Bastial Sentinels (The Rhythm of Rivalry: Book 5) (13 page)

There was an old saying: Know your enemy. Danvell had spent countless hours researching the Kings of Waywen and Presoren. But his efforts had amounted to nothing. His true enemy had plotted for years before Danvell ever heard of him. Fatholl couldn’t have accumulated such a following in secret without slow and careful scheming. The Elf was dangerous, more dangerous than any desmarl. Those creatures were practically brainless. Some people speculated the desmarls couldn’t distinguish between a Human and a goat. Both were just food to the beasts.

Jek had fought them, killed ten of them. They were treacherous but predictable. He’d rather face ten thousand more of those monsters than Fatholl’s army.

They rode west until the light of the sun was too dim to see farther than the ground right in front of them. The land southwest of The Nest flourished with trees and tall grass that acted as enough of a cushion for Jek to easily find comfort upon his blanket when they stopped for the night.

“Riding into danger has always troubled me,” Jek told Micah, as the adviser spread his blanket beside him. “But only because I despise the trip there.”

“Can’t stand the wait?” Micah asked.

“Exactly, especially when I know so little about what to expect when we get there.” He hoped Micah would take his comment to heart and tell him more about Lake Mercy.

“What do you want to know?” Micah let out a yawn.

“How certain are you Raymess will be there?”

“I’m fairly confident. I know the young man.”

Jek didn’t know Raymess well, just that he was a dutiful prince above all else. He seemed incapable of laughing and smiling, sometimes reminding Jek of Danvell. That memory caused the feeling of a pin pricking his heart.

“What are your thoughts toward Fatholl?” Jek asked.

“I thought you were worried about Lake Mercy?” Jek couldn't see Micah’s face, though from his tone it sounded like he was smiling.

“My mind wanders.”

“From what I know about you, it seems more like it runs than wanders.” Micah chuckled, then let out a sigh. “Fatholl frightens me, if you want to know the truth. I’ve always prided myself on reading people. I was good at it even before I could use psyche. But I haven’t the faintest idea what Fatholl has planned. He must know he can’t take Goldram or any of the four eastern territories. He probably couldn’t even hold the palace against the Takary Army once it gathers. He claims his goal is to exterminate the desmarls.”

“And you don’t believe him?” Jek found himself hoping Micah would say yes. It would give Jek grounds to hate the Elf for lying, for using the desmarls as an excuse for murder and his lust for power.

“That’s what scares me the most,” Micah answered. “I do believe him. Whether he’s delusional or brilliant, he’s confident and alarmingly genuine. I was too far away to use psyche when we were listening to him, but I still knew.”

“Was Vala upset with you when she found out you were a psychic?”

“I think she would’ve been if Danvell had known while she didn’t. But because I kept the secret from nearly everyone, she understood. The King was a bit absurd in his fear—no, I shouldn’t say that.” He drew a deep breath. “Not when it was a psychic who killed him. What a sad fate, to die at the hands of what he feared the most.”

Suddenly Jek was crying, though he hadn’t even felt sadness coming on. It struck him like a wave of water crashing on top of him. And just as quickly, he dried his eyes and found his strength before letting even the faintest whimper escape his throat.

If Micah heard or sensed it with psyche, he politely said nothing.

By evening the next day, they came to Hillwak. The city was barricaded by a stone wall too high for any man to climb. There was only one entrance, and it was on the east side, where those who built it must’ve figured trouble was least likely to come from.

Up until the Bastial Steel War ten years before, governorship was decided by citizens electing a man for the job. During the war, however, the leadership role was assumed by Sabin Takary, one of Danvell’s many cousins. A battle came to Hillwak, and numerous men who didn’t wish to fight were forced to anyway.

All traces of the battle’s carnage were gone…at least when examining the city itself. But as Jek studied the faces of Hillwak’s citizens, he realized the obvious truth.
What happened during the Bastial Steel War will affect some people for their whole life.

He wondered what this new war would be called and what it would do to Greenedge.

No man in their party wore anything that identified his allegiance to the Takary Army. All but two of the guards were in chainmail, a common armor among hired help. The others wore boiled leather tunics.

Around the palace, Jek dressed in the same green robes worn by all of the Sartious mages in the Takary Army, though his collar and cuffs were sown with thread dyed gold to demonstrate his superior rank. But Owin Lage had given him unassuming clothing he’d gladly donned before leaving the mansion.

He’d never minded the lustrous green robe. It gave him pride and purpose, and Lisanda seemed to enjoy the way he looked in it. But now that he’d arrived in Hillwak, the feeling of the fine cloth against his skin would’ve turned his pride to shame, his purposeful feeling to apprehension.

Micah told Jek that most arrests for blasphemy came from Hillwak. At times, Danvell had been concerned for his cousin’s safety.

“Why didn’t Danvell just make his cousin give up the governorship and allow them to choose their own man for the task like they used to?” Jek asked.

“Because that would be showing the people that defiance against their leader got them what they wanted,” Micah answered. “A mother doesn’t enjoy disregarding her son’s pleas. But if she’s already told him he can’t have something, giving in to the child’s demands teaches him a poor lesson. Instead, she must scold or ignore him for his continuous defiance, which Danvell and Sabin have done over the years.”

“And has Hillwak improved?”

“No.”

Let’s hope they haven’t heard about Fatholl,
Jek thought.

The stares they received seemed to be out of curiosity. “They probably think we’re nobles,” Micah suggested.

The sun was low in the sky, falling below the clouds and painting them red. They didn’t have long to find a suitable inn for the nine of them.

“Why don’t we stay with Sabin Takary?” Jek asked. He didn’t know how the man lived, whether it was in a mansion, a small castle, or even a palace. He would’ve wagered all his money, though, that it wasn’t in a house too small for guests. Jek hadn’t been the King’s Mage for long, and he’d known nothing of nobility or royalty before, but he’d learned a lot since he’d taken the job.

Lisanda slowly had been teaching him what she’d claimed every noble already knew, but only indirectly—when she’d refer to a name or a place that he hadn’t heard before or never cared to remember. It wasn’t long before she was incapable of being shocked by his ignorance. Often after she shared her knowledge, she’d tell him, “You really need to learn this before we get married.” She always delivered this line halfheartedly and with a smile, though he knew she longed to discover what his thoughts were on the subject.

His opinion was that nobody should marry too quickly. He couldn’t blame Lisanda for wanting to rush things. It wasn’t long after she was old enough to know about boys that she’d learned about princes and marriage. She’d explained that she’d had to understand such things at a young age because not a year went by without her parents bringing her to at least half a dozen weddings or betrothal ceremonies.

It scared him to think about how fast his feelings had developed for Lisanda. She’d become an integral part of his life in just a matter of months. At the moment, he felt he could marry her, but that didn’t mean he was ready to be with her for the rest of his life, did it?

Even Danvell had made comments about it. “People talk, Jek. It doesn’t reflect well on the King when his daughter is sharing a bed with a man not her husband.” He’d smile and clasp Jek’s shoulder. “You’re lucky I trust you.”

The worst was when Danvell questioned him directly. “Why haven’t you proposed yet? You’ve told me you care more about Lisanda than the cure to your darkness. Is this still true, or have you changed your mind?”

No matter what Jek answered, he’d always come away feeling more nervous about marriage.

It was hard to conceive that Danvell was dead, that Lisanda no longer had a father. Jek’s new king was twenty-two, only five years older than he was. The loss was a dull ache in Jek’s chest, always worsening whenever he thought of Danvell, sometimes giving him the sensation of a stone lodged in his ribs, hampering his breathing.

“Jek, did you hear me?” Micah asked.

“No, sorry.” He roused himself from his thoughts.

“I asked if you’re worried something’s going to happen,” Micah said. “Since you inquired about staying with Sabin Takary.”

“Somewhat,” Jek admitted.

“While our titles give us some rank, we don’t have the stature to visit Sabin unannounced and ask for lodging. Even royalty would need a good reason to show up and ask for nine meals and beds without prior agreement.”

“But we do have a good reason. We need to get to Raymess as soon as we can, and we need food.”

“Yes, our reason is just. With some convincing, Sabin probably would let us stay in his guarded mansion, but there’s no need. No one’s going to try anything against seven men clad in armor. They’d have to be mad.”

“Or psychic,” Jek muttered before he could hold it in.

“Fatholl let us leave the palace. I’m sure he wants something else from us besides our lives.”

Chapter 11:

JEK

They needed nine beds, nine dinners and breakfasts, and nine bags of food substantial enough to last them the three more days it would take to reach Lake Mercy.

They needed an inn that was well-equipped.

“That one looks big enough,” Jek said, pointing. “And it has a stable.”

Micah grunted and turned his horse. In the last hour, he’d become weary and reticent. None of them had slept for long last night. And the night before that, in the Lage mansion, Micah hadn’t slept at all. He said he’d been up with Vala, but he didn’t seem interested in elaborating. Jek figured they were mourning Danvell, sharing their concerns about Fatholl, and discussing how to find Raymess.

The inn was three stories tall. A man with a wide chin and a dagger on his belt stood in front of the door. His arms folded at the sight of them.

“We wish to stay the night,” Micah said.

“How many?”

“Nine, doesn’t matter if we’re sharing rooms.”

“Wait here.” The man entered the inn and shut the door behind him.

Soon he returned followed by an old man wearing a wool hat and a leather vest. He had suspicious eyes, tired and unforgiving.

“Who are you?” He glanced between Jek and Micah.

They gave their names.

“I’ve heard of both of you,” the innkeeper said. “You’re the King’s most trusted adviser, and you’re the King’s Mage.” By his tone, he clearly wasn’t pleased. “What are you doing in Hillwak? Should we expect a battle?”

“We’re just passing through on business.” Micah made an effort to show a friendly smile. “We’ll be leaving after breakfast, if you’ll have us.”

The old innkeeper’s mouth cracked open at the corner, showing a hint of a smile. “Of course. Come with me.” Judging by how suddenly his tone had become friendly, Jek figured Micah had used psyche.

The innkeeper brought them to the stable behind the inn, where they paid the stable master and left their horses with him. Then they followed the innkeeper inside his establishment.

“You all look as hungry as you do tired,” he said before Jek even had a chance to look around. “We have an excellent chef making braised pork tonight. I’m sure you’ll smell it soon. Watch the steps.”

He led them up two steps and into an expansive common room. Wooden dinner tables with benches instead of chairs were spread around a small stage in the center. On the opposite side, a stairway twisted up to the second and third floors. The inn wasn’t crowded, but only a few of the many tables were empty.

A little girl squealed with laughter, drawing Jek’s eyes. She looked barely old enough to speak, and she had a brother of the same age. The siblings were seated on their parents’ laps, the girl on her mother’s and the boy on his father’s.

Jek’s mind was at ease as he glanced around and found friends and families paying them little attention. A mousy man came on the stage and set down a stool and a lute case. He pulled out his instrument and stretched his fingers. Then he plucked a few notes with his neck craned, listening closely to make sure the lute was in tune. The enticing aroma of the pork flooded Jek’s senses, making his stomach growl.

“It’s not every day we have braised pork,” the innkeeper said. “I recommend a plate for each of you.”

“Thank you,” Micah said. “We’d very much enjoy that.”

“Good. Let me show you to your room so you can set down your bags.” He led them up the stairs. “I’d prefer if your guards left their armor and weapons in their rooms. It would make my guests feel more comfortable.”