Bastial Frenzy (The Rhythm of Rivalry: Book 4) (41 page)

“Steffen.” His heart leapt at the sound of the King calling his name.

“Sire?”

“When the tent is set up, you’ll go in first and ready yourself to record everything that happens. Tegry’s scribe will do the same. We would like to keep this cordial. I recommend introducing yourself to his scribe. But as soon as Tegry and I enter, I expect no words from you.”

“I understand.”

Welson left to give orders to the rest of his men and women. Steffen was shaking from nervousness.

They set up the tent rather quickly, and Steffen was let inside. There were two small tables and a stool behind them for each scribe to sit. Behind Steffen’s table was Kyrro’s banner of blue. A black banner with ten red stars was pinned to the tent behind the other table. They were positioned close, as the tent itself was large enough for only about ten men to stand comfortably.

Steffen quickly set his scrolls in place and readied his ink and quill. The other scribe entered. He had a pleasant face that was easy to look at, with bright blue eyes and what seemed to be a genuine smile wide enough to show his teeth.

Steffen stood and offered his hand, giving his name.

“Brady,” the other scribe answered as they shook.

Reflexively, Steffen’s hand slipped out of his grasp. His heart had fallen to his stomach.

“Brady? As in, the Brady who went to the Academy?”

“I see you’ve heard of me.”

A courageous voice told Steffen to wrestle the man to the ground and choke him. Soon he realized it was a stupid voice, not a courageous one. It could ruin everything this meeting was set up to accomplish, and he doubted he would have any success. Brady was tall and muscular, especially for a chemist.

“Why did you try to take Effie?” Steffen asked.

He sighed. “Ah, Effie Elegin. How do you know her?”

“I’m her roommate.”

“It was stupid. I thought she felt the same way about me as I did her. There’s something about that girl, isn’t there?”

Steffen shook his head.

“No?” Brady laughed, then stiffly imitated Steffen shaking his head. “You’re an awkward one.”

“What could you possibly have hoped would happen with Effie after she awoke?”

“She would learn what a terrible king she was serving, and eventually she would join the right side.”

“Your king…!” Steffen stopped himself, as his voice was becoming too loud. “Your king is the one who’s terrible. Welson is just.”

“Just?” Brady was incredulous. “Was it just when he ordered his men to attack Tegry’s boat—a bunch of unarmed men?”

“That was many years ago…”

Brady scoffed before Steffen could think of what else to say. “I was three when that happened, when your king killed my father.”

“He was on the boat?”

“Along with many other innocents. Welson is a violent king who doesn’t care about what happens to anyone else.”

“He’s not like that,” Steffen argued. “Or if he was, then he’s changed.”

Brady examined Steffen’s eyes. “You actually believe that.” He sighed in disappointment.

“Welson is a good, honest ruler, unlike Tegry, who lied to turn the Krepps against Kyrro. Think about all the death he’s caused. He’s evil!”

“Evil?” Brady laughed, a laugh of malice, of contempt. It angered Steffen to his core. “Everything Tegry has done has been for a good cause, and his people know it. How can Welson explain many of his decisions that resulted in death? He doesn’t. He claims they were mistakes. Tegry doesn’t make mistakes.”

Steffen folded his arms and spoke smugly. “It seems like going to war against Welson has been a mistake.”

Both kings entered through opposite ends of the tent.

Brady whispered, “We’ll see about that.” His tone was dripping with vengeance. It made Steffen’s chest feel like it was about to collapse.

What’s that supposed to mean?

But the kings already had greeted each other. He began to record everything he saw and heard.

“One year of peace,” Welson said without preamble, handing Tegry a scroll.

Tegry unraveled it. His gray eyes fell upon it, but they didn’t appear to be reading. They held steady as if his thoughts were elsewhere. His mouth was flat, indifferent to the offer. The King of Tenred had some blond left in his hair, though most was brown. It was thin and ugly, hanging over his ears and forehead.

He was taller than Welson, stronger as well, even in his advanced years, with wider shoulders and thicker arms.

“And how will I entertain myself for a year?” Tegry joked.

Welson had no reply.

“What has happened to you, Welson?” Tegry taunted. “You’ve become an old man so quickly.”

“You had a hand in that.”

Tegry tilted his head and smiled. “Did I?”

“Let’s not get into other matters.” Welson pointed at the scroll. “Are you going to sign the treaty?”

“Why did you demand that no psychics come?” Steffen couldn’t quite tell if the question was rhetorical or not. Tegry’s tone was just on the verge.

I could see how being a psychic would make this task easier.

“You know the reason for that as well as I do.”

“I’ve heard you’ve been training to resist psyche, and you’ve done well. Have you forced the Elf to help you? The one your father kidnapped? I know you tried to have him killed for meeting with me.”

“Rek has been cooperating by his own will.” Welson looked at Steffen and spoke clearly. “My father never kidnapped him. He’s a cherished ally.”

“Oh yes,” Tegry muttered quickly, “mustn’t let the scribes record false information. But still I wonder…why not allow psychics?” Now Tegry was clearly speaking rhetorically, putting on a show.

Welson was steadfast. “There’s no reason to discuss anything but our terms of peace.”

“I think you knew I would bring up other matters besides peace.” Tegry had an overly dramatic tone, as if speaking for an audience. “You didn’t want to answer any questions about your…oh, what should I call them? Mistakes?”

“I just didn’t—”

“And you knew I would bring up the past, didn’t you?”

“What do you need to know that you don’t already? When my father died, there was already an unhealthy rivalry between our territories.”

“Don’t forget why. Because of his ‘gifts’—three boats, one destined to sink.”

Welson sighed. “Must we get into this again?”

“I’m afraid we must,” Tegry snapped back. “Your father claimed all the boats were in perfect condition, but then why would he stop trading boats for stone after that incident?”

Tegry’s constant rhetorical tone had begun to take its toll on Welson. A scowl had formed.

“I’ll tell you why,” Tegry said. “Because your father—just like you—didn’t want us exploring the islands around Ovira. No, no. The potential of finding more caregelows or other invaluable resources was too great, and his greed took over. This is why you gave the men on your ships orders to attack mine. Isn’t that right? Greed?”

“I told them they could protect themselves. Something must’ve given them the impression of danger.”

Immense anger flooded Tegry’s face. “Against unarmed men?” he shouted.

“Sire, is everything alright?” Hem shouted from outside.

“We’re fine,” Welson shouted back. Then he pointed at Tegry. “You act as if you’re innocent. My boats have mysteriously sunk, my men have been killed during the night within my own castle.” He lifted his shirt to reveal a scar down his side. “Assassination attempts. I know all of these come from you. How do you even keep your people from revolting? They must know of your lies by now.”

“I don’t lie to them. My people support every decision I’ve made. They know what kind of man you are. They’ve been ready for war as long as I have. It’s common knowledge that royal blood was on the crew you brutally murdered.”

“We must move past this. There will only be more death if we don’t,” Welson pleaded. “I’m sorry about your nephew.”

“He was my son!” Tegry screamed. He stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled.

Just behind him, Steffen could hear the sound of swords singing. There were screams and then clashes of metal, bone, and flesh. The crackle of fire came next, then explosions.

“What are you doing?” Welson screamed incredulously.

Tegry held the treaty forward and ripped it in half.

Hem rushed into the tent with two other men. He grabbed Welson by the arm. “We must go!”

Someone fell into the tent, a woman by the sound of her scream. Her arm hit Steffen in the back. He was off his stool by then, though he wasn’t sure what he would do. The tent threatened to collapse but managed to bounce back and straighten itself.

More of Tegry’s men had come in to flank their king. Before Hem could get Welson out, enemies stormed in behind them and began a sword fight.

Steffen started around his table. No one was focused on him. He could sneak up behind one.

Then he was tackled. He kicked and punched to get Brady off him, but Brady was far stronger, pinning Steffen and punching him in the side, then across the face. It dazed Steffen and left him unsure of how to protect himself.

Again he was struck. And again. He grabbed Brady’s shirt, though it did nothing to slow him down. The blows kept coming, each more painful than the last.

Brady jumped off him and then picked him up mostly by his hair. Steffen heard himself screaming from the pain and frustration as he tried to fight back.

Keeping his grip on Steffen’s hair, Brady put him on the stool. By then, Steffen saw that Hem was motionless on the ground with a grievous cut across his neck. Only Tegry’s warriors remained, and two of them had Welson’s arms. The King of Kyrro struggled to break free until one elbowed him in the stomach, causing him to double over, his body limp as he coughed.

The sounds of battle behind Steffen had started to quiet. There were still screams, men and women fighting, but they were yelps of despair and victory.

A man handed Tegry a dagger. He trudged toward Welson with a look of despicable satisfaction.

Steffen slammed his head backward into Brady’s stomach. He flailed his arms in desperation, knuckles connecting with Brady’s flesh. But then the grip on his hair tightened and a blow to the back of his head made dizziness overcome him.

His head sank to his chest. But Brady pulled him up again by his hair. “You need to watch this, scribe.”

Welson had a look of disgust in his fearful eyes. “No king will ever meet with you again,” he said. “There will be no peace until you’re killed.”

“There will be,” Tegry said. He shifted the dagger into a downward grip. “When I control Kyrro.” He brought the dagger high and then slammed it down into Welson’s skull, embedding it deeply.

The guards let go and the King of Kyrro fell, his tired eyes still open with his head turned toward Steffen.

Steffen screamed every curse he could think of. No one replied. They didn’t even look at him.

“You will die for this,” he told Tegry.

“Shut up and pick up your quill,” Tegry demanded.

Steffen didn’t care what his enemy said. He made no motion toward his quill.

“Do it,” Brady said, twisting his hair with one hand and grabbing Steffen’s quill with the other. He pushed it flatly into Steffen’s chest.

“I won’t write lies,” he said, taking the quill.

“No, you’ll write the truth,” Tegry said. “Every detail. When you’re finished, you’ll bring it back with you and deliver it to whoever is in charge. Make sure it gets into the hands of the next king.”

Brady finally let go of Steffen’s hair.

A guard came in with Tegry’s coat. He helped the King into it, and all of them left the tent without another word.

Steffen sat there, staring at Welson’s body.

He didn’t know how long he sat without moving, without even a thought.

Eventually he crouched and used his hands to shut Welson’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. When he stood and looked at Alex’s brother dead with the rest of them, he rushed to the corner of the tent and retched.

Wiping his mouth, he found his face was bloody. No matter where he put his palm, it came back red. He felt cuts along his cheeks, his forehead, even his lip and nose. Pain came soon after.

Determined, he sat back on the stool and wrote. A few drops of his blood fell onto the scroll when he began, so he leaned away to make sure no other words would be smeared. He didn’t look up until he was done.

He set paperweights on the scroll’s edges. Then he left the tent as he waited for the ink to dry.

Steffen closed his eyes as he emerged. He let one eye squint open, just enough to confirm that there was no one else left alive.

The clouds had parted by the time Steffen got back to the Fjallejon Mountains. The evening sun was warm and bright. It angered him. It should’ve been the darkest day in Ovira.

“Hey! Hey!” a voice shouted down from the peak, barely intelligible.

Steffen looked up to find the silhouettes of what he knew to be his allies—men and women of Kyrro who would stop any intruders from using the pathway to get into the territory.