WRATH (Rise Book 2)

by J. M. Kearl

  Daelyn watches him wade into the water but doesn’t move to follow.

  “Are you coming?” he asks.

  Daelyn digs her toes into the wet sand. “I’ll stay up here. I didn’t get all bloody and sweaty like you.”

  With a finger Boaden beckons Daelyn to join him as he stands waist deep in the water. “You’ll miss this after a few days of riding in the desert again.”

  Smiling, Daelyn strips down and wades into the water. Boaden takes her hand and brings it to his lips and kisses her knuckles. “I’ll get a ring on that finger soon.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Daelyn replies.

  A loud crow caws from a tree above, drawing Boaden’s attention. For some reason he thinks that the bird is watching them with more understanding than an animal is capable of but shakes off the feeling. There are spells that would allow someone to see through the eyes of an animal but that doesn’t happen often, even in Delhoon.

  After scrubbing his scalp and using sand to rub his skin clean, he says, “I need to send a note to Kyria and request aid. Are you ready to get out?”

  Daelyn nods and steps onto the sand. “What will you say?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  ∞∞∞

  The sun begins to set and Boaden sits to write the note while the others drink, dance and play music around the fire. Gorga pounds on drums and the little girls wear skirts that jingle. The women sing and clap, celebrating that the evil men who killed their husbands are dead. But he stares at the blank paper before him.

  What will I say? Kyria must have already heard what happened in Delhoon. At least he can say that King Rolland is dead, even if it didn’t happen exactly the way she wanted. It’s not as if he had another choice. He should be praised for what he accomplished but he has a feeling that won’t be the case. Especially since Gord will likely be the one to deliver the news. He was upset at how things played out. He blamed Boaden for what happened.

  He writes:

  Queen Kyria,

  I’m alive in Nordia with Daelyn, Madison and Jordane. We are being hunted by Hesstia and could use assistance near the border city of Kondor.

  He whispers the spell and tosses the note into the fire. Then he waits. Gorga approaches with two clear bottles of what looks to be red wine in hand. “You deserve this, my friend.”

  Boaden pulls the top and takes a swig from the bottle. The slight sweetness from whatever dark red berry washes over his tongue. “Thank you. It’s excellent.”

  “Made it myself,” Gorga says and turns to Daelyn. “And this for you.” The lighter wine glows with the backlight of the fire.

  Daelyn takes a drink. “It’s delicious.”

  Gorga grins, clearly pleased. “I’m happy you like it. A mix of berries fermented for three years.” He sits beside Boaden on a log. “May I ask why you wrote on a piece of paper and threw it into the fire? Wasting paper like that doesn’t seem like something you would do.”

  “It wasn’t a waste. It's how we communicate with magic. The person I sent my note to will get it when it emerges from the fire closest to them.”

  Gorga stares at Boaden wide eyed. “How fascinating. Who were you writing to?”

  Boaden trusts Gorga but he doesn’t particularly like the man asking personal questions. It’s not his business. “A friend.”

  With that said, Gorga gets to his feet. “I’m going to give Madison and Jordane their wine now.”

  Hours pass without word. Boaden watches Daelyn dance with the young girls, twirling in circles, clapping and laughing. Her golden hair swirls wildly about her as she turns. The last time he saw her this happy was when they danced together at the festival months ago. Sufficiently buzzing from the wine, Boaden stands to join her, but a note floats up from the fire and into his hand.

  It reads:

  You are on your own

  Boaden crumbles the paper and throws it hard into the fire. After all I’ve done for the kingdom, she won’t grant me this one request? It would be so simple for her to send a small group to escort us safely back into the kingdom. He sits back down and scribbles on another note:

  Kendoa,

  Bring Presten. Meet us at the waterfall to the west of Kondor, Nordia in exactly two weeks. If you know of one or two others who can assist, bring them but keep this quiet. Be prepared to fight.

  ~Boaden

  He’d invite the entire crew he took to Hesstia but Kyria is likely to notice all Boaden’s men leaving. He writes another note to his best friend Rorin, since he is not under Boaden’s command, he most likely won’t be able to come but it’s worth a try. Rorin writes back almost immediately with:

  I’ll be there. Glad to hear you’re alive.

  Kendoa sends a note moments later:

  Understood.

  Daelyn skips over to Boaden and takes a sip from her bottle of wine. “Will we be getting any help?”

  Boaden first thinks of Kyria and purses his lips, “From the Kingdom, no. From my own men, yes. Presten, Kendoa and Rorin will be there. Perhaps one or two others.”

  Daelyn’s mouth falls open and her hand holding the bottle drops to her side. “Kyria won’t send us help? Why?” Daelyn snaps. “You assassinated the king of Hesstia for her. We risked all of our lives for her plan.”

  “She didn’t say.” Boaden stares, his vision becoming unfocused, and for the first time he thinks maybe it would be better if he didn’t go home. I could live my own life where I wouldn’t have to answer to anyone. We could head south and live on an island somewhere just like Daelyn wanted. It would be nice to do what I want when I want without having to ask permission. But there is no place like Delhoon. No place where he and his soon-to-be wife, as magic users, can be safe. Although, he’s never really safe. He’ll probably always be on a dangerous mission, risking his life for a kingdom he doesn’t at all feel appreciated by. Even if they win the upcoming war, that is assuming Kyria can get the eleven warlords of Delhoon on her side to fight Hesstia, most who don’t have magic fear it. But that’s exactly why Kyria ordered the assassination of the king. Hesstia will probably march on Delhoon first.

  “I can’t believe her!” Daelyn says plopping down in the sand and crossing her legs. “I knew I didn’t like her.”

  Boaden’s eyes flick to her. “You can’t say that.” He leans forward resting his elbows on his thighs and holds his head in his hands.

  “That I don’t like Queen Kyria? Yes I can,” Daelyn says. She takes another swig from the bottle. “I hate her. She tried to force me to marry prince Enden and then made you assassinate the king and we can’t even get a thank you, let alone some help.”

  The side of Boaden’s mouth curls up. “You can say that here, but not in Delhoon.”

  “It’s absurd that one person has so much power,” Daelyn says.

  Boaden gets up and sits down beside Daelyn in the sand. “Her power is more limited than Enden’s. She can’t go to war without the majority vote of the eleven warlords unless we’re invaded. She can’t make new laws without majority vote from the warlords but she can dole out punishment in any way she sees fit. I fear she is angry with us, me in particular. Though most often it’s the Academy Council that would deal with academy graduates.”

  Daelyn scoots closer to him so that her hip is touching his. Warm lips press against his shoulder. “She won’t harm you, will she?”

  Boaden shakes his head. Before all this happened he believed Kyria to be his friend, willing to help in any way possible, that is what he does for her, but now—she’s shown otherwise. “I don’t believe so. I may be suspended from my duties for a time without pay.”

  “For what? You did what she asked,” Daelyn says resting her head on his shoulder.

  “Gord blamed me for what happened. That is what he’ll report.”

  Daelyn snaps her head up and looks at him. “It was my fault. I’m the reason we got caught.”

  Boaden runs his hand over her hair. “I’ll take the blame no matter what.” Then he
gets up and grasps Daelyn’s hands. “But let’s not worry about that right now. Let’s dance.” And so they do until the fire dies down to embers and they find what might be the last good night’s rest for a while.

  15. Jordane

  It’s Jordane’s turn to take first watch. They’ll be at the waterfall near Kondor in a day and he’s physically exhausted from riding for two weeks. They’d only stopped once to sleep in an actual bed at a small town where they’d gotten supplies. The goblet they traded gave them everything they needed with coin to spare.

  One thing Jordane is glad about is that they are no longer under blazing heat with sand getting into his eyes, but trees and foliage where water is easy to find. It is a pleasant change of scenery.

  The squishy moss proves to be a comfortable seat on his horse’s thick blanket. Jordane eyes the dried meat in his hand and picks at a piece of fat. Though he needs it to gain weight, he can’t stand the way it feels in his mouth.

  Alone in the silence his mind drifts back to his time in Lanloc.

  It was early morning at the end of his first week in captivity. At least he guessed it was morning, given he’d just gotten his first meal, no light makes it into the foul dungeon.

  “Jordane, get up. You’re next,” A guard said from outside his cell door. “I hope you’re as good as some of the other Delhoon warriors we’ve seen.”

  Jordane jumped up, anxious to see what awaited him. For five days he’d sat in that cell listening to screams, cheers, and sounds only some sort of beast could make. A deep growl that seemed to penetrate the depths of his soul.

  The guard opened the door and placed chain linked cuffs on his wrists. “Just in case,” the guard said and pulled him by his shirt, leading him down the hallway. Jordane walked past the man he’d been conversing with over the past few days, Kaleel grinned; half his teeth were missing. “Good luck, brother,” Kaleel said.

  Jordane gave a curt nod and was taken to a room full of weapons, where three other guards waited. “What’s your choice?” his guard asked.

  “Long sword,” Jordane said glancing about the room. “A shield would also be nice.”

  “No shields,” the guard said and grabbed the sword Jordane would have chosen off the wall. “This has killed many a men. Let’s hope for your sake it does so again.”

  “Who am I fighting?” Jordane gripped the sword firmly and slowly moved the blade up and down, back and forth to get a feel for the weight.

  With their own weapons in hand, the guards watched him warily. “Should be an easy kill for a Delhoon warrior. Your opponent is a common thief.”

  Another guard brought him a brown colored, thick leather top with metal studs. “Put this on. You got to look the part.” Jordane slipped the top over his head and tied the sides. The same guard removed his cuffs and gave him grieves and a helmet with a black Mohawk of horse hair.

  “Apparently not a very good thief,” one of the other guards added.

  Jordane found this odd. “Why is he in Lanloc if he’s but a simple thief?”

  “We don’t ask why,” his guard said and pushed him toward a wooden door.

  Jordane heard loud chanting. “How many people are watching?”

  The guards all chuckled. “Hundreds. Many folk, rich and poor come to watch you prisoners kill each other and place bets,” his guard replied.

  “You might even grow to like the thrill of it,” another guard said. “All those people watching, chanting your name, if you survive long enough. It’s fame, without the fortune.”

  Jordane wouldn’t grow to like it. He fought many battles in the war between Hesstia and Delhoon, and fame wasn’t something he’d ever sought after.

  “You get good enough, since you’re young and handsome, ladies might even pay for you to hump them. It’s happened a few times over the years,” said the guard standing off to the entrance of the area. He pushed the door open and a waterfall of voices hit Jordane when he stepped out into the arena.

  Hundreds of people yelled and shouted making him turn in a circle, taking it all in. Fresh blood stained the dirt in the center of the arena. A man walked out a door opposite of him with a Morningstar in one hand and a shield in the other. He also had a helmet and shin guards, grieves chainmail, and shoulder pads. “No shields, huh?” Jordane mumbled to himself.

  He advanced toward the man who stood planted in one spot. A guard behind the thief pushed him closer to Jordane and people all around laughed.

  Jordane’s heart began to race as it always did before a fight. All he could do was make this quick. Jordane smashed his sword into the thief’s shield and he fell back onto the dirt. The pathetic way the man curled up, holding the Morningstar in front of his face, made it hard for Jordane to just end it. “Get up!” he shouted. How can I kill a man lying on the ground cowering?

  The thief stayed put, peeking from behind his weapon. Jordane kicks dirt at him. “I said, get up.”

  The people around them begin to “boo” loudly. If he doesn’t do something soon, they might turn on him and his life could be over. A swift swing of Jordane’s sword knocked the Morningstar out of the thief’s hand, then he grabbed the thief by the front of his shirt. “The least you can do is stand up and be a man. Now pick up your weapon.”

  The thief stood and slowly bent over, grabbed his weapon, and half-heartedly swung it at Jordane, which was blocked. The next move cut the thief down.

  The crowd cheered as the blood seeped into the soil from the thief’s neck. Jordane walked away not looking back or up at the crowd. Fights went on like this for weeks. They put him against pathetic fighters, which made him look even better than he was to the crowd but he felt ashamed to bout them. Until one day he told the guard, “Put me against someone who is worth killing this time. At least give me a challenge.” Words he would regret. He lost his friend Kaleel that day.

  A branch snaps in the distance drawing Jordane out of his daydream. He stands, grabbing his sword and glances about the darkness. “Illuminate.” A blue orb appears in his palm, brightening the area.

  A deer stares back at him in the distance. Maybe it was the creature who made the noise but he is still unsettled, so he grabs Boaden’s bow and arrows. Anyway, they could use the meat. He takes aim and then senses something behind him, turning quickly to find a stranger. The old Jordane would have hesitated, to ask who this man was, and what he wanted, but in times such as these he lets the arrow fly and it hits it’s mark in the chest.

  Jordane runs over with another arrow knocked back, his eyes scanning the area for others. With no immediate threat seen he peers down at the dead man. Hesstian. Clean cut, shaven and bearing their crossed swords symbol on his chest but not a soldier’s uniform. The Hesstian mark on his clothes most likely grants him authority in some of these places near the border.

  A quick jerk pulls the arrow out of the corpse and he lets out a long breath. There will be more of them, which means they’ll have to move again. This man wouldn’t have come alone. “Everybody up,” Jordane shouts. “Invaders.”

  Madison and Boaden are up quickly with Daelyn lagging slightly behind. It’s plain to see how tired she is. He wants to give his daughter a safe home, and spend time with her where they are not constantly worried for their lives.

  Ready for a fight, they stand in a circle, backs to each other so every angle is covered. The sound of his own heart thuds in his ears as they wait. “Was he just a scout?” Jordane asks after several minutes go by.

  Boaden walks over to the dead man. “Could be. Whoever was waiting for him to return will come looking.”

  So they ride on, exhausted, and sleepy. Daelyn’s head bobs, every so often, she falls forward and then catches herself and shakes her head. “We need some Gindleweed to stay awake. I can’t keep going like this. And if we do get into a fight we’re all so tired we might lose.”

  “Gindleweed only grows in Hesstia,” Madison says rubbing her eye.

  Daelyn lets out a huff. “Of course it would only grow i
n Hesstia.”

  Madison rolls her head in a circle. “But Mongleweed, which is better, grows in northern Nordia and Delhoon. We should be able to find some.”

  It has been some years since Jordane heard either of those words. Madison had been interested in plants growing up. Before he was imprisoned, he remembers both of them going out and scouting the local area. Madison made sure Daelyn knew every plant species in Kezington.

  Madison pulls her horse to a stop. “I’ll go look. Daelyn is right, were all too tired which will make us easier targets.”

  It’s unsettling to watch his wife walk off into the darkness unaccompanied so he slides off his horse and catches up to her side. “I can’t let you go alone.”

  Madison half smiles. “I’ve been wandering the woods by myself for years.”

  Jordane wishes he could have been there so that didn’t have to be true. Though Kezington is relatively safe to wander about, the woods of Nordia with men after them are not. “You don’t have to anymore.”

  Madison suddenly drops to her knees. “Here it is. How lucky to have found some so quickly.” She pulls the green leafy weed with small red flowers by the root. “I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of this before Daelyn.”

  “We wouldn’t have been able to find any accept maybe in the last day or two any--”

  Jordane’s words are cut off by Daelyn’s scream. Without missing a beat they take off at a sprint toward their daughter. Jordane skids to a halt seeing a blade at his daughter’s throat. Across from the three intruders, Boaden stands with his sword in hand.

  “We only want her,” the man with the knife at Daelyn’s throat says. “We don’t need to hurt anyone. Just let us leave.”