Storm Without End (Requiem for the Rift King Book 1)

by RJ Blain

  “How does annexing the whole of Kelsh sound to you? I’ve heard rumor of your dislike for that heretic. Together, we can bring it beneath the rule of our Lady Selestrune. I could have you crowned as the Kelshite King,” Lord Priest Helethor said, swinging down from the back of his horse. The Danarite stepped closer, but was careful to remain out of the reach of Kalen’s sword.

  “If we work together,” the man continued in a whisper, “we can ensure his undoing. We can ensure his death, and the death of all of his council, and all of his Knights. They’ll be defenseless against us.”

  “I’d like that very much, I think,” Kalen replied. One by one, the men returned, their breaths heavy from running in their robes.

  “They’re all dead. If there were horses here, they were set loose or slain,” one of them gasped out. They fell back into ranks behind their superior and stared at him with expressions no less terrible than Garint’s undisguised hatred.

  “What do you think, Garint? You’ve been silent all of this time,” the Lord Priest said.

  “He’s a very dangerous man.”

  “You’re wiser than you look. Well, Rift King? What is your answer?”

  “Wealth, power, women. They’re tempting things, this is true. You present an offer that is very difficult for a sane man to refuse.” Kalen smiled and leaned back against the stair. “Tell me, Lord Priest Helethor—ah, it is Helethor, isn’t it?” The Danarite nodded. “Very good. I wouldn’t want to mistake your name for another’s. As I was saying, it is very difficult for a sane man to refuse.”

  The Lord Priest’s smile widened. “Then you’ll do it.”

  Kalen longed for a left arm so he could touch his fingers together, brace his elbows against his knees, and stare at the man, just as Breton liked to do. Instead, he settled with crossing his right boot over his left and making himself more comfortable. “I like what I hear. I will tell you my secret, just as you desire.”

  “Tell me.” Lord Priest Helethor stepped forward again, eyes bright with greed.

  “Not only can I kill people,” Kalen said in Kelshite, lowering his feet from the Yadesh’s back. “I can resurrect them, too. Let me show you.”

  Satrin surged up from the ground and let out a challenging call. Arrows rained down from the roof of the villa and from high up in the trees surrounding the clearing. Feathers protruded from the chests of those before him, and many fell without a sound. Lord Priest Helethor let out a scream of rage and pain. The Danarite grabbed the feathered shaft embedded in his arm and jerked it out. “You fool!”

  “It is such a shame that no one has ever accused me of being sane,” Kalen said.

  The Yadesh charged forward, hooves lifted high and slapping against the ground with the same rumble of thunder. Garint let out a wild cry and stumbled back. “No! It can’t be! It can’t be!”

  “Oh, but it can be,” Lord Delrose said, stepping out of the villa with a drawn sword, Derac at his side.

  Breaking off the charge, the golden stallion swerved off into the trees and another volley of arrows fell.

  When Ceres and Varest charged out into the open astride their large, black horses with war cries on their lips, the survivors scrambled onto their horses and fled through the trees.

  Kalen let out a displeased grunt at the departing backs of the two men he wanted dead.

  “Do we pursue?” Varest asked.

  “Good work,” Kalen said. Standing hurt, but he managed without help even though Lord Delrose and Derac held out their hands to aid him. “Round up the horses. I recommend you leave while you still can. He’ll be back.”

  Ceres wheeled his horse and rode out through the trees with the Yadesh trailing behind him.

  “What now?” Lord Delrose asked.

  “Do what you want.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t see how that is any of your business,” Kalen said. “We leave as soon as the horses are rested, Varest.”

  “It’ll be a while, Father. We’ve been riding them hard for a month chasing after you,” Varest said.

  Kalen stilled. For all he heard the words, it took him a long moment to comprehend what the Guardian said. He frowned. How had an entire month gone by without his awareness of it? “It isn’t wise to stay here.”

  “I know someone who owes me a favor who has a small villa within a day’s ride to the south of here. Will that do?” Lord Delrose asked.

  “They can go that far if we don’t push them hard,” Varest said.

  “Do what you want,” Kalen said, limping toward the bodies of the fallen Danarites. He rolled a corpse over with the toe of his boot and ignored the jolt of pain that went up his leg. Disbelief was forever etched on the man’s features. “I’ll search them. Go help Ceres.”

  “As you wish,” the Guardian said before sighing.

  It wasn’t a simple task with a hand that didn’t bend right, but it bought him time to think without someone hovering over him every time he winced. What had happened in the past month? Why had Ceres and Varest been the ones to find him? How had he gotten to Kelsh?

  Just how had he managed to get so far without his boots? Kalen managed a strained laugh and focused on searching the corpses. At least they didn’t ask questions or demand answers.

  ~~*~~

  Ceres rode ahead to make room for Lord Delrose at Kalen’s right side. Glaring didn’t bring the Guardian back, nor did it make his sire vanish, so Kalen tried to pretend that none of them existed.

  “How do you like Kelsh?” Lord Delrose asked.

  “Cold, wet, miserable, dark, and the hospitality could use a little work,” he replied.

  “Summer is not so far away.”

  “I’ve no intentions of being here during the summer. I’ve duties to return to.”

  “That I can understand. How is your hand faring?”

  Kalen grunted. Holding the reins was a battle he didn’t want to admit he was losing. If he hadn’t picked a tired, docile horse, he’d have been bucked off and left in the mud.

  “I’ll have Marissa attend to it as soon as she’s rested,” Lord Delrose said.

  Clenching his teeth together until his jaw ached did little for his mood, but it did keep him from snapping at the Kelshite outright. “Thank you.”

  “I’m amazed,” Varest muttered from his place at Kalen’s left side.

  “When do you plan on returning to the Rift?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  “You could do a great deal of good improving the relationship of our kingdoms if you would consider going to Elenrune.”

  “Maybe when I’m dead,” Kalen muttered on a breath. He straightened and looked Lord Delrose in the eye. “I’ve heard this story before. Lord Delrose, the Rift is a neutrality. I aided you for one reason only.”

  “And what reason is that?”

  “I dislike them more than I dislike you.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” Varest whispered in the Rift tongue.

  “I heard that,” Kalen hissed at the Guardian.

  Varest cleared his throat. “I think I’ll go find out what Ceres is doing.”

  “What a good idea,” Kalen said in the driest tone he could manage.

  “Aelthor wants to change that. He’s growing quite desperate. I’m certain you could take advantage of that for the benefit of the Rift.”

  “If you call sending a missive once a week begging me to accept his daughter ‘desperate’, I suppose he is. I don’t even want to think about his absurd trade proposals.”

  Anger numbed him to the pain in his hand, until it was a throb he could manage, if not completely ignore. Kalen shifted in the saddle and controlled the urge to sigh. “You’ve gotten all you’re going to get from me. The Danarites are your problem now, just as you are theirs.”

  “They kill our people!”

  “No, they kill your people. And you kill theirs. Neither side even remembers just what you’re fighting about. Neither of you will accept mediation, althou
gh it has been offered to you many times by the Six Kingdoms, and it’s been offered by myself and every Rift King before me for hundreds of years. We do keep track of these things. Don’t assume we’re not aware of how neither of you care to listen to reason. Now, the other four are so torn on the situation they don’t dare interfere at all. The Rift is neutral. I won’t say it again.”

  “Why?”

  “That isn’t your concern.”

  “Very well. I recognize a lost cause when I see one. Tell me, then, why is it so difficult to make a trade agreement with your people?”

  “How do you propose to get wagons and pack animals down trails that my Walkers and Runners struggle on? I’ve had a trail collapse under me and my horse before. Even if the way is survived, most don’t make it out. It is rather tiresome having to clear the trails of the goods they leave behind because they get themselves killed. When Wanderers refuse to venture into the Rift, that alone is a good reason to not establish a trade route. You’re asking to kill your people for profit.”

  “There are those willing to take that risk.”

  “The nibblers can have them then,” Kalen replied.

  “Clearing ahead!” someone called out.

  “Ah, excellent. We’re almost there,” Lord Delrose said.

  “Good.” Guiding the tired bay with his legs, Kalen shook his hand to free it of the reins. Jolts of pain raced up his arm, and he held his breath to keep from gasping. His fingers twitched, but only his thumb moved at his will. Letting the reins fall to the horse’s neck, he rested his palm on his knee. In a way, he welcomed the pain. It keep his worn body awake and his mind alert.

  It let him resist the urge to tumble from the horse’s back and rest on the first patch of moss he could find. Even the mud was starting to look a little too tempting for his comfort.

  The clearing was little more than a ring of moss-covered stones surrounding a pool that fed a brook. A trail led from it through a dense stretch of trees.

  “The villa is at the end of that path. The stream runs by the villa, so we can water the horses there,” Lord Delrose said.

  The horse sighed when Kalen nudged her forward.

  “Is it true that you don’t have a Queen? You’ve two sons.”

  “Seventy-eight, actually. Eighty-six daughters, too.”

  “S-seventy-eight?” Lord Delrose’s mouth hung open.

  “Stop taunting him, Father,” Varest said from ahead, twisting around in the saddle to face them.

  The Kelshite Lord swallowed. “How old is your youngest?”

  “Ara’s fourteen,” he replied.

  “How old were you when you had… her? Is Ara a girl’s name?”

  Kalen couldn’t swallow back his laughter. “Ara is a girl. I promise you I didn’t have her. First, I’m not a woman. Second, as you’ve been told, I don’t have a Queen nor have I ever had a Queen.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  The heat of embarrassment raced from Kalen’s chest to his neck and up to warm his cheeks. Lord Delrose watched him with the expectant stare. “I’m not explaining this to you!”

  Ahead, Varest jerked around to face forward. The Guardian doubled over, his shoulders shaking from his laughter.

  “I don’t understand. Did I somehow offend?”

  Kalen glared at Varest’s back. The man let out a strangled laugh. Even the gelding pranced in place, ears forward and tail bannered.

  Varest quieted and reined his horse around to face them. “Delrose, let me explain.”

  “Bresalan,” Lord Delrose said.

  “Delrose, there is but one requirement to be a Queen of the Rift. Can you guess what it is?”

  “And you were telling me not to taunt him,” Kalen muttered in the Rift tongue. He was ignored.

  “You have to marry him?” Lord Delrose asked.

  “Oh no, nothing so elaborate as that. We give our women an equal chance at him. With those eyes and his looks, we’d be fools not to. Don’t come between a woman and her prey, Delrose.” Varest start to laugh again.

  Kalen’s ears burned. “Enough, Varest.”

  “Ah, don’t be so serious, Father. We don’t have this ‘marry’ thing in the Rift, whatever that is.”

  “It’s like a court mating without the serpents and the death penalty if you violate the oath,” Kalen said.

  “If you say so. Who are we to tell a woman who she lets spear her? If she catches the King, she’s a Queen. That’s it. How many Queens did my sire have, anyway?” Varest asked.

  “I stopped counting after the first three hundred or so.”

  Snickering, Varest kneed his horse to catch up to his brother. Kalen couldn’t mask his own grin.

  “Unbelievable,” Lord Delrose said in a quiet and stunned voice.

  Kalen nodded his agreement.

  The forest thinned enough to reveal a flower garden crisscrossed with stone walkways. A hedge framed most of it, though it was low enough even Kalen could step over it.

  Lord Delrose reined his horse in. “Tell me something, Rift King, if I may be so bold?”

  Kalen sat back in the saddle and the horse halted. He let out a silent sigh of relief that he wouldn’t need to hold the reins again. “What now?”

  “Why do you trust me?”

  “I don’t.”

  “So why come with us at all?”

  Kalen gestured toward Ceres and Varest. “They wanted to, and their horses are weary.”

  “Ah, excellent. Then I trust they won’t mind a prolonged stay. After all, your hand does need to heal, does it not?”

  Something about Lord Delrose’s tone sent shivers down his spine. A warning went off in his head. Sucking in a breath, he kicked his feet from the stirrups and dove for the ground. With a grip as hard as steel and equally merciless, Lord Delrose snatched his wrist and yanked him back toward him.

  Fire spread up Kalen’s arm and his breath caught in his throat. The blood drained from his face and left him shivering from the shock of the pain.

  It wasn’t until a sharp pain stabbed through his shoulder that he realized his arm was twisted behind his back. Lord Delrose’s left arm wrapped around his shoulders and brushed against his throat. Several of Lord Delrose’s men hurried to secure the bridles of the horses.

  “I wouldn’t move,” Lord Delrose warned. Kalen hadn’t heard the weapons being drawn, but Ceres and Varest rode with their swords in their hands. The pair of geldings stood as still as their Riders, ears laid back and their muscles shivering beneath their glossy coats.

  Kalen panted. Lord Delrose’s fingers tightened on his wrist and pressed against the broken bones in his hand. The gasp came out unbidden and his back arched in the futile effort to relieve the pain. The arm tightened around his shoulders and neck until his head rested against Lord Delrose’s chest.

  “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t run you and your lackeys through right now,” Varest said.

  “Because I can snap his neck before you could. You’re also outnumbered.”

  Men clad in black, green, and brown emerged from the trees surrounding them with their swords drawn. The sun glinted off of metal in the branches above.

  “You won’t be harmed, nor will he, but I’m afraid that I can’t let you return to the Rift quite yet. We’ve much to discuss. Which will it be? Will you cooperate, or shall I prove my word true?”

  Neither of the Guardians moved. Lord Delrose’s grip tightened. “Do you want a demonstration of how serious I am? I know what happens should I be the one to kill him. I am Akakashani, after all. Neither of you can do a thing to me.”

  Ceres let out a low curse.

  “That hurts,” Kalen rasped out. The grip on his wrist loosened, but not by much. “That was devious.”

  “I’m so glad it meets with your approval,” Lord Delrose replied in a wry tone.

  Kalen sighed. Even if he had the strength or will to break free—which he didn’t—his chance of escaping was slim at best. “Stand down.”

  “B
ut—” Ceres lowered the sword and opened his mouth to speak.

  Kalen interrupted the Guardian with a wordless growl and a shake of his head. “I said stand down.”

  “Get off your horses,” Lord Delrose ordered. “Separate them and take their weapons. I suggest you cooperate, sons. Don’t worry. I am a man of my word. Neither of you will be harmed, so long as you don’t try something foolish.

  “I hope his father finds you,” Ceres said as he obeyed the order to dismount, handing over his sword.

  “Why is that?”

  “When he finds out what you’ve done, there won’t be enough left of you to feed to the serpents.”

  “I haven’t done anything. Yet. Now move!”

  Chapter Seven

  Breton leaned over the well and struggled to control his breathing. Water dripped from his hair and fell into his eyes, but did little to cool him. His hand shook as he wiped his face. Letting out a low groan, he leaned against the stone. He huddled in the shade the well offered and counted his breaths until his heart ceased trying to claw its way out of his chest.

  “Better?” Maiten asked.

  “Not really,” he replied. This time, speaking didn’t result in a bloodied coughing fit. He sighed and took a small drink. It didn’t completely soothe his sore throat, but it let him swallow without it hurting quite as much.

  “I’ll walk the horses. Try not to die on me while I’m gone.”

  “I’ll try to avoid it.” Breton shook his head and slid down to the ground.

  “That’s the spirit. I don’t want to find out if Kalen is capable of bringing you back from death just so he can kill you himself.”

  Breton didn’t bother hiding his grin. The favored threat wasn’t really effective, although it was amusing; Maiten did a remarkable imitation of Kalen’s surliest tone, even pitching his voice to be almost as high as the Rift King’s.

  No grown man whose voice had broken could reach such a high tenor. Like Arik before him, Kalen had become timeless, ageless; an adult’s mind, with an adult’s strengths, trapped within a child’s body.