by R. J. Blain
“Don’t try to feed me your horse’s shit, Maiten,” Kalen said, jabbing Maiten’s ribs with a finger. “If the mercenaries won’t toss the Wolf Blades into the deeps, and the Danarites with them, I’ll do it myself.”
“We’re a little far from the deeps to throw them in it. It’d be a lot of unnecessary work for the horses,” Breton said, his tone as neutral as his expression.
“What do you suggest then?”
“I’d be satisfied with cutting them into small pieces,” his Guardian replied with a shrug.
“See, Maiten, listen to Breton. If we can’t throw them into the deeps, we can chop them up. I can be satisfied with that.” Kalen straightened, looking down at the map. “Though we really aren’t too far from Rufket; there’s a pass down into the Rift a week or two from here. We could march them right off the trails there.”
“Feeding them for two weeks just to kill them is unnecessary waste, sir,” Moritta said. “Perhaps we should consider drowning them.”
“You’re a bloodthirsty lot today,” Captain Silvereye said, shaking his head. “We will not be participating in any unplanned, accidental, or unsanctioned raids against the Wolf Blades. If we find them, we’ll create a proper strategy. Let’s not get any of us killed unnecessarily.”
Kalen wrinkled his nose, pointing at Morinvale on the map. “What information do we have on the Wolf Blades and their Danarite allies?”
“Absolutely nothing. Between the storm and the swarm, I haven’t been willing to risk any scouts to go looking for them. Once the snow melts, which should be by tomorrow morning at the rate it’s going, we’ll march north and take a look. With luck, we’ll spot them before they spot us. We’ll need to get viable numbers and information on them and their hire, but that’s a job for Lyeth.”
“If the Rift requested information on the Wolf Blades from the Shadow Council, do you think it would help?” Kalen asked.
“Considering the kidnapping of the Rift King, I’m sure you could get full cooperation from the Shadow Council, but I sincerely doubt you’ll receive relevant information,” Silvereye warned.
Kalen snorted, shaking his head at the aspect of playing a kidnapped monarch, although it had been true enough—twice. The memory made him shudder. “If your scheme is going to work, the Rift will have to know. Breton, since it can’t be in my handwriting for very obvious reasons, you’re in charge of writing missives to the relevant kingdoms.”
Silvereye rolled up Kelsh’s map and spread out a map of the entire continent, looking it over with a frown. “How do you intend to get these missives sent? Even if we sent messengers on the fastest horses we have, it’d take months to get anyone near the Rift.”
“That’s my job,” Kalen replied with a smug grin. “But, there’s this to consider: while we need to route the Danarites and this company elsewhere, our real target is Elenrune. I need to find out what His Royal Pain-in-my-Horse’s-Ass is doing. If I can confirm who hired the Wolf Blades, this will be easier for us to resolve.”
Captain Silvereye grunted. “You mean to confirm the Kelsh king’s innocence?”
“No, I mean to confirm his guilt.” Snorting, Kalen reached out and grabbed the map of Kelsh, spreading it out over Silvereye’s map. He pointed at Elenrune. “I have no doubts that Danar and Kelsh are working together. I’m witness to that, as is Satrin.”
Silvereye rose, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared down at the circle denoting Elenrune on the map. “We have a notable bartering chip since we have his daughter in our custody.”
“We have his daughter?” Kalen blurted. “Hellfires, you captured the Kelshite Princess? She’s the heir to the crown. What in the thrice-cursed deeps is she…” Sucking in a breath, he sat straighter. “That blond-haired woman is Kelsh’s Heir?”
Breton cleared his throat. “Your mare for the taking, if you so decide.”
Heat born of both embarrassment and annoyance washed over Kalen’s face. “That’s not funny.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be, colt,” was the quiet reply.
“Why don’t you Court Mate with her then if you want her? I don’t! Have you seen her?” Kalen flexed his hand, fighting the urge to slam his fist against something. “Her? Her? Of all of the people, Kelsh’s Heir is her?”
“I see your first meeting with her was less than favorable,” Silvereye said.
“Honey didn’t like her,” Kalen grumbled. While it was true, he had other reasons to dislike the woman, and the way she’d looked at him with pity topped the list.
Kalen didn’t want—or need—the sympathies of some noble woman without substance.
“Judging from your expression, foal, you didn’t like her either,” Breton said, his tone amused. “I’ve had the misfortune of speaking with her. I’m supposed to be teaching her Mithrian.”
Shuddering, he stared at his senior-most Guardian. “You? Teach Mithrian? You?”
“Be nice,” Breton muttered.
Maiten laughed. “I was occupied looking for you, Kalen. It’s not his fault. He was the best choice. Have you given her any lessons yet?”
“No.”
“Please don’t,” Kalen begged. “If she’s really Aelthor’s daughter, and if she’s nearly as aristocratic as I suspect, the only people she’ll listen to is Captain Silvereye and me. You’re probably beneath her.”
“So I gathered,” Breton replied.
“Throw stones for it, Maiten?” Kalen glanced hopefully at his Guardian.
“And miss the chance to watch you put that mare in her place? Absolutely not,” Maiten replied, grinning.
“Were you aware that she was headed to Morinvale?” Kalen asked after a long moment of silence.
Everyone stared at him with widening eyes.
“I was not,” Captain Silvereye said in a curt tone. “Explain, Blackhand.”
“She told me that’s where she was headed when Honey led her to me. I only thought of her as a Knight, and frankly spoken, I didn’t feel much regret sending her off to face her luck.”
Breton and Maiten once again exchanged looks. It was Breton who snorted and said, “You were worried about the village in the swarm’s path more than a Knight frightened you.”
“She didn’t seem like much of a threat,” Kalen replied, careful to keep his tone even to mask his growing twinge of anxiety.
Maiten watched him with narrowed eyes, but said nothing.
“She’s not a threat to you or anyone,” Breton said firmly. “She’s not interested in doing anything that doesn’t directly serve her immediately. She is entirely unsuitable for being your Queen.”
Kalen felt his brows rise, and he gawked at Breton. “I was not considering her as my Queen. You know that. You’ve seen how many rejections I’ve sent.”
“Good. I won’t have to beat sense into you, then.”
Kalen opened his mouth to say something, snapped it closed with a clack of his teeth, and tilted his head as he tried to make sense of Breton’s behavior. “What? But…”
With a chuckle, Maiten clapped Kalen’s shoulder. “He’s teasing you, foal. Let him have his fun.”
“She’s really Kelsh’s Heir?”
“Unfortunately,” Breton rumbled.
“She didn’t seem stupid,” he said, furrowing his brows. “Her Rifter was barely passable. Still, why was she going to Morinvale? Silvereye, perhaps we should summon my sire and Her Royal Highness. I think it’s time to ask them some questions before we consider what to do about the Wolf Blades. She might know something we don’t.”
“Why Lord Delrose?” the Shadow Captain asked in reply.
“I might not like him, but he’s not a fool, and he might learn something from what she says that we miss. I’m about as much a Kelshite as you are at this point.”
“Moritta, fetch them,” Silvereye ordered. The woman headed for the flap.
Both Breton and Maiten winced. Kalen glared at them. “What’s that reaction for? While I’m hungry, I’m not going to eat them.”
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“And on your way, Moritta, ask someone to bring us some food from the mess, please.”
“Of course, sir,” she said before ducking out of the tent. Sunlight streamed through the opening.
“Breton?” Kalen asked, hoping the demand in his voice would force an answer from his Guardian.
“It is the torture of a survived serpent’s bite,” Maiten said, shaking his head. “You’re a nibbler on a corpse once you start asking questions, Captain.”
“If that Knight has the answers we need, Maiten, I will ask questions until I cough blood if necessary.”
Breton snorted. “That’s what we’re afraid of, Kalen.”
“It’s still a good idea. Delaven, go after Moritta and tell her we’ll meet in the command tent. There’s too many of us to fit in here as it is, let alone with extras. I think we’re all going to need some tea to get through this. I’d rather that my co-captain didn’t start coughing blood while interrogating Her Royal Highness.”
Chapter Nineteen
While Kalen was skeptical over how warm it was outside, his new co-captain assured him he wouldn’t need any more than a tunic, trousers, and fur boots to keep the mud off his feet. He grabbed his cloak anyway, taking gleeful delight in how much simpler the task was when he could see.
Gorishitorik’s weight comforted him as well, and he basked in the security of having his blade and being able to use it. Kalen followed after Captain Silvereye, squinting in the sunlight. The warmth of summer had melted the snow from the previous day’s storm, leaving behind puddles and thick patches of mud.
By the time they crossed the camp, Kalen’s boots were caked in thick gunk, weighing twice as much as they should. While Captain Silvereye held open the flap to the large command tent, Kalen fought his way out of his boots, cursing them and their muddied laces.
“I told you it was warm,” the Mithrian said.
“The air is warm; the mud most certainly is not,” Kalen countered, setting the boots aside so he wouldn’t trail filth all over the command tent’s canvas flooring. How the material hadn’t been soaked through by the mud was a marvel, but one he appreciated as he crossed the tent and claimed a stool.
“It’ll be better in a few days, unless another storm decides to blow through.”
Kalen twisted around, narrowing his eyes at his co-captain. “Don’t even think it.”
Silvereye laughed.
One by one, Kalen’s Guardians filed into the tent, dumping their muddy boots in a pile. Breton stifled a yawn, dropping down on the stool nearest the flap.
Moritta stood next to Breton, her hands clasped behind her back. “They’ll be coming shortly.”
All signs of Silvereye’s amusement vanished. “Is there a reason for the delay?”
With pursed lips and a flinty look in her eyes, Moritta replied, “When I left, Lord Delrose was attempting to impress upon Her Royal Highness that she did not have the authority to refuse your invitation.”
“I see.”
A headache blossomed behind Kalen’s forehead. The First stirred and murmured its disgust before quieting. Kalen ran his hand through his hair, wincing a bit as his fingers snagged in a tangle. While he waited, he worked at the knots until the worst were gone.
“It’s gotten long,” Breton commented in a neutral tone. “I need to braid your hair.”
“While you can do the braids, you are not coming near my hair with anything sharp,” Kalen retorted.
The last time he had his hair cut to stop it from falling into his eyes, Breton had left him with an uneven mess, making him the primary source of entertainment in Blind Mare Run for a week.
“I’ll cut it,” Maiten offered, chuckling. “We need you looking at least somewhat respectable. I promise it won’t look like a horse has been chewing on your head.”
A mercenary pushed his way into the tent carrying a tray covered with cloth. With a nod, the dark-haired man left it on the large table, snapped a salute, and hurried out.
“Since we’re waiting anyway, we may as well eat,” Silvereye said before sighing.
“Galen’s raiding the supplies for a better tea and will send it over once he’s satisfied.” Striding across the tent, Moritta plucked the cloth off the tray, folded it, and set it aside. She picked up a small loaf of bread and offered it to Kalen. “From my understanding, you don’t like most meats, sir?”
Kalen reached over and took it. The bread was still warm, and the loaf was heavier than he expected. He took a cautious bite, discovering a sharp, melted cheese within. “I have a dubious relationship with meat.”
“I was wondering about that,” Captain Silvereye admitted. “Parice was pretty strict about what he was giving you. I had noticed the odd absence of meat.”
Kalen made a sour face, taking another bite of cheese and bread.
“Those were my orders,” Breton admitted, crossing to the tent to grab a loaf. “He tends to spend a day or two unable to eat or drink anything other than water after. It’s unpleasant for all of us involved.”
“I’m right here, you know,” Kalen muttered.
“All meat?” The curiosity in Captain Silvereye’s tone was partnered with a frown.
“I like rabbit,” he said wistfully.
“Can you eat it without throwing up everywhere?” Breton asked suspiciously.
“I’d be willing to take the risk to find out,” he replied with as much dignity as he could muster.
“It’s your stomach,” his senior Guardian warned.
“He’s your foal, so it’s your mess to clean up,” Maiten countered.
Varest burst into laughter. “As if that will stop Father.”
“Anything else I should know about?” Shaking his head, Silvereye claimed a loaf for himself, breaking a piece off and eating it.
“I don’t drink wines or spirits,” Kalen said before one of his Guardians decided to share one of his more notable embarrassments with the Mithrian Shadow Captain. “A glass now and then, but nothing more than that.”
It didn’t surprise him when his Rifter-born Guardians snickered.
“That’s one way of putting it,” Varest murmured.
Captain Silvereye arched a brow. “Oh?”
To Kalen’s disgust, Maiten grinned and said, “He likes to sing.”
“He likes to sing,” echoed Silvereye.
“He’s quite good at it, too. He’ll only sing once he’s got enough poured into him, though,” Maiten said with laughter in his voice. “We make a point of spiking his drinks every festival.”
“I hate you all,” Kalen muttered, shaking his head, almost wishing he could remember more about what he did once he started drinking. There was only one thing he knew for certain: no one had ever tried to kill him while he sang.
“It would be a very severe violation of the Code if we were not blessed with your singing at least once a festival,” was Maiten’s solemn reply.
Ceres nodded. “It’s true, Father. We wrote it in as an addendum. Any Rift King with as good of a voice as yours must sing once per festival. You’ll just have to live with it, I’m afraid.”
“So he sings, but only if you get him drunk first?” Captain Silvereye chuckled. “You have my attention. You’re welcome to a bottle of my wine, so long as I can hear the results.”
“Don’t encourage them, Silvereye,” Kalen muttered.
“I’m not encouraging them, Blackhand. I’m encouraging you. After the Wolf Blades are dealt with, I think we’ll have to get to know each other better over a few bottles of wine.”
“You won’t need that much,” Kalen muttered under his breath.
A mercenary pushed aside the tent’s flap. “There are two Kelshites here to see you, sirs,” he said in Mithrian.
“Bring them in,” Captain Silvereye replied, also in Mithrian. “Here comes trouble,” he murmured barely loud enough for Kalen to hear.
Kalen’s sire ducked into the tent first, followed by the blond-haired Knight he’d met in the forests outside
of Morinvale. Unable to stop from frowning, he watched her. Red splotches marked her cheeks, and her eyes were bloodshot.
He couldn’t tell if she had been crying or was tired.
~Crying,~ was Satrin’s disgusted response. Kalen got the impression the comment was meant only for him. A moment later, the Yadesh stuck his head through the flap. ~May I come in, Captains?~
“Of course,” Silvereye replied. “Make space.”
Delaven and Moritta shifted the excess stools out of the way to make room for Satrin. After snatching the cloth from the table, Derac wiped down the Yadesh’s legs and hooves.
With a long sigh, Lord Delrose settled on a stool. The Knight chose to remain standing, straight and stiff, refusing to look at anyone other than Captain Silvereye.
“Captain,” his sire greeted in a tired voice.
“Captain Blackhand and I have questions for you about Kelsh.”
The Knight’s eyes widened in surprise, and her gaze drifted from those gathered until settling on him. “You’re Captain Blackhand? But you said you’re a Rifter.”
Kalen arched a brow and stared at her until she lowered her eyes.
After clearing his throat, Captain Silvereye said, “Mithrian companies, such as this one, do not care about the circumstances of one’s birth. Rifters are cunning men, and their horses are worth their weight in gold, Princess Tala.”
Tala stiffened, lifting her chin. “Captain, I—”
“Enough, Your Highness,” his sire snapped. Kalen arched his brow at the annoyance in the man’s voice. “I told you this several times. You can’t pretend you aren’t who you are, not with these men. I already informed you that the Yadesh had told them.”
The Knight’s cheek twitched. “Very well, Council Member Delrose. Captain Silvereye, Captain Blackhand, what do you want with us? Why do you insist on holding us hostage?”
Lord Delrose sighed again. “Your Highness, if we were hostages, they wouldn’t let us freely wander the camp.”
“They won’t let us leave; that makes us hostages.”
The two glared at each other. Kalen rubbed his forehead, feeling his headache worsen as the pair snarled at each other.