The Ippos King: Wraith Kings Book Three

by Draven, Grace

  He couldn't have been more wrong in his assumption. Serovek's intelligence far outstripped his obstinacy. “He won't tell you because he can't. He doesn't know how to break it. Only the Khaskem does. If you'd asked me instead, I could have told you and saved your men the trouble of trying to beat it out of Lord Pangion.”

  Chamtivos gave a blithe shrug. “A few lessons in humility either builds character or breaks it. We'll see which it is for his lordship once he wakes.”

  Talking while draped across a horse made her stomach roil. Her skull began to throb. She tried another tack. “He'd make just as valuable a hostage as the monk. The Beladine king will pay generously to have one of his military governors returned to him alive and mostly unharmed.”

  “Maybe. But someone else has already paid me a king's ransom to capture him, and I'll gain something even better—power—if I dispose of him. A certain steward rises in the world if the margrave doesn't make it back to High Salure. Pangion isn't nearly as valuable alive as he is dead.”

  The shock of his words left her almost as speechless as the ice water dousing she'd endured the day before. Bryzant had planned all this? Serovek's steward who'd stood on a kitchen prep table holding a skillet like a shield while she chased an angry scarpatine around the scullery? Her thoughts reeled. Why? And what did Ogran hope to gain from the alliance and the betrayal?

  A cascade of grim possibilities made her scowl. He was one of the four sent back to High Salure and Saggara with messages. Had only Ogran made the journey back alive, and if so, what message did he deliver?

  Her neck hurt from keeping it arched so she could look into Chamtivos's deceptively innocent features. “Why haven't you killed him already? And me as well?”

  “As I told you before, you're entertainment.” He smiled. “I like a challenge and am fond of the hunt. The Kai have a reputation for being strong, fierce fighters. I'm told you're equal to three men in a fight. You'll make for challenging prey.”

  There it was again, the comparison between her and specifically three humans—an echo of what Serovek had told Ogran while they decided how to split up their party and who would return and who would continue to the monastery. Karulin had referenced it first, and even had he not mentioned Ogran's name, she would have known it was him.

  Chamtivos's revelation of his plans for them was anticlimactic, at least for her. Anhuset had imagined something far worse than being hunted by him and his minions, though she wouldn't make the mistake of underestimating their prowess, especially with Karulin in their party. Every instinct she possessed told her that despite his kindness toward her, he was likely the most dangerous adversary in this group.

  Done with conversation, Chamtivos left her to issue more orders and soon a party of twelve, along with her and a now unconscious Serovek rode out of the camp. Her sense of time told her they hadn't traveled more than an hour before they halted again, but her balking stomach and pounding head protested it was a lifetime. The smell of water teased her nose, and she heard the sound of gently lapping waves tumbling against a shore.

  She was afforded a better view of her surroundings once they hauled her off the horse and dropped her in a heap onto a pebbled beach. She struggled to her knees before managing to stand. A lake, with an opposite shore in the far distance and an island rising from its center lay before her. She recalled Serovek's map. There'd been a body of water marked on the map whose location was parallel to the path they'd planned to take to the monastery. If her sense of direction was correct, this lake was that body of water.

  Were Chamtivos and his men planning to drown her and Serovek? She discarded the idea. The warlord had stated he planned to hunt them. She eyed the island in the lake's center, noting its shape like a hump with a significant incline that rounded off to a gentle summit. The land itself was covered in a conifer forest, nearly black against the gray sky and matching the lake's serenely dark surface.

  Two boats sat beached nearby, just large enough to transport their entire party to the island. Chamtivos took no chances and ordered Karulin to muzzle her again. The grim expression Karulin had worn was now black with disapproval. He tied the gag snugly, but not so tight that it cut into her cheeks. She swore a flicker of apology danced across his features before he guided her to one of the boats.

  They split into three groups. Two men stayed behind to set up an overnight camp on the shore, while the others divided their numbers between the boats. “Put his lordship in the boat with me and the Kai bitch in the other with Karulin,” Chamtivos ordered.

  The slap of the oars on the water as they skimmed across the lake was the only sound. The water itself was dark, with the vague outline of a drop-off that began not far from the shore and plunged into depths no sunlight reached. This was a deep, deep lake. Surface waves lifted and dipped them gently, and more than once Anhuset spotted undulating shapes cresting above the water in scaly, serpentine arches. The creatures moved counter to the waves, leaving broad, flat wakes behind them as they glided parallel to the boats. She was a good swimmer and didn't fear drowning should some accident occur and she fell in the water. But whatever patrolled just below the surface promised a death more savage than a drowning.

  They reached the island's leeward side without incident. A man from each boat hopped into waist-deep water with bow lines and towed the boats, always watching the deeper water for any sign of the water creatures that had followed them. Once they turned the boats so that the bows faced out toward the lake and set both anchors and spikes, the rest of the group piled out. Anhuset muttered under her breath as she plunged knee-deep into the water. She'd just started drying out and warming up.

  Karulin kept a steady hand on her arm as she shuffle-waded to shore. Two others dragged Serovek to where she stood, dropping him at her feet. A faint groan escaped his lips.

  Chamtivos faced her, gesturing for Karulin to remove her gag. “You've the rest of the day and night to prepare. Tomorrow morning, we return for the hunt. I'm much looking forward to pitting my skills against you, Kai woman.”

  This was a petty man driven by childish malice and an overblown sense of his own importance and entitlement. How he managed to gain and keep a fighting force willing to die for him in a war with the Nazim monks puzzled her greatly.

  Karulin moved from behind her to scowl at Chamtivos. “This is wrong. All of it. When did our purpose drift from fighting for our lands to chasing defenseless captives through the forests for fun?”

  Chamtivos lost the smirk he wore. Something neither human nor Kai nor anything belonging to this world stared back at her and Karulin. They both retreated a step. “It isn't your place to protest or judge. Here I am king.”

  He didn't wait for a reply but strode to where the other men gathered, making plans for the following day and exchanging wagers over who'd make the first kill and how they'd do it. Karulin bent to pick up the gag he'd dropped to the ground. He held it out to her, face hard with a quiet fury and equally resolute. He held the gag out to her. “Do you want this?” She nodded. Cloth strips came in handy for numerous reasons. He folded the gag neatly, tucking it under Serovek's prone form. “You can retrieve it once I'm not so close to you.”

  His actions were odd as was his statement. Bound as she still was, her mobility was severely limited.

  “Will you be one of the hunters tomorrow?” Anhuset hoped not. She'd regret killing him and only him. He might be as twisted as the master he served, but she trusted her instincts and her judgment, and they told her Karulin was nothing like Chamtivos.

  His lips thinned. “That depends on whether or not Chamtivos requires me to prove my loyalty to him.” He shrugged. “I'm an adequate hunter and better with a sword than a bow.” Her eyes widened at these key details he shared with her. His voice, already low, softened even more. “There are four archers among us who are far more skilled than the rest. Without them, you might survive.” He backed away. “Good luck, sha-Anhuset.”

  He returned to the boats where the others had alre
ady begun boarding. Chamtivos regarded him from his place at the bow of one boat, reminding Anhuset of a snake studying unsuspecting quarry. Karulin ignored him, and she guessed he'd not turn his back on his master, figuratively or literally, any time soon.

  She watched them row away, leaving her and Serovek without provisions or weapons of any kind. She'd expected no less. Wrists and ankles still bound, she'd have to find a way to cut herself free, otherwise she was useless to Serovek and herself. A small, triumphant cry burst past her lips when she discovered a treasure folded into the creases of the gag cloth tucked under Serovek's shoulder: an eating knife. Small, easily hidden, and just as sharp as any fighting blade she normally carried.

  Chamtivos had a traitor in his midst, or at least a man who felt it necessary to even the odds a little more between predator and prey. Karulin had managed to wrap the knife in the gag cloth without anyone noticing, including her, relying on the hunch that Anhuset might want the cloth as either a bandage or a weapon. He was her enemy, her adversary, but at least an honorable one, unlike that craven dog to whom he gave allegiance.

  She cut her bonds away and used the gag cloth to create a makeshift sheath for the knife. Chamtivos might have stripped her of her weapons, but she wasn't without. She had teeth, claws, Karulin's knife, her training, and her wits. They'd not find her easy prey to hunt and kill.

  Serovek was another matter. Up close he looked in even worse shape, battered and bloody. No doubt she'd find more contusions and worse under his clothes. His breathing was quick but not labored, a good sign that. Even if his captors had broken a rib or two, they hadn't punctured a lung.

  She lifted a few strands of his hair, sticky with blood, away from his abused face. “The cruelties of lesser men inflicted upon a greater one. I'm sorry, Serovek.” The sight of his injuries seated a cold fury deep in her gut, and she almost wished Chamtivos and the gutless lackeys he commanded would turn their boats around start the hunt now just so she'd have the pleasure of ripping their heads off and feeding their bodies to whatever lurked in the lake's depths.

  It was late morning, and she had less than a full day's cycle to get herself and Serovek to some form of shelter and plan how they might survive. “Come on, margrave. We can't stay on the beach forever.”

  They were exposed on the beach. The conifer wood covering most of the island offered the camouflage of shadow as well as darkness that she saw far better in than her human adversaries. There would be places to hide. Small caves, outcroppings or niches, swales overhung by tree branches with deeper ditches that could serve as ambush trenches. Anhuset hoped the island dwellers were less menacing—and smaller—than what she'd seen in the lake itself.

  She eased Serovek onto his stomach, wincing when he emitted another groan. “This is only going to get worse for both of us before it gets better,” she assured him.

  Kneeling at his head, she hooked her elbows under his shoulders and clasped her sore wrists at his back. He sagged in her arms, dead weight, his head resting between her breasts.

  “And humans complain the Kai are heavy,” she muttered. “I think I could carry Magas easier.”

  Widening her stance, she slowly raised him to his feet, using her legs to support him. With his feet still dragging the ground, she wedged her thigh between his legs, grabbed his left hand with her right and draped it over her shoulder. Every punch and kick she'd taken after head-butting Lewelis made itself known in the sharpest way when she pressed her head to Serovek's side, squatted and curved him over her back for a lift off the ground.

  Sweat trickled down her face and dripped into her eyes as she took one staggering step, then another and another toward the tree line.

  She adjusted her weight and that of her burden until she had her legs solidly under her and could walk without staggering. Soon, she adopted a steady pace, Serovek heavy on her but not impossible to carry despite his considerable bulk.

  Heated by her exertions, she welcomed the shade the towering firs offered. She'd miss the warmth later, but for now the chill helped as she climbed the island's slope.

  Thorny underbrush clawed at her clothes. She wove through a labyrinth of majestic trees, their needle-shaped leaves whispering to her while they swayed and creaked in the steady wind coming off the water. Serovek grew heavier on her back with every step, and the air in her lungs scorched a path on the inside of her bruised throat with each breath she took.

  Exhaustion conquered her halfway up the slope. Dizzy, gasping, and in danger of dropping her burden, she staggered to a spot mostly clear of the rapacious underbrush but still padded with a carpet of fallen fir needles.

  The process of lowering herself to the ground and rolling Serovek off her shoulders and onto his back left her seeing double. She collapsed next to him, listening to the thunder of her heartbeat in her ears.

  Once her heart stopped racing and her lungs no longer threatened to catch fire, she checked Serovek. He still breathed, the rhythm deeper, slower as if he sensed that for now he was safe in the company of a friend instead of among enemies. Anhuset gained her feet to explore their immediate surrounds. The conifers, statuesque and close together, bound the forest in an endless twilight. Mushrooms and lichen grew in abundant patches on the forest floor and on flat rocks.

  Luck smiled down on her when she spotted an expanse of stone with a shallow indentation in its center, a water-catch that still held a gathering of morning dew hidden from the sun. She didn't have a cup to scoop up the water so unwrapped the gag cloth from the knife and saturated it until water trickled through her fingers as she held it in her palm.

  Serovek's bloodied lips parted as she squeezed a stream of water into his mouth. He swallowed everything she offered, the tip of his tongue swiping over his lower lip to catch the last drops. Anhuset used the damp cloth to lightly swab his face and break the crust of blood sealing his eyelids shut.

  He regained consciousness gradually, his eyes moving back and forth beneath the thin skin of his lids, and his breathing changed once more. One eye finally opened to a bare squint, his gaze made even more hideous by the blood threads marring the whites of his eyes.

  “Ah gods,” he said in a rough voice. “We made love, didn't we? And I don't remember any of it.” He shifted position, cursing from the pain it caused him. “You weren't jesting when you said I wouldn't survive you.”

  He was a sorcerer in his way with his ability to coax out her amusement in even the direst of circumstances. Pleased more than she could express at his revival and his humor, she pushed his hair back from his forehead with a careful caress. “Obviously, you aren't dying.”

  “I'd probably feel better and hurt less if I were.”

  She used the cloth again to finish cleaning his face. He flinched away when she touched a particularly sensitive spot on his cheekbone. “Hold still,” she ordered. During her ministrations he'd managed to open his right eye more, though his left remained closed. “How much can you see?”

  “Blurry on the right side. I'll let you know about the left when I can open it.” Poor vision not withstanding, he didn't miss the marks of her own stay with Chamtivos and company. “You're wearing a few bruises and lumps yourself, not to mention that rope burn around your neck.” He attempted to scowl but thought better of it. Still, his voice betrayed his anger. “They noosed you.”

  She nodded. “Rope looped at the end of a pole.”

  “Then there's a Kuram in their midst.” He expanded his remark when she shook her head to indicate she wasn't familiar with the term. “Horseman out of the Glimming. The Kuram are herders and use guras—what was used on you—to capture wild horses.” He pointed to her throat. “When did they give you that?”

  “When we were first attacked. They shot me full of darts dipped in dasker poison to keep me that way until they reached camp. How did they take you?”

  “Sheer numbers,” he said. “I killed a few, but they swarmed me like hornets.” He reached up to touch a spot on his scalp. “Someone with a club got in
a lucky shot, though I don't think the lump on my head is as impressive as the one on your forehead.”

  She'd forgotten about that injury. “Courtesy of one of Chamtivos's henchmen. I head-butted his face after he pissed on me.”

  This time Serovek's ferocious scowl defied any pain he might have suffered from the expression. “He's first on my list to kill then.”

  “You'd have to wait your turn behind me,” she said. “Besides, Chamtivos already did it. Cut the lout's throat for causing trouble and mistreating what Chamtivos considered his property.” That statement made her want to tear the warlord's arms off. And his legs for good measure.

  Serovek regarded her, trading his frown for a half smile. “Battered and pissed on, you're still beautiful.”

  “And I didn't think you could get any uglier.”

  His smile grew, accompanied by a wince. “Does this mean I can't coax you under me?”

  “The beating has made you delirious. I doubt you can even stand at the moment.” Her mind recognized his jesting, but her body reacted otherwise, sending a hot blush flowing under her skin. Her heart, barely slowed after the climb, resumed its previous heavy beat.

  Serovek waved a hand in a careless motion. “Some bruises, a few cracked ribs. They didn't geld me.”

  “Don't think the idea didn't occur to them. And you didn't mention the black eyes. Your nose is broken too. You're in no shape for a swiving.”

  He snorted. “I'm beaten, not dead. I'd suggest you be on top, but you weigh as much as my horse. You'll break the rest of my bones those shit maggots didn't get to.” A chuff of laughter escaped her. “Ah, there it is,” he marveled, as if he'd turned back a threadbare cloth to reveal a valuable jewel.

  “There's what?” Her question was rhetorical. She knew to what he referred.

  “Your smile. There's no finer sight than a smile from sha-Anhuset, unless it's a smiling, naked Anhuset.” He wiggled his eyebrows.