Four

by Archer Kay Leah

  Helpful as she thought she was, he did not want to talk. He just wanted to focus on his work. Right then, his attention needed to be on the new recruits standing in a line along the furthest wall. There were six of them, all between the ages of eighteen and twenty. Most of them were cocky and needed to be brought down a notch. Both he and Pellon had learned the same lesson when they were just as young. Confidence was valuable; pride needed to be left in their childhood. The latter could bring them death before their next breath. The current lesson aimed to chase pride from them, in preparation for the rest of the training.

  If only his mind were as committed as his duty.

  Twelve days had passed since Tash's pilgrimage to the Shatterlands began. Twelve days since the Uldana Trials had started, officially ending his intimate relationship with Tash.

  During those twelve days, Mayr's irritability had flared sporadically, although he tried to rein it in. No one deserved verbal punishment over how he felt. To feel that way at all was bad enough. Each day hurt more than the day before.

  Though at the moment, concern trumped his annoyance and anger. Aeley had learned of the attack on the main road leading into the village in the midmorning. She had returned from her investigation well before midday. In such a short time, she should have apprehended at least one attacker. At worst, she should have spoken to the victim and ensured they received any necessary healing. Or informed their families of the situation.

  For her to return with none of them was unsettling, particularly since Tash would be on his way back. The trek to the Shatterlands took six days on foot, if not more, and just as many to return. But Mayr could not guess where Tash was along his journey. There was no way to send a message to forewarn Tash of the highwaymen, just in case the group decided a priest was worth assaulting. Had he even worn his priest's vestments on the pilgrimage or was he dressed like an average villager? Garments alone could make him a target.

  Mayr let out a deep breath and avoided meeting the stares of the recruits. Even though he was no longer with Tash, he could not help but think about him. He remembered things, the images and sounds playing cruel games with his mind. His lust had not died as expected. It roiled his core instead, threatening to boil over. Combined with the funny feeling in the pit of his stomach, it wreaked havoc on his sanity. Some nights, when he felt the loneliest, it took everything for him to stay at the estate. The unusual connection between them had not severed, either, and words lingered in the silence.

  This is getting ridiculous, how I'm taking it. What's wrong with me? Let. It. Go. Focus on the task at hand. Move on.

  Determined to control himself, Mayr turned sharply on his heel and flexed his hands. "Time to get to work," he announced. "If you're afraid of blood, broken bones, headaches, dislocated joints, torched pride, humiliation, or change, I suggest you rethink your commission."

  He strode toward the recruits, crossing over the yellow, red, and white training rings on the floor in the centre of the room. The recruits straightened and stepped away from the grey wall. "If you're here because you think it'll earn you points in life, you're wrong. If you're here because you think you'll be a national hero, adored and lauded, get out. If you're here because you think you can play around and get away with it, take your cocky backside home. This isn't a childhood game. This is a soldier's life, bloody and painful. If you're not willing to lose life and limb, we don't want you."

  That got them. Their eyes widened. Whether they were surprised with his bluntness or the reality of what he said, at least he had their attention.

  Mayr pointed at Pellon. "Give either of us a reason to throw you out and we will. You treat him with the same respect you give me. He may be your Head Guard someday, so it's best to lay the foundation now. He also enjoys throwing the likes of you small fish to the deadly creatures. And I enjoy letting him."

  With a deep laugh that played to Mayr's serious tone, Pellon twirled a knife and eyed the recruits. One stepped back; the others eyed Mayr and Pellon. Mayr could not blame them. Pellon wore armour for the training, adding to the bulk already on his large frame. Of everyone in the room, he was the one the recruits would prefer to avoid lest he break them—one of the reasons Mayr chose Pellon as his training partner.

  "Find yourself a place on the outer ring," Mayr commanded. Once the recruits stood on the thick red line of the largest ring, staring at one another across the circle, Mayr walked around them. His gaze flitted over the room, taking in the racks of weapons along each of the four walls and practice armour on the wooden forms erected on one side of the room. They would work their way up to the swords, knives, axes, and staves by the end of the day, but first, they needed to be aware of their bodies without the extra items. "Strip to the waist. Remove any jewelry, armour, or anything that could otherwise get in the way or break."

  As the young men followed his orders, Mayr glanced at each face. The youngest, Gorgan, was eighteen, blond, and shorter than the rest. Quiet with an air of uncertainty, he appeared the most taken aback by Mayr's forthright comments.

  I'll keep an eye on you, don't worry. You won't break. You might just be surprised at what you can take. Just give it everything you have. The rest will follow. They were words Mayr would keep in mind to tell Gorgan in the future. Right then, he was not in the mood to coddle anyone.

  The other recruits were more confident. The eldest, Fraen and Dase, were brothers. Dark-haired and green-eyed, they were tall, well-built, and flashed identical grins that drew attention to their egos. The last three recruits were not as overly confident, although they had their moments. Of varying heights and shades of brown hair and dark eyes, Asate, Koah, and Losan were eighteen years old and best friends. Mayr had known their parents since his youth and placed high expectations upon the boys. One of them could be the future Head of the Guard if they took their duties seriously.

  "We'll start simple." Mayr entered the training circle and stopped in the middle, inside the smallest white ring. He tossed his sword belt to Pellon. "No weapons except for your fists, feet, and any other body part you have that's good to strike with." He removed his shirt and tossed it aside. "First off, you'll learn how to punch properly, how to disable a threat with only a few shots, and how not to get yourself killed in a flesh-to-flesh assault."

  Dase elbowed his brother. "Like we don't already know how to do that. Don't know why we'd start there. This'll be easy!"

  Mayr snapped his head toward Dase. "Great, a volunteer." He beckoned with both hands and assumed a stronger stance. "Come on, give me a shot."

  "Sure. I love being first." Dase smiled at Fraen then rushed Mayr. Fist raised, he aimed for Mayr's jaw.

  One punch to the throat sent Dase to the floor.

  "As you were saying?" Mayr kneeled beside Dase, his hand on Dase's chest as Dase coughed and wheezed. "And that's why we're starting here." He patted Dase. "Take a few deep breaths and stand up slowly. Fraen, help him. We don't ever let camaraderie go, even in training."

  Fraen hurried to his brother's side to help him stand. Backing away, Mayr waited patiently, a smirk twitching his lips. There was always at least one like Dase in every training group. They also tended to be the ones who fell hardest.

  When Dase was on his feet, still dazed and red-faced, they resumed the training, beginning with the tiny movements that forewarned opponents of their intentions and single strikes that could dismantle a fight before it escalated. With his back to Pellon, Mayr stood on a thick inner yellow ring and coached the three pairs of recruits. For several moments, he watched Gorgan, the most cautious of the group, gauging Gorgan's nerves as Asate sparred with him. Over time and the occasional won match, Gorgan could overcome his worries—

  Footsteps hurried toward Mayr from behind. A sharp inhale followed by a rush of air.

  Don't do it, you—

  Hands gripped Mayr's shoulders and jerked him back.

  In swift, blind movements, Mayr jammed his hip against Pellon, wrapped his arm around Pellon's torso, and flipped
him, slamming him to the ground.

  Pellon's back hit the floor, then his head. "Dammit!" He winced, slapping his hand to the back of his head.

  "And that's why he's second-in-command, boys." Mayr wiped his lips and glanced at the recruits. They had jumped back. Surprise was still on their faces. He bent forward and offered Pellon his free hand.

  "Yeah, because I'm still stupid enough to try sneak attacks." Pellon yanked Mayr's hand, threatening to pull him down. "I'll get you one day, you tortuous pain in my—"

  Someone cleared their throat loudly.

  Mayr and Pellon froze before turning their heads toward the door. Haydin stood inside the threshold, his gaunt fingers clasped before him. Beside him was a taller man, young with curled, brown hair. The stranger wore a loose white tunic that flowed to the knees of his white pants. A red sash draped over his left shoulder.

  Mayr helped Pellon up and straightened, his brows furrowing the longer he stared at the priest. A Metah, if he recalled correctly. Why was he there?

  "Sorry to interrupt, Mayr." Haydin gestured beside him. "Priest Isallen requested to see you immediately."

  See me? What could he possibly want?

  "Yeah, sure." Mayr dipped his head as he approached. "What can I do for you?"

  Isallen held out his hand. A small piece of torn parchment rested in his palm. "I have a message for you from Brother Halataldris."

  But Tash and I are over, he almost said, accepting the parchment. The thought was followed by realization. Tash was home. He had completed his first trial. Although sending a message to Mayr was never part of their plan. Their parting had been amicable, but they were to avoid one another during the Trials. They would spend time together afterwards, assuming Mayr could withstand being friends.

  Mayr read the message, comprised of only four words: Please, come. Help. Tash

  A chill raced down neck and arms, prickling his skin. The words said almost nothing and too much of something all at the same time. An ominous something he wished he could snuff out before he learned what it was.

  "I have been instructed to take you back," Isallen said, his glance darting from Mayr to everyone else in the room. "With haste."

  The last three words concerned Mayr more. There should have been no reason for Tash to contact him, and certainly not with such a request. What could have happened for Tash to breach their agreement? They both prided themselves on keeping their word. Not that I'm complaining. Not really. Mayr accepted his shirt and sword from Pellon then re-dressed, the parchment still in his fist.

  Once presentable, Mayr followed Isallen. They did not talk. They did not falter. Even on their way through the temple, Isallen revealed nothing about Tash. All he did was walk briskly, just short of running, and Mayr followed at the same pace.

  Isallen stopped midway in one softly lit corridor and motioned to Tash's private chamber. "I must leave you now." He hurried down the corridor and turned a corner.

  Mayr stared at the partially open door, catching a glimpse of the inside. In his memory, he could see the wall to his left, hidden behind the door, covered with an elegant tapestry depicting all four Goddesses dancing around a silver fountain in white clothes and red veils. He pushed the door further, revealing the simple wood dresser against the opposite wall and the small writing desk in the corner under the window. They were built from dark wood, a contrast to the temple's white stone.

  "Enter," a low voice commanded.

  Thrown by the familiar voice that was not Tash's, Mayr stepped inside. Armamae stood on the other side of the room, adorned in red. He welcomed Mayr with a sad smile.

  "You have arrived. Good." Armamae looked to the person sitting on the bed to the right side of the room. "I will leave if you wish?"

  "No," was the croaked reply.

  Mayr flicked his gaze to the bed.

  His heart stopped. His stomach seemed to flip and dance. It hurt to think. It hurt to see. The small hairs along his arms and neck stood on end.

  "Tash?" Unable to look away from the battered face, Mayr took in Tash's injuries. A stitched gash darkened the side of Tash's face, starting at his temple and curving over his scraped cheeks toward his jaw. One of his eyes was swollen shut; the other was half-open. Large bruises darkened them both. His bottom lip was split, though it no longer bled. Long, red scratches marred his throat. Fingerlike marks darkened his neck. Bandages bound his hands, the cloth thickest over his knuckles.

  Fists clenched, Mayr's gaze alternated between Armamae and Tash. "What happened?" he demanded, nearing the bed to kneel beside Tash. If his words came out harsh, he did not care. The bruises and cuts overlying the scars on Tash's half-naked body were his only concern. He drew his fingers over the layers of bandages wrapped around Tash's waist and stomach, tightened around his ribs.

  "I achieved it. I got the shard," Tash answered, his mouth mostly closed as he struggled to speak around an injured jaw.

  Mayr clasped Tash's arm. "That's not what I meant and you know it." When Tash winced, he loosened his grip. "Who did this to you? You never said this was part of it."

  "It's… not." Tash grimaced and pressed his jaw. "On the way back… thieves. On the road. Wore the same colours… as the Shar. I tried to get away without fighting… but couldn't. Hit a few. Then ran and hid. Got back here… fast as I could."

  The highwaymen. The missing victim.

  "That was you? By the gods-awful stupidity of the meddling Four!" Mayr cursed. He should have known. He should have gone with Aeley.

  Armamae glared at Mayr.

  "Sorry," Mayr muttered, "but I'm not particularly pleased with Them right now." Not when Tash could have been killed—over a piece of glass that proved nothing. The priests already knew how deep Tash's devotion went, no shard needed. He cupped the back of Tash's neck. "Next time, I'm going with you."

  Tash tilted his head to the side. "There's no next time. It's done." He hissed as Armamae pressed a repugnant-scented poultice to his eye.

  "Here, let me." Mayr slipped his fingers under Armamae's and held the poultice in place.

  "Brother?" Tash touched Armamae's arm.

  Armamae nodded. "I will give you the room. Call if you require my assistance." After a knowing glance at Mayr, he left the room and closed the door.

  Mayr inspected Tash's closed eyes, battling the growing rage inside. He wanted to yell at Tash for putting himself in danger. He wanted to tear into the faces of the men who had assaulted him. He wanted to turn back the days and go on the journey with Tash. While Tash had worked as a guard in the Shar-denn, whatever capabilities he'd had were wasted during his time as a priest. No doubt he was lucky to have survived the attack at all.

  If only I'd been there. I could've done something. Protected you.

  Tash grabbed Mayr's wrist. "You couldn't have stopped it. Don't blame yourself."

  "Ae's out looking for you, you know. Well, not you, but whoever was in the attack. Someone told her, and she went to stop it." Mayr tried not to stare at the blackened skin under Tash's eyes. If only Aeley had dragged one of the culprits home. He would have gladly spent his night pummeling the man's face in. Maybe even ripped off certain body parts.

  "Tell her sorry. I couldn't stay. Had to get here."

  "That's ridiculous. You could've died."

  "I have faith in the Four."

  "Well I don't."

  A bandaged palm cupped Mayr's cheek. "I have faith in you, too." Tash leaned forward slowly to press their foreheads together. "Would you… stay? Keep me company?"

  The question threw Mayr's thoughts into a spin. He blinked, debating his answer. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, was all he wanted to say.

  No, don't even. Leave now! His doubts screeched in disagreement, loud and resounding. They battled to keep his feelings at bay, struggling to contain the desire tearing at his insides, screaming for Tash. You only think you'd be helping. It'll end badly. Keep to the agreement!

  "Please," Tash whispered, drawing one fingertip along Mayr's lips. "I have
n't been through this in years. I don't know if I'm all right to sleep. I'm not… myself. But with you here… I might rest."

  There it was again, Tash's begging tone. A plead Mayr could not refuse. He understood the pain and the price of violence. Given Tash's past, what could happen after one brutal attack was unknown. Nightmares and flashbacks could not be predicted. If his recovery went badly, Tash would need someone to help him.

  "For you, anything," Mayr murmured. The words surprised him; they had not been what he expected to say. Still, they felt right.

  "Thank you." Tash sat back, his head dipping once and then again. Wincing, he sipped shallow breaths. His body contracted. "I need to lie down."

  With slow movements, Mayr maneuvered Tash back on the bed. When Tash was settled into the pillows and covered by the thin blankets, Mayr sat on the edge of the bed, his legs stretched out on the mattress. He held Tash's hand in both of his and caressed Tash's bandaged knuckles with his thumb. Focused on Tash's breaths, he was relieved when they became slow, deep, and consistent. Even if Tash did not sleep for long, at least he would have some rest.

  He wouldn't have needed anything if he hadn't gone. It wasn't supposed to be like this. A simple trip—that's how he made it sound. It shouldn't have been this dangerous. He's a priest! Where's the Four to smite the people who attacked him? What happened to swift justice for believers?

  Mayr leaned his head against the wall. Not only did he distrust the trial, he did not believe the incident was coincidence. An attack on Tash just as he returned was one thing. The assailants being dressed as Shar-denn was another. Was that why Tash was terrified of the Trials? Because he knew dangerous things would happen and they would be on purpose? What else was he hiding?

  Peering down at Tash, Mayr grit his teeth. Trials or no, there were names to get. Not just of the highwaymen, gang members, Goddess grunts, or whatever they were. No, he wanted the names of the Shar-denn Tash had associated with. He wanted to know what the High Council had done with the names Tash gave them. Tash may have shied from questioning the High Council, but Mayr had no qualms doing so. He would meet with the Council and their bounty hunters to inquire into the state of those affairs.