by R. J. Blain
“Hellfires, Breton. It’s not that bad.”
His Guardian did not look amused. “It’s not?”
“The last time I underestimated how sharp Gorishitorik is,” Kalen replied in as solemn a tone as he could manage. The time before that, which Breton didn’t know about and wouldn’t, if he had anything to do about it, had been even worse.
“Pardon my interruption, but what are you talking about?” his sire asked.
“You’ll see in a moment,” Kalen said, cringing a bit at the plate before turning to Breton. “Try not to tear your hand up too much. Hold this.”
His Guardian muttered something rude under his breath but obeyed, seizing the dagger’s barbed hilt. Bracing for the inevitable pain, Kalen pressed his palm to the edge of the dagger, applying pressure until his blood dripped freely from the cut. Murmuring the writing on the plates, Kalen pressed his hand to the center of each plate. The First’s approval warmed him.
Golden light radiated from the carvings. With a flash of white, the Rift King’s sigil turned black, silver, and gold. As he invoked the final words of the chant, the wood took on a silvery hue.
Slicing open the tip of his finger on Verishi’s dagger, he streaked his blood around the rim of each plate. Flipping the first plate over, he inscribed a temporary sigil to the Rift’s primary plate in his blood and placed the second plate on top of it.
The plate vanished in an aura of golden light.
“Missive, missive,” Kalen muttered, shaking his hand to dispel the tingling the magic caused. After rubbing his bloodied hand against his trousers, he grabbed a sheet of parchment and quill. His sire opened the jar of ink and held it for him.
Ignoring the tired shaking of his hand, Kalen wrote a short letter. It was Breton who flipped the first plate over so he could press the folded parchment against the central seal and press his oozing finger to the rim.
The sheet vanished. With a satisfied nod, Kalen set aside the writing tools and staggered to his feet. After taking the dagger from Breton, he offered it to Verishi, who took it with a smile. “Breton, I’m going to sleep. When they reply, wake me if it’s really important. Otherwise, tell them I’m occupied.”
Sighing his annoyance, his Guardian nodded and picked up the plate. “What’s the price for missives?”
“Any colored stone will do,” Kalen murmured, nodding to the jeweled ritual dagger. “Thanks, Verishi. That helped a lot.”
The girl’s smile was radiant. “Of course, Horse Lord.”
Kalen, with Breton hovering over him and clucking disapproval, somehow managed to find his tent before surrendering to exhaustion.
~~*~~
The Rift King slept in a sprawl, half of him on the cot while the rest of him draped off the side. Breton marveled that his foal hadn’t ended up on the canvas-covered ground.
“How elegant,” Maiten said with laughter in his voice, his friend poking his head into the tent.
“So very dignified indeed,” he murmured in wry agreement.
With a rustle and pop, another parchment appeared on the plate, which Breton added to the ever-growing pile. He scowled at the work, most of which would require his foal’s attention.
“Why don’t I get him situated while you start going through that mess?”
Disgusted, Breton watched three more sheets blink into existence on the plate, and by the time he moved them to the stack, several more appeared. “We’re going to need more than one slate to handle this,” he complained.
It didn’t surprise him. While the Rift often covered for his foal when he left on one of his rides, it had been almost three months since the Rift King had vanished.
“I sent Ceres to find us a table, though I suspect someone could make us one if we asked.”
“I don’t think making a table is that easy, Maiten.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me. This company has some really skilled people.”
Breton sat down at the foot of the cot while Maiten tucked a blanket around his foal’s limp form. One by one, he unfolded the parchments and sorted them into piles by importance.
Maiten sat at Breton’s feet, grabbing half of the stack. “This is almost as bad as when he decides he needs fresh air,” his friend grumbled, waving one of the missives in the air. “No, it’s worse. They’re all the important ones, aren’t they?”
“Looks like it. At least the Princesses wrote up a summary of the non-critical issues. Oh, this one’s from Riran,” Breton said, pausing to read the note. “Ah, this is good. She’s started writing up missives declaring that the Rift King has been kidnapped—in my handwriting. She wants approval to send them.”
“I can’t believe we’re going through with that idea. It’s madness. Anything worth waking him over yet?”
“Not yet,” was all he could say, glancing at his sleeping foal. “You’d need vellest to wake him up at this point.”
Maiten winced. “Let’s not even think about it, lest he remembers he can ask for it. It’s been long enough that he probably doesn’t crave it anymore, right?” Throwing down one of the sheets, Maiten snatched up another. “It’s one thing when he’s safely guarded in his study. If he overdoes it, it’s not like we can’t deal with it. But here? The enemies will see it as weakness and our allies won’t understand.”
“What won’t they understand?”
“Vellest.”
“I think you’d be surprised. What we don’t need is him shaking himself to pieces,” Breton replied.
“Think we’ll be able to keep him from using it?”
“Old habits don’t die so easily. I think it’ll depend on the circumstances. Let’s start by going through the notes the Princesses sent first. Maybe no one has noticed he’s left the Rift.” After picking out all of the summaries, he settled down to read. “You know something, Maiten? In a way, I’m relieved he made the plates. It wore him out, but why would the untrue report of his sire’s demise spur him into doing it? He had a reason. He’s up to something.”
While Breton had learned to know when his foal was scheming, he could never guess what the Rift King was planning in advance.
“He’s always up to something. I thought you had figured that out by now. You named him far too well, old friend. Do you know what he wrote?”
Breton shook his head. “He didn’t give me a chance to read it.”
“And thus you believe that he’s up to something? He might just be anxious to return to work. He hasn’t been able to do anything for weeks. You know him, he hates leaving work undone.” Maiten snatched several newly arrived parchments from the plate, skimmed each one, and put them on their appropriate piles. “Think about it this way, at least he’s getting some sleep.”
“So he is. We could all use it, though. I can probably handle this on my own if you want to grab some rest before tonight’s entertainment,” Breton offered without looking up from his reading.
“Entertainment? Oh, you mean the archery lessons?”
“I’m sure I’ll be entertained watching this disaster in the making,” he replied solemnly.
Maiten chuckled. “It’ll be fun watching Princess Tala’s expression when she realizes he can use a bow with one hand. It’ll be even more enjoyable when she realizes he’s not a bad shot, either.”
“I wonder if the plate can handle sending his bow,” Breton asked with a thoughtful hum. He grabbed the box of writing supplies he’d pilfered from Lord Delrose and scratched out a quick note. “They sent a pouch of gems for us. Send that off, would you?”
Maiten dug out a red shard from the black pouch beside the plate and took the parchment. Once the stone touched the plate, the sheet vanished. “That’ll drive a few back home insane, you know. I know a few enjoy watching him with that little bow of his almost as much as they enjoy his singing.”
Chuckling a bit, Breton nodded his agreement. “He’s something special, isn’t he?”
The Rift King’s bow landed on the plate with a clatter. Breton chuckled. “Seems like th
e plate can.” It surprised him, considering the plate was far smaller than the short, lightweight bow. Several moments later, a bundle of arrows arrived. They had special notches to make it easier for the Rift King to use his teeth when firing his bow.
Maiten smiled. “Your foal definitely is something special. All right, if you’re certain you can handle this on your own, I’ll rest and relieve you in a few hours.” Rising to his feet, Maiten groaned and stretched. “I’m jealous of him, really.”
Before Maiten could leave, Anrille stepped inside, her arm still in a sling. Her gaze focused on the Rift King, and her scowl gave her an old, withered look. “I’m supposed to report.”
Maiten stiffened. “You know, Breton, I think I’ll help with those papers after all. A little less sleep won’t kill me.”
“Have a seat, Anrille,” Breton said in Mithrian, pointing the parchment in his hand at the stool farthest away from his slumbering foal. “I’m Breton, and that’s Maiten. You can report to us, and we’ll handle the rest.”
“You know, your Mithrian has gotten a lot better,” Maiten said in Rifter.
“I know who you are, Guardian,” Anrille replied, sinking down on the stool. “I have a question.”
Breton watched her, allowing himself to frown. After letting the silence stretch on, he nodded and said, “Ask your question.”
“Why didn’t he kill me?”
After exchanging a long look with Maiten, who sat with the tension of a serpent poised to strike, Breton glanced at his foal. The Rift King showed no sign of waking.
“Should he have killed you?” he asked, his tone cold.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Why?”
“I would have killed him, had he not stopped me.”
Maiten’s hand dropped to his sword. Breton set aside his missives, meeting the woman’s gaze without rising from the cot. “And why is that?”
“I was ordered to.”
“You were ordered to,” Maiten echoed, drawing an inch of steel.
“Yes.”
“You’re either lying, insane, or have a really good reason to tell us this,” Breton hissed through clenched teeth. “I should take your head for even thinking about hurting him.”
Anrille remained seated, her posture relaxed. “I’m aware.”
“You prey on others.” With a click, Maiten slid his sword back in its sheath, though he didn’t let go of the hilt. “What are your intentions? Who ordered you? Why?”
Breton trembled from a mixture of rage and anxiety.
“I will tell you, but under one condition,” she whispered.
“What is your condition?” Breton wanted to wrap his hands around her throat and shake the information out of her, but he forced himself to sit still.
“You must protect me.” Anrille glanced over her shoulder at the tent’s flap. “In exchange, I will tell you everything I know.”
“So why are you telling us now?” Maiten was also shaking.
“He lived. I scratched him, and he lived.” After a short pause, Anrille’s gaze settled on his foal.
“You did what?” Breton rose, balling his hands into fists. “You scratched him with what?”
“Vellest.”
A snort burst out of him and the tension flowed out of his muscles. “How’d you scratch him?”
With a flick of her wrist, Anrille revealed a leather bracelet lined with sheathes. With another flick, she snatched a dart between her fingers. “With these. I hit him on his shoulder near his neck.”
“Confirm it, Maiten,” Breton ordered without looking away from the woman. With slow, exaggerated movements, she returned the dart to its sheath. “You’re a black hand, aren’t you?”
Maiten shifted his weight, his gaze fixed on the Mithrian. “I might wake him.”
“Are you a foal? Just do it; you’ll be fine.”
Muttering curses, his friend sat on the edge of the Rift King’s cot, pulling away the blanket. His foal didn’t stir when Maiten shifted him to look at his shoulder and neck. “There’s definitely a scratch. It’s a small one, but she pierced him for certain.”
Breton frowned, narrowing his eyes as he fought against his initial desire to skewer the Mithrian. “It is in your better interest to start talking, Anrille. If I don’t lose my temper, he will.”
While he meant the Rift King, his fellow Guardian grunted his agreement.
“I am one of twenty black hands,” she said, lifting her head.
Breton sucked in a breath. “You belong to the Danarites.”
“Yes and no. I will belong to you, if you will give me your vow of protection. Give it to me, and I will tell you all I know.” Anrille kept her chin up, although she refused to meet his gaze.
“I give my vow,” Maiten said before Breton could stop him.
“I was ordered to prove whether or not the Rift King was present in the camp. Should I find him, I was to test him. Should I prove his presence, I was ordered to capture him,” she reported in an even tone. “As the Rift King cannot be killed by mere poison, it is how I am to confirm his identity.”
“So you used vellest,” Breton murmured.
“The Canyon Serpent can’t be killed by such venom.”
“Canyon Serpent?” Maiten snorted. “That’s a new one.”
“There was enough to kill three men on my dart.”
“You have more vellest?” Breton asked, glancing at his foal.
Instead of answering, Anrille reached into a belt pouch and pulled out a small bag, tossing it to him.
“Well, I guess you can wake him then, Breton. This changes things.” Maiten drummed his fingers against the hilt of his sword. “What do you want to do?”
“Anrille, with our vow for your protection, would you submit to a truthseer?”
“Yes.”
“Maiten, would you go find Captain Silvereye and Satrin, please?”
“Satrin?” Anrille asked.
“A Yadesh. He will keep your secret and tell us the truth of your words.”
“Very well.”
Maiten hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“I can protect him while you are gone,” Breton replied.
“I’ll bring my colt as well,” his friend said, easing his way by Anrille. “Touch either one of them, Anrille, and you will live to regret it.”
“You have my sworn oath; I will bring no harm to them,” was the woman’s calm reply.
Snarling curses, Maiten left Breton to guard his foal from an assassin.
Chapter Twenty-Three
A hand on Kalen’s shoulder drew him from his sleep. Confusion froze him as he tried to sort through reality and the remnants of his dream.
“Hey, little foal, time to wake up,” Breton whispered in his ear.
Kalen cracked open his eye, deliberating if he had the energy to scowl at his Guardian. The First grumbled something incoherent.
“What is it, Breton?” he mumbled. The scent of freshly brewed tea roused him, and as he sat up, Breton handed him a steaming mug.
“Anrille has something to say to you.”
The weight of exhaustion numbed him, and when he took a sip of the tea, the tingle of vellest coursed through him. His eyes widened in surprise, and he jerked to stare at Breton, who grimaced and shrugged.
Maiten, Delaven, and Breton hovered near his cot, while a scowling Captain Silvereye glared at Anrille, who was seated on the far side of the tent. The tense stances, and the fact that Maiten stood with his hand on his sword’s hilt, drove away the last of Kalen’s lethargy.
“What’s going on?” he demanded.
“It seems Anrille was trying to do more than scare the life out of you,” Maiten snarled. Kalen gawked at his Guardian, unable to remember the last time he had heard the man so angry.
“I know.” Kalen handed the mug to Breton before rubbing at his neck. “I felt her do it. Since she didn’t do any harm, I decided to ignore it.”
As one, all of his Guardians sighed.
&
nbsp; “Kalen,” Breton rumbled, thrusting the mug back at him.
“Breton,” he replied, taking another sip of the poison-laced tea. “Why are you giving me this?”
“Because you need to be awake instead of falling over your own feet,” Breton replied, his tone and expression miserable.
“This is what you used, Anrille?” Kalen asked, swallowing down the rest of the tea. “It always ruins the taste,” he complained under his breath.
With another sigh, Breton took the mug from him.
When the woman didn’t say a word, he turned to his Guardians. “So, how did you all find out about it?” he asked stretching his legs.
“I told them, sir.”
“And why would you do something like that?” Kalen scratched his brow. “That’s counterproductive, isn’t it?”
“I was hired to kill or capture the leader of the Rifters. After I was dismissed, I returned to my hire and reported that I had successfully poisoned you, sir. They chose to believe I had killed you as I had not returned with you as my captive,” she replied, her expression neutral.
~Truth,~ Satrin announced, and Kalen sensed the Yadesh’s presence nearby.
“Interesting. And they believed you?”
“I spoke the truth, sir. I, as ordered, used three measures of vellest. I struck you true. I don’t miss my mark.”
~Truth,~ the Yadesh confirmed.
“That explains how you got behind me without my noticing. You’re a black hand.”
Anrille nodded. “I was ordered to destabilize the leadership and serve them as a spy, sir.”
~Truth.~
Despite the dose of vellest, Kalen wanted to roll over, cover up with the blanket, and go back to sleep. “Why are you telling me this? Captain Silvereye looks ready to strangle you.”
“They will kill me anyway,” she replied, her body as relaxed as was her tone. “I would rather die serving you than them.”
~Truth.~
“Don’t kill her Silvereye. Sit down before you do something we’ll regret,” Kalen said, turning his attention to his co-captain, who sat without saying a word. “All right, Anrille. I think you need to tell me the whole story.”