The Redstar Rising Trilogy

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “What brings you both to town?” Tayvada asked.

  “I’ve—we’ve heard great things about your guild and hoped to enter the fold,” Whitney lied.

  “So good to know our reputation has carried all the way to… Yarrington raised I’d say?”

  “So right you are!” Whitney forced a nauseating laugh. Sora tittered and smiled with the grace of a proper lady. He had to give her credit. If he didn’t know any better, he’d have thought she hadn’t grown up in a crummy shack on a dried-up river.

  “And you, my dear, when did you leave our beloved Panping?”

  “Actually—” Sora started, but Whitney cut in.

  “Actually, we were planning to catch a ship there before hearing of the horrible things happening in your fine city and the slowdown in the harbor. We have business in Yaolin City. A potential import deal with her family. We grow barley on a plantation north of the city, you see.”

  “An exceptional crop,” the man remarked.

  “But it appears we are without the temporary license needed to charter passage. And to travel by land, at this point, would delay things beyond what we can afford.”

  “I see. Prefect Calhoun issued the edict shortly after the new king declared war against the Black Sands.”

  “So we heard. I attempted to meet with the prefect and get all this sorted out, but all this has him too busy for unexpected audiences and we’re not from around here.”

  Tayvada shook his head. “Of course. In general, that man is notoriously hard to meet with and these are rough times here in Winde Port. Haven’t seen everyone up in arms like this since the Panping Wars. What was that... has to be more than twenty years ago?”

  “And some change now,” Whitney said as if the man didn’t know. Liam’s War, which brought down their Council of Mystics and absorbed all the Panping Region under the Glass, had been two-and-a-half decades ago. He knew because that was when Sora arrived in Troborough on a caravan finding homes for children orphaned by the fighting.

  “Such a shame. Normally it wouldn’t have mattered at all. Would have merely cost you a few more autlas to charter east as passengers.”

  “Which is what I told my wife on the ride here. Much safer sailing to Yaolin City from here then all the way around by way of the Torrential Sea. Alas, it seems that was the better option.”

  Tayvada scratched his chin and took a look around the room. Then, he leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “I’ll tell you what, I like a couple that proves our peoples can live harmoniously after so much bloodshed. These days, that’s more important than ever.”

  “There’s no one in the world I’d rather be with.” Whitney took Sora’s arm and gave it a loving squeeze. Her false smile deepened while she returned the gesture, but she dug her nails into his back at the same time.

  “Well, why don’t you come by the Guild Hall later this evening. Find me and I’ll see what can be done to get you to Yaolin City in fair time—short of hitching a wagon—yes?”

  “That would be superb, Lord Bokeo.”

  “Please, call me Tayvada.”

  A soft purring sound emanated from the man. Whitney nearly let a laugh sneak out at the thought of a man as proper as Tayvada gassing up the place. Then a pair of reptilian wings flapped behind him. Whitney didn’t even try to hide his surprise.

  “Whoa!” he shouted, taking a step back and bumping into the bar. A few glasses rattled as he looked to Sora, whose jaw dropped.

  “I am so sorry,” Tayvada said. “I sometimes forget she is there.” A dark brown creature about the size of a large sack landed on his padded shoulder. Scales covered every bit of its body, with frills around its head plate. A pair of small wings stretched out acting also as front legs, claws serving both as joints and feet.

  “Is that… a dragon?” Sora stammered. The creature blinked at her inquisitively. Its piercing, snake-like, yellow eyes had two sets of eyelids. A thin, translucent layer which closed sideways beneath a normal, vertical pair.

  The man laughed. “Dragons are long gone, my dear. This here is Aquira. She’s a wyvern—a distant relative of the dragon found in the Pikeback Mountains. She is nearly full-grown and mighty friendly… unless she considers you dangerous. You’re not dangerous, are you Lord Blisslayer?”

  “Not toward a beauty like her,” Whitney said. “That’s for sure.” He grinned and again glanced toward Sora. Her face was like stone, unmoving from awe. He’d seen a few wyverns before in Panping whereas, she’d clearly never seen anything like it. They were extremely rare and valuable. They didn’t, however, burn down villages and eat men as they couldn’t sustain flight for long with their small wings.

  After a long moment, she finally whispered, “May I touch her?”

  “It is doubtful she’ll let you. She may be friendly, however, wyverns are notoriously proud. But by all means, try. She won’t bite.”

  Sora reached out. Aquira backed away and stuck out her serpentine tongue. Whitney was about to tease Sora when the wyvern suddenly leaned back in and nuzzled her head against Sora’s outstretched hand.

  “Bravo!” Tayvada said, giddy.

  “Her scales are so dry!” she exclaimed.

  “Let me see. A friend of mine had one and he loved me.” Whitney went to pet Aquira, but the wyvern hissed at him before flying back and hovering behind Tayvada. Her breath was hot, like the hazy air just above a roaring fire.

  “Don’t fret, my friend.” Tayvada lay his hand on Whitney’s shoulder. “She has a soft spot for women.”

  “She just has good taste,” Sora said.

  Whitney crossed his arms, then plopped back down on his stool. “So, the Guild Hall, tonight?” he asked.

  “Yes, tonight,” Tayvada said. “I shall see you there. And do wear something… fitting?”

  Whitney looked down at his tattered cloak. “My apologies. It has been a long journey.”

  “I understand. Until tonight, my Lord and Lady.” He bowed, then nodded Tum Tum’s way. “Come Aquira!”

  Whitney turned to Sora as the man walked away, Aquira flapping to keep up with him. Sora was finally able to turn off her smile, but Whitney’s remained ear to ear. He raised a fresh tankard of ale to both her and Tum Tum.

  “See?” he said. “Simple.”

  VII

  THE KNIGHT

  Torsten could almost taste the energy in the air the night of Pi’s declaration. A flurry of genuine activity passed through Yarrington the likes of which not seen since the passing of King Liam. People active not because they felt they had to be, such as had been for his coronation, but out of true desire.

  He could hear the great King Liam’s voice imparting wisdom before yet another war, “Common people don’t revel in the fear of the royals behind walls,” he said. “They crave an enemy they can reach. Villains that breathe their air, walk their dirt… spill their blood.”

  It was a simple concept, but as Torsten looked out upon Yarrington, he understood better than ever. For months, the city had been obsessed with things they couldn’t control; a dying king, a queen driven to the brink of madness, unprovoked raids, hunger, a miracle—but now the taverns bustled. Together, young men and fathers drank and cursed the Shesaitju. They flooded the barracks across the kingdom, volunteers on top of conscripts.

  All that time, trying to avoid war and Torsten forgot what the Glass Kingdom was founded on. Half a century ago, they were just another kingdom in the corner of Pantego. Then a young king was called on by Iam to take up the sword, to bear His name, to bring greater Pantego under a single crown.

  Liam had been older than Pi, yet Torsten couldn’t help but wonder if history would repeat itself, would give a second chance, granted by Iam, to stay true, to keep spreading his light.

  “Shouldn’t you be planning?”

  Torsten whipped around to see Oleander in the doorway of his chambers. It was neither modest like Rand’s apartment nor luxurious like the King and Queen’s, but it suited him. Instead of paintings and sculp
tures, the flawlessly cut stone walls were covered in weaponry. The shield of Sir Roderich of Cornhovel—a city no longer on the map thanks to so many battles, the Spear of Sir Von the Valiant—relics of great Shieldsmen he could aspire to.

  It was, however, no place fit for the Queen Mother.

  “Your Grace.” Torsten bowed. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “At least someone still bows to their queen.”

  She entered the room, her long legs carrying her to Torsten’s bedside in only a few strides. She sat on the edge and her handmaiden made sure her dress didn’t bunch—not a dress, Torsten realized. She wore a negligee as extravagant as any gown in Pantego. The frills were woven with gold, and the blue fabric was stitched in a tight floral pattern. The light of the moons poured through Torsten’s window and caught it, allowing him to clearly see the silhouette of the lithe figure beneath.

  Torsten averted his eyes, wondering if she knew. Then, he realized that he too was out of uniform, wearing only the sweat-laden, baggy tunic worn beneath his armor. He could only imagine the stench. The audience with the Caleef had every ounce of perspiration rolling down his back and from his shaven head.

  “Forgive me,” Torsten said. “If I knew you were coming I would be dressed appropriately.”

  “Can you stop being such an insufferably honorable man for once?” she groaned.

  “And you…” She spun on her handmaiden. “If I wanted you to follow me in here I would have asked.”

  The young woman froze and stuttered, “Your Grace, I—”

  “Get out!”

  The young handmaiden scurried out of the room like a rat caught foraging at a banquet. Torsten watched the young lady’s retreat and caught a glimpse of the Queen making herself more comfortable. His heart raced. There had never been a woman on his bed, let alone her.

  “Your Grace, is there anything you need…” His words trailed off when he heard her snivel. His eyes lifted and found her face buried in her palms, crying.

  Torsten rushed to her side. “What happened?”

  “He’s so… cruel,” she whimpered.

  “Who?”

  “He wasn’t like this when he was younger. Before everything. He was a sweet, kind boy. Uriah always said so, too. Now, I… I don’t even know him.”

  Torsten sat beside her. He was a hair’s breadth from laying his hand over hers but thought better of it. He slid away a bit, where the overpowering scent of her flower-blossom perfume wasn’t so intoxicating.

  “Oh, him,” he said. “He’s been through a lot, Your Grace. He’s just figuring things out.”

  “I should’ve never let Redstar anywhere near him.”

  “None of us should have, but he can’t poison Pi’s mind any longer. He’s locked up and won’t be seeing day’s light anytime soon.”

  “Don’t you see, Torsten? I’ve been caring for a stranger ever since that day.” She turned to him, tears causing her makeup to run. The last time he saw her so affected was when he found her cradling Pi’s corpse. Now the boy was alive, yet she cried all the same.

  “I only knew him from afar before then, so I cannot say.”

  “He loved to read. I’m not sure where he got it from. His father was a man of action, and I… I didn’t learn to read until Liam brought me here. There’s no reason for a woman to study in the far North.”

  “Then I’m glad you’re here, Your Grace.”

  “Do not spin lies. Do you think I've not heard the whispers all these years? About the ‘foreign whore Queen.’ Do you think I don’t know how they talk about me now? The murderous witch who lost her mind. I was only trying to save him.”

  “And Iam heard your prayers and returned him to us,” Torsten said before thinking. He didn’t believe that. The people prayed, maybe, but Iam didn’t reward senseless killing. In the corner of his mind, ever since that day, Torsten always wondered if he’d been the one who’d caused the miracle. If it had been his unwavering faith that broke whatever curse Redstar had laid upon Pi and inspired Iam to return him to the realm of the living.

  He never presumed to know the machinations of Iam. All he knew for sure was Oleander’s rampage wasn’t the cause of it. It couldn’t have been.

  “I thought everything would be back to normal when you found him in the crypt,” Oleander said. “But now, when he starts talking, all I see in him is his father.”

  “Liam was a great man.”

  “He was. From the moment I saw him in the tundra, I knew he had no equal. Redstar couldn’t understand why I left without a fuss. He still doesn’t.”

  “I remember.”

  “You were there?”

  Torsten nodded. “I was Uriah’s squire.”

  How could he forget that day? Liam sought to conquer the Drav Cra before he realized he never could. The land beyond Winter’s Thumb was wild and always would be. But then Liam saw the stunning daughter of a chieftain, barely of proper age. She stuck out like a flower growing through the ice.

  Oleander ran her fingers along her tear-covered cheeks. “Oh, how time has ravaged me since then.”

  “You are more radiant than ever, Your Grace.” That, he meant. How Liam fell for someone so young, he would never understand, but the man had an eye for seeing beyond what others could. Somehow, he knew the marvel Oleander would blossom into. A fierce queen and the greatest beauty in Pantego... now sitting on Torsten’s bed.

  “How in Iam’s name are you not betrothed, Torsten?” She smiled, though her swollen eyes made it pitiable, and sidled closer.

  “The Crown is a Shieldsman’s only love, Your Grace.”

  “Right, of course. You’re not still chaste though, are you?”

  “My Queen?”

  “A virgin, Torsten.”

  “I know what it means, Your Grace. I just—”

  “You are, aren’t you!” Oleander said, seemingly forgetting about her tears.

  “Of course not!” Torsten exclaimed, cheeks red as cherry plums.

  “No, how could you be? Conquering all those foreign lands with my husband. I’m sure you were treated like a king by all the whores he brought in.”

  Torsten choked on his next breath.

  “What? You think I don’t know?” She laughed. “He had enough mistresses to fill the Great Hall.”

  “I… the King kept to his tent….”

  “My sweet Torsten, you don’t have to lie to me. I know who my husband was. Within these walls, I was the love of his life, but out there? Every time he returned from some great battle, it wasn’t blood I smelled on him.”

  “He loved you, my Queen,” Torsten said softly. He could think of nothing else, and even those words barely managed past his lips.

  “I know he did. And I loved him when I could. But the others were all beautiful, faultless and fleeting loves. Only I suffered under the weight of his honesty. As I now suffer under the weight of my own son’s—his son.”

  “For a boy his age to have been through so much… I can’t even imagine. I truly believe he’s simply still figuring things out, Your Grace.”

  “Torsten, please do away with the formalities. We are alone in this room.”

  “Of course, Your Gr—Oleander.” He didn’t need the reminder of their solitude, it was all he could think of.

  She rested her head against Torsten’s shoulder. He quaked with conflicting emotions. He had never—could never—deny how stunning she was, how powerful, but he’d been on the receiving end of her wrath far too many times.

  “I did it all for him,” she said quietly after some time had passed.

  “I know.”

  “No, you don’t!” She removed her head from his shoulder, but her anger quickly subsided and she returned it again. “How could you?” she continued, calmly this time. “You have no child of your own. You’re like all the rest. You think I’m some crazy, murderous shrew.”

  This time, Torsten was the one to break the connection. He stood, hands balled into tight fists. “I think you were broken
by grief and made mistakes. And I may not have a child, but my quest to bring young Pi back to this realm showed me terrors no man should see. Included are your brother’s torments, masquerading as a man I respected, and a beast so grotesque her visage assaults me in my dreams.”

  He stared off into the shadow of his room and imagined her there. The Spider Queen Bliss, her eyes like amethysts staring back at him, wanting to devour him.

  “Torsten.” The Queen took his hand, pulled him toward her. When he drew his gaze away from the shadows and back toward her, he found her solemn again. Bliss was said to be a goddess, and at that moment Oleander seemed her equal.

  Before he knew it, they were sitting so near one another, their legs touched. Her long, painted nails ran up his arm and along the bare flesh of his neck. All the tiny hairs on his body rose with it.

  “My greatest mistake was losing faith in you. Sending you away,” she said softly, leaning in. Her perfume wafted around his nostrils, making it impossible to retreat.

  “I’m here now,” he said, voice quavering.

  “Of course you are, my loyal, handsome, knight. I never properly thanked you for stopping my brother.” Her other hand gripped the back of his neck. Her fingers were cold, but her breath was warm.

  “You can start by finally executing the bastard.” His voice shook and his breath came in spirts. “The coronation is over now. I cannot bear another day knowing his shadow looms over us. Especially with war to come.”

  “Tonight, then? I’ll let you hold the sword.” She drew herself closer, throwing one leg over his, her knee resting between his thighs. Her negligee stretched, falling off one of her slender shoulders as her body contorted. “I’ve heard Pantego has no finer swordsman. Surely, you could handle it.”

  Torsten knew he should back away, but he’d never seen her so intimately. Her milky skin was supple, without blemish. Her eyes bore so many different shades of blue it made the summer sky seem dreary. There wasn’t a man in all the Glass and beyond who hadn’t dreamed of this. He wasn’t sure what Oleander was up to—she was always up to something—but he couldn’t stop. His heart beat so fast he felt like it would drive him to an early grave. Her lips fell upon his. They tasted as wonderful as her perfume smelled.