Storm Surge

by R. J. Blain

  Captain Silvereye asked, “What caught your eye about him?”

  Breton shook his head. “He approached us. He was raised with a very healthy respect of the Rift, and rumors of His Majesty’s presence in the camp brought him to us. We did not initiate contact with him, I assure you. But, considering the current state of affairs and what has happened to Morinvale, I am uncomfortable with only four Guardians here. A fifth could prove useful for us, and for you as well.”

  “I do not mean any offense to you or your fellow Guardians, Breton, but in war, five men can’t hope to protect one. You Rifters are inexperienced. Black hands exist, and once other companies learn that the Rift King has left the safety of his canyons, they will try to kill him.” Captain Silvereye gestured to the camp below. “It takes one traitor to cost a man his life. While the Crimson Eye is a loyalty company, I have no way of knowing if there are traitors in my midst. There likely are. Those who remain are the best in Mithrias, which is why they’re still hidden among my men and women. It is a constant worry among companies.”

  “We are unaccustomed to protecting His Majesty,” Breton agreed, watching the mercenaries as they finished establishing the camp. When the Mithrian remained silent, he sighed. “It is the way of our people for the Rift King to protect himself and prove he is worthy of his rank. He has done well for himself.”

  “That must change, if you want him to remain alive long enough to return to the Rift. In war, rules are seldom followed. The Covenant? It is a thing for rulers, not for warriors. Wars are not won and lost by papers on a desk, but on the battlefield. You will kill your king if you do not adapt for the realities of what is to come. Not even the Rift King can stop the war between Danar and Kelsh, though his efforts have been admirable. Too many want this war.”

  The truth of the captain’s words stung, and Breton forced himself to nod his acknowledgment of the warning. “Perhaps that is why he has come. The sword speaks when the diplomacy of the quill fails.”

  “And that is no fault of his. I respect his efforts. His predecessor was not nearly so determined. My opinion is that war would have happened long ago if it hadn’t been for his work and his support of the Covenant. But now that his words have failed, what will he do?”

  Breton’s laugh was strained. “Whatever he wants, Captain Silvereye.”

  “I will consider giving Delaven to you. But it seems fair to have you Rifters make it worth my while. How can this arrangement benefit me and my company?”

  There were so many things Breton could say, but all of them hinged on one single thought. With a frown, Breton twisted in the saddle to face west. “I think that depends on how far we’re willing to bend the Covenant, Captain. It also depends on whether or not we can convince His Majesty to agree.” Shaking his head, he settled back in the saddle. “I never thought I’d have this conversation with anyone. The Covenant has been a sacred traditional among us.”

  “It’s a prison for an entire people. Your people. Worse still, you allow it to cage you.” Captain Silvereye snorted, his expression twisting in a scowl. “I always wondered why you Rifters tolerate such a disgrace.”

  Anger surged through Breton. He took several deep breaths before replying in as calm of a voice as he could manage, “Disgrace, Captain? Within our archives is a record of all of the Kingdoms since right after the Covenant’s formation, stretching back almost a thousand years. Within our archives are records of countless wars averted and lives spared because we used the diplomacy of the quill so others did not have to speak with their swords. Within our archives are records of alliances forged, inevitable wars, and the words of kings and queens otherwise lost to time. Our cage is our honor and our pride. Our cage is ruled by a man who isn’t afraid of the diplomacy of the sword.”

  Balling his hands into fists, Breton set his seat, nudged Perin with his legs, and shifted his weight as his gelding obediently reared, standing on his hind hooves as still as a statue until Breton tapped his gelding once more. Perin crow hopped two steps before settling back to the ground. “You misunderstand us, Captain Silvereye. We have always known of our cage. We have not forgotten who and what we are. We do not forget that there was once a time where we left our Rift. Should the Rift Ride, Captain, our honor will be found once more by crushing our enemies beneath the hooves of our horses.”

  Chapter Seven

  It took over an hour for the viscous black river to pass. Kalen sat close enough to the banks that he could reach out and touch the fluid if he wanted to.

  He didn’t.

  Crysallis wasn’t so brave or foolish. Instead of testing her luck with the swarm, she perched on a fallen tree some twenty feet away and stared at him with the silent and intense scrutiny of a hunting serpent deciding how to swallow her prey. While he did his best to ignore the woman, Kalen shivered at the sensation of being watched.

  Perhaps it was his refusal to wear another splint or cast that had earned him her full attention, but it unnerved him almost as much as the swarm. Each time he glanced at the witch, all he could think of was Maiten’s horrified voice as he described what he had seen.

  It would’ve been better for him and everyone else if he couldn’t remember.

  ~No,~ the First whispered, its presence manifesting as a faint chill in the middle of Kalen’s skull. It numbed some of the ache in his head, alleviating the worst of the pounding. Concern dulled the creature’s typically malevolent tone.

  Refusing to be ignored, the First dredged up every unpleasant experience in Kalen’s life and flung the memories into the forefront of his thoughts until he was forced to acknowledge them.

  With a weary sigh, Kalen focused his attention on the riverbed.

  The black waters gradually ebbed until globs of bubbling mud remained. Remnants of black ooze wormed its way after the main mass, too tenacious to be left behind but too slow to keep pace. Gray smoke rose from the ruined forest.

  “You called this a swarm,” Kalen said, gesturing to the pockmarked ground.

  “Of skreed,” she agreed. “It’s been a thousand years or more since there has been a swarm, and it was not nearly so large.”

  Something about the witch’s tone caught his attention. “You speak like you’ve seen this before—that you were there. You saw it, and without hesitation, you knew what this is.”

  The First grumbled disapproval, though Kalen wasn’t sure what had stirred the creature’s ire.

  “What if I told you I had been?” Crysallis replied.

  Kalen considered the woman’s question, shivering once again at the memory of Maiten’s description of Crysallis’s face. “I would believe you.”

  The witch gaped at him before asking, “Why?”

  “Because I choose to.”

  It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. What Maiten had seen warned him he didn’t truly understand what a witch was. If Maiten had seen bone instead of flesh as he claimed, then Kalen needed to be wary of Crysallis. It also meant he might have to believe that some strange and horrifying things were real, just like the corrosive black waters that had stained his hand black.

  Crysallis made a displeased sound. “That’s not much of an answer.”

  “It’s the only one you’re getting.”

  The intensity of the witch’s stare unnerved him.

  “So be it, Your Majesty.” Crysallis rose from her seat and approached, sinking down next to him. “Since you choose to believe me, I will tell you. I was there when the last swarm was born. I was there to witness it grow and thrive.” She paused, and the silence of the forest was unbroken. Nothing stirred, not even a single bird. “I watched it feed and change.”

  When the witch didn’t speak further, Kalen asked, “Change into what?”

  “Skreed, of course.”

  ~~*~~

  The sun dipped towards the horizon and the surviving trees cast long shadows over the blackened ground. While the pain in his head lingered, Kalen managed to stand without vertigo flattening him. He tensed, expe
cting his legs to buckle beneath him. When nothing happened, he breathed out a relieved sigh.

  Crysallis moved in eerie silence as she rose to join him. With one hand, she seized his elbow, turning his arm so she could inspect the black splotches staining his skin. She trailed her fingers over the marks. While Kalen was aware of her touch, it didn’t hurt—or feel like anything at all.

  “Why aren’t you screaming from pain?” the witch asked, her tone a mixture of curiosity and annoyance.

  Smug satisfaction radiated from the First’s presence in Kalen’s head.

  “How would I know?” he retorted, pulling his arm free. “You’re the witch, not me.”

  “It isn’t spreading, either. Curious.”

  “Is it supposed to?”

  “During the first swarm, men who survived the initial tainting claimed the pain was worse than broken bones, all focused on the stains. It could kill from the intensity of the pain alone. Those who died in such a way ran risk of becoming a skreed. We cut the heads off those who died in such a way to ensure new skreed weren’t born. In some cases, we were too late, and the victims joined the swarm. Were you any other man, Your Majesty, I suspect you would be dead right now.”

  Kalen gaped at his hand. “It’s numb. Are you certain? This little can kill?”

  He didn’t want to believe it, but Crysallis’s expression was so serious he was forced to.

  “It did then.”

  In the failing light, Kalen regarded the blackened river bed, which still reeked of corpses. It mocked him with its presence. A chill seeped into his bones and he shivered. “You’ve mentioned men. What of the women?”

  Crysallis’s expression shifted to the faintest of smiles, unnerving him so much Kalen wished he hadn’t asked the question.

  She recaptured his hand, tracing one of the stains with a finger. “There was a time when being tainted was desirable for a woman, Your Majesty. All I can tell you are my speculations. I’ve no proof. But, the taint is how they reproduce, and women are the ones to bear young. When a woman is tainted, it heightens her fertility and desire for a mate. Those who could not before gave birth bore foals. If a man survived being tainted, it benefited him as well in the same way. Men who couldn’t sire foals, such as Breton, could.”

  Kalen’s mouth dropped open. Part of him wanted to rebuke the witch for speaking so casually of Breton’s inability to sire foals, but he remained silent on the matter. He swallowed several times as he fought to regain his composure. “Hellfires. You’ve mentioned men and women. What about the foals?”

  Crysallis shook her head, her expression distant. “A youngling could swim across a swarm’s trail without risk. It isn’t until a filly’s first bleed or when a colt is ready for his first mating that they are at risk. Nine or ten summers was normal, sometimes older, sometimes a little younger. On a foal, the stain manifests as a sooty coating on the skin. It can be washed away with water.”

  Kalen’s relief that the young wouldn’t be harmed was short lived as he considered the ramifications of the swarm’s existence. “Hellfires. How do we stop it?”

  The witch’s laughter sent shudders racing through him. When she managed to control her mirth, she replied, “Stop it? Stop it? No one can stop it.” Panic gave her words a sharp edge. “Nothing stops it.”

  Kalen wrinkled his nose, once again pulling free of the witch’s grip so he could gesture at the blackened riverbed. “I promise you there has been nothing like this in my lifetime, Crysallis. It was stopped before. Who did it? How?”

  With a heavy sigh, Crysallis shook her head. “The skreed weren’t stopped. The Danarites stole their will and imprisoned them. They were captured.”

  Kalen considered the swarm’s position and direction. “They’re headed to Danar?”

  “It’s possible, Your Majesty. Kin calls to kin. What worries me is how such a swarm came to be. It’s so much larger than what I remember.”

  The memory of the cellar in Morinvale chilled him. “Thrice-curse them all to the deeps. The Danarites did this on purpose. They must have meant to summon this swarm so they could end their thrice-cursed war with Kelsh.” Venting his frustration out on a rock, he kicked it across the swarm’s path. It bounced several times before coming to rest on the blackened shores. A few flashes of white flame sparked from the dissolving stone.

  “You know something?” the witch asked.

  Kalen drew a deep breath, held it until he couldn’t anymore, and released it in a sigh. “Speculations and suspicions.”

  “Tell me.”

  “You know why I believe you, Crysallis? It’s because I saw what the Danarites were doing. I saw what they were brewing in Morinvale without knowing what it would become. They sacrificed children,” he snapped, his lip curling up in a snarl.

  “You saw them do it?” the witch replied in alarm.

  “I was right in the middle of it. I think they meant to feed me to the swarm, but it didn’t work out for them. I escaped.” Kalen clenched his hand into a fist and welcomed the pain. When he could speak without growling, he said, “I fear the men and women who came to save their families became victims of the swarm.”

  Crysallis seized his shoulders, shaking him once. “Did you see the ritual? Do you know what they did? What did they do, Your Majesty?”

  Kalen blinked at the witch. The forward and backward motion triggered a wave of pain through his skull. The First hissed wordlessly, its presence surging to alleviate the worst of the pain. Through clenched teeth he said, “I saw. There were four altars. One to the north, south, east, and west. For each altar there was one host and one sacrifice.” He shuddered as he endured the ritual once again. “Four Lord Priests of Danar in crimson robes stabbed their jeweled daggers through the hearts of the hosts.”

  Crysallis’s grip tightened. “What of the sacrifices?”

  Kalen turned his head and stared into the deepening darkness, unable to force himself to say anything at all.

  “You were among them. You lived and the others did not,” the witch speculated.

  “Unfortunately,” he muttered in a bitter tone.

  “Those misguided fools. They’ve killed us all,” Crysallis spat.

  Kalen sighed, regarded the tainted scar cutting through the forest, and believed her.

  ~~*~~

  Following the swarm’s path tired Kalen, but the stench of the swarm’s passage drove him as much as his growing sense of unease. Walking normally let him focus his thoughts and figure out what was bothering him. Instead of answers, he found more questions. For a moment, he considered just stopping, finding a comfortable spot on the ground, and sleeping. Crysallis stayed nearby with her witchlight hovering between them. It bathed them in its pale white glow.

  With patience that unnerved him, the witch waited and watched in silence.

  When he couldn’t bear the quiet any longer, he asked, “What is a witch?”

  “You ask a strange question, Your Majesty.”

  “I ask a strange question of a stranger person,” he countered, turning his head to level a glare in her direction. “What is a witch?”

  “You will not like the answer.”

  “That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t ask the question. There are a lot of things in my life that I do not like. You know far more than you should. I believe you spoke the truth, too. What I don’t understand is why you know what you do. Is it because you are a witch?”

  Crysallis frowned, meeting his gaze. She came to a halt, hugging herself as she rubbed her arms. “It is a question I would rather not answer, Your Majesty.”

  “I can start making guesses, Crysallis.” The threat sounded immature and impotent to him, but the witch cringed at his words. “It’s been a while since someone has made me guess at the circumstances. I’m out of practice. That’s never a good thing for someone in my position.”

  “I’d rather you not, Your Majesty.”

  “I’d rather not have to.”

  “Why is this so important to you?”
>
  Kalen leaned his head back to stare up at the canopy overhead. The breeze, instead of carrying the warmth of the promised summer, bit at him with the chill of winter. He adjusted his cloak on his shoulders to ward away the cold. “You are a weapon, Crysallis. You are my weapon. How can I use you if I do not know what you are capable of?”

  “Your Majesty!” The fear in Crysallis’s voice drew Kalen’s gaze to her. For a Rifter, the woman was considered pale, although her skin was darker than his tan, another reminder of his Kelshite heritage. “We are not at war.”

  “We aren’t?” he asked in his mildest tone.

  “Your Majesty,” she whispered.

  “It’s amusing all of the things you can convey with my title, Crysallis. First, it was a plea—a request not to press with my questions. The second time, it was a protest. This time, you’re begging for me not to tell you the truth, hoping you can convince me to remain silent by the use of my title and nothing else. We’re at war, Crysallis. We were at war the instant I left the Rift.” Kalen still wasn’t sure about the circumstances of his departure—or if it was a consequence of having been bitten by a kingmaker or if he’d been driven out. “We were at war the instant the Danarites captured me. Twice, mind you. Twice. We were at war when the Danarites and Kelshites joined forces to slaughter children and birth the skreed.”

  Silence answered him.

  Kalen drew a deep breath and sighed. Shaking his head, he turned in a slow circle, sweeping out his aching arm in a gesture to encompass the forest and Kelsh as a whole. “We are here. Here we will remain until we can do nothing more. If the swarms are as bad as you believe, we may not be here long, but I can’t just leave things as they are now. It’s both funny and sad, Crysallis. This morning, I simply couldn’t do anything about it. Now? Now it is different.”