Storm Surge

by R. J. Blain

  Still, if he could force the Knight to them, his Guardians might be able to learn more about what Kelsh intended.

  “I can’t ride so fast,” he announced, sliding down from Honey’s back. He gritted his teeth through the painful movements of loosening his mare’s cinch. With a grunt, he dumped the saddle onto the ground. He likewise removed her reined halter before stroking her golden nose. “I will send her with you. Without me in the way, she will run swifter than the wind.”

  “What do you mean to do?” the Knight demanded.

  “I intend to follow on foot. I will be fine. Your responsibility is to your people, is it not? My horse will go with you.” Kalen rubbed at his brow. More names he didn’t want to remember, for they bound him to his responsibilities, filtered through his headache. “I suggest, once you have helped your people, you find Ferethian.”

  Tala gaped at him for a long moment before asking, “Ferethian?”

  Would the Knight cooperate with him if he told her she was to find another one of his horses? Kalen doubted it. Considering his words carefully, he pointed at the smoking ruins of the forest. “There are people who need to know about this. People who know what happened to Morinvale. They may need your aid, Knight. You have your duty.”

  ~He speaks truth,~ Relas said hesitantly.

  “You can run that fast, Relas?”

  ~With ease, Rifter.~

  “Honey,” he murmured to catch his mare’s attention. She snorted at him, shoving her nose against his chest. “Take them to Ferethian.”

  Both of her small, elegant ears turned back, and she snorted her disagreement. Kalen soothed her with calming noises and strokes. He almost laughed at his mare’s equine argument with his wish, and at her eerie understanding of what he wanted of her.

  “Honey,” he scolded. His mare sighed, turning her head to stare at the Yadesh and Knight. When Honey snorted, it was so full of disgust he did laugh. “Honey, herd to Ferethian,” he ordered, slapping her on her hindquarters, wincing at the pain it caused.

  Honey stared at him before sighing again.

  ~She doesn’t wish to go,~ Relas said.

  “I’m aware, Relas. But we all must do things we don’t wish to do. I need her to take you to Ferethian. You need to help your people. I would slow you down far too much.”

  “I’m a Knight, not a messenger, Rifter.”

  “I’m aware, Knight.”

  Tala scowled.

  Relas snorted and glowered at her Knight. ~Is there anything you would like us to tell Ferethian?~

  He considered, staring at the flood. Perhaps it was his annoyance with the Guardians or his shortened temper from being in pain, but he said, “Actually, yes. There is. There should be a tall man with Ferethian. Please inform him that if he touches my boots again, I will beat him senseless with them.”

  Both Knight and Yadesh blinked at him. ~A tall man. There are many tall men. How will I know which one?~

  The anger flowed out of him when he considered how his Guardians would react to Honey’s arrival without her tack—or him. “There are no men as tall as him there that I know of. When he sees Honey, he’ll worry, as will those with him.”

  “Because you’re supposed to be with her?”

  Kalen scowled. How much did he dare tell the woman? He settled on an obscure warning on her reception; the Kelshites would have to endure his Guardians’s reactions. “Because you are with her, and you are a Knight. Now go. Ride fast and well. You’re running out of time.”

  ~Stay safe, Kalen of the Rift.~

  “Ride swift and well.”

  Honey made a low, sad sound, but after a final pet and another command, his mare wheeled and charged westward, following the path of destruction. With a startled snort, Relas scrambled to follow after his mare.

  He was pleased when the Yadesh struggled to catch up with his Honey.

  ~~*~~

  Kalen waited until Honey was out of sight along with the Yadesh and her Knight. Waiting for five minutes tore at his patience, and he counted the seconds. The First’s unease intensified as the time crawled by.

  The dark flood showed no sign of abating. If anything, its intensity and viscosity grew as it devoured more of the forest. Careful to breathe out of his mouth, Kalen stepped closer to the black river.

  The thick fluid steamed, and where it touched the banks of the riverbed it had forged, it smoked. The grass turned black on the banks, melting away into a syrupy ooze to join the flow. Dirt boiled away, exposing rocks beneath, which in turn bubbled and liquefied.

  “Hellfires.”

  Whatever the fluid was, it devastated everything in its path, adding to its bulk before moving on. He shuddered, careful to keep away from the disintegrating shoreline. To his relief, it didn’t seem sentient, ignoring him as though he weren’t there. After considering how little time it took for the liquid to eat through rock, he didn’t want to know what would happen if it touched him.

  All he could do was hope Honey and Relas were fast enough to avoid the black waters. Had he made a mistake in sending his mare with the Knight? It was too late to change his mind. He wouldn’t, though—he couldn’t. While the Kelshites weren’t his people, he couldn’t let an entire village be wiped out without at least trying to do something about it. He sighed.

  Without the Knight, Yadesh, or his mare, he needed a plan. Wandering around Kelsh wouldn’t do him any good. He considered heading west back to the Rift where he belonged. The walk would be long, but he could leave Kelsh and Danar to squabble. It wasn’t his responsibility to mediate between them—not yet.

  He’d already spent half of his life trying to put an end to their feud. If he were wise, he’d let them destroy each other. Unfortunately, if he did that, a lot of innocent people would die—a price he wasn’t willing to pay.

  As he considered the problem, the pain in his head intensified. The names that had eluded him rattled about in his skull, refusing to give him any peace. If he returned to the Rift, he could probably dodge his Guardians for at least a month before they managed to track him down.

  If, of course, he could keep out of trouble—and find someone to deal with his hand. His fingers twitched from the incessant, throbbing ache.

  “Your Majesty?”

  His surprise and alarm spurred Kalen into spinning around to face the woman. It wasn’t until after he had moved that he realized he recognized her. A wave of nausea and dizziness slammed into him, and his knees buckled. He fell hard, landing on his back with his legs folded beneath him. The canopy above spun around him in gut-wrenching circles.

  ~Move!~ the First shrieked in his head. The pain of the mindvoice blinded him.

  Something cold and wet engulfed his hand before he could obey. It slithered around his wrist. Numbness spread where it touched. Jerking away freed him, but not before ice stabbed at his arm.

  “Your Majesty!” Alarm turned the woman’s voice shrill.

  ~Witch,~ the First growled.

  With that one word, Kalen was able to dredge the woman’s name from his hazy memories. “Crysallis.”

  Forgetting wasn’t possible, and the reality of it disappointed him. Without the burden of his past and of the names he wanted to leave behind, disappearing would’ve been possible.

  Crysallis stood over him, her hands braced on her hips as she stared down at him. “What have you done to yourself this time?” Her wrinkled and somehow ageless face twisted into a disapproving scowl. Her gaze drifted to his side, and she sighed. “Now you’ve done it.” She knelt gracefully, reaching out to take hold of his wrist.

  The pressure of her fingers against his arm hurt so much Kalen couldn’t breathe, let alone scream.

  “Did you break it again?”

  “That hurts,” he rasped.

  “Maybe you’ll learn this time. It’ll hurt more tomorrow, Your Majesty. You should be more careful.”

  Kalen scowled at her repeated use of his title. Yanking his arm free from her hold, he held his hand up and stared at it.r />
  Stains marred his skin, as though he had dipped his entire hand in ink. Streaks of black went up his arm. Where the marks faded, his skin was red and irritated. The last of the discoloration faded just beneath his elbow. “It’s black,” he whispered, unable to comprehend what had happened to dye his hand and arm.

  “You can see?” Crysallis’s eyes widened. Capturing his arm with both of her hands, she kneaded at his forearm with her thumbs. “Does this hurt?”

  The spot she rubbed remained numb. He shook his head and regretted it as stabs of pain ran down his neck and spine. “It’s numb.”

  “Numb?” the witch sounded startled. She inched her way down his arm. When she reached his wrist, he flinched.

  “That hurts.”

  Crysallis lightened the pressure on his wrist and touched several more places on his palm and fingers while he dutifully reported when she inflicted pain on him. “I’m going to have to splint your hand before you really damage it. I don’t think any bones are broken yet, but I can’t promise how long that’ll last for.”

  “Wonderful,” he muttered, stretching his fingers.

  “What happened? You’ve got some new bruises.” Before he could stop her, Crysallis trailed her fingertips near his right ear.

  Kalen lurched upright with a wince. He rubbed at the back of his head, which was tender to the touch. “Can we not talk about that?”

  “Your Majesty,” Crysallis rebuked, glaring at him. “That is not wise.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Of course you don’t. You’re going to insist on being stubborn until I annoy you into telling me what happened. You’ll tell me as you always do, but it may be wise if you tell me without such an argument.” She gestured to the black flood behind him. “There are more pressing matters.”

  “What is that?” He gingerly turned to face the flood. A trail of scorched grass led to the bubbling shore.

  “It’s a swarm.” Crysallis sighed, shaking her head. Her expression was troubled.

  “A swarm of what?”

  “Skreed.”

  “That’s not how skreed were described to me,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Those were adult skreed, Your Majesty. These are the babies.”

  Kalen rubbed at his brow as he tried to make sense of what the witch was telling him. How could black ooze be a baby anything? “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “So what happened?”

  Scowling at the woman, he tried to think of the best way to tell her the truth without damaging his already thrashed pride. He sighed and said, “I fell.”

  “You fell.”

  “I fell,” he confirmed, ignoring the question in her statement.

  “You fell from what? How?” Crysallis stared at him, her eyes narrowing. When he didn’t reply, she asked, “Where is Honey? Was she not supposed to be with you?”

  “I sent her to Ferethian.”

  “And why are you not with her heading to Ferethian?”

  “I sent her ahead with a Kelshite Knight. The woman had been ordered to go to Morinvale. I would’ve slowed them both down.” Kalen pointed at the flood before shrugging. “I thought their haste was more important.”

  “You met a Knight. You sent Honey with a Knight? After…?”

  Kalen balled his hand into a fist. “Yes, I did. It seems there is a village or town in the swarm’s path. I would’ve slowed them down at best.” At worst, he would’ve fallen again.

  With a long and heavy sigh, Crysallis slumped down next to him. “They won’t make it, not in time.”

  While the witch’s declaration didn’t surprise him, Kalen winced at her emotionless tone. He could trust Honey to keep herself safe, leaving him to worry about the Knight and her Yadesh. “I was hoping that would not be the case.”

  “At least your Honey is wiser than you are. She will avoid the swarm. Horses do not like the taint.”

  “Taint?”

  Crysallis grabbed his hand, running the tips of her fingers over his blackened skin. “These marks are called taint. In the past, men afflicted as you have been would be in a great deal of pain.”

  “Men? And what of the women?”

  “It is far less of a burden for women, Your Majesty, so do not be alarmed. Of course, most would die from the amount of taint staining your arm. I am unable to purify it. But if you haven’t died yet, I do not think you will.”

  “Why am I always alarmed at your knowledge, Crysallis?”

  “Because you are wise.”

  Kalen snorted. “I don’t feel very wise right now. What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “I promised that I would return you within three days, Your Majesty.”

  He considered the witch’s words, finally nodding to acknowledge what she had said. In a way, he was relieved none of his Guardians had chased after him. But why the witch on foot?

  They weren’t bound, not like he was tied to his Guardians. How had she found him? Instead of asking, Kalen sighed and got to his feet, grimacing as his head spun. When he managed to stay upright, he straightened and drew several long, deep breaths. “Let’s go, then.”

  When Crysallis rose to her feet, he noticed how she kept close enough to him where she could catch him if he fell. He pretended not to notice.

  Chapter Six

  Breton struggled with his desire to turn Perin around and ride back towards the ruined camp; the mercenary company crawled, slow enough that he could’ve dismounted and walked without falling too far behind. Each step took him farther from where he wanted to be, chasing after his wayward Rift King.

  He wasn’t the only one falling prey to nervous energy and unease. Maiten rode his gelding in a tight circle, muttering curses in several languages.

  Trying to ignore his friend’s antics, Breton settled in the saddle and watched the winding line of horses and men curving through the forest. “You’ve known Delaven’s dam a long time, haven’t you?”

  Maiten scowled. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “And I’d rather be going after Kalen right now. Talk.” When Perin put his ears back, Breton forced himself to ease his white-knuckled grip on the reins. “All things considered, I think it’s important to know what I’m facing with him.”

  “His Majesty will throw me into the deeps if he finds out I told you.”

  “He isn’t going to find out, not from me,” Breton swore in a quiet voice.

  Maiten sighed. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

  “No, I’m not. Who is Delaven’s dam?”

  Maiten broke away from the line, halting out of earshot of the mercenaries before waving his hand in a beckoning gesture. Breton joined him, brows arched at his friend’s caution. “Is this necessary?”

  “Yes, it is. I shouldn’t be telling you this. He’ll kill us both.” Maiten shuddered.

  “He’s not Arik.”

  “And bless the ancestors that he isn’t. Fine, fine. But so help me, Breton, if you say a word of this…”

  “I swear on my honor I will not speak of it to anyone, unless Kalen tells me to,” he replied.

  Maiten sighed again, warily looking around for any who might be listening. “It began about a week after His Majesty killed Arik.”

  Worry battled with his curiosity, and Breton waited in silence for his friend to continue. As the moments slipped into minutes, he fretted over whether or not Maiten would finish telling him about the young Mithrian’s dam. It gave him too much time to think on the past—and the several unpleasant, fitful weeks where all he could do was sit and wait to find out what would become of his foal.

  Maiten alone held the answers; if the Rift King remembered what had happened in the days following Arik’s death, he never spoke of them.

  Finally, Maiten whispered, “She was a Wanderer, Mithrian-born. Her caravan was waylaid by Danarites on the fringe of the Rift. She, along with several other women, were taken by the Danarites.”

  Breton’s eyes widened. “
They attacked a caravan of Wanderers? What were they thinking?”

  “They thought they could get away with it. They tried their luck hiding in the Upper Reaches so other Wanderer groups wouldn’t find out what they had done.” Shaking his head, Maiten made a low, displeased sound. “I may as well tell you all of it, if I’m going to tell this part of it. Hellfires, Breton. If I had known then what I know now, I would’ve killed Arik myself.”

  While Breton winced at the vehemence of Maiten’s tone, he couldn’t disagree. What would have changed if he had killed Arik instead, or if Maiten had? What would have happened if someone other than the foal he had tried to raise as his own had killed the Rift King?

  Would either of them have been able to survive as long as Kalen had? There were days when he no longer recognized the colt he’d brought down into the Rift. Violence trailed after all of the Rift Kings, but Kalen had embraced it like none other before him. When Maiten had been chosen to accompany the new Rift King, Breton had thought he’d never see his friend again.

  “What happened?” he whispered.

  “He ran Tavener and Horasian as hard as he could without killing them, all the way into the Upper Reaches. I think he was more concerned for the horses than he was for me.” Maiten’s laugh was strained. “I don’t know what drove him, but he didn’t stop until we reached the top a week later.”

  “You made it to the top in a week?”

  “Don’t sound so shocked, we did it getting here, didn’t we?”

  Breton scowled and remained silent. They had done the ride in a week and a day. He’d done it riding injured. But how had Kalen managed? While Tavener had claimed him, stallions weren’t easy to control. Perin and Horasian hadn’t fought either one of them much, at least not in the way Tavener had tried to establish his dominance over the new Rift King.

  Breton still wasn’t sure of the exact circumstances of his foal losing his arm, and he wasn’t brave enough to ask. He, like all of the others, had accepted it as the price of being the Rift King, questioning it no further. “Go on,” he said when Maiten didn’t speak for several minutes.