Storm Surge

by R. J. Blain

  After the past two weeks of careful movement and observations of the rival mercenary company and the Danarites, the captain’s move worried him. At an hour’s ride away, the Crimson Eye should have been safe from whatever had destroyed Morinvale. Breton narrowed his eyes, nodding in acknowledgment of the order. “What of the Wolf Blades?”

  The mercenary grimaced. “We’ll have to track them after we’ve moved our camp. I’ve no news of them.”

  “With all due respect, sir, unless I know what we’re up against, we won’t know how to prepare for it.” Breton made certain to keep his eyes lowered. The simple trick often worked to keep the Rift King’s temper in check—mostly. With luck, it’d work on the Mithrian.

  “That’s part of the problem, Guardian. I have no idea what we’re up against. I sent two scouts; one returned. The one who did make it back wasn’t entirely coherent. The healers are trying to learn more from him. All I know is that whatever is in Morinvale is on the move and coming this way. I don’t want to be here when it arrives. It crashed through the town’s walls like they didn’t exist. At the rate it’s moving, I expect it’ll arrive within the next forty minutes.”

  At first, Breton thought the man was overreacting, but he swallowed back his urge to say so. While Captain Silvereye favored methods different from what most Rifters used, the man was an equal to the Rift King in cunning. “What happened to the other scout?”

  Silvereye winced. “He thought he would investigate and see what was going on. He got a little too close.”

  The mercenary’s expression shifted to a mask as neutral as the Rift King’s during the most dire of emergencies. It was the man’s expression and hesitation that convinced Breton that something was very wrong. He didn’t dare break the silence, waiting for the captain to decide what to say.

  Finally, the Mithrian whispered, “It ate him, Guardian. Judging from my scout’s report, I’d guess it took the things less than a minute to leave nothing but bone.”

  Breton’s eyes widened. “It ate him?”

  “That’s what I’ve been told. Considering my scout’s injuries, I’m surprised he made it back alive at all—and it’s a good thing he did. If we had been caught unawares…”

  Shuddering at the thought, Breton nodded. If whatever was in Morinvale could reduce a man to bone within a minute, he could easily believe that the Crimson Eye could be wiped out before they had time to react to the threat. Without knowing what was coming for them, Captain Silvereye’s decision was wise. Running would buy them time to find out what was going on and why.

  “What do you need me to do?” he asked.

  Captain Silvereye looked relieved. “Get your people ready and keep an eye on the Delrose family. Normally, I would say we leave no one behind, but we’re leaving in thirty minutes, and not a moment later. We can’t afford to wait for any stragglers. Understood?”

  “Understood, sir.”

  The mercenary hesitated, frowning at some thought. Instead of saying anything, Silvereye nodded to him, whipped around, and hurried away. Breton waited for the man to disappear before sticking his head out of his tent, bellowing for Ceres and Varest.

  ~~*~~

  It took Breton less than ten minutes to pack all of his things. His saddlebags were ready to burst at the seams, but he didn’t dare take the time to repack it. While the worst of the quaking was over, the ground still trembled. The incessant low rumbling gave him a headache. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he emerged from the tent.

  The camp bustled; mercenaries hurried without running, working in determined silence, folding tents and tossing them onto waiting wagons and horses. Little was left in their wake.

  “Captain ordered me to pack your tent, sir,” a young man gasped, snapping a salute.

  Breton moved out of the mercenary’s way. “It’s empty.”

  The trumpeted call of a horse heralded the shouts of startled men. When Breton turned to see what the commotion was about, Perin charged to him. Lather splattered his horse’s shoulder. The other Rift horses surged through the camp, skidding to a halt in front of him. Ferethian circled the herd with explosive snorts. The stallion’s coat, like Perin’s, was speckled with foam.

  The horses trembled, the whites of their eyes showing. Breton counted the animals, sucking in a breath; counting again didn’t change the result. Two of the horses were missing. It didn’t take him long to realize the Rift King’s golden mare wasn’t among them. After a more careful look over the animals, he realized that the second missing horse was Maiten’s Horasian.

  “Where’s Honey?” While Breton didn’t expect an answer from the horses, he asked anyway.

  Ferethian’s ears pinned back, and the stallion let out another snort.

  “Ask him where my fool of a father is while you’re at it,” Ceres snarled as he emerged from the crowd of mercenaries. The Rift King’s adopted foal trembled from anger. “I’ve looked everywhere for him.”

  Breton rubbed his temples and sighed. “Have you asked your brother?”

  “Varest hasn’t seen him either.”

  “How about Maiten? I don’t see Horasian here.”

  Ceres blanched. “I haven’t seen Maiten since this started.”

  “He certainly couldn’t have gone far,” Breton said cautiously. The Rift King’s impatience with confinement in the camp had been a sore point for a week. He hadn’t thought Kalen would act. How far could he go when blind? Breton had trusted in that fact to keep the Rift King under some semblance of control. Was Maiten with his foal and Honey? “When was he last seen?”

  “No one is really sure. Before this mess, though. Captain Silvereye hasn’t seen him since last night. He told me he had gone to his tent before coming to see you and asked me to locate Father.”

  “Silvereye hadn’t told me that,” Breton replied, frowning.

  Ceres shrugged. “I’ll keep looking. He couldn’t have gotten into too much trouble. He doesn’t seem to be in danger.”

  “If he were, he’d be a lot easier to find,” Breton snapped. “Find him and tie him to his horse if you have to. Actually, I’ll do it myself.”

  Ferethian snapped his teeth. Breton glared at the stallion. “And why aren’t you with him?”

  “Are you certain that’s a wise idea?” the Rift King’s foal asked in a bland tone.

  “What exactly do you mean by that?”

  “The last time you ‘spoke’ it was in shouts. I’m pretty sure Father was ready to strangle you. Quite a feat with one hand.”

  Breton scowled. “This is an entirely different situation.”

  “It’s your head, Breton. I’m not fool enough to cross Father when he’s like this. If you’re smart, you’ll let me and Varest take care of him. He wouldn’t strangle us, and you know it.” Ceres held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Right now is not the time for unnecessary bickering.”

  “You’re staying here,” he ordered. “I’ll need you to help with the horses. You’re better at it—and you’re better with the Delrose brood. Finish packing and make sure they’re ready to march. I’ll send Varest after Kalen.”

  Ceres scowled, but nodded instead of arguing. “Varest took care of my packing. He’s helping the mercenaries with their beasts.”

  Breton closed his eyes, dread tightening his throat. All he could do was trust in Ceres and Varest. He hoped he wouldn’t regret his next words. “Get to it. If you don’t find your father by the time the company moves, we’re leaving without him.”

  Ceres’s eyes widened and the young Guardian’s mouth hung open. “You can’t be serious.”

  “We leave with the mercenaries.”

  “But—”

  Breton shook his head. “If half of what Captain Silvereye told me is true, we can’t be here when what came out of Morinvale arrives.”

  “But—”

  “Ceres, we do no one any good if we’re dead. Honey’s not here either. If Honey is with—”

  Ferethian snorted, bobbing his head. Stomping a
hoof, the stallion shook out his mane, all the while keeping his ears pinned back.

  Breton sighed. “Honey is likely with him. Trust in his horse. We’re no use if we’re dead.”

  ~You are correct, Guardian,~ Dorit’s voice rang in his head, driving away all other thoughts. ~The captain spoke truth, and I have confirmed it with my own eyes. Morinvale is in ruins and half of the Wolf Blades are dead. It comes.~

  “Hellfires,” Breton gasped.

  ~We must hurry.~ The Yadesh emerged from among the Rift horses, both golden ears turned back.

  “We leave,” he whispered, his tone far calmer than he felt, but he didn’t dare let Ceres know the truth. If he panicked, so would the others—even if it meant that Breton had to make them believe that he’d leave Kalen behind without any sign of remorse.

  ~~*~~

  Breton found Varest at the picket lines, saddling one of the Mithrian’s scrawnier horses. The Guardian’s horse pranced anxiously, already tacked and eager to go.

  Varest didn’t acknowledge his presence until after tightening the animal’s cinch band. “You don’t know where Father is, do you?”

  “I don’t. We leave with the camp, so make certain you’re ready.”

  Varest gaped at him in shock. “You don’t mean we’re leaving him behind, do you?”

  “We must. Get ready to ride. You’re going after your father. Ceres will remain with me, as our duty is to protect the Delrose herd. If we let anything happen to his sire or dam…” Breton shook his head. “We have no choice.” They did have a choice, but if they did abandon their duty to the mercenaries and the Delrose family, Breton didn’t want to think about how Kalen would react.

  “We can’t abandon him.”

  Breton hated himself even as he met the other Guardian’s eyes, careful to keep his expression calm. “If we can’t find him, we must. That’s why I’m sending you to look for him. Don’t get yourself killed, understand?”

  “We must leave,” a woman said behind him. At first, Breton didn’t recognize Crysallis’s voice. The witch stepped to his side. The hood of her cloak hid her face. “The coming swarm will leave nothing living in its wake.”

  Breton flinched away from the witch, his hand dropping to his sword. He curled his fingers around the hilt, considering whether or not to draw the blade. “Where have you been?”

  “Hunting skreed,” the woman replied. “Where is the Rift King? I must speak with him.”

  At the mention of the Danarite-summoned creatures, Breton bit back his initial desire to scold the witch for her untimely disappearance two weeks prior.

  “Two minutes!” someone bellowed.

  Breton cursed. Crysallis turned to face in the direction of Morinvale.

  “We’re leaving,” he announced, focusing his attention on Varest. “If your brother hasn’t already, find Maiten. Get mounted. If you see your brother before you leave, let him know he’s in charge of Verishi.” He hoped the Danarite handmaiden would cooperate; she respected the Rift King first and foremost, and her obedience to anyone else often proved optional. If she caused problems, it would cost lives—hers and anyone who tried to protect her. He wanted to deal with the girl himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to defy Captain Silvereye’s orders.

  “I’ll take care of it. What are you going to do?” Varest asked.

  “I’m going to take care of the Delrose herd.”

  “I need to speak with the Rift King,” Crysallis said.

  “If you find out where he went, do let me know,” Breton snarled at the witch. “Does he look like he is here?”

  The witch straightened. “What do you mean?” She didn’t quite shriek, but her voice rose in pitch. The hood of her cloak fell back. The woman’s face paled to a sickly pallor.

  “Just that. He’s not here. We’re leaving.” Breton glared at the younger Guardian, who hesitated. “Go, Varest!”

  Varest scrambled onto his gelding’s back and galloped off as soon as he was astride.

  “You intend to leave him,” the witch hissed at him.

  Breton drew several deep breaths until he could address the woman without screaming at her. “He’s blind because of you, witch. May some wretched God or Goddess serve as my witness, if he dies because of you, I’ll destroy you.”

  Crysallis stood tall, her dark eyes flinty. “And if I bring him back to you?”

  Breton let go of his sword so he wouldn’t pull it on the witch and break the Code by skewering her. “I will leave that for him to decide.”

  “You’re worried,” she said, relaxing a bit, a secretive smile curling her lips. “I will find you in three or so days. Listen carefully, Guardian. The swarm will come here and head west. If you go east and south, you’ll be able to avoid it.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Breton nodded. “And you’re certain of this?”

  “The swarm will head west. North is a death sentence for everyone here.” The witch shook her head before throwing the hood back over her dark hair. “Do not die, Guardian. The last thing we need is a mad Rift King.”

  “He’s already mad,” Breton muttered.

  “I did not see his golden horse,” the witch said thoughtfully.

  “She didn’t return with the other horses.”

  “Then all is well. She will keep him safe. I will bring him back to you, you have my word, and a witch’s word is always true.”

  Two people searching was better than one, and Breton couldn’t bring himself to care if the witch got devoured by whatever had destroyed Morinvale. “Three days, Crysallis. If you do not bring him back, I’m coming after you.”

  The witch’s laugh sent shivers crawling up his spine. “I shall return him to you. Worry for yourself and those in your charge. He would not be pleased if you let any harm come to his foals.”

  “Go,” he ordered, hating himself for trusting the witch with Kalen. He wanted to be the one chasing after the wayward Rift King, but he didn’t dare.

  The witch was right; the Rift King valued his foals above all. Breton understood that well enough.

  “Ride safe,” the witch said before turning. Her cloak swirled behind her. For a moment, he thought he saw dark wisps of smoke trailing in her wake. When he shook his head to clear his vision, Crysallis was gone.

  He whistled for Perin. When his gelding skidded to a halt next to him, he mounted and went in search of Captain Silvereye.

  ~~*~~

  Breton cantered Perin along the winding line of mercenaries headed away from camp. Captain Silvereye wore a red cloak, making him stand out among the duller colors the mercenaries favored. The Mithrian frowned at his approach. The expression was so similar to Kalen’s that Breton hesitated before saying, “Captain Silvereye.”

  “I’m hearing some unpleasant rumors, Breton.”

  The use of his name instead of his rank worried Breton. By pretending the mercenary captain was similar to the Rift King, he was able to compose himself. “Our witch has informed me that if we wish to avoid the swarm, we need to head south and east. The swarm will be moving west from Morinvale.”

  “Are you trying to tell me how to command my company, Guardian?”

  Breton sat straighter, meeting the Mithrian’s gaze. Crysallis was many things, but she didn’t kill, not without necessary cause. The intensity of the witch’s insistence had convinced him of the truth of her words. “No, sir. I’m reporting critical information that you might be able to use to save those under your command. If you insist on heading west or north, the swarm will cross our path. It may be wise to heed her wisdom, sir.”

  “Your witch. The same witch who helped us escape from Morinvale?” Captain Silvereye asked in disbelief. “You’re certain of this?”

  Breton hoped he wouldn’t regret what he was about to say. “Certain enough to trust her with His Majesty. She… would not cross my path lightly.”

  The Mithrian’s grin was wry. “I suppose not. Cut south below Morinvale, and then head east? What’s over there?”

 
“From my understanding, sir, it’s more of a matter of what isn’t over there. I have other news as well.”

  “Wait.” Captain Silvereye stood in the stirrups, leaned forward, and bellowed, “Moritta!”

  The woman who rode up at Silvereye’s call was young, no older than twenty-five or thirty if that, with dusty brown hair and hazel eyes. “Sir?”

  “Turn the line south, take us ten miles past Morinvale. After that, take us east. Double march,” he ordered.

  The woman’s eyes widened. “We’re backtracking, sir?”

  “Get the line moving,” he demanded, settling back in the saddle. The woman saluted, whirled her horse around, and galloped away.

  “Dare I ask what other ill tidings you have for me, Guardian?”

  “One of the Yadesh went to confirm your scout’s tidings. Over half of the Wolf Blades are dead to this swarm, Captain. I don’t want to be here to find out what it’ll do to us. If it heads west, we could get pinned against the Rift,” he said, careful to keep his voice low enough none of the nearby mercenaries could hear him.

  “I see. I will not mourn for their loss. Still, you were right to suggest our direction, if that’s the case. I’ll evaluate if farther south may be prudent when we’re away from here.” The Mithrian drummed his fingers on his saddle’s horn. “Your witch calls this thing a swarm?”

  “That is what she said, sir.”

  “So she knows something,” Silvereye stated.

  Breton grimaced. “In three days, I plan on finding out exactly what she knows, sir.”

  “In three days? Why then?”

  “That’s when she said she’ll meet us, sir.”

  Captain Silvereye frowned. “With the Rift King, I presume? He’s a busy man for a blind cripple. I’m not sure if I should be impressed or not.”

  “He likes surprising people,” Breton replied cautiously. It was hard to keep his tone and expression neutral.

  “That’s what sons do.” Silvereye laughed. “You can’t cage a man like him, Guardian. I should’ve known better. You should’ve as well. We were bested by a blind cripple.” The captain shook his head in amazement. “And you deal with him every day.”