Bastial Sentinels (The Rhythm of Rivalry: Book 5)

by Narro, B. T.

  “I am.” Peter rose.

  “And you tried to talk with me on the way to the lake,” she realized. “And I ignored you.”

  Peter nodded. If he felt shame, he hid it completely.

  Klaiya pursed her lips. She seemed to be entertained by whatever this was. “What was that gesture you made with your hand?” she asked.

  Calvon answered as he and the others watched from behind Peter. “In Zav, men bow like that to show their interest.”

  Klaiya cupped her hand over her mouth, half hiding a smile. As her hair danced from the gentle breeze, she dropped her hand and walked right up to Peter. Either by choice or because her amusement had ceased, her expression was now serious as she regarded him. “What’s your name?”

  “Peter.”

  “How old are you, Peter?” Her tone was as if he were a child begging for a glass of wine.

  “Thirty-five.”

  Klaiya’s arms crossed.

  “Thirty-three,” Peter tried.

  Klaiya scowled.

  “I’m thirty, my lady.”

  “Do you know that I’m a psychic?”

  “I assumed this was the case.”

  “Then you’re either galyana eela ramil, or you didn’t know that a psychic of my level can sense every lie you tell.”

  “What does that Elvish phrase mean?” Peter inquired. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Dumber than dirt.”

  His mouth twisted into a frown. “Oh.”

  “How old do you think I am, young Human?”

  “Thirty.”

  Klaiya folded her arms. “We just talked about lying.”

  “You can’t be older than thirty-five, my lady.”

  “I’m forty-three.”

  Cleve was shocked, but even more so when he heard how quickly and calmly Peter replied.

  “Yet you’re still the most beautiful woman here.”

  “Klaiya,” Raymess called. “Come speak with us.”

  She leaned down to meet Peter’s gaze. Taking his cheek with one hand, she showed a cruel, taunting smile, the kind only an empowered woman knows how to wear gracefully. “Ai svio hall kay nee rewindars.”

  “Klaiya!” Raymess called again. She turned toward him.

  Still as a statue, Peter watched her go.

  Calvon came up and put a hand on his shoulder. “What do you think she said?”

  “I don’t even care.” He took a slow breath. “I’m in love.”

  “You’re mad.” Calvon looked around. “Well, I’m going to find out what it means. Ai svio hall kay nee rewindars,” he repeated to himself as he started toward a group of Elves.

  It wasn’t long before laughter erupted. A moment later, Calvon was running back.

  “So?” Peter inquired.

  “She said she would shatter you to pieces.”

  “That’s closer to a yes than a no.”

  Reela laughed. “I can’t understand it. You actually believe that.”

  As Cleve noticed Raymess’ men gathering behind the young king, he started toward Klaiya to protect her. Others came with him, and soon two small armies were facing each other with their leaders at the front. Reela slid her arm through Cleve’s.

  “I’m not letting any Elves inside the bunker until you explain why you’re here,” Raymess said.

  When Klaiya shifted her gaze to Micah, her head whipped back in shock. “I see you have a psychic here who’s ready to detect lies.”

  Cleve’s blood rushed. Did Raymess know this already? By his steady expression, it did seem to be the case.

  “And you’ll answer every question I have,” Raymess said. “Why are you here?”

  “We couldn’t stand by and let you lose this battle. You must keep the fort.”

  “Why do you care?”

  Klaiya seemed reluctant to answer as her eyes darted to Micah. “It’s part of the plan to exterminate the desmarls. Zav and Goldram cannot lose the war, and your army falling to starvation or an attack here is likely to lead to a loss.”

  Raymess turned his incredulous glance toward Micah, clearly waiting for the raven-haired man to say she was lying.

  “It’s the truth,” he said instead.

  “Are you certain?”

  “I am.”

  A mix of anger and confusion creased Raymess’ brow as he glared at Klaiya. “Why would Fatholl kill my father if he wishes to help us?”

  “Fatholl’s plan involved the assassination of all four kings in the east, not just Danvell Takary. It was carried out successfully, and its purpose already has been demonstrated. Half of your armies have joined us. A fourth of your citizens have even demonstrated their allegiance toward us now. The murder of your father may seem cruel to you, but it was an act of necessity, no different than you ordering your men out into the forest to kill skunks for your own protection. Now we are on course to exterminating the desmarls. But first we must make sure to protect our allies.”

  “We’re not your allies—”

  “You are,” Klaiya interrupted. “You have been since the beginning.”

  “I will never ally with the man responsible for my father’s death. Are any Elves here of Fatholl’s family?” he asked, clearly eager to see them die.

  “Many of us,” Klaiya said. “But if you’re asking if we’re of his blood, then the answer is no.” She stepped forward, and her tone softened. “We don’t expect you to forgive Fatholl or enjoy our company. But you need our food, our psyche, and our swords. The enemies you fight have seen the food we’ve brought. It’s now clear starving you won’t work. But they know you’re heavily outnumbered. They’re organizing for an attack, and it will be soon.”

  “You’ll fight with us?” Raymess asked.

  “We will.”

  “And then what?”

  “We won’t turn against you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Raymess bit down on his lip, his face showing his murderous intent. “Do you know what I’m thinking right now?”

  “Psychics cannot read thoughts. But I can feel your hatred.”

  “Hatred is putting it mildly.” He looked as if he might spit on her. “We’re not done. Bring your Elves inside, and we’ll speak in my quarters later.” He turned to leave.

  “Will we truly be safe eating and sleeping among your men?”

  “Yes, of—” but Raymess stopped himself and took two breaths to think. “We’ll make one of the sleeping chambers just for the women.”

  “And if any men try to enter?”

  “You’re free to do whatever you want to them.”

  “What about separate dining quarters?” Klaiya asked in an assuming tone, ready to argue if her request was denied.

  Raymess sighed at her. “We only have one hall for eating, and it’s adjacent to the kitchen. You must dine among the men.”

  “And if they touch us?”

  “They won’t.” Raymess would hear no more. He showed her his back.

  Chapter 23:

  CLEVE

  The air within the bunker felt dense, even more so in the dining hall. Aggression floated about. Cleve practically could smell it, although he couldn’t tell whether it came from the men’s need to fight each other for the women’s favor, or to fight Cleve and the others because they belonged to a different army.

  But Cleve didn’t belong to any army. Nothing he could say would convince these men of that. They stared as he walked to a table and sat with Reela on his side and Vithos on the other.

  “Is there anything you can gather from psyche?” Cleve asked.

  “Let me focus on a few of them and see.” Reela took in the room, glancing around too quickly to be using anything but her eyes. Then she narrowed her glance to one man at a time, watching cautiously out of the corners of her eyes.

  “It’s difficult to tell,” she said. “There are too many emotions at once. Vithos, can you sense anything?”

  “Only hunger. Too much of everything else.”

  Klaiya came to the other end
of their table with her brother. “This is Aarlan,” she said, introducing him. “Kleni, this is Cleve, Reela, and Vithos.”

  They nodded across the table.

  “Kleni?” Reela inquired.

  “It means brother,” Aarlan answered. He seemed to have the same mastery over common tongue as Klaiya.

  “I’ve been teaching Reela and Vithos some Elvish,” Klaiya told her brother.

  “You’re the half Elf!” he exclaimed, staring at Reela’s ears. “Falea mortran wea lu.”

  “Something, death?” Reela asked, looking to Vithos. He shrugged.

  “It’s an expression,” Aarlan said. “Literally, it means, ‘It’s death we haven’t met.’ Elves use death in many expressions. We’re not as frightened of it as Humans are.”

  “Although not all Humans scare so easily.” Klaiya pulled on Aarlan’s arm, then pointed at Peter approaching their table. “Kry es plan lef svio gree zor alo me remnacha,” she whispered.

  “Hear any words you recognize?” Cleve asked Reela.

  She shook her head and touched his leg beneath the table. “I told you that you should’ve been learning with me. You claimed you wouldn't need it.”

  “I still don’t need it. I’m just curious, especially about remnacha.” Klaiya had spoken the last word with soft conviction, as if it might be inappropriate for the wrong ears.

  “I think she said something about Peter wanting to give his hand,” Reela said.

  “Not exactly,” Vithos said with a sly grin. “But I don’t know correct word in common tongue.”

  “Good evening.” Peter gestured at the empty slab of bench beside Klaiya. “May I sit here?”

  “No,” she said without a smile.

  For a breath, Peter only stared. It seemed as if he’d expected her to say yes, though Cleve had no idea why. Was he really that blind that he didn’t realize his efforts were pointless?

  “Very well, then.” He turned on his heel and strode off.

  “What does remnacha mean?” Cleve asked them. Klaiya and Aarlan both stifled their laughter. Then Cleve noticed some murmurs and looks from Elves at the table next to them.

  “It’s a vulgar word for…” Confusion seemed to stop Aarlan. “I don’t even know the word in common tongue. It’s what women have between their legs.”

  Cleve noticed Reela hiding a smile with her hand.

  Now Cleve really regretted not trying to learn Elvish earlier. “So what could you have said about Peter that ended with that word?”

  “I told my brother that he’s the man who would give his hand for my…remnacha.”

  “Give his hand…is that figurative for something?” Reela asked.

  “No. Cut off and offer his hand.” Aarlan held out his wrist and made a chopping motion with his other hand.

  Servers began bringing trays of food around to each table. Cleve saw they’d smartly used the bananas the Elves had brought because they wouldn’t last much longer. Buttered potatoes with burnt skin appeared to be the main sustenance. Cleve knew butter and potatoes were part of the delivery, though he couldn’t tell if the ones being served were brought by his group. The same applied to the last item on his plate, dried and salted pork, thinly cut in strips.

  People began cheering. Some even stood and applauded. This came as a shock to Cleve, as the portion wasn’t enough to fill his empty belly. He hoped the next meal would be bigger. He’d never known the feeling of hunger for more than a day. Even in prison, although never totally satiated, he’d always felt as though he’d had enough to keep his stomach from growling.

  It made him wonder whether all prisoners were fed in the same way or whether he’d gotten special treatment from Welson. It tightened his chest to think about the King of Kyrro being murdered. With him dead, Cleve couldn’t hold onto his anger any longer, making him curious about whether he’d still have the same burning need for justice if the man were alive.

  Thoughts of Welson brought him back to the people he’d left behind in his homeland. He wondered about Terren. Was his uncle part of the group traveling underground into Sumar? And what of Effie, Steffen, and Alex? He hoped they wouldn’t come across anything dangerous.

  Cleve looked around for Jek. He’d given the mage the cure, but the seeds would go to waste if Jek tried growing them in the bunker.

  Cleve couldn’t find him.

  As he finished the last bit of food on his plate, a man came to their table to stand by its end. He had his eyes on Reela.

  “Is he your beau?” He pointed at Cleve without shifting his gaze, which then fell to Reela’s breasts.

  “He is,” she answered calmly.

  The man twisted his neck to face Klaiya. “And are you really the leader of these men, women, and Elves?”

  “Yes…” It appeared she expected another question to come.

  “I see.”

  Cleve watched as the man hurried back to his table filled by seven others, each with wide eyes eagerly awaiting answers.

  “We probably should get used to that,” Klaiya told Reela.

  “I wonder how we’re going to bathe,” Reela said.

  Cleve put his hand on her leg. “I don’t think there are any baths.”

  “You’re probably right. It might be better that way. Just look around the room.” She put her hand on his and squeezed. “Now that the frogs have finished their meals, their eyes show a different hunger.”

  She was right. Cleve followed the gazes of many men, always finding the object of their fascination to be women at various tables.

  “They want sex,” Vithos blurted.

  Reela huffed. “I was trying to be subtle.”

  “It won’t be long before we’re given the same green armor,” Klaiya said. “We’ll be frogs as well…at least until the battle.”

  “What are the chances Waywen and Presoren won’t attack?” Reela asked.

  “That they won’t attack tomorrow? Good. But the chances that they won’t attack in a week?” Klaiya made a circle with her thumb and finger. “I can’t seem to remember numbers very well.”

  “Zero,” the rest of the table answered for her.

  Klaiya broke into a murmur, using her fingers to count. “Zero, one, two, three, four…now I remember.”

  Micah came to the end of their table. “Cleve, I’m glad to see you here.”

  He stood and they shook hands.

  “I'm so sorry to hear about Rek,” Micah said.

  “Yes, he would’ve liked to have been here as well,” Cleve said. “This is his twin brother, Vithos, and their sister, Reela.”

  “Thank you for coming. When we have the chance, you must tell me about Ovira.”

  “We’d be happy to,” Reela said.

  “Klaiya, will you come with me?” Micah said, surprising her. “Raymess and I would like to speak with you.”

  “Do you mind if my brother comes?” She gestured at Aarlan.

  “That’s fine.”

  They left with Micah. Vithos stood and stretched his arms. “I’m going talk with the Elves at that table.”

  “You’re going to talk,” Reela corrected.

  “I’m going to talk with them.” Slowly, he continued. “Would…you…like…to…come?”

  “That was perfect, but no thanks,” Reela answered. “Cleve and I are fine here alone.”

  Vithos must’ve told a joke when he sat with the other Elves, for they burst into laughter, earning glares from the men nearby. During their long trip from the palace, Vithos had been soaking in the Elves’ history. Probably because of his imperfections with common tongue, his constant questions reminded Cleve of a child asking his parents about his heritage. Surprisingly, the Elves wouldn’t tell them anything until Cleve and Reela shared their stories first. They spent most of the time talking about Vithos, as nearly all of the questions ended up being about him. Every Elf they met wanted to know why Vithos didn’t know common tongue or Elvish fluently.

  It turned out more Elves than just Fatholl had ancestors wh
o left Meritar in Greenedge to form Merejic in Ovira, where they could live with psyche and without fear of desmarls. Additionally, Fatholl wasn’t the only one awestruck to find out Vithos’ and Reela’s father was the King of Merejic.

  The more they talked about it, the more Cleve felt like it should mean something. Vithos and Rek were princes of the Elves before Doe and Haemon attacked with the Krepps. But he supposed their titles meant nothing after that. And Reela wasn’t even born a princess. The Elves were gone by the time she came into the world.

  Cleve felt as though there should be something special coming to Reela and Vithos because of their royal bloodline. Yet he knew better. It meant nothing now.

  The Elves in Merejic had fled. Fatholl’s pregnant mother sailed back over the Starving Ocean with the parents of many of the Elves here in the bunker. They were unable to return to Meritar, as they’d broken two rules: They’d left to live elsewhere, and they’d taken up the study of psyche. So they made their own homes, somewhere Fatholl and others wouldn’t reveal. Cleve figured there still must be Elves there, or at least something worth guarding. Otherwise there would be no point in secrecy.

  The returning Elves started over once again, but this time with a goal. Either they would return to Merejic in Ovira and take back their homes, or they would exterminate the desmarls in Greenedge, ensuring the safety of their future children. Cleve was surprised they’d chosen desmarls over Krepps.

  It made him proud, for Kyrro had beaten the Krepps. But Kyrro had more than ten times the army as these Elves…until the last few years. Fatholl correctly assumed they would have the ability to recruit more in Greenedge than in Ovira. The Elves trained, learned common tongue, organized, plotted, and set out not to conquer the world, but to save it. This was the speech that dispelled the last of Cleve’s doubts during his first meeting with Fatholl.

  After finding out that Cleve knew the Takarys, Fatholl urged him to go with the Elves who were transporting food to Lake Mercy.

  “They won’t want to accept our help,” Fatholl had said. “But with you there, they’ll see we’re not enemies.”

  But when Fatholl explained the rest of his plan, Cleve refused. It was far too dangerous.

  So Fatholl smartly worked to convince Reela and Vithos instead, probably figuring Reela could change Cleve’s mind if he couldn’t. The moment she showed him a begging look with her radiant green eyes, he already knew he would be going.