The Children of Wrath

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  “I can’t rip the bastard’s heart out?”

  “No.”

  “I hate you.”

  Matrinka smoothed her skirts. “You didn’t vow against your love for me.” She sighed. “Imagine what Kevral wants to do to him.”

  Tae thought it better to keep that picture from his mind.

  “He’s the king of Pudar, Tae.”

  “He’s mortal.”

  “That’s not the point.” Matrinka whirled back to face Tae. “I chose to tell you because I thought you could handle it without doing something crazy. He’s the king, Tae. Well-loved by his people and, other than this extreme lapse of judgment, fair. Assassination would not only create chaos in Pudar at a time when we need order, it would also spark war. If you’re caught, against Béarn and the East.”

  I won’t be caught. Tae did not speak the thought aloud. It still did not address Matrinka’s first point. “Who else knows about this?”

  “I haven’t told anyone.”

  “Not even Darris?”

  “No.”

  Flattered and appalled at once, Tae set Mior on the ledge and stood, brushing hair from his britches. “You have to tell Griff.”

  Matrinka paced in short, agitated ovals. “No, Tae. I shouldn’t even have told you. I violated the sacred oath of a Knight of Erythane.”

  Tae followed Matrinka’s jerky movements with his gaze. “You didn’t violate anything, Matrinka.” He turned his attention to Mior. Any creature with enough wherewithal to relay such specifics deserved direct acknowledgment. “You didn’t take a vow of silence, did you, Mior?”

  “Of course not,” Matrinka answered for the cat.

  “So what’s the problem?” Tae could not fathom Matrinka siding with the king of Pudar against Kevral and an unborn baby. Only his experience with her kindness and common sense kept hatred from blunting their long friendship.

  “Because no one sane is going to believe I learned that information from a cat.”

  “Thanks.”

  Matrinka made a chopping motion. “Present company excepted, of course. They’ll all believe Kevral or Ra-khir broke their word.”

  It still seemed insignificant to Tae compared to the abominable confidence they shared. “All right, Ra-khir and his accursed honor. But Kevral?”

  Matrinka spread her hands. “I’ve gotten enough from Mior to believe Ra-khir vowed for Kevral, too.”

  “One tornado containing another.”

  Matrinka shrugged. “Renshai honor’s strong as well.”

  Tae had to agree, though it took a much different form than that of the knights.

  “Ra-khir would lose his knighthood, his father’s trust, and others’ as well.”

  Tae entwined his fingers, imagining them clamped around Cymion’s neck. “Worth the price, in my opinion.”

  Horror stole over Matrinka’s features. “Look, Tae. If Ra-khir wants to sacrifice all that for cheap vengeance and to rescue another man’s baby from the life of a prince or princess, it’s his decision. I’m not going to be responsible for ruining his life.” Her dark eyes turned so fiery with threat, he did not recognize them. “And neither are you.”

  “Fine,” Tae said through gritted teeth. “But now I wish I’d never let you tell me. Had I spied it out on my own, I could have used the information.” He looked away, then suddenly back, wondering if he had discovered the reason why Matrinka had taken him into her confidence. He grumbled, “Shackled like a damned prisoner.”

  The edge left Matrinka’s eyes, “And now—”

  Tae could not let the matter rest. “So what are we going to do? Let Pudar get away with raping Kevral and stealing a baby that’s not even theirs?”

  “I don’t know, Tae.” Matrinka sounded tired. “We’ll have to handle it as best we can.” She pulled a stylus and paper from her pocket. “We need you to write a note.”

  “Why?” Despite the simplicity of the request, Tae could not keep sullenness from his tone. He could not let the previous issue rest.

  “In case something happens to you or your father calls you back suddenly. One potential war is enough, thank you very much.” Matrinka placed the writing implements on his desk and gestured for him to sit. “It’ll work best in your own handwriting.”

  Tae had already handled the matter, but he complied with Matrinka’s request. He scrawled in the trading tongue:

  Went with elves to help lift the sterility plague. I went voluntarily; don’t hold Béarn responsible if I get my fool self killed.

  —Tae Kahn.

  Tae looked up. “How’s that?”

  Matrinka hesitated, speechless. “Uh . . . a bit blunt. But workable, I suppose.” She fidgeted, obviously loath to interfere with Eastern convention. “Don’t you think he deserves to know about . . .” She trailed off, her intentions obvious.

  “Oh, yeah.” Tae added:

  By the way, you’re a grandfather.

  Matrinka turned Tae a stricken look. “You can’t do that. You have to give him details.”

  “Payback,” Tae said.

  “That’s cruel.”

  He shrugged.

  “Oh, Tae.” Disappointment tainted Matrinka’s voice. “Don’t let pettiness spoil your new relationship.”

  Tae stopped teasing Matrinka. “I’m kidding.” He crumpled the parchment and returned her the pen. “Both handled. I’ve already sent him two notes. He knows Subikahn nearly as well as I do.” He grinned. “Did you really think I was going to write the king of the Eastlands in Western trading tongue?”

  Matrinka flushed.

  Tae headed to the bed. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a council to attend, two tornadoes and a hurricane to tame, and a beautiful Pudarian healer who would laugh in my face if I tried to court her.” He hefted his gear.

  Matrinka blocked Tae’s path to the door. “Tae, that’s the third time this conversation I’ve heard you denigrate yourself.”

  Clasping the rolled blanket to his chest, Tae shrugged. “Once alley bait, always alley bait.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Tae adjusted his things to a more comfortable position. “I’m a criminal’s son, a street tough, a prison escapee, a shamelessly dirty fighter, and a thief—”

  “You’re not a thief.” Matrinka ignored the rest of the list. “You told us that, aside from food, you’ve only taken things twice. And you gave those back.”

  “What do you call someone who steals food?”

  Matrinka refused to answer.

  “Come on, Matrinka. What do you call someone who steals things? Returned or not?”

  “A thief,” she ventured softly.

  “Thank you. And I joined up with the rest of you only so you could fight my enemies for me.”

  “But after the others killed them, you stayed with us. You made sure we didn’t starve, in the woods or in Pudar.”

  Understanding dawned abruptly. “Mior told you about that, didn’t she?” He turned the cat a mock look of disgust. “Filthy spy.”

  Matrinka laughed. “She called you the same thing.”

  “Oh, yes,” Tae acknowledged. “Forgot that. I’m also a filthy spy.”

  All mirth left Matrinka. “Béarn’s royalty trusts you. The bard trusts you, and the Renshai found you worthy of siring one of their own. Kevral agonized over whether to marry you or a Knight of Erythane. How do you explain that if you’re so vile?”

  “I’ve duped you all,” Tae tried.

  “Uh-huh.” Matrinka shook her head, sighing. “All I’m saying is that you’re a prince now. An ambassador. And a father. You need to start acting like all of those.”

  “All right,” Tae finally agreed, not wishing to think about such issues now. The distance he had come since childhood frightened him, as if someone had implanted another man’s memories in his mind. “I’ll use doors instead of windows.” He motioned for her to move aside. “Starting now.”

  Matrinka complied. “You don’t have to change you
r personality, Tae. Nor even your endearing little habits.” She intentionally understated the danger of his feats. “Just learn to trust in yourself the way the rest of us do.” She added in the tone of a tutor lecturing a student working below his talent. “And not that swaggering, street-born, false bravado either.”

  Tae had always considered himself a loner, and the realization that Matrinka could read him so well sent a shiver through him. “I’ll try to live up to my title.” He opened the door, adding pointedly, “Your Ladyship.” He skittered through the door, hoping she had no intention of fulfilling her warning.

  Neither of them wanted his blood on her hands.

  * * *

  Elves lined the walls of the council room, gemlike eyes gleaming from canted sockets, angular features ranging from nearly human to just as nearly animal. Long limbs and odd muscular attachments gave them a gawky, adolescent look belied by the grace of even their slightest movements. Their hair colors ranged from elder white to inky, inhuman black, spanning every shade of brown and yellow between. Red predominated, from a strawberry blond that perfectly matched Ra-khir and Kedrin to scarlet highlights that graced the palest and the darkest. Captain occupied the farthest corner, deep in conversation with two other elves, a bronze-haired male with amber eyes named Chan’rék’ril and a slight, red-blonde female called El-brinith.

  Tae turned his attention to the humans milling in the room’s center. Kevral and Ra-khir stood together in conversation. Nearby, Darris studied the room as if to memorize every detail, which seemed likely to Tae. Eventually, the bard would immortalize their journey in song, and the minutiae he captured would bring the images so to life the listeners would feel every bit a part of it. He allowed his eyes to travel briefly over the strange female before alighting on the Northman who Matrinka had called Andvari. An ax girded his waist, and white-blond war braids dangled around a pale face lined with scars. The keen blue eyes slid toward Kevral and Ra-khir, then scurried away with an awkwardness that seemed uncharacteristic. The image otherwise so captured the stereotype of Northmen that Tae would have laughed if not for the perception of another stranger nagging at the edges of his consciousness. His brief glance at the Pudarian had given him only the impression of a child.

  Tae cursed the discomfort that would forever taint his dealings with the healer solely because Matrinka had attempted to pair them. It bothered him even to allow his gaze to tarry too long on her, but his learned paranoia would not allow him to leave a companion long unexamined. He forced his attention to Perlia.

  The Pudarian huddled in a wary crouch. Light brown eyes skipped restlessly over the elves, never still. Sandy hair hung in irregular clumps around a face that looked barely into its teens. A dirty cloak enwrapped a skinny body lacking curves, and her legs jutted like twigs beneath the hem. As if sensing his attention, her head swung toward him. Her lids narrowed, and she glared a quiet challenge. Full on, her face bore the victim-trying-to-appear-in-control look of a street orphan. He knew it well and also read the dense suspicion of one who had never learned to trust.

  Tae glanced casually away, playing a game he had come to hate. Irritation trembled through him, that Matrinka might believe him a match for a filthy, venomous child. He could not fathom how she could expect him to rally his self-esteem while comparing him to such as this. I was like her once, but no more. He headed toward his familiar companions, only then noticing the sturdy packs on the floor by their feet. Counting eight, he assumed one belonged to him. Hefting one, he stuffed his few personal items into it, tamping down foodstuffs, a rope, fire-starting materials, and other traveling “essentials.” The weight of it bothered him; he had grown accustomed to charging through the Westlands with only a utility knife, a blanket, and his wits.

  “Good morning, Tae,” Kevral said, an edge in her voice suggesting that she should not have had to prompt him. He had spent longer than he realized getting his bearings.

  “Morning, Kevral. Morning, Ra-khir.”

  Before the knight could respond, Captain’s khohlar filled Tae’s mind. *Ready?*

  Chan’rék’ril and El-brinith joined the nodding humans.

  Captain explained briefly, *There’re a lot of worlds out there. Some we know: Midgard and Asgard. Others, we don’t. Most are small, and only magic can get you there and back.*

  Tae glanced around his companions. Ra-khir fixed his attention on Captain. Kevral gave Tae an encouraging smile. Chan’rék’ril and El-brinith remained unreadable. Perlia huddled into herself as if to disappear. Andvari’s hand slipped to his ax, though his gaze held on Captain. Darris stared at the elves, breathless with expectancy.

  *Our magic will get you to the proper plane, but we have no idea what you’ll find there, other than a piece of the Pica. It’ll be up to Chan’rék’ril and El-brinith to bring you back once you’ve gotten the shard. We’ll study it to find the next location, then send you there.* Along with the words came a concept of tuning the spell to the eight sent so that the journeying elves could work a transport without a jovinay arythanik. *Any questions?*

  None followed.

  Captain’s next communication was clearly directed at the elves, a magical idea that made no sense to Tae. Darris’ brow crinkled, and a brown curl slid over one eye as he focused on the khohlar. Tae shook his head, glad he did not share the burden of insatiable curiosity. Until now he had never thought much about the suffering such an affliction caused on a daily basis. The inability to teach without singing seemed curse enough.

  The elves filled the room with dull and mellow sound, punctuated by Captain’s voice raised above the chorus of others. Again, he howled out harsh gutturals worthy of the Eastern language, but so unlike his usual melodic singsong. Tae had already learned much of the spritely elfin tongue just from overhearing conversations between them, its resemblance to Northern rendering it an easy lesson.

  The chant swelled, and Captain’s words seemed to fade to disjointed roaring. Suddenly, light speared Tae’s vision, aching through his retinas. He jerked backward, scuttling into a wary crouch. His eyes burned, utterly blinded, and he snapped his lids closed in delayed reflex. Bright, painful slashes scored the darkness, revealing nothing else. Something’s gone terribly wrong. He clawed at his lids, worried that he would never see again.

  A puff of wind stirring his hair warned Tae he no longer stood in Béarn’s council chamber. He forced his lids open, and light funneled in, dull comparison to what he had endured a moment earlier. Gradually, he made out trees bowing in a gentle breeze and his companions staggering and tearing at their eyes. Perlia clung to a trunk, attempting to hide terror behind a familiar sham of angry courage. Her broken-nailed fingers clutched as she fought the urge to paw at her face, and the twitchy movements of head and limbs revealed a lifetime, albeit short, of dodging predators. That’s no merchant healer.

  Taking advantage of the lost vision, Tae sidled up to Ra-khir and whispered. “Healer’s lying. Hit hard on who and what she really is.”

  “What?” Ra-khir said, jabbing his fingers into his sockets.

  “Quiet,” Tae hissed. “Just do it. Explain later.” He drifted away from Ra-khir, crouching at the edge of what he now recognized as a clearing. Deliberately, he worked his way to a distant position behind the Pudarian, careful never to draw within menacing distance.

  The youngster watched Tae warily, jerking her attention to Ra-khir as the knight approached. She took several halting back-steps.

  Kevral, Andvari, and Darris explored the edges of the forest, seeking danger. Trusting the Renshai to recognize and handle any threat, Tae leaned against a sapling, taking a position that gave Ra-khir a full view of him and the Pudarian none at all.

  Ra-khir cleared his throat. “Excuse me, lady. Who exactly are you?” He glanced at Tae.

  Tae exaggerated his gestures, giving a nod to indicate Ra-khir had the right idea, followed by a deep frown then several crisp jerks of his arm to encourage the knight to escalate his questioning.

  Ra-khir retu
rned a dangerous look that Tae read easily. The knight warned that his companion had best have a good explanation once he finished.

  “Pearly,” she said in the slushy dialect of Pudar’s streets. “Tol’ ya that oncet.”

  The knight cleared his throat. He towered over the little Pudarian. The mail he wore beneath his tabard added bulk to an already intimidating mass of muscle. “Ma’am, I don’t believe that to be the case.”

  Tae rolled his eyes, broadening his brisk upward motions. Don’t coddle, grill her.

  “Hain’t carin’ what ya ba’leev.” The Pudarian’s chin jutted, and she started to turn.

  Tae feigned engrossment in the brush.

  Ra-khir reached out a hand to stop her, and the youngster skittered away, cringing.

  “Doan tech me,” she warned, voice unwavering and stance coiled. “Lessen ya wants a dagger in ya han.”

  “You’re no merchant.” Ra-khir’s tone finally held the anger Tae sought, though it surely came of the Pudarian’s threat, not Tae’s request. “And no healer either.” He did not approach or try to reach for her again, but he did lower his head nearer to hers. “Who are you?”

  Kevral looked over.

  “Who are you?” Ra-khir demanded, louder.

  “Ra-khir!” Kevral reprimanded. “What are you doing?”

  “Git away!” The Pudarian yanked a short-bladed knife from a fold in her stained cloak and waved it wildly. “Git away or I’ll cut ya.”

  “Leave her alone.” Kevral hurried toward the confrontation.

  Damn. Tae tried to catch the Renshai’s attention, without success.

  Ra-khir retreated, glancing at Tae for direction.

  The Easterner waved his friend away. Though not the hassling he had wanted, it should serve well enough.

  “This isn’t over,” Ra-khir grumbled as he headed to the opposite side of the clearing with Kevral.

  “What got into you?” Kevral asked as they walked, then Tae heard nothing more. Shortly, Kevral glanced in his direction.

  The Pudarian glowered at their backs, still bristling, like a cat who has managed to bluff an enormous dog from a piece of meat.