Battle for Peace: An Epic Military Fantasy Novel (The Silent Champions Book 2)

by Andy Peloquin

  Belthar’s stomach rumbled in appreciation as he, too, removed his mask and strode over to take a seat beside Noll. The scout had already snatched the spit from the fire and dug his knife into the meatiest of the birds. He’d barely put a piece of stringy dark meat into his mouth before he started panting.

  “Keeper’s teeth!” He gasped for air, fanning his face with his knife hand. “How the bloody hell can you eat it so hot?”

  “How can you not?” Belthar took a giant bite out of the next grouse on the spit, the one slathered in the bright red spices popular among the men of Eastfall. “Anything without spice is just boring. Like your dinner.” He slid the third grouse, which had a light dusting of salt and pepper, off the spit and handed it to the blowing, wheezing scout.

  “Water!” Noll sucked in deep lungfuls of air, struggling to breathe.

  “Behind you, fool.” Skathi gestured with an arrow to the waterfall beside which they had made camp.

  Noll was on his feet in a flash, whirling and racing the two steps to the cascade’s pool. He plunged his entire head, helmet and all, into the cool water and held it there for long seconds. When he finally came up for air, he was drenched, red-faced, and only fractionally less agonized than before.

  “Here.” Rangvaldr held out a long, thin stick. “Chew on this. An old Eyrr remedy.”

  Noll snatched the proffered stick and stuffed it into his mouth. He chewed with gusto, his face slowly contorting in disgust. “Blech!” He spat a mouthful of saliva, bark, and gnawed-up twig. “Tastes awful.”

  “Yeah.” Rangvaldr’s face was serious, but Aravon could swear he saw a hint of a smile tugging at the man’s lips. “That’s what does the trick.”

  For long seconds, Noll continued chewing, all eyes locked on him. Finally, a snort echoed from the cover of trees, a sound that shattered the calm. Rangvaldr descended into a fit of laughter, accompanied by Skathi, Aravon, and Colborn.

  Noll’s face deepened into a scowl and he spat the twig. “Very funny!” He fanned at his mouth. “Now I’m not only burning up, but I’ve got a mouthful of whatever the hell that was.”

  Rangvaldr doubled over, his booming laughter echoing through the small campsite.

  A slow smile spread Belthar’s face as he caught on. “What was it?”

  “A bloody stick!” The Seiomenn struggled to speak around his guffaws. “Just picked…it up off…the ground!”

  “Your face was priceless,” Skathi said, a broad, nasty grin stretching her face. “I’d give all the gold in Aegeos to have an artist immortalize that stupid look in stone.”

  Noll snarled a curse and rounded on Rangvaldr. “Traitor!” His eyes flashed. “And here I thought we were good after we saved each other back in the marshes.”

  “Way I remember it,” Colborn’s voice drifted from the shadows of the trees, “the Seiomenn here saved your ass. When, exactly, did you return the favor?”

  Noll’s scowl deepened. “That’s beside the point.” He gave a dismissive wave. “We had each other’s backs, and now you pull this?”

  “Forgive me, Noll.” Rangvaldr still struggled to contain his laughter, despite the scout’s angry face. “It was just too perfect to pass up.”

  Noll whirled on Aravon. “Can you believe this, Captain?” His eyebrows shot up. “I thought he’s supposed to be a holy man of the Eyrr! Little more than a juvenile prankster.”

  Aravon plastered a solemn expression on his face. “You’re right.” He stood slowly, fixing the scout and Seiomenn with a stern frown. “I’m disappointed in you, Rangvaldr. Especially because you knew this would be the cure for his problem.” He waved a handful of freshly-plucked grass in front of the scout.

  The Seiomenn’s laughter redoubled and he fell back, clutching at his stomach. Skathi, Belthar, and Colborn joined in, and a smile shattered Aravon’s mock severity.

  “Not you, too, Captain!” Noll threw up his hands. “Watcher’s beard, you lot are worse than a group of drunk one-legged Morris dancers. And that’s saying a lot.”

  “Don’t be a sore loser, Noll.” Belthar nudged the man’s leg. “You have to admit, it was pretty damned funny.”

  Noll glared at the big man. “Next time you’re the one with something of yours burning, we’ll see how funny you think it is.”

  “Ahh, but something tells me Belthar’s smart enough to stick with the cleaner bawdy houses,” Colborn’s voice drifted from the woods.

  Noll’s face darkened, but Belthar’s turned a bright red. His eyes darted to Skathi and a protest formed on his lips. But the archer was too busy laughing at Noll’s angry expression to notice.

  “At least I can count on Zaharis not to pull sneaky shite like that, eh, Secret Keeper?” Noll shot Zaharis a sidelong glance.

  The sound of his name seemed to snap the man out of his trance. His eyes lifted to Noll, a blank expression on his face, and his fingers moved in a silent, questioning hand gesture.

  “I said you wouldn’t pull anything sneaky on me, right?” Noll raised an eyebrow.

  “Sure.” Zaharis’ hand gesture was half-hearted, absent-minded.

  “Although, speaking of sneaky shite,” Noll pressed, “maybe it’s time you explain what in the fiery hell happened back there? Who in the Keeper’s name is Darrak and what does he want with us?”

  Pain flashed across Zaharis’ face. Confusion and puzzlement twisted the expressions of the three seated around the fire. A rustling from within the shadows of the nearby woods told Aravon that even Colborn had moved closer.

  “Tell him, Captain.” Noll never took his eyes from Zaharis. “Tell him he owes us the truth.”

  “Noll,” Aravon said, a warning tone in his voice. “Let him be. He will speak in his own—”

  “No!” Now the scout rounded on Aravon, eyes flashing. “I’ve held my tongue long enough. First, we got Colborn wailing drunk and partying with corpses, then Zaharis’ buddy nearly kills us.” He stabbed an accusing finger at Aravon. “You’re the Captain, so it falls to you to make sure everyone’s in their right minds and focused on the mission at hand. Right now, it feels like anything but!”

  Aravon opened his mouth to speak, but Zaharis cut him off with a slashing hand gesture. The Secret Keeper stood, slowly, his expression a mask of shadows and anguish. “You’re right,” he signed to the little scout. “I promised you the truth.” His head swiveled to face the rest of their small company. “I owe it to all of you.”

  “Truth about what?” Skathi sat up, her arrows and bow discarded as she leaned forward in curiosity.

  Zaharis’ fingers moved slowly. “About my reasons for being here. Not just on Fehl, but among all of you.”

  “Ice saffron, right?” Belthar rumbled.

  “Something to do with an elixir of some sort.” Skathi frowned in thought. “Elixir of Creativity.”

  “Elixir of Creation,” Zaharis corrected. He’d given a simple explanation on their journey from Bjornstadt to Gallows Garrison, after he’d broken away from the company and run off on his own. “And yes, that is the truth of what I am searching for. Yet you also deserve to know what I am running from.”

  Rangvaldr was the only one who didn’t appear surprised at the Secret Keeper’s words. The two had known each other before Zaharis joined Aravon’s small company; perhaps he’d shared more with the Seiomenn than simply a few dozen horns of potent ayrag liquor.

  “In my role as priest to the Mistress, I have uncovered many marvels of this world. Marvels that offer immense power in the right hands,” Zaharis explained. His expression grew grave. “What I did with the Watcher’s Bloom back at Anvil Garrison or the Dragon Thorngrass here at Rivergate, that was just a taste of what I’ve learned over the years of studying Fehlan flora and fauna.”

  “Still waiting for the part where one of your own tries to kill us,” Noll muttered.

  “As you know, the Temple of Whispers guards their secrets with fanatical zeal. They will kill to protect the wealth of dangerous knowledge gathered over the years.�
�� Zaharis’ shoulders seemed to droop beneath a heavy weight. “Even their own priests are not safe.”

  Belthar’s eyebrows shot up. “Your own…?” He let out a long, low whistle. “Swordsman’s bony elbows, that’s cold.”

  “Cold, and sometimes necessary.” Zaharis inclined his head. “It is not an understatement to say that some of the secrets locked within the Mistress’ temples around Einan and Fehl have the power to shape the world. Or destroy it.”

  “And you’ve got these secrets?” Skathi’s voice was tight, controlled. “Planning to destroy the world, are you?”

  Zaharis shook his head. “But that won’t stop my order from hunting me anyway. Temple policy.” His lips twisted into a frown. “Preserve the Mistress’ secrets at any cost.”

  “And Darrak?” Noll asked. “Where’d he come from?”

  “From my home in Voramis,” Zaharis replied. “When I was evicted from the priesthood, I fled the city to escape certain death. I came to Fehl because I believed it was where I’d find ice saffron, and because I hoped it was far enough away that I could remain hidden from the Mistress’ priests while I searched. Here, no one knew my face, my name, or who I was, save a select few I knew I could trust.” His eyes darted toward Rangvaldr, who hadn’t moved or spoken a word in all this time.

  “Until now.” A somber note echoed in Noll’s voice. “Darrak recognized you immediately. Mask and all.”

  Zaharis’ fingers flashed. “He recognized my alchemy. Secret Keepers are, in our own way, artisans and artists, masters of our chosen craft. For Darrak, it was always the study of legendary creatures. His drawings, produced from ancient depictions and the animals he discovered on his travels, were true masterpieces, all of which will never see the light of day. My art, however—”

  “Turning innocent plants into things that go boom.” Belthar’s lips quirked into a smile. “That was some art at Bjornstadt and Broken Canyon, no doubt about it.”

  Zaharis inclined his head. “My realm of expertise extends to all plant life, not just the ones that, as you say, go boom.” His finger mimicked the explosive pillar of fire that had thrown back the Eirdkilrs and brought down the walls of Broken Canyon.

  “We’ve all benefitted from your expertise, Zaharis,” Aravon said. “Hells, we’d all be dead without it.” He shot Noll a meaningful glance. It was no exaggeration; the Secret Keeper had saved them all on numerous occasions. Not just the six of them that marched alongside him, either. Both Jade and Topaz Battalions owed him for their survival.

  Noll seemed to understand the hint, and the sharp, angry edge to his face softened a fraction. “But now Darrak knows you’re here.” He raised an eyebrow. “Should we be expecting hordes of Secret Keepers to chase you?”

  “Us.” Zaharis’ face hardened. “Because of your association with me, my superiors at the Temple of Whispers will assume you’ve learned more of the Mistress’ secrets than they want getting out. If they find me, they’ll deal with you just the same.”

  Noll burst into a string of curses that had Belthar’s ears blazing as red as the glowing embers of the campfire.

  “So why in the bloody hell did we leave him alive, then?” The little scout rounded on Zaharis, eyes blazing. “We could have put an end to him then and there, blamed it on the Eirdkilrs!”

  “It wouldn’t have worked.” Zaharis’ face hardened, his teeth clenched so tightly his jaw creaked. “Too many people in Rivergate would have seen him alive after the battle. When the Secret Keepers came asking questions—and trust me, they will come hunting the truth of their priest’s death—they would find out about our presence just the same. Everyone in Rivergate saw what I had to do to turn the battle against the Eirdkilrs.”

  Zaharis had the right of it. His alchemy, setting the marsh water on fire, would doubtless remained burned into the memories of every Legionnaire and ducal regular in Rivergate. A detail like that would immediately arouse the suspicions of any Secret Keeper who dug into the matter of a Secret Keeper’s death.

  “The Secret Keepers will know it was me, one way or another. The only question is how long it will take them to find out.” Zaharis’ eyes darkened. “Killing Darrak would have delayed the discovery by a week, perhaps two. But when the Temple of Whispers learned the truth, their retribution would have been far worse had we taken Darrak’s life.”

  Of that, Aravon had little doubt. Secret Keepers had a reputation for savagery in their protection of the Mistress’ secrets. He could easily imagine how fiercely they would carry out their goddess’ punishment on any who dared to take a priest’s life.

  Yet, the look in Zaharis’ eyes as he stood over Darrak’s broken, senseless form had made the truth clear. There was history between the two men. Love that had endured—within Zaharis, certainly, and the way Darrak had hesitated indicated he, too, still felt the same—even after Zaharis was expelled from the Secret Keepers.

  “But…” Zaharis hesitated, his fingers faltering. After a long second, he managed to continue. “But, no matter the threat to my life—to our lives—” He winced at the words. “—I could never kill Darrak. Never stand to see him killed, not by my hand or any other outside the temple.” His gaze locked on Noll, meaning etched plain in every line of his face. “If it means I must disappear, must leave your company to protect all of you, so be it. But this is one line I will not cross.”

  A tense silence descended over the camp, broken only by the quiet splashing of the waterfall behind them. Long seconds passed as each of the soldiers around the fire contemplated Zaharis’ words. They all shared the same thought, Aravon knew—how would this new wrinkle affect their mission?

  If the Secret Keepers hunted them because of their association with Zaharis, their fight to protect the Princelands would prove even more difficult. However, the fact that they kept their identities a secret and were constantly on the move gave them a decent chance of staying ahead of their pursuers.

  Aravon had pondered the matter since riding out of Rivergate. He’d come to the conclusion that they needed Zaharis. Even if that meant they’d have Secret Keepers looking for them, Zaharis’ alchemical knowledge, ingenuity, and skill in battle had saved the day time and again.

  But he couldn’t make the decision for his soldiers. Couldn’t force them to accept the consequences of Zaharis’ choices and the danger inherent in the Secret Keeper’s presence in their company. He needed to give them a chance to come to their own conclusions, whatever they may be. Skathi spoke first. “Fuck ‘em.”

  Aravon’s head snapped toward the Agrotora. She hadn’t risen, but remained seated, eyes fixed on Zaharis. Yet there was no recrimination in her eyes, only calm acceptance.

  “Fuck them all in their tight-clenched arses.” Skathi’s words came out in a growl. “Let them come. They’ll find we’re not some shrinking violets that can be intimidated or threatened into hiding.”

  Aravon almost opened his mouth to contradict her—he’d fought beside Zaharis and against Darrak, and Secret Keeper combat skills were no joke. Yet, at that moment, the point she was making mattered far more than him telling her just how much danger she was in. After all, she’d faced Zaharis in the training ring and defended Bjornstadt with him. She had to know exactly what came for them.

  Skathi rose now, leaving her bow and arrows on the ground, and came to stand before Zaharis. “Like he said.” She jerked a thumb at Aravon. “We’d all be dead without you. Seems like the least we can do is stand by you when you need us.”

  Gratitude sparkled in Zaharis’ eyes, and a small smile pierced his stony expression.

  Skathi thrust out a strong hand. “Those brown-robed bastards mess with you, they’ll end up like my Nana’s pincushion. Agrotorae don’t abandon their friends, through fiery hell or rushing riptides.”

  Zaharis accepted her hand, the lean muscles of his forearm cording as he returned her grip.

  Belthar was next to his feet. “Let’s see how those Secret Keepers like the taste of axe.” He hefted his huge dou
ble-headed weapon in one enormous hand and clapped Zaharis’ back with the other. “We’ve got your back.”

  “So we do.” Rangvaldr shot Zaharis a reassuring smile.

  Colborn materialized from the shadows of the trees, coming to stand beside Zaharis. He rested a hand on the Secret Keeper’s shoulder. “All of us.”

  Aravon turned a questioning glance on Noll. The little scout hadn’t moved, and a recalcitrant expression twisted his lips into a frown. Long seconds passed as Noll stared in silence at the Secret Keeper.

  Finally, he stepped forward. “On one condition.” He jabbed a finger into Zaharis’ chest. “You promise to help me get revenge on the Seiomenn for that vicious trick.” He turned his head to the side and spat. “It’s going to be weeks before I get the taste of the damned stick out of my mouth.”

  The words snapped the momentary tension, and a smile wreathed Zaharis’ face. “Deal!” he signed. His eyes darted toward Rangvaldr. “Careful, old man. Make sure to check your bedroll carefully. Never know what’ll end up in there.”

  “My man!” Noll barked a laugh and smacked Zaharis on the shoulder. “You and me, Zaharis, taking on Eirdkilrs, priests, and tricksters.”

  Everyone around the camp chuckled. From the looks in their eyes, Aravon knew the true depth of what Zaharis had just told them—the threat that could lie in wait around the next corner, or the next. And yet, despite that, they had responded exactly as Aravon had hoped. As a team, a company of warriors united in not only the mission for which they all strived, but the bonds of friendship and camaraderie that made soldiers put their lives on the line for each other.

  “I believe I, too, owe you all an explanation.” Colborn’s quiet, somber voice cut into the momentary good humor. “About last night.”

  A knowing look flashed across Rangvaldr’s face, but Belthar, Noll, and Zaharis grew somber. Even Skathi appeared curious; she might not have been present the previous night, but Aravon had little doubt Noll or Belthar had told her of Colborn’s…reaction.