The Ippos King: Wraith Kings Book Three

by Draven, Grace

  “A man so driven makes a dangerous vassal. One who'll murder his own family to rise in status will think nothing of murdering anyone else, including sovereigns. Nor will they remain content with ruling a castle and farmland, no matter how rich.” Her features hardened. “Even the Khaskem, as even-tempered as he is, would have Chamtivos either imprisoned or put to death.”

  On a slope overlooking the plain surrounding Saggara, with an army of the dead behind him, Serovek had watched as Brishen's eidolon embraced his mother's twisted spirit and obliterated it. He'd done it without hesitation or regret, much like Chamtivos, but for entirely different reasons. He had no doubt Brishen would do exactly as Anhuset claimed.

  “As he should. As King Rodan should have done. It would have saved countless lives and himself a lot of grief had he done the same.” He shrugged. “Instead, he strung Chamtivos along with bait and false promises for who knows what reason, then gifted the entire valley, including those holdings, to the Jeden Order, believing the monks would be defenders of the territory for the crown instead of contenders for it as Chamtivos would.”

  “But are they not considered heretics?”

  Some of the more zealous Beladine, strict in their orthodoxy, often called upon the king to outlaw the Nazim monks and proclaim all their orders as heretical, including the Jeden Order. Such cries fell on deaf ears, especially when the warrior monks proved themselves so useful in furthering the king's interests.

  The wagon had rolled farther ahead of them while he and Anhuset chatted, their horses content to amble along while their riders were distracted. Serovek tapped Magas's sides with his heels to close the gap between him and the transport. He replied to her question once they caught up to the other two who were now close enough to hear their conversation.

  “To the devout among us, they are heretics, but the king isn't a religious man. His philosophy has always been pay the crown tax, tithe your soldiers and vassals to his army in times of conflict, and remember your place. You're free to worship as you please as long as it doesn't threaten his rule.”

  Her expression turned inscrutable, her mouth becoming pinched. “It's well known among some that the king of Belawat will do what he believes is necessary to hold the throne.”

  Had Serovek not been directly involved in Brishen's rescue from Beladine raiders who'd tortured the Kai prince and would have killed him, he might not have caught the oblique accusation in Anhuset's comment. She and others, himself included, suspected King Rodan had a hand in the two attempts on Brishen's life and that of his Gauri bride. He glanced at Erostis and Klanek, looking for any indication that one of them had heard what she implied. Both only looked mildly bored.

  Unlike them, Anhuset didn't look bored at all. Tall in the saddle, she sat tense, waiting for his reply. He could almost feel the heat of her rising anger at the memory of what the raiders had done to her cousin. While there was no solid proof of his involvement, she obviously laid the blame for Brishen's torture and disfigurement at King Rodan's feet.

  “He's always been a wily sovereign,” Serovek said, careful with his choice of words and eager to turn the focus back to the warlord. “Letting Chamtivos live was one of his few mistakes, and one I doubt he'll ever make again. Were it not for the monks' fighting ability and help from Ilinfan swordmasters, he'd still control the Lobak valley. They wrested most of it from him, and he's gone into hiding, though he remains a boil on Rodan's arse.”

  His mention of the Ilinfan swordmasters acted like an incantation, instantly diverting her attention away from Rodan's ruthless machinations to something she embraced with fervor: sword fighting.

  “We in Bast-Haradis know of your fabled swordsmen,” she said, a touch of admiration in her voice. “I've always wanted to spar with an Ilinfan swordmaster.”

  “The monks are indebted to them,” he said. “They're the pride of the Beladine kingdom, though the king barely tolerates them.” Rodan tread a thin line with the various factions in his kingdom from religious orders with impressive martial skills to renowned swordsmen whose true loyalty most believed lay with their brotherhood and their leader they called the Ghan.

  “Possible threat to the precious throne?” Once more her voice had taken on that studied neutral tone.

  He approved of her caution. “There are always threats to the throne.”

  Slouched casually on the wagon's driver seat with the reins held loose in his fingers, Klanek joined their conversation. “I got to see an Ilinfan swordmaster fight once. Some years ago during Delyalda at the capital.” He grinned. “Beat the shit out of the king's champion, then refused to be the replacement when it was offered to him.”

  Anhuset nudged her horse closer to the front of the wagon. “Did he live up the reputation of swordmaster?”

  The driver snorted. “And then some. It was an exhibition match, but we all wondered about that when it was over. Alreed, the champion then, was spitting blood, tongue, teeth and was half dead by the time the king called the match. The swordsman never said a word, never strutted about. Just bowed to the king, said something to his patron Lord Uhlfrida, and left the arena.”

  “A man who knows the worth of his skill doesn't need to brag of it or seek praise for it,” Serovek said.

  Anhuset nodded. “Fighting such a warrior would be a privilege.”

  Klanek echoed aloud Serovek's silent reply. “If you lived to tell of it.”

  That night they camped not far off the main road. As Serovek promised, Erostis worked culinary magic over the fire to turn the humble but much-loathed potato into a delectable dish that had his mouth watering for a plate piled high with the vegetable.

  Anhuset's nostrils flared as Erostis handed her a plate to pass to Klanek. She held it for a moment, eyeing the golden-brown cuts of potato with their crispy edges and generous sprinkling of salt and herbs. Her eyebrows slowly climbed as she stared at the plate, then Erostis, then the plate again. “This is the same maggot potato thing?”

  He preened, delighted by her obvious amazement. “It's all in the technique, madam. I can make your shoes taste delicious given enough time and spices.”

  Serovek hid a smile as Klanek gazed longingly at the plate Anhuset held. “If you don't mind passing that over, sha, before it gets cold, I'd appreciate it.” Serovek noted the driver dared not reach for the plate. Smart man.

  She reluctantly gave up the plate, nostrils still flared to catch the smell of herbs and smoke infused into the potatoes. Serovek motioned to Erostis to fill another plate as Klanek took his from Anhuset, his gaze hard on her clawed hands as if he feared she'd change her mind and snatch his supper back from him, taking his arm with it.

  “Care to brave the roasted maggot? It won't try to kill you like scarpatine.” Serovek couldn't resist teasing her. “Or if you don't wish to take so big a risk, I'll be happy to share a few pieces of mine with you.” He raised his plate in offer.

  Her glare might have set him on fire had it stayed on him longer, but the helping of supper Erostis handed her proved a more powerful distraction. All three men watched as she brought the plate up to her nose, indulging in a long inhalation before spearing a potato chunk with one claw and popping it into her mouth. As she chewed, her lamplight eyes widened and rounded.

  “This can't be the same disgusting heap of dirt-tasting mush I had to swallow at the Khaskem's wedding dinner,” she declared once she swallowed. She speared another piece, this time eyeing it with a speculative look.

  Her audience's laughter coaxed a smile from her, much to Serovek's delight. “One and the same,” he said. “Erostis's boast wasn't an empty one. He's a good cook.”

  “Why do you think I'm here?” the soldier added, giving Anhuset a wink. “It isn't because the margrave thinks I'm pretty to look at.”

  Anhuset embraced her conversion from hater to lover of the previously despised vegetable with gusto, wolfing down three heaping servings before announcing she intended on abducting Erostis to take him back with her to Saggara so he might
share his culinary secrets with the Kai cooks.

  Erostis gave his liege a pained look. “Sorry, my lord, but I'm not learning how to cook that bug pie abomination you like to eat if I go there. I have my limits.”

  After the destruction of High Salure's kitchen as half his garrison waited outside the doors to do battle with an escaped scarpatine, Serovek agreed with him. “I think it best to leave the preparation and consumption of such a dangerous meal within Kai territory, where the staff knows how to handle one of the creatures in most situations.”

  “No pie for you at High Salure, margrave,” Anhuset said with mock sympathy.

  “It just means I'll have to visit Saggara more often, madam,” he replied, waiting for her expected scowl at the idea of seeing him. His heart knocked briefly against his ribs as her expression turned pensive instead, nor did she fire back a sharp rebuttal.

  Anhuset further shocked him by setting her plate down and announcing she was off to scout the area. If he didn't know better, he'd suspect the fierce Kai sha had found a ready excuse to flee.

  She returned just as Serovek finished brushing down Magas for the evening and checked the ropes of the makeshift corral he and Erostis had strung earlier between a grouping of trees. The firelight behind her edged her silhouette in a ruddy corona. Her silvery hair challenged the moon's grace, and the bright tapestry of her eyes glowed in the darkness as she approached him. “I wondered if you'd still be awake when I returned.”

  He met her halfway. “Did you discover anything odd?”

  She shook her head. “No.” She dragged out the word, and they both paused in their trek back to the fire, stopping next to the wagon.

  Serovek frowned. “There's a wealth of reservation in that one word, Anhuset.”

  Her lips turned down at the corners. “I could just be twitchy thanks to our trip to Haradis.” She nodded toward the dark barrier of trees from which she'd emerged. “I found three sets of tracks heading in the direction we're traveling, following a line of trampled brush and trails of blood. Boar tracks too. I think a trio of hunters was tracking a wounded hog. The spoor wasn't fresh, but I followed it for a short time until it faded. Nothing of interest really.”

  “But?” She might well be twitchy as she claimed, seeing an enemy behind every tree, under every rock, and lurking in every shadow. It didn't matter. He trusted her instincts, and something about the spoor had raised her hackles.

  “It feels purposeful.” She blew a strand of silvery hair away from her face, and her foot tapped the ground in a sign of her frustration. “I'm not explaining this right. Old tracks, old blood. An ordinary hunt. But like someone went to the trouble of making it look that way.”

  He gazed beyond her shoulder to the shadowy wood. They weren't far outside contested territory, and even in places where peace mostly reigned, raiders and brigands of every source still presented a threat to travelers. If miscreants followed them with the intent to rob, they were in for a nasty surprise. Even with their numbers halved, Serovek's party presented a formidable fighting force. Erostis and Klanek were experienced soldiers and had seen their fair share of skirmishes, and he almost pitied anyone who'd challenge a Kai sha.

  At his prolonged silence, she raised an eyebrow. “Do you doubt me? You're welcome to see for yourself.”

  “I'm not that big of a fool, Anhuset. If you suspect there's more to those tracks than meets the eye, I believe you. We've known to be on our guard since the outset of this trip. We'll continue as we are. If we're being tracked by thieves who think us easy prey, they'll learn differently soon enough.”

  She gestured to the wagon. “Who'd guess an ordinary cart pulled by ordinary horse flesh would draw so much attention. You'd think it's a monarch's sedan and stallions from Nadiza's lightning herd.”

  Serovek walked to the wagon, and Anhuset followed. He leaned over the center board and folded back the blanket covering Megiddo's ensorceled bier. The thrum of Elder magic tickled his fingertips when he did. The monk's face, peaceful in repose, carried none of the blue corona Serovek had half expected to see when he moved aside the covering. “It isn't the wagon itself or the team that pulls it. It's the fact the cargo is covered and accompanied by an armed escort.”

  “Such inspires curiosity,” she said. “It doesn't necessarily incite robbery. There's something more at work here.” He felt the weight of her curious gaze before it settled on the bier. “For no reason I can explain, it's difficult not to stare at him. Even when he was alive—still awake and aware—he drew the eye.”

  Serovek gazed at her profile from the corner of one eye. She'd gathered her hair in a loose knot at her nape, exposing her graceful neck and the sharp line of her jaw. He liked her face with its high cheekbones and swooping eyebrows as white as a snowy owl's feathers, the curve of her lips that were so parsimonious with their smile. She wore a contemplative expression as she studied Megiddo, an expression tinged with admiration. “You find him handsome then?” A nettle of unwelcome jealousy spoiled even more with a touch of envy pricked his insides. How he'd love to garner such an expression from her for himself.

  Her quick, derisive snort answered his question before her words did. “Hardly, but even ugly can be arresting.”

  Her remark gave him hope. She'd been stingingly blunt regarding her opinion of his appearance. Anhuset, like most Kai, considered humans ugly, and the sentiment was returned by most humans. Still, he'd never taken her harsh honesty personally. Even had she thought him as impressive as Megiddo, or as handsome as the handsomest Kai man, it wouldn't matter. This was a woman whose affections would be hard-won if won at all, and they wouldn't be obtained through surface attractiveness.

  He flipped the blanket edge back into place, hiding Megiddo's face, and turned to his companion. He studied her as she studied him, her lamplight eyes bright in the darkness, the emotions there hidden in depths of numerous citrine shades. “And beauty is a quality defined by more than appearance,” he said softly. “Good night, Anhuset.” He bowed and left her at the wagon.

  Her reply, just as softly uttered, trailed after him. “May your rest be peaceful, margrave.”

  The following day they rode parallel to a deepening ravine, their pace slowed by the topography's gradual ascent and the degradation of the road. The smooth packed earth of the market roads gave way to rocky, uneven ground, and Klanek dared not push the horse team to a faster pace and risk breaking an axle.

  Serovek consulted his map twice, searching for a bridge that crossed the ravine and allowed them to reach the other side and the entrance to the Lobak Valley. The map showed two bridges adjacent to each other; the beam bridge and a primitive footbridge. The footbridge came into view first. And last. No other bridge stretched across the ravine beside it.

  He reined Magas to a halt and signaled the others to do the same. “Fuck,” he muttered, scowling at the rickety footbridge, just wide enough to allow two people to cross side-by-side if they were willing to risk the sway and swoop of frayed ropes at the mercy of a howling wind.

  Erostis and Anhuset stopped on either side of him. The soldier stated the obvious. “There's no beam bridge.”

  “I can see that.” Serovek unfolded the portion of the map showing the bridges. It hadn't changed since his last study of landmarks. Two bridges, not one, and he was certain they hadn't taken a wrong turn. The way here had been mostly a straight track.

  Anhuset leaned toward him for a look at the map. “Your map says to cross here?” One eyebrow slowly climbed as she changed positions to stare at the footbridge. “You'll not get one horse across that death trap much less a wagon and team. It looks ready to snap under the weight of a rat.”

  He nearly bit his tongue to keep from snapping at her in frustration. He held up the map. “The mapmaker I purchased this from is reliable and renowned. There's supposed to be a beam bridge here as well as the footbridge.”

  “Maybe we took a wrong path after the village or the forest.” Erostis turned his mount in a circle as if to sea
rch for some hidden road whose markers they'd missed.

  Serovek shook his head. “No, we're traveling in the right direction.” He coaxed Magas toward the footbridge, buffeted by the ravine's chilly gusts as they rode parallel to its edge. As he got closer to the footbridge, the discrepancy between map and reality revealed itself.

  The map was correct, as was their direction. A beam bridge had once spanned the ravine, but no longer. Someone had destroyed it, tearing the anchor bolts from the cliff walls. Bits and pieces of spandrels and parapets not fallen to the river far below, hung on narrow outcroppings, providing sanctuary for bird's nests. The bits of stone looked like broken teeth against the cliff's dark rock.

  “Well, that explains why there aren't two bridges,” Anhuset said behind him, her remark snatched away by the spiraling wind.

  “Aye,” he replied as they rode back to where Klanek waited with the wagon. “I'll wager those who destroyed all the other water crossings we've seen had a hand in its collapse.”

  “But why not take out the footbridge as well? A quick swipe with a scythe on the ropes, and it's done. Much easier than the beam bridge.”

  He'd questioned the oversight as well for a moment until he gave the footbridge more than a passing glance. “Whoever it was, they were wise not to cut that one. It's an escape route. Someone fleeing the galla can still cross the ravine, and the demons can't follow.” He gestured toward the bridge. “Gaps between the boards. Too narrow to trip a person, but enough space between them that you see water. The demons can't cross.”

  Klanek's face wrinkled into deeper worry lines when Serovek relayed the news about the collapsed bridge to him. “If we can't cross here, we'll be forced to take the round-about way to reach the valley, and that means going through what's left of Chamtivos's territory.”

  Serovek was about to tell the driver he'd love to hear any alternative options when Anhuset straightened from her casual slouch and pointed to a spot behind him. “It seems your map missed a third bridge, margrave.”