insult to the sword,” Kalen said, flexing his fingers. The pain of it let him keep his smile in place.