by Liam Reese
The prince felt an anger inside him he was at a loss to explain, and grabbed a saddle for his grandfather in case he could not get Teghime to return. Lyeeta followed him, grabbing a third saddle and tack.
“What are you doing?” he asked in confusion.
“Coming with you,” Lyeeta said. “What’s it look like?”
Merdon draped the saddle he held over a railing beside the tent and pushed Lyeeta back into the tack tent. In the small confines, he could smell the lavender and mint she used in her hair and on her skin.
“It’s going to be dangerous,” he said, reaching for her, but stopping before he touched her.
“That’s why I’m going, Highness,” Lyeeta said in a frustratingly calm voice. “I’m a royal guard. It’s my duty to protect the king.”
The young woman pleaded with her eyes. Merdon touched her cheek gently, running his thumb across her lips as she pressed herself against him. “Merdon,” she breathed, and something hot and hard grew between his lungs.
“I can’t see you hurt,” the prince whispered, pain already in his eyes.
“I won’t get hurt,” Lyeeta said. “Please don’t send me away.”
Precious seconds passed with the pair looking into each other’s eyes as Merdon fought internally. Common sense told him she would be better off returning to Morantine, as far away from Emmerlin as possible.
Yet there was an aching need to have her with him, a deep desire to see her and share everything he experienced with her. Her appearance at the jail where he had imprisoned his grandfather had been an overwhelming relief. To see her and hold her, be held by her, had made the ordeal more bearable.
Merdon wound her silken hair around his fingers, relishing the way it felt in his hand. Tugging gently, he tilted her face up towards his until their lips were an inch apart.
“Promise me,” he said. “Promise me you’ll do anything I say to keep you safe.”
Lyeeta nodded eagerly, a soft noise escaping her throat when Merdon pressed his lips to hers.
Khaleen looked down into the mercenary camp again. Beside her stood the Waravalian king, Queen Collise not far behind. Vetrulian had insisted on seeing the camp for himself, despite Khaleen’s scout’s estimate of their numbers.
“Approximately six thousand, General,” her man had said. “And they are building something under a cover. I can’t see what it might be, but supplies go in and nothing comes out, so unless it’s a storage area, I’d say they’re building something.”
Dismissing him, Khaleen had considered his words. Six thousand!
Even though the Gazluthian and Waravalian armies outnumbered the mercenaries almost two to one, the enemy was entrenched, surrounded by the palisade wall and other fortifications. It would be costly to have to siege them out of there, and even with their supply lines cut, they had animals and crops inside the walls. It might take months, and that would be if they won.
Khaleen did not like the odds.
“Where is this building supposed to be going on?” Vetrulian asked, as he peered around the tree he hid behind.
Khaleen looked down into the camp, locating the large sail that had been stretched over a frame to conceal whatever they were building. “There, Sire.” She pointed.
“If they have it covered, does that mean they know we’re watching them, do you think?” Vetrulian asked the question she had been posing to herself for a few days now.
“Hopefully it’s just to keep the weather off,” Khaleen said. She leaned heavily against the trunk of a pine tree, the rough bark against her arm a distraction from the pain in her thigh.
So much worse now.
The days of riding and walking had exacerbated her leg wound, moving the arrowhead around inside her muscle, grinding and cutting. Khaleen panted as a fresh wave of pain rippled up through her body, making her feel instantly sick when it reached her stomach. Vetrulian looked at her and pursed his lips, about to speak, when Collise crested the rise.
“Khaleen,” she said. “You need to rest that leg.”
“No need, Majesty,” the general hissed through clenched teeth. “I’ll be fine.”
“Nonsense,” Collise said. “We need your tactical skills here, so I forbid you to get ill. Go and rest.”
Khaleen smiled, dragging herself upright against the pine again. “You do realize, Majesty, that I don’t actually work for you?” she joked.
“You’re my cousin’s general,” Collise muttered as she frowned at the camp. “I’m sure he’d lend you to me.”
Khaleen was about to reply when a sound came to her ears from the camp. It was a regular tapping sound, one of hundreds coming from down there, but one she had heard before. A chill settled in her chest.
“Run!” she barked, limping away.
“What … is that?” Vetrulian asked.
Without thinking, Khaleen grabbed his arm and tried to pull him away. From down in the camp, she saw the sail rise into the air, bulging upward in the middle as something lifted it from underneath. A darker patch appeared in the center before the canvas sheet burst into flames.
“Move, Sire!” Khaleen shouted as she pulled at Vetrulian.
The king seemed to realize what was happening when the dull thump of the catapult firing arm reached their ears. Yet it seemed too late by then; like a trailing comet, the flaming sail and whatever else they had fired was making a slow but deadly arc towards them.
They don’t even have to be that accurate!
Khaleen hobbled along behind Vetrulian as he almost threw himself down the slope and out of the trees. Soldiers ran past her, understanding the danger as well. Khaleen turned to look behind her as she reached the top of the hill and started to make her way down.
A flaming ball of sailcloth streaked down towards her, and she screamed in agony when her leg failed, folding beneath her and throwing her down the hill. The world tilted around Khaleen, time slowing as she heavily fell to the stone- and wood-covered land. Sky and ground flashed before her eyes as she rolled to a painful halt at the base of a tree, her hip slamming into the wood.
Tears blurred her eyes, but she could still see the ball of flame lancing towards her as she lay and stared up through the pines.
Ah, well, at least the pain will be gone.
Khaleen shut her eyes and waited for the flaming death that was about to smash the life from her. When it came, it felt more like a wind that exploded from down the hill, combined with a loud screaming sound that pressed on her ears painfully.
Khaleen opened her eyes to see a cloud of dust and debris sweeping up the slope. Some immense force snapped the pine she rested against, rocking the roots beneath her as the bole broke, shredding branches as it was hurled into the air. The flaming sail was caught and thrown back towards the camp, exploding in a ball of fire when it hit a sheared-off tree stump at the top of the hill.
Khaleen heard the gasps and cries from behind her as the dust and stones started to rain back down. Turning painfully from the sight before her, she looked back down the remainder of the slope.
Queen Collise stood bent at the waist. It looked, for a split second, as if her bottom jaw had dislocated, her mouth open far too wide, like a snake that can eat something twice its size. Her eyes locked with Khaleen’s as her mouth returned to its normal size and shape.
She smiled at the older woman and ordered a pair of soldiers to come and assist the general. As the pair helped her down the hill, she heard cheers and whistles, all aimed at her.
“We’d have been killed if not for your warning,” Vetrulian said. “How did you know?”
Khaleen sat on a log one of the soldiers brought, stretching her leg out. “Heard the same sound too many times at Ursley,” she said, her eyes going distant.
She looked back up the slope, which had a wide strip of trees ripped from it now. From the tree she had laid against upwards, all that remained of the vegetation were a few shredded stumps. “I guess that answers the question of whether they knew we were watching or not,” Khaleen said.
She turned back, the world around her suddenly bright, as if someone had added fuel to the sun. She rested her hand in her lap, feeling the cool wetness there. Red blood had stained her trousers, spreading from the arrow wound.
“Oh, look at that...” Khaleen muttered as she fell back off the log.
The shouts and screams sounded distant as the world faded around her. It felt as if hands shook her, but she was powerless to respond. Besides, the pain had stopped, and that felt nice.
To my eternal love,
My heart aches to be close to yours once more. I long to stare into the depths of your eyes and hold you in my arms again.
Understand, dearest heart, I have erred gravely, and vow to make this up to you if you give me the chance. Merdon has saved me from myself. My madness is gone, and I expect I have you to thank for his inclusion on this trip.
Yet even though I want nothing more than to be beside you for the rest of our days, I fear I must pursue our daughter, who has plans to take the throne by force. I know I am at least partially to blame for her attitude; our constant fights were brought about by the poison I was freely ingesting, and for that I have to make amends. I must speak to her, lay out the reasons I was a bad father, and throw myself at her mercy. Maybe then she will be able to forgive me.
Should I not see you again in this life, know I love you with all my heart and soul and will wait for you in the Endless Hunting Grounds.
All my love,
Your husband, Besmir
The king folded the parchment up after shaking the drying sand from it and pulled his seal from within a pouch by his heart. Wrapped in a silk and leather packet, the royal seal of Gazluth was accompanied by a chunk of purple wax.
Besmir grabbed a piece of smoldering wood from the fire and blew on the end, bringing bright orange fire to life in the blackened tip. Carefully, he dripped molten wax onto the parchment, affixing his letter with the royal seal before wrapping it up once more and burying it deep in the things that were being returned to Morantine.
“Make sure the queen gets this as soon as you return,” he said to one of his guards, handing the letter to him.
The guard saluted, tucking the letter inside his armor, where Besmir knew it would be safe, if a little sweaty. Returning inside, Besmir felt his legs and stomach tremble as the need took hold of him again. He gritted his teeth and fell to the cot, letting his mind fly free.
His consciousness drifted up through the tent, swooping out in ever growing circles as he searched for Teghime in the forests and grasslands of Ninse. She was not far from the camp, and Besmir knew she wanted to return, but feared the sudden change in him. He drifted close, burrowing into the familiar thoughts inside her mind.
His image was imprinted on her mind, a warm and safe place that brought love and protectiveness to her. He was her cub as well as her sire, her need to obey him as well as protect him almost second nature to the great cat. Yet something else encroached on her thoughts regarding him. He pressed deeper into the cat’s basic memories, recalling her playing with feathers, and running fast through grass that bent as it hit her chest.
Something dark had reached out to her, pulling her to the far side of the mountain, and she had been frightened but had gone there. He had been in a box beneath the earth, but his smell had been wrong. She had smelled Merdon there, too, and the female that had marked him as hers. But Besmir’s smell had been wrong. It had smelled like him, but not like him as well, and the not-him smell had made her back off and run away.
Besmir hated that his most loyal friend had been turned against him by his own use of Pariah. Gently, the king pulled his mind out of the great cat as she lay on the bank of a small stream, dipping her muzzle into the flow to drink.
Farewell, old friend.
Besmir drew his thoughts back, not willing to force himself on the cat as he had tried to do with Emmerlin. Shame burned inside him as he recalled her reaction.
Utter shock and revulsion had exploded through her at the invasion of her mind, and he had known as soon as he did it it was a completely unwarranted act. There had been no justification or explanation he could give that would excuse his actions that day. Misery and self-hatred burned through him as he streaked back towards the camp.
Besmir returned to his body and the need for Pariah that made his limbs shake and guts writhe inside his belly.
12
“Why are we heading north?” Senechul asked.
Emmerlin ignored him, riding up a small hill to survey the road ahead. They had been riding for hours in almost complete silence. Senechul had been sulking the whole way since they left the port.
Now he wants to talk?
She dismounted and tied her horse to a tree, collecting wood for a fire and piling it beside a pit someone had already dug when they had camped here previously. Almost casually, she pulsed a flame into the center of the pile, lighting the fire easily. Untying her saddlebags, she rolled her bedding out beside the flames and sat on a log someone had dragged there before.
Senechul watched her as she worked, his expression one of disagreement and confusion. “Are you going to tell me?” he asked, while unpacking their cooking utensils.
“What for?” Emmerlin asked. “You’ve been acting like a child all day, ignoring me and riding off on your own.”
“You said you were going to bed someone else!” he growled at her, his tone hurt and possessive. The guard thrust out his jaw, planted his fists on his hips, and glared at her.
His pose looked so ridiculous that she grinned, a little giggle escaping her. His brows fell, and he turned to stomp from the clearing when four men appeared in the firelight.
“What we got here, then?” the first asked. His teeth were black and rotten, his clothing dirty and ripped, with patches crudely tied on to cover holes that had worn through.
His boots, however, were polished and new, as well as being too small. The long sword that had appeared in his hand was similarly well cared for, and Emmerlin knew they were stolen, their owners probably dead.
“Nothing you want to tangle with,” Emmerlin said darkly. Even so, she felt the desperate need to see these men die painfully, and hoped they were going to attack.
“Is that so?” the leader asked, his eyebrows rising. He turned to examine Senechul, looking him up and down as if he were a horse.
“Want to count my teeth?” Senechul asked in a deep growl.
“Once they’re all on the floor, maybe,” one of the other men said, following his comment with a hissing laugh.
Emmerlin leaned back on the log and crossed her ankles comfortably. She ran her eyes from one poorly-dressed robber to the next without much interest.
“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen,” the toothless leader said. “The ox here’s going to drop his sword and stand real still while we go through your stuff. We’re taking the horses and anything else we want, and if you’re lucky you’ll live through it.”
“I get the impression this tactic has worked on the weak and innocent locals you normally prey on,” Emmerlin said, flicking her hair back and fixing the leader with an amused look. “Unfortunately for you, this prey bites back.”
“Good,” the leader said with a nasty grin. “Now, when we’ve finished stealing your things, we’re going to have our way with you as well.”
“Bored now,” Emmerlin said with a sigh. “Kill them, Senechul.”
The guard had been waiting for just that order, and a sword appeared in his hand, whistling through the air to bite into the collarbone of the nearest man with a sickening crunch. The man fell with a scream, rolling about in a spreading pool of his own blood, hands clamped to the wound.
Senechul turned to the next man in line, teeth peeled back in a grimace of pure rage. “Stay back!” the man squeaked, his eyes flicking to his rapidly-dying friend.
The guard lashed out, the blow a powerful slash that might have cut his opponent in half had it hit him. Emmerlin heard the blade whoosh through th
e air, its song a low hum. Senechul’s opponent danced backwards, stumbling over his own feet and falling to the ground, throwing his arm up in a vain attempt to halt the angry onslaught.
“Help!” he shrieked, as Senechul hammered a final blow down at his chest. Luckily, the man rolled to one side, the massive blow missing him and digging into the earth inches from his ribs.
One of the other men launched an attack at Senechul, a clumsy blow that the guard deflected easily, the clash of swords loud in Emmerlin’s ears. The princess watched her guard, the play of his thick muscles as he dealt death to these idiots, heat spreading inside her belly.
Such rage!
Senechul was a joy to watch as he almost effortlessly beat his attackers back. Both men had cuts all over them, bleeding from numerous wounds Senechul had inflicted. Their ragged clothing had been split and slashed and they were gasping with the effort, their teeth bared and eyes wide.
Emmerlin felt herself hauled up by the leader, his filthy fingers around her throat. “Stop!” he bellowed.
Senechul turned to stare at him, shaking, his chest heaving. His two opponents lowered their swords with relief on their faces, bending at the waist and breathing hard.
“Please don’t hurt me,” Emmerlin begged, in a ridiculously false voice.
At her throat was the ragged blade of a rusty knife, one that would end her life if she allowed it. Her eyes focused on Senechul’s, a smirk playing about her lips when he grinned at her. She flicked her gaze at the two men he had been attacking, and he nodded almost imperceptibly.
The guard lashed around, his blade a low arc that exploded into the lower belly of the nearest man. His scream rent the night air as his entrails hit the ground, his legs buckling with the pain and shock. He knelt, trying to gather his innards as the loops and whorls burst through his fingers.
“That’s done it!” the leader bellowed from behind Emmerlin. She gripped the knife at her throat, wrapping it in a blanket of pure power before pulling it aside and stepping away from him.