by R. J. Blain
“Yes, sir!” Delaven spun on a heel and left the tent at a run.
Anrille rose, dipping into a bow. “Yes, sir.”
After they left, Kalen waited before saying, “Make sure she’s gone, Maiten.”
His Guardian stuck his head out of the tent. “She’s gone.”
“Okay, good. I guess it’s time to confess,” Kalen said, grinning at Silvereye.
“I’m not sure I like how happy you look right now,” his co-captain said.
“Good. You’re smart.”
Maiten sighed.
“What’s going on?”
“What do you know about the Silvered Hand’s captain, Silvereye?” Kalen asked.
“Less and less, apparently. Is Delaven truly her child?”
“And Maiten is his sire, yes,” Kalen said smugly.
“Are you serious?” Silvereye blurted.
“He’s mine,” his Guardian confirmed.
“While I was aware Captain Dela was married, I had not known her mysterious husband was a Rifter.”
Kalen grinned. “Rifters don’t marry, technically, but Maiten belongs to her, as she belongs to him, yes. If I can get them both together, they’ll be Court Mated, especially since I have a plate and Crysallis here.” He couldn’t keep his delight out of his voice.
“Kalen!” Maiten protested, turning as red as his hair.
“Look at him, Breton. He’s embarrassed.” Kalen grinned at his Guardian, who scowled back at him.
“So, I take it you’re acquainted with Captain Dela.”
Chuckling, Kalen nodded. “Acquainted? You could say that.”
“Kalen, you’re acting like you’re twelve. You are thirty. Behave so,” Breton ordered.
“Don’t ruin my fun.”
“By all means, have your fun, Captain Blackhand, so long as you explain to me why you are so excited over the Silvered Hand being here when they could easily kill us all. Also, please explain why you sent two of your Guardians to go meet with them.”
Kalen smiled. “It’s so simple. You’re smart, Silvereye. Why might I be so very pleased over this?”
The Mithrian’s eyes narrowed before widening. “You have them infiltrated? You’re not seriously implying that, are you?”
“If you want to know about the black hands, you use a black hand, Captain Silvereye. Captain Dela has been mine from the very, very beginning.” Kalen smirked. “It only took her five years to join the Shadow Council with her little army—all of whom are black hands, as is she. She’s amazing, isn’t she?”
Silvereye’s mouth opened, but no sound emerged. “They’re all black hands?”
“I thought it was obvious, all things considered.”
“Don’t feel too bad, Captain Silvereye. I didn’t know she existed either until recently,” Breton grumbled. “Some secrets he is far too good at keeping.”
“But Captain Dela is a Mithrian, not a Rifter,” Silvereye said with doubt in his voice.
“She may be a Mithrian, but she has belonged to the Rift since the beginning of my rule, Captain Silvereye. She is one of my most prized jewels.”
Captain Silvereye gawked at him for a long moment before laughing softly. “So that’s how you were so well informed, you little scamp. You disgust and amaze me. I never imagined she was one of yours.”
“That’s the idea, Silvereye. What’s the use of a hidden ally when someone knows about her? The Six will know soon enough, of course, which is why I’m telling you now. She’s ours, and the instant she finds out what has been done, she’ll turn on her Danarite and Kelshite allies, I promise you that.”
It would, Kalen hoped, finally even the scales between them. He had saved her, long ago, and it was now her turn to come to his aid.
He looked forward to watching her work.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Breton was relieved when his foal fell asleep listening to Captain Silvereye discuss relations—or the lack thereof—between the Crimson Eye and the Silvered Hand.
Captain Silvereye’s eyes widened. “What’s wrong with him? He’s been sleeping so much.”
“It’s fine,” Maiten reassured the Mithrian. “Looks like it really was stale, Breton.”
“So it seems.”
“Please explain,” Silvereye whispered as though worried of waking the Rift King.
“I’ll wake him up around dusk,” Breton said, sliding his arm under his foal’s back. After settling Kalen on the cot, he covered the slumbering Rift King with a blanket. “Vellest doesn’t erase the need for rest; it simply prevents it from happening. It tends to make him excitable, as you’ve seen. He’ll be fine in a few hours. The making of Guardians will have consequences for a few days yet.”
“I had noticed his enthusiasm. Once it wears off, he spontaneously sleeps?” Silvereye asked in disbelief.
“Those poisoned usually die,” Maiten corrected. “He’s special.”
“Guardian, that is not at all reassuring.”
Breton cleared his throat to prevent the two from arguing. “Captain, it would take a great deal more vellest than I gave him to cause him any problems. I could dose him with every bit of vellest in the Rift’s possession, and I doubt it’d kill him.”
“Please don’t,” Silvereye said in a strained voice.
“I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to give him any at all, but circumstances demanded it. Creating the plates takes a toll on him. I’d rather let him sleep until tomorrow, but I don’t think he’d want Anrille anywhere near the Delrose herd quite yet, not without him being present.” Uncertain of when the black hand would return, he sat on one of the stools between his foal and the tent’s flap. “He only trusts us so far. There are some things he wants to see for himself.”
“I’m starting to understand where we went wrong with him,” was the captain’s thoughtful reply. “I think I can ensure he’s kept busy enough from now on. I will also make certain he has a few black hands watching him closely.”
“Only a black hand will be able to stop another black hand, correct?”
“Exactly. I have a few people in mind. Hopefully he’ll get along with them, as they’ll be near him a lot.”
“Such as?”
“Lyeth is one. He may not look like much, but he’s the best I have.”
Breton felt his brows rise. “Lyeth is a black hand?”
“He’s not just a black hand; he’s one of the best I’ve ever seen. He’s been with the Crimson Eye since he was twelve.”
“Twelve?” Maiten asked in disbelief. “That young?”
“Orphans are commonplace in Mithrias, Guardian. Most become mercenaries like their parents. Those who do not often become Wanderers. Sometimes they become part of the guild overseeing the charters of companies, but it’s rare. The guild is where the lucky retire.” Captain Silvereye shrugged. “There are a few who choose a quiet life on the farmsteads. War is in our blood.”
“I always wondered what Mithrias would do if there was no need for mercenary companies,” Maiten said. “Dela always laughs when I asked her.”
Captain Silvereye chuckled. “There will always be a need for hired swords. Caravans need to be guarded, and there are dangers to traders other than men. Feuds between wealthy families will never die away. Even if kingdoms do not march to war, there will always be those who want to battle for what they believe in.”
Breton nodded, unable to argue against the Mithrian’s logic. “And when it’s needed, Mithrias is there, providing companies to the highest bidder.”
“Exactly.”
“And for that reason, there’ll always be a need for the Rift, too,” he muttered, wondering if the vicious cycle would ever come to an end.
“For the past fifteen years, I’ve been wondering if this Rift King could change that. I’ve wondered what Mithrias would be like if the hostilities between Kelsh and Danar faded away to nothing. There have been squabbles among the other kingdoms, but it’s been quiet, all thanks to him. We’ve fought wars, but among families, no
t among rulers—not until now.”
“He’s stubborn,” Breton said in way of agreement.
“So he is. I remember his predecessor all too well. He wasn’t sincere. He didn’t care if we fought among ourselves. I don’t think he cared at all about the fates of the kingdoms he was supposed to mediate peace for.”
“Kalen is not Arik.”
“And that’s a good thing. You both look about as tired as he does. Go to your tent and rest. You’re no use to anyone exhausted. Sleep while you can. Have someone fetch Lyeth and have him bring my work in here. Between the two of us, I think we can keep him safe.”
The command in Captain Silvereye’s tone matched the Rift King’s, and while Breton wanted to argue, he nodded. “You’re likely right.”
“What about Anrille?” Maiten demanded.
“What about her? I’ll send her to get some rest and make sure her arm is healed so Blackhand can continue with whatever he’s scheming. I won’t undermine his efforts, however much I’d rather be done with her. She won’t live long, so if Blackhand can make use of her until her hire has her eliminated, I won’t try to hinder his efforts. That said, I’ll be keeping a very close eye on her—and on him.”
Breton nodded, and with a final glance at the sleeping Rift King, he rose and left with Maiten following in his wake. There was a mercenary standing guard outside.
The Mithrian’s sword was drawn and ready. “I’ve already sent for Lyeth,” the man said before returning to his careful watch.
~~*~~
By the time Breton made it back to the tent he shared with Maiten, word had already spread about Anrille. Kalen’s twin foals were waiting for him, and at his approach, they stared at him with wide eyes.
“Is Father okay?” Ceres demanded.
“You know he is,” Breton chided in a gentle voice. “It was stale vellest.”
The younger Guardians stared at each other, their silence broken by Varest’s disgusted snort. “Vellest. Of course it was vellest.”
“Stale, and you’ll be pleased to know he’s already burned it off and is sleeping under Silvereye’s guard,” Maiten soothed. “Apparently we’re tired and need to rest too.”
“We are?” Ceres asked.
“So it seems. Captain Silvereye’s orders. He’s moving his work to Kalen’s tent and will have a black hand standing on guard for now.”
Ceres frowned. “There are no Guardians with him?”
While Breton hated admitting it, he replied, “We don’t know enough about black hands to defend against them. It may be best to let the Mithrians defend him for the moment.”
“Breton’s right. We don’t know how to fight black hands. We don’t know what we’re doing.” Maiten grumbled something under his breath.
“Then we learn,” was Ceres’s reply.
“Agreed,” Varest said.
“Kalen sent Delaven and Derac to meet with his Mithrian Akakashani. When Delaven returns, we’ll ask him to teach us,” Breton said, pushing aside the tent’s flap and slipping inside. “Your father is eager to be involved in as much as he can, so we’ll have to work around him.”
“With or without him knowing?” Varest asked suspiciously.
Breton allowed himself a small smile. “Without, of course. I want to see what he has in mind for Anrille working archery with the Delrose herd and that princess. But, there’s no reason we can’t make preparations of our own.”
“You’re right. You need to learn how to be a black hand to defend against a black hand,” Moritta said behind him, her tone smug. Breton felt a prick against his neck, and he froze. “This is what she did. She, however, did not politely announce herself before stabbing him. You will learn how to do this trick yourself. You will learn how to move without others noticing you. You’ll be seen only when you wish to be seen.”
Breton’s heart pounded in his throat. Once the pressure against his skin eased, he turned to face the Mithrian Guardian, rubbing at his neck. When he looked at his fingers, a small amount of blood stained his skin. “Let me guess, you’re a black hand.”
“I might be,” the woman replied, smiling up at him. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t poisoned. By rest, Captain Silvereye actually meant for me and a few others to beat many bruises into you as you begin to learn how to defend yourselves—and others—from people like me. You’ll want to rest after, but you will be attending the archery lessons.”
“How much can you teach us?” Ceres demanded.
“That depends on you and what you already know. It takes years to become a black hand. I don’t have years to teach you. But, I can teach you how to be aware of us more easily, to see intent you may not look for otherwise.” Moritta frowned, drew a breath, and sighed. “If I’m not mistaken, I believe Captain Blackhand already knows how to watch out for one of us. I do not know why he allowed Anrille to mark him.”
“Exhaustion,” Breton replied, considering what Maiten had told him. Not just physical exhaustion, but mental and emotional as well. It worried him, but until he found time to sit with his foal alone, he wouldn’t know what he could do about it, if he could do anything about it at all.
“I’d believe that. He’s worn ragged. Captain Silvereye will take care of him while I handle your instruction.”
“Do you ever rest?” Maiten asked while shaking his head. “You do everything. I have not seen you stop handling one thing or another the entire time we’ve been back.”
Pride lit the woman’s eyes. “I am good at what I do.”
“And you’ll be taking care of my foal,” Breton said, meeting Moritta’s gaze. “I expect nothing but the best from you.”
“He’ll have my best. He is my captain now.” Her expression went blank for a moment before her smile returned. “And you will give Captain Silvereye your best.”
“Don’t worry, Moritta. Breton doesn’t know how to do anything other than his best,” Maiten said, chuckling. “Please teach us everything that you can.”
“Come with me.” Without looking back over her shoulder to see if they obeyed, Moritta marched through the camp, leaving them to follow in her wake.
~~*~~
“Never let me agree to learn from a black hand ever again,” Breton groaned, collapsing onto his cot in a boneless heap. Across the tent, Maiten echoed his groan.
It had taken three men, dressed head to toe in black, their faces obscured, a little less than an hour to beat them into submission while Moritta watched. The woman was as ruthless as her companions, criticizing their every movement, right down to how they stood while waiting for their next pummeling.
It had been Ceres who had managed to counter one of the black hands during their hit and run attacks. Breton still hadn’t figured out how to notice the serpent-swift men before they struck, and neither had Maiten or Varest.
At Moritta’s curt command, she’d sent them all to rest and recover until they were ready to repeat the process while Ceres had remained.
Breton didn’t envy the younger Guardian at all.
“They move like Kalen does,” Maiten said, rolling over on his cot.
“You mean like an angry serpent who had eggs stolen from its nest?”
“Something like that,” Maiten agreed. “We should go check on him.”
“Captain Silvereye is with him. He probably isn’t even awake yet. Moritta already told us she’d be back for us an hour before dusk.”
“Unfortunately. What do you think about all of this?”
After a long moment of thought, Breton sighed. “I think Captain Silvereye was very right when he said we weren’t enough to protect him in a war.”
“I agree. But what can we do about it?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it? What can we do? The other Guardians are probably on their way here. If what happened in Morinvale didn’t turn them around, the making of new Guardians likely did.”
“His range isn’t nearly as far as Arik’s,” Maiten said, his tone worried. “Lately, I haven’t been able to sens
e him at all unless I’ve been really close to him.”
“We’ll find out soon enough if the others are coming.” The presence of the Rift King nearby was a warm comfort, but Breton couldn’t disagree with Maiten’s claim. If anything, over the years, his foal’s range had shrunk, allowing him to disappear from Breton’s senses almost in plain sight. What he didn’t know was if it was his foal’s doing or not.
It worried him, but it was yet another concern he couldn’t talk to anyone about. The Rift King had enough things to worry about, and if he didn’t know, he doubted any of the other Guardians knew either.
“What do you think he intends to do with Anrille?”
Breton muttered a curse. “At the very least, he’ll get as much information as he can out of her. Beyond that? He’ll try to save her, one way or another, despite knowing it’s futile.”
“If the Danarites don’t kill her the Mithrians will, won’t they?”
“I think so.”
“This is going to give me a headache if I think too much on it. Let’s sleep while we can, before that woman comes back to beat us some more.” Maiten rolled over and pulled his blanket over his head.
Breton could hear his friend spitting curses. Unable to help himself, he chuckled before getting what rest he could until he was subjected to Moritta’s teachings once more.
~~*~~
Breton woke to a weight against his chest. With a startled cry, he reached out, only to have his arm swatted with something hard.
“Stop that,” the Rift King demanded.
Cracking open a sleep-blurred eye, he saw his foal bent over him. The weight proved to be a slate, which Kalen was using to write on. Breton yawned and mumbled, “Don’t you have your own tent?”
“Silvereye took over mine,” his foal replied.
“Why are you awake? What time is it?”
“Not long until dusk. You should thank me. I told Moritta you were occupied. She took Maiten instead, deciding your being used as a table by me was punishment enough. Maiten declared I was showing favoritism, and that he hopes that I rot in the deeps for my tyranny.”