by R. J. Blain
“Freezing to death is the big one. Some folks go snow crazed, but we’ll be taking precautions. We aren’t going to be caught by surprise.” Captain Silvereye frowned. “I’m damned glad Moritta is with your Guardians. She knows what to do in a snowstorm. With a little bit of luck, they’ll have already found His Majesty.”
“You’re worried.” Breton tensed so much that Perin turned his ears back and snorted in displeasure.
“You better believe I’m worried. If I could call her back right now, I would. We try not to lose people to the weather, Guardian. If I had known this was coming, I wouldn’t have allowed any of them to leave the camp.”
Sucking in a breath, Breton whirled Perin around to stare northward, weighing how fast and far he could send Perin after Kalen and the others. Of the Rift horses, his geldings were the largest, and as a consequence, the slowest. The only horse he could think of with a hope of catching the others was Honey, and she couldn’t carry him, not for long. “You’re serious.”
“Deathly serious, Guardian. If that storm is anywhere near as strong as what my healers have warned me about, we’re in for a bad blow, and there’s absolutely nothing we can do to help them. As it is, we’ll be hard pressed preparing ourselves.”
“Hellfires.”
“Moritta is with them. Well, most of them,” the Shadow Captain said in a soft voice. “If anyone can get them out of harm’s way, it’s her. It’s far too late to go chasing after them, so don’t even think about it. That big horse of yours wouldn’t make it far. It’s possible they’ve already found His Majesty, too.”
Breton clenched his teeth, but nodded his acknowledgment. After taking several deep breaths, he replied, “I know.”
It didn’t change the fact that he wanted to go, but he turned Perin and rode alongside Captain Silvereye, muttering all of the Rift King’s favorite curses under his breath.
By the time the Shadow Captain sounded the halt to make camp, Breton was shivering despite the thick furs.
Captain Silvereye remained mounted. “Unlike before, we’ll be changing how the camp is laid out. I prefer to keep tents farther apart, to prevent fires spreading from tent to tent as easily. Because we’re facing what might be a blizzard, we’ll be keeping everyone close together. This makes less space for the mages to cover with the wind breaks. There will be bonfires set up throughout the camp, which is why we’ll need wood, and a lot of it. Between the wind break and the bonfires, we’ll stay warm. We’ll also set up coal braziers in many of the tents—yours included. For now, go find Lyeth, stick with him, and once we’ve established the new camp, you’ll get to work gathering wood. Once you’re done, have someone bring you and the other Rifters to me. There’s a lot we’ll need to cover, especially if it really does start snowing.”
“Yes, sir,” Breton said, turning Perin to search for Lyeth somewhere in the long column of mercenaries.
~~*~~
Several hours later, with a certain amount of disgust at Captain Silvereye’s cunning, Breton discovered that Lyeth and his team were less interested in Perin for pulling logs as they were in Breton’s height and muscle. His horse was claimed by several grinning Mithrians and harnessed while he was given the dubious privilege of ensuring that the trees the mercenaries hacked down fell in the right direction.
The idea of holding onto a rope and pulling on it to make sure the tree fell in his direction instead of onto the mercenaries cutting it down left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. Each time one of the tall trees fell, Breton braced for impact, only to discover that he had been standing in relative safety the entire time.
It didn’t stop him from cringing when the tree creaked and fell towards him, shaking the ground as it crashed down, showering him with leaves and sticks.
“Safe, Breton?” Lyeth called out.
“I can think of safer things I could be doing,” he called back, climbing into the branches to retrieve the rope tied to the trunk. “Are you trying to kill me?”
Laughter answered him. “Would we do that?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. How many of these do we have to bring down?”
“As many as we can until we’re called in, I’m afraid.” Lyeth walked over, wiping sweat off his brow. “Just be glad you weren’t given an ax. Our hands are going to be blistered for a week after this. It gets better; we’ll be cutting these trees apart in camp long after it starts snowing. At least we’ll get rotated off shift and those who set up camp will get their turn at cutting these damned things up. The mages are going to hate us by the time this is over.”
“Why are they going to hate us?” After coiling the rope, Breton handed it over to the dark-haired man who had been recruited to climb the trees and secure the line to the trunk.
“They’re the ones who have to prepare the wood so it burns well. Works better if you aren’t burning fresh-cut wood. Between the wind breaks and treating the wood for burning, they’re going to be even more tired than we are.” Lyeth chuckled. “If we’re lucky, we’ll get called back before it starts snowing. If you think it’s bad now, just wait until you can’t see if a tree is about to land on you.”
Breton was powerless to stop his eyes from widening at the thought. Laughing, the mercenary clapped his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Breton. I’ll make sure you make it back to camp mostly intact.”
“How comforting, Lyeth.”
They brought down five more trees, with only a few branches smacking Breton in the head as they hurried to beat the incoming storm. By the time they reached the camp, the storm front arrived, bringing with it gusts of icy wind. As they reached the perimeter, the air stilled, though it was cold enough that Breton shivered despite his exertion.
“All right, Breton. You’re coming with me,” Lyeth said, handing over his ax to one of the waiting mercenaries. “Did you know you have leaves and twigs sticking out of your hair?”
“I’m pretty sure you’re the reason for it,” Breton replied in his mildest tone.
“Bless the Lady that it was only some branches and not the trunk. You’re tough, I have to admit. Still, Parice should have a look at you to make sure there’s nothing actually wrong with you.”
“I’m fine.”
The mercenary shook his head, leading Breton down a path between the tents barely wide enough for two people to squeeze by each other. “I’ll leave that for the healers to decide.”
Adjusting the fur cloak over his shoulders, Breton trailed behind the Mithrian. His breath emerged in clouds of white, unnerving him almost as much as the roiling clouds overhead. His unease grew, and he was unable to stop himself from staring up at the sky instead of watching where he was going.
He collided with Lyeth, and would’ve knocked the mercenary over if Captain Silvereye hadn’t intervened. “You’re about as nervous as the horses, Breton.”
“With good reason,” he replied, forcing himself to drop his gaze to the ground. “Sorry, Lyeth.”
Brushing himself off and standing upright, Lyeth chuckled before asking, “It’s retribution for the tree, isn’t it?”
“Tree?” Captain Silvereye’s glare settled on the younger officer.
Careful to keep his expression neutral, Breton picked out a few of the leaves and twigs out of his hair, making a show of dropping them one by one. “Indeed.”
“I like him. Can we keep him, Captain?”
With a long suffering sigh, Captain Silvereye rubbed at his temples. “What have you done this time, Lyeth?”
“A branch clipped him when we were bringing down one of the trees. I was taking him to Parice just in case. He’s fine, so he says, but better safe than very, very sorry when His Majesty finds out, right?” Lyeth grinned, standing on his toes to brush away more of the debris from Breton’s hair.
“I’m giving you as a gift to my new co-captain. Maybe he can teach you how not to get into trouble,” the Shadow Captain grumbled. “Go see Parice or one of the other healers. When you’re done, Lyeth, you’re in charge of kitting the R
ifters. Maybe that will keep you busy. Both of you come to my tent once that’s done.”
“Aye, aye, sir!”
After heaving a sigh, Captain Silvereye shook his head. “Breton, you may want to know that Her Most Royal Highness was looking for you, demanding that you see to her immediately. I told her that you were occupied doing something important. I thought you’d like to be warned.”
Breton matched the Mithrian’s sigh. “Thank you, Captain.”
“Time for you to get to the healers. It’ll start snowing soon, and while I’m willing to sacrifice Lyeth to the weather, you’re to stay in a tent until you’re properly kitted.” The captain’s tone allowed no argument.
“Yes, sir,” he said.
“Good. I had someone set up a tent for you near one of the bonfires. If that doesn’t keep you warm, I don’t know what will. I’ll show you where it is myself once you’re done getting kitted and seeing Parice. Now, I have things I must attend to, including dealing with Her Highness and attempting to impress upon her and her beast that they’re better off staying with us rather than running off like snow-crazed fools.” Captain Silvereye squeezed by Breton and headed off at a brisk walk.
“We’ll have plenty of snow-crazed fools by the time this storm passes,” Lyeth muttered, shaking his head. “I’ve heard one of her tantrums already. I pity those having to deal with that woman. She’s a living nightmare.”
Breton watched the Shadow Captain depart before turning to Lyeth. “You’re not the first I’ve heard complaining about her. While she seems a little ill-taught and flighty, she doesn’t seem quite so…” With a helpless shrug, he glanced up at the darkening sky again.
His worry surged, forcing the thoughts of the Kelshite princess aside until all he could do was hope that Moritta and the others had found Kalen and shelter from the storm.
Lyeth’s strained laughter recaptured Breton’s attention. “Obnoxious? She’s that and a lot worse. My bet is that, for whatever reason, she was trying to impress you. We’re mercenaries. We’re below her. You? You’re a Rifter. You’re probably a novelty to her, where we’re invaders who should get out of her kingdom. Just wait and you’ll see. She’ll probably stop acting nice once she realizes she can’t order you around.”
“Wonderful.”
“Maybe she just wants to use you to get to your Rift King. Wouldn’t that be something? I’d pay good coin to watch that fight. His Majesty would destroy her, and she deserves it.” The usually cheery Mithrian’s expression darkened. “Think His Majesty would put her in her place if we asked him?”
Breton considered his conversation with the Kelshite princess. “I don’t think you’ll have to ask him. I suspect she’ll open her mouth and say the exact wrong thing.”
If it meant Kalen was in the camp—safe—Breton wouldn’t even make the attempt to stop the Rift King’s temper from igniting. He’d watch his foal tear into the Kelshite princess, grateful he was there to watch the fight, not that it’d be much of one.
Lyeth smile was grim. “Good. I knew there was a reason I liked him.”
~~*~~
Breton managed to dodge Princess Tala of Kelsh by obeying Captain Silvereye’s orders. While Lyeth’s enthusiasm was tiring, the Mithrian proved better company by far compared to the young woman he wanted to avoid. He was already imagining the nightmare she’d provide him, and what would happen when she finally met the Rift King at his worst.
At least he was warm despite the chill of the gusting wind. In addition to the thick cloak, the mercenaries had managed to find a coat that fit him, made of the same dense fur. The gloves were crafted of layered leather with a soft lining inside. He had no idea how he was supposed to ride or handle reins when he could barely move his fingers, but he decided to worry about it if riding proved necessary.
With a low chuckle, Lyeth ducked into the captain’s tent, announcing their arrival in his cheerful voice. Breton followed, careful to avoid becoming ensnared in the flap or the ties, a rather unpleasant and real risk thanks to his height. Last time he had fallen prey to a tent, it had taken two snickering Mithrians to free him from the resulting tangle.
“Has it started snowing yet?” Captain Silvereye asked, looking up from the rough-hewn table taking up most of the tent’s space. A cot was crammed on the far side, along with a handful of stumps serving as makeshift seats. Several stools were situated near the cot, covered with parchments.
“Not quite yet, sir. Won’t be more than a few minutes, if my guess is right.”
“Then I have a few minutes to give you an idea of what we’re in for, Breton. Sit. Once you’re done here, I’ll have Lyeth take you to your tent and send your fellow Guardian to you. It’s really important you follow orders. The cold can be quite dangerous, and I have no desire to explain to the Rift King how I got you killed thanks to the weather. Storms like this can be lethal, which is why we are taking so many precautions. Will it be as bad as we’re prepared for? I hope not. But if it is, we’ll be ready for it.” Captain Silvereye straightened his shoulders, meeting Breton’s gaze steadily.
“I’m listening, sir.”
“Good. While I hope Moritta has found shelter for them all, you need to be prepared in case they were unable to. You also need to understand why, no matter what happens, you can’t go riding off into the storm. There’s nothing you can do for them at this point, and I fully intend to preserve you and Ceres. Late season storms are never enjoyable—we should have been beyond the last of the snow, but it happens sometimes. Maybe we’ll get lucky and it’ll be a cold rain. But when I’m told a bad blow is coming, I listen.”
Without a sign of humor in him, Lyeth sank down onto one of the stumps and sighed.
That worried Breton far more than Captain Silvereye’s words. “I understand,” he replied, hating himself more with each passing moment. Why did he always seem to be in the wrong place, completely unable to help those he cared for the most?
“About ten years ago, we were marching home across Killia. It’s a mountainous place, and it was a late autumn march—something almost as dangerous as trying the march in the winter. I don’t recommend it. We got lucky, in a way. We were near a city when the first storms of the season hit. We were forced to winter in Killia, but we survived. When we were able to leave in the spring, we took one of the less favored passes. We found what was left of a company.”
“What was left of a company?” Breton couldn’t mask the concern in his voice, considering how the mercenaries had been reacting to the very real threat of the remaining Wolf Blades.
“We found their corpses, Breton. The entire company was dead. They had challenged the foothills, and they had lost.”
Breton arched his brows. “The entire company died?”
“Looked that way to me. They got caught on the road unprepared, and from what I could tell, a blizzard swept right over them. Some of them hadn’t finished thawing yet.” After a moment of thought and a puzzled expression, Captain Silvereye said, “You don’t know what thawing is either, do you? I’m not sure how to explain it. When frozen from the cold, bodies don’t rot.”
It took every bit of Breton’s will to keep his tone calm and even as he replied, “And you’re expecting me to leave Kalen out in that without going after him.”
“That’s exactly what I’m expecting of you, Breton. If I need to place a guard on you, I will. I can’t afford to lose you, who to my understanding is the equivalent of the Second-in-Command of the Rift.”
With a twitching cheek, Breton shook his head. “I’m fourth,” he replied bitterly.
“Fourth?”
“His Majesty as selected Lord Delrose to be his successor. Maiten, as the next actual Rifter in the succession order, is the equivalent of your Second. ” It wasn’t the exact truth, but without Lord Delrose’s agreement, it was an honest enough answer. “I would fall fourth in the line.”
Captain Silvereye scowled. “Lord Delrose as the Rift King is a very unpleasant prospect, Guardian. While I do not
doubt his intellect, he has no sense of strategy, not like his son. I would far rather see you as the Rift King than him. You, I feel, would be tolerated by the rest of the Six Kingdoms. Lord Delrose? He’d be viewed as nothing more than a traitor.”
“The Rift King is typically anonymous,” Breton grumbled. “I am not eager or pleased at the thought of serving him.”
“So don’t. I nominate you to be the tertiary successor, then. His Majesty and Guardian Maiten are not present to gainsay me.”
Breton drew a deep breath, held it for as long as he could, and sighed. “You remind me of him, Captain Silvereye.”
It didn’t help matters any that he agreed with the Mithrian. He would rather follow in his foal’s steps as the Rift King than bow his head to Lord Delrose, even if it meant his death.
Chapter Fifteen
They rode through most of the night, stopping a few hours before dawn to rest the horses. Kalen ached from the cold. At least it numbed his hand and arm, keeping the worst of his pain at bay. Clenching his teeth kept them from chattering, but he couldn’t control his shivering.
At least when he’d been riding with Maiten, half of him had been warm.
“When was the last time you ate something, Father?” Varest crossed his arms, and the shadows cast by Crysallis’s witchlight darkened his foal’s glare.
The thought of food was enough to reawaken his nausea. “Try all you want, Varest, but it’s not happening.”
“Father, you need to eat.”
“It’s futile, Varest. He’s been like this since I’ve been with him.” Shaking her head, the witch continued to piling wood to start a fire. “Even if you managed to get him to eat, it’ll just make him sick. It’ll keep until tomorrow. Your Majesty, you should drink something, though.”