Kingdom of Storms

by Jasmine Walt

  “Two years,” she said, her face growing sad again. “She would probably still be alive, if not for you.”

  “For me?” Tariel asked, taken aback. “What do I have to do with this?”

  The little girl shook her head. “Don’t be upset,” she said. “I’m not angry. You were wronged too.”

  She reached for Tariel, and Tariel shivered, not certain if she should back away or not. But just as the girl’s ghostly fingers brushed against her hand, twigs snapped beneath horse’s hooves.

  “Blast it!” she swore under her breath as the girl disappeared. Tariel had wanted to ask her what she’d meant when she’d said the plague was her fault, but there was no time to call her back. Her skin prickled with nerves, her instincts telling her that foes approached. Darting out the back of the house, she gauged the distance to the barn, wondering if she could make it back in time to disguise Riann and Calrain. But the riders emerged from the forest, their armor glinting in the moonlight and illuminating Roisen’s insignia on their shields.

  Heart pounding, she scampered up a tree to hide, and watched as they spread out, searching the village. Zolotais was no longer standing outside the barn—she had likely gone inside to warn Calrain and Riann of the intruders. The soldiers were wary, having come to the same conclusion as Tariel had about where the inhabitants had gone, but even so, it was not long before two of them dragged Calrain and Riann out by the hair, bruised and sporting bloody lips. Rage thundered through Tariel’s blood at the sight of her men being injured and roughed up by the witch hunter’s knights, but there was nothing she could do about it. She did not have enough power to make all of these men fall asleep at once, and she dared not try anything more complicated from this distance.

  “Looks like I’ve found two out of three,” Sir Jerrold sneered as he loomed over them. Two of his knights held Calrain and Riann fast, while several others stood at the ready, closing off any possible escape routes. “Where is that witch friend of yours? I know she must be around here somewhere.”

  “Witch friend?” Calrain sputtered. “Why would we befriend a witch?”

  The knight holding Calrain clouted him on the ear. “Enough of your lies!” he spat. “Tell Sir Jerrold the truth! The Prime Witch Hunter sees all.”

  Sir Jerrold narrowed his eyes. “Don’t speak of me as if I were a god,” he said, pinning the knight with a fierce stare. “I am a good tracker, but my skills are entirely due to Roisen’s blessing. He is the one who sees all. I am merely the vessel he uses to mete out justice.”

  “Yes, sir,” the knight said, bowing his head.

  Sir Jerrold smirked. “You’ll have to forgive Mirald,” he said to Riann and Calrain. “He is the newest of my hunting party. Even so, he has enough skill with a blade that he can slit your throat if you don’t tell me the truth,” he added, his voice lowering to a menacing growl.

  “I swear upon my mother’s life, I am not lying,” Calrain said, and he spoke with such conviction that Tariel would have believed him had she not known the truth. Had he been given to a troupe of performers rather than left at the steps of the Brotherhood’s monastery, Tariel thought he might have made quite a good living at being an actor. “We are not traveling with a witch.”

  “Who is this witch, anyway?” Riann demanded. “And why would you think we are traveling with her?”

  “I’ll ask the questions,” Sir Jerrold barked, his eyes flashing. “If you did not run away with the witch, then why are you two out here?”

  “We did run off,” Calrain said, “but not on account of any witch. I grew tired of my master’s treatment of me and decided to leave. I am done with letting him work me to death, and starving and beating me on top of it. Three times now he has denied me my promotion, which is well overdue. If he will not allow me to join the Brotherhood, then I see no reason why I should continue to serve it. My years of apprenticeship are long over—there is no reason I should not be free to leave.”

  “And you?” Sir Jerrold demanded of Riann. “What is your excuse for abandoning your lord? Were you not just recently promoted to knighthood?”

  “Yes, and I had planned to return,” Riann said stoutly. “But Calrain is my friend, and I could not let him run off alone in the night without protection. My plan was to escort him to the capital, and then meet up with my fellow knights, who should have left for the capital already. I was originally meant to go with them anyway,” he added sourly.

  A kernel of truth makes the lies taste sweeter, Tariel thought. Bits of both Calrain’s and Riann’s stories were true, giving their emotional reactions an authenticity. If they made it out of this alive, Tariel would have to kiss them both soundly for not cracking under the pressure.

  Sir Jerrold curled his lip. “What a spoiled brat you are,” he said, backhanding Riann with his armored hand. The cut on his lip split even wider as his head snapped back, and blood gushed down his chin. “Running off and neglecting your duties merely because your lord refused to indulge you.”

  “As a newly minted knight, it is my right—”

  “You have no rights.” Sir Jerrold backhanded him again, then struck Calrain as well for good measure. Tariel clenched her hands into fists as magic crackled at her fingertips. She wanted to leap from the branches and charge at Sir Jerrold, but she could not risk revealing her position. “Your stories would seem plausible, but for the fact that we found an extra bedroll, and you have three horses. How do you explain that?”

  “It is always prudent to take extra provisions,” Calrain said quickly. But even he seemed to know the explanation was flimsy. “And we needed an extra horse to carry them, of course.”

  Sir Jerrold snorted. “An answer for everything.” He shook his head. “Your needs do not supersede the law. Stealing horses is a capital crime, punishable by hanging. We will take the both of you back to Tyrook Castle for a proper interrogation, and put you both on trial then.”

  Sir Jerrold had Calrain’s and Riann’s hands bound with sturdy rope, then ordered his men to search the village again for any sign of Tariel. Tariel held her breath as she watched the knights scour the homes, but they did not find anything out of sorts. She thanked the gods she was wearing the sole dress that she had brought along—if the knights had found women’s clothing in the loft, they would have known for certain Calrain and Riann had not traveled alone.

  “Don’t forget to check the trees and bushes,” Sir Jerrold barked as the horses were rounded up.

  Tariel’s heart sank—she had prayed the horses would be set free so that she might find them later, but it appeared that Sir Jerrold planned to take them along. She supposed she couldn’t blame him—the warhorses would fetch a pretty penny if he didn’t decide to keep them for himself.

  A knight approached Tariel’s tree, and she quickly waved a hand, casting an illusion. The bulky man squinted up in the trees as Tariel held her breath, but fortunately for her, all he saw was a squirrel staring down at him from the branches.

  “Nothing here,” he called, lumbering away. Tariel let out the breath, but the tension in her shoulders did not fade away as they tied Calrain and Riann to the backs of the warhorses, trussed up hand and foot. She would need to find a way to free her men from these monsters before they got back to Castle Tyrook, or they would meet the same fate Tariel herself had been so desperate to avoid.

  19

  Blast it, Calrain thought for what had to be the hundredth time that evening. His wrists and ankles were rubbed raw by the harsh rope, and his chest was so tight with anxiety he felt as if he could barely breathe. The horse’s jarring gait did nothing to make him more comfortable—he was tied across the back of a saddle like a sack of potatoes, only far less useful.

  He turned his head to meet Riann’s gaze. The knight’s blue eyes were brimming with frustration, and he didn’t look to have made any headway with his bonds either. The knight who had bound them was good with knots, evidently.

  “I can sense her,” Riann whispered. Calrain could barely hear hi
m over the pounding of the horse’s hooves, but luckily he was close enough that he could guess most of what Riann said by reading his lips. “She’s coming after us.”

  Calrain turned his attention inward, toward the bond. Sure enough, he could feel Tariel closing the distance between them. But she was moving slowly, likely on foot, since Sir Jerrold had taken all their horses. There was no hope that she would catch up to them.

  Was this really their fate? To be carried back to Castle Tyrook and executed, after all they’d gone through to be free? Anger boiled in Calrain’s blood as he stared ahead at Sir Jerrold’s shining helm. The bastard had failed to find Tariel, so he was taking it out on them. Calrain supposed that under other circumstances, he would be glad that the witch hunter had turned his attention away from his beloved, except that Tariel was coming after them. How long would it be until they caught her, too?

  The party rode in silence for several hours before stopping in a clearing to make camp for the night. Calrain and Riann were tied to a tree, the burls in the trunk digging into their backs while the rope chafed at their skin. They sat just far enough from the fire to be denied its warmth, while the rest of the knights joked and laughed and filled their bellies with roasted meat.

  “I hear the witch we’re after is quite a beauty,” one of them said in a leering voice. “Dark hair and curves that go on for miles.”

  “Of course she’s beautiful,” another one scoffed. “All witches are. They use their wiles to entice men and blind them to their wicked ways. How else do you think women get away with such latitude in the Maroyan Empire? Heathens, the lot of them.” He shook his head in disgust.

  A third man shrugged. “They may be heathens, but I bet their twats are just as warm and wet as any other woman’s. I’d like to have a go at her, make her scream a bit before we send her to hell.”

  “You’ll get to hear her scream plenty once she’s burning on the stake,” Sir Jerrold growled around a mouthful of meat. His narrowed eyes gleamed like black coals in the firelight. “You lot should know better than to dip your wick in a witch’s cunt. There’s no telling if she might contaminate you with her magic, or put a curse on your family.”

  A visible shudder rippled through the men, and they said no more about it. Riann, who had tensed up beside Calrain, his hands clenched into fists, relaxed visibly, and Calrain let out a quiet sigh of relief. He hoped Tariel would stay out of harm’s way, but if they did capture her, at least she would not be raped.

  “Of course, I said nothing about torturing her,” Sir Jerrold continued. He grinned viciously at the men, who cheered. “The people should see what happens when a real witch uses magic on her fellow men. By all accounts, she bewitched the servants and the soldiers into a magical slumber to escape. That alone should merit several lashings before we burn her.”

  “Those vile bastards,” Riann snarled, straining beneath the rope. His muscles bulged beneath his jerkin, and to Calrain’s surprise, the rope began to fray. Experimentally, he strained against the rope as well, and it loosened even more.

  “Wait!” he hissed, nudging his elbow against Riann. The knight immediately ceased moving. “If we do this now, the others will notice.”

  Riann nodded, his eyes lighting with understanding. “We’ll wait until after they’ve gone to bed,” he murmured.

  The two of them rested their heads against the trunk of the tree, conserving their strength. Calrain’s heart hammered with fear and excitement as they waited. A few days ago, he would have never been able to break free of this rope, but making love to Tariel had strengthened them both. Calrain wondered if, with proper training, he might even be able to hold his own against the other knights. But tonight was not the night to test that theory, especially since they did not have weapons.

  Eventually, the knights retired to their bedrolls, and loud snores filled the air. Calrain twisted his neck to the left and saw a single knight still awake, taking first watch. He was seated beneath the boughs of a tree a few paces from the fire, but though they were within his line of sight, his eyes were on the road.

  “Do you have a blade on you?” Calrain muttered to Riann.

  “A small knife, tucked in by my inner thigh,” Riann said. “I should be able to reach it once we’re free.”

  “All right.” Calrain sucked in a deep breath. “I hope you’re a good shot, because we only have one chance.”

  The two of them strained against the rope again, flexing their muscles as hard as they could manage. The rope snapped under the force. Riann spun around, reaching into his pants. He popped up onto one knee and flung his knife at the sentry in one motion. The blade hurled end over end before sinking into the sentry’s throat. His eyes went wide as he clutched at the blade, slumping over sideways.

  “Hurry,” Riann whispered, rushing over to where all the luggage was piled. The two of them rifled through the bags, searching for their things. Relief swept through Calrain when he recovered his dagger and the pack that contained the abacus, and Riann grinned as he retrieved his sword.

  Calrain moved aside another one of the bags, looking for the one that held their coin. Unfortunately, that motion caused another one to topple over, and it landed on the ground with a loud thud.

  “Eh?” one of the knights said sleepily, and Calrain froze. “Hey, how did you two get free!”

  “Run!” Riann cried, turning tail. Calrain dropped the bag and sprinted after Riann as fast as he could manage. The two of them raced for the horses, who were already whinnying and stamping their feet in response to the commotion. But the knight who had seen them was fast, and in moments, he was on their heels, his sword swinging in the air.

  “Get the horses!” Riann cried, spinning around to face their attacker. Swords clashed, and Calrain’s ears rang as he put on a burst of speed. Fingers fumbling, he quickly untied two of the warhorses as Riann took care of the knight. He vaulted onto the back of his warhorse just in time to see Riann drive his sword through a second knight’s abdomen, the first man bleeding out on the ground. Neither of them had put on their armor, but from the noises Calrain heard from the camp, he knew the others would be suited up soon.

  “Come on!” Calrain cried as Riann whirled on his heel, racing for the second horse. But before Riann could get onto his own steed, an arrow pierced his calf, shot by one of the other knights. His roar of pain echoed through the cold, dark night as he stumbled forward, missing the horse entirely. Without thinking, Calrain reached forward and caught Riann by the arm, then hauled him up on the saddle sideways in front of him.

  “Yah!” he cried, digging his heels insistently into the warhorse’s flanks. Riann yelped as the steed sprang into action, and Calrain urged him toward the trees, zigzagging to avoid the arrows. The other knights were mounting up behind them, and they didn’t have much of a head start. Heart pounding, he leaned forward, pressing himself flat against the horse to make himself a smaller target.

  “Can’t you find a place to put your head that’s not my arse?” Riann shouted as they careened through the trees. “It’s hard enough for me to stay on here as it is!”

  “Quit complaining!” Calrain snapped. The witch hunter and his knights were gaining on them, their battle cries echoing through the forest. “If you fall off, I’m not stopping to haul you back up—hang on!”

  Calrain wrapped a free arm around Riann’s waist just as their horse sailed over a stream. The knight cried out in pain as the landing jarred his injury, and he would have slid off if Calrain hadn’t been holding him. His legs ached from squeezing the horse so tight, and he was thankful for his increased strength. They would have never made it this far if he had still been a weakling.

  “Calrain!” a familiar voice called, startling them both. Riann’s head snapped up, and Calrain’s heart soared as he glimpsed Tariel through the trees. She was standing just on the other side of a roaring river, seated atop one of the plow horses they had set free earlier. “This way!”

  “Run, Tariel!” Riann bellowed,
but she did not listen, standing firm. Calrain’s heart leapt into his throat as she raised her hand, and he urged his horse faster toward the bridge as purple light gathered in the center of her palm. His instincts told him he wanted to be safely on the other side for whatever she was about to do.

  “There’s the witch!” Sir Jerrold howled, his voice far too close for Calrain’s comfort.

  Calrain risked a quick glance behind him, and his heart froze. The witch hunter was not far, and one of the other knights was nearly close enough to behead him. His hand went to the dagger at his waist, wishing it was a sword, but Riann’s own blade hung at an awkward angle, impossible to reach.

  The enemy knight snarled when he saw what Calrain was about to do and swung his sword. The blade missed Calrain’s hand, but it did cut into the horse’s flank, and the animal screamed as blood spurted from the wound. The warm liquid splashed against Calrain’s leg as the frightened animal put on an unexpected burst of speed, finally reaching the river. The planks groaned and shook under their combined weight, and Tariel’s outstretched arms shook.

  Oh gods, he thought, realizing what she was about to do.

  The moment his horse’s hooves cleared the bridge, Tariel released her arms. The planks immediately fell apart, and the three horses and their riders who had made it onto the bridge screamed in terror as they fell into the raging river. Calrain wanted to look back and see if Sir Jerrold had been among them, but another arrow whizzed over his shoulder, and he dared not.

  “Let’s go!” Tariel shouted, turning her horse around. They galloped into the night, eager to put as much distance between themselves and the river as possible before the witch hunter and his men found a way around it.

  20

  Tariel rode like the wind, urging her plow horse as fast as she could manage. She used a bit of her magic to give the animal strength, and managed to push it far beyond its normal speed. Calrain and Riann rode neck and neck with her, the warhorse’s eyes rolling with terror as it raced to get away from the cruel knight that had so callously wounded it.