Storm Without End (Requiem for the Rift King Book 1) (17 page)

“If you say so. Who are we to tell a woman who she lets spear her? If she catches the King, she’s a Queen. That’s it. How many Queens did my sire have, anyway?” Varest asked.

“I stopped counting after the first three hundred or so.”

Snickering, Varest kneed his horse to catch up to his brother. Kalen couldn’t mask his own grin.

“Unbelievable,” Lord Delrose said in a quiet and stunned voice.

Kalen nodded his agreement.

The forest thinned enough to reveal a flower garden crisscrossed with stone walkways. A hedge framed most of it, though it was low enough even Kalen could step over it.

Lord Delrose reined his horse in. “Tell me something, Rift King, if I may be so bold?”

Kalen sat back in the saddle and the horse halted. He let out a silent sigh of relief that he wouldn’t need to hold the reins again. “What now?”

“Why do you trust me?”

“I don’t.”

“So why come with us at all?”

Kalen gestured toward Ceres and Varest. “They wanted to, and their horses are weary.”

“Ah, excellent. Then I trust they won’t mind a prolonged stay. After all, your hand does need to heal, does it not?”

Something about Lord Delrose’s tone sent shivers down his spine. A warning went off in his head. Sucking in a breath, he kicked his feet from the stirrups and dove for the ground. With a grip as hard as steel and equally merciless, Lord Delrose snatched his wrist and yanked him back toward him.

Fire spread up Kalen’s arm and his breath caught in his throat. The blood drained from his face and left him shivering from the shock of the pain.

It wasn’t until a sharp pain stabbed through his shoulder that he realized his arm was twisted behind his back. Lord Delrose’s left arm wrapped around his shoulders and brushed against his throat. Several of Lord Delrose’s men hurried to secure the bridles of the horses.

“I wouldn’t move,” Lord Delrose warned. Kalen hadn’t heard the weapons being drawn, but Ceres and Varest rode with their swords in their hands. The pair of geldings stood as still as their Riders, ears laid back and their muscles shivering beneath their glossy coats.

Kalen panted. Lord Delrose’s fingers tightened on his wrist and pressed against the broken bones in his hand. The gasp came out unbidden and his back arched in the futile effort to relieve the pain. The arm tightened around his shoulders and neck until his head rested against Lord Delrose’s chest.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t run you and your lackeys through right now,” Varest said.

“Because I can snap his neck before you could. You’re also outnumbered.”

Men clad in black, green, and brown emerged from the trees surrounding them with their swords drawn. The sun glinted off of metal in the branches above.

“You won’t be harmed, nor will he, but I’m afraid that I can’t let you return to the Rift quite yet. We’ve much to discuss. Which will it be? Will you cooperate, or shall I prove my word true?”

Neither of the Guardians moved. Lord Delrose’s grip tightened. “Do you want a demonstration of how serious I am? I know what happens should I be the one to kill him. I am
Akakashani
, after all. Neither of you can do a thing to me.”

Ceres let out a low curse.

“That hurts,” Kalen rasped out. The grip on his wrist loosened, but not by much. “That was devious.”

“I’m so glad it meets with your approval,” Lord Delrose replied in a wry tone.

Kalen sighed. Even if he had the strength or will to break free—which he didn’t—his chance of escaping was slim at best. “Stand down.”

“But—” Ceres lowered the sword and opened his mouth to speak.

Kalen interrupted the Guardian with a wordless growl and a shake of his head. “I said stand down.”

“Get off your horses,” Lord Delrose ordered. “Separate them and take their weapons. I suggest you cooperate, sons. Don’t worry. I am a man of my word. Neither of you will be harmed, so long as you don’t try something foolish.

“I hope his father finds you,” Ceres said as he obeyed the order to dismount, handing over his sword.

“Why is that?”

“When he finds out what you’ve done, there won’t be enough left of you to feed to the serpents.”

“I haven’t done anything. Yet. Now move!”

Chapter Seven

Breton leaned over the well and struggled to control his breathing. Water dripped from his hair and fell into his eyes, but did little to cool him. His hand shook as he wiped his face. Letting out a low groan, he leaned against the stone. He huddled in the shade the well offered and counted his breaths until his heart ceased trying to claw its way out of his chest.
 

“Better?” Maiten asked.

“Not really,” he replied. This time, speaking didn’t result in a bloodied coughing fit. He sighed and took a small drink. It didn’t completely soothe his sore throat, but it let him swallow without it hurting quite as much.

“I’ll walk the horses. Try not to die on me while I’m gone.”

“I’ll try to avoid it.” Breton shook his head and slid down to the ground.

“That’s the spirit. I don’t want to find out if Kalen is capable of bringing you back from death just so he can kill you himself.”

Breton didn’t bother hiding his grin. The favored threat wasn’t really effective, although it was amusing; Maiten did a remarkable imitation of Kalen’s surliest tone, even pitching his voice to be almost as high as the Rift King’s.

No grown man whose voice had broken could reach such a high tenor. Like Arik before him, Kalen had become timeless, ageless; an adult’s mind, with an adult’s strengths, trapped within a child’s body.

He still wasn’t certain if Arik had been cruel or merciful. What
had
the Rift King’s predecessor been thinking, forcing the role on someone so young? Fifteen years as the Rift King was enough to harden anyone.

It wouldn’t be long until Kalen had filled the role for most of his life.

Breton sighed.

The horses circled around Maiten, obeying the man’s order to walk. While his companion remained within sight, he was far enough away to grant the illusion of privacy.

Enough of an illusion where Breton could take stock of the mark on his chest and shoulder without the red head staring with undisguised curiosity. Unbuttoning his shirt, he strained to make out the skreed-inflicted wound. While the dark splotches hadn’t faded over the week, the scars where it had touched him gleamed with the same luster of silver and gold. He rolled his left shoulder. It still ached, but it was a dull pain he could almost ignore.

One week, and the bloodied gouges had almost healed. In that week, they’d traversed the upper reaches and emerged from the Rift. The red, hard-packed earth beneath him was cracked and sand-strewn, clashing with the dull gray, lifeless wastes of eastern Danar.

It should’ve taken them two weeks.

Maiten returned as Breton finished buttoning his shirt back up. “How is it?”

Breton sighed again. So much for his privacy. “I look like a living experiment of a deranged metal smith.”

“I’ll make sure I won’t tell Ambric you said that. Do you want to stay here or try for Land’s End tonight?”

“I don’t care either way. The inn would be more comfortable. And a little less desolate.”

Maiten laughed and gestured toward the mountains that loomed on the southern horizon. “It does have a great view of the mountains. That’s something, at least.”

“Can’t see the Rift from here,” Breton replied, digging the heel of his boot into the ground. At least in the Rift, some things were tenacious enough to survive. He hadn’t seen so much as a serpent since they’d started following the clashing sands of Kelsh and Danar.

“Let’s move on then. The horses aren’t too tired and I could use a bed and a nice woman to warm it,” Maiten said.

“Good luck with that one, friend,” Breton replied. Perin came at his whistle. Kalen’s horses ignored him, both of them staring eastward.

“It doesn’t feel like he’s in trouble anymore at least,” Maiten said.

“I know.”

The dread that had threatened to suffocate him had faded several days ago, but the urge to head east remained, as undeniable as his need to breathe.

“If we hurry, we might even make it by night fall. Then we can rest, resupply, and head east.”

Breton forced a smile for Maiten’s sake. “Let’s ride.”

Although the sun was hot on Breton’s back, its heat was kinder than it had been in the early morning. It was less oppressive than within the lower reaches, and Perin moved with a smooth, easy stride, both of his ears pricked forward.

Ferethian and Honey ran circles around them until Maiten yelled at the unrepentant horses. Breton glanced at Maiten and snickered. They were still laughing when the crimson of sunset touched the western horizon.

Maiten’s laughter cut off. Breton tensed, and Perin skidded to a stiff-legged halt. “What is it?”

“I smell smoke.”

Breton lifted his head and sniffed. He couldn’t smell anything other than the horses and the stench of their own sweat. The air was still and dry. “Nothing.”

“That way, I think,” Maiten replied, pointing ahead of them.

“That’s where Land’s End is,” Breton said, squinting at the horizon.

Maiten shifted in the saddle. The man lifted his head and took several deep breaths. “I still smell it. I think we better hurry.”

Perin sighed as though understanding Maiten’s words, and Breton couldn’t resist echoing his horse.

“As if we needed anything else to go wrong,” he muttered.

“Things like that happen in the Rift, old man.”

“We aren’t in the Rift anymore, Maiten.”

“Maybe these outsiders would be more sensible if they were from the Rift.”

“I can’t argue with that. You noticed it, you lead the way.”

Maiten kneed his horse into a canter. Breton followed close behind and hoped that his friend imagined smoke in a place where wood and dung was scarce.

~~*~~

It wasn’t just burning wood or dung causing the smoke, but flesh. Breton lifted his sleeve to his nose and mouth, but it didn’t remove the acrid taste in his mouth or make it any easier to breathe. The horses snorted and slowed to a walk without any cue from them. The last light of sunset was the red of blood.

“So much for Land’s End,” Maiten muttered. “They must’ve planned to get Kalen then head for Kelsh.”

“I think you’re right.”

True night fell over the desert, but it didn’t grow dark; the hazy light of the burning town lit the way for them and cast dancing shadows over them. Breton shivered. “Let’s check for survivors.”

“Are you sure? Whoever did that might still be here.”

“If they are, they know we’re here,” Breton replied.

Maiten cursed. “I hate when you’re right.”

“Your hatred for me must know no boundaries. I can go by myself, if you’re worried.”

“Now you sound like Kalen. What has he been teaching you?”

“Patience,” Breton muttered.

Maiten’s laugh was strained. “He’s going to be angry if we keep interfering.”

“We tossed how many Danarites off of the trail, again? I think we’re a little beyond reproach, especially considering the fact we stole his horses and left the others,” Breton replied. “We aren’t picking sides, anyway. We’re checking for survivors and helping them, nothing more. Kalen would approve of that.”

“Always the voice of reason. If we get killed, I’m blaming you.”

“I’ll remember that if we get killed.”

“Just forget I said that,” Maiten said after a long pause.

“I’ll consider it.”

“Your idea, you lead,” Maiten said.

Breton grumbled. “Thanks.”

Breathing through his mouth didn’t stop him from breathing in the stench of charred flesh. Another shudder coursed through him. It was enough to make him seriously consider converting to Kalen’s stance as a pursuer of all things vegetable.

Human flesh burned within the flames ahead.

Dismounting, Breton walked toward the glow of what had once been the only trading town that connected Danar, the Rift, and Kelsh. The inn was on the edge of town, and all that remained was a smoldering pile of rubble. The skeletal frame of the stables still stood, but did nothing to hide the corpses of the horses lying dead in their stalls.

A tangle of blackened bodies was discarded in the middle of the road leading deeper into the town.

“Ugh.”

“Well said,” Breton agreed. He swallowed back bile. “At least they haven’t gone to rot.”

“I was trying not to think about that. People didn’t do this. They used those skreed again and set the whole place ablaze when they were finished.”

“Any idea how long this has been burning?” Breton turned in a circle, but everything was still and quiet save for the groan of collapsing buildings and the crackle of fire.

“No idea.”

Breton eased his way around the corpses without going near any of the buildings. While most were like the inn, some still burned brightly. His lungs ached from the smoke choking him, but he pressed forward.

“Careful!” Maiten called out from behind him. “I’ll put the horses on guard.”

Breton waved a hand to acknowledge he had heard and kept moving.

There was no respite from the corpses. Many were so charred and mangled that he couldn’t tell if they’d once been men or women, Kelshites or Danarites. The closer to the center of Land’s End he got, the more he wanted to turn around and run away.

Maiten grabbed hold of his elbow in a trembling grip. Breton twisted around and looked toward where his friend pointed. The broken, bloodied bodies of children were piled together in an alley between two crumbling buildings. Unlike the others in the town, they were untouched by the black marks of the skreed, and the fires consuming Land’s End hadn’t reached them.

Breton wrapped his arm around Maiten’s shoulders and pulled the man away from the street. “Come on. There’s nothing we can do for them now,” he whispered. It was hard not to lash out and hit something. “Warmongers.”

When Maiten spoke, it was in a tone as cold and as unforgiving as stone. “I’m wishing for another group of them to run off the trail, but they do not deserve such a quick death.”