Storm Without End (Requiem for the Rift King Book 1) (37 page)

“And what if we can’t?” Ceres whispered.

“Then we’ll just be among the first to die.” Maiten touched his elbow. “I’m sorry, Breton.”

“So am I,” he replied. He wiped his eyes, clenched his teeth together, and drew several deep breaths. “Wait until we have an opportunity. Then we get this over with, one way or another.”

~~*~~

Breton kept close to Maiten, sliding his feet over the rain-slicked cobbles. Without the lightning, the day was as dark as night. The rattling of the chain armor was loud without the thunder to mask it.

“Wait,” he said. Maiten twisted around to face him, and Breton held out his sword. “Hold this, would you?”

“I wouldn’t do that,” a woman’s voice whispered just loud enough to be heard. “Your life will surely end without it.”

“Crysallis,” he said. The rain pattered on the ground, and he stared at the ripples each drop left at his feet. “What are you doing here? How did you get here? We thought the Rift had taken you!”

“May the divines save me from fools,” the witch said with a huffed laugh. “I’m helping you, of course. You have been quite difficult to find. Even harder than it was to find
him
.”

“We’re too late for him,” he growled out. “You must enjoy watching the succession.”

“I could say the same for you,” she replied. “Or do you intend to take part this time as the main participant?”

Breton whirled around. As always, her face was ageless, the visage of a middle-aged woman still touched by beauty, but there was nothing kind or beautiful about her smile. Her dark eyes bore into his and challenged him. At her feet, Ceres and Varest lay still. Flashes of gold sparked around her hands. “Don’t look at me like that. I haven’t hurt them. Now, will you be a good Guardian and obey, or will you join them until my business here is finished? Aren’t I generous, Breton? Maiten? I spared them from seeing something they really shouldn’t.”

He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, swallowed, and tried again, but no words emerged. Crysallis closed the distance behind him and reached up to stroke his cheek. A tingle spread across his face. “You haven’t been taking good care of him, Maiten. He’s gotten thin.”

“What are you doing, Crysallis? May the divines serve as my witness, if you harm them, I’ll destroy you.”

Crysallis narrowed her eyes and her nails dug into Breton’s cheek. He tried to pull away, but his muscles refused to obey his command. The breath he meant to draw remained trapped in his throat and choked him.

She laughed. “As perceptive as ever. But, you can’t do anything to me, Maiten. You’re not a real witch. You’re little more than a charlatan with a clever mind and a little more will than most. None of you will interfere with me. Not this time. Not you, not him, none of you. Their lives for your oath that you won’t involve yourselves in this. Choose quickly.”

“Crysallis!”

Breton’s vision darkened, and all he could hear was a throb and a buzz in his ears.

~No!~
The denial hit Breton with the force of a blow and freed him enough from Crysallis’s influence to let him draw a ragged breath. The heat of anger chilled to a wrath so cold and unforgiving that the pain of it freed him completely. He staggered backward and Maiten caught him before he could fall.
 

Something hard and sharp pelted his head and shoulders from above. Maiten let out a startled, pained curse. Chunks of mortar and brick splashed into the alley.

“Impossible!” Crysallis cried out, looking up.

Breton jerked his head skyward.

A skreed clung to the roof of the building. The structure buckled beneath its weight. It opened its mouth and its trilling song erased every other sound, mesmerizing him with its beauty. It bobbed its head. Its long, red tongue darted out to taste the air and the rain.

Claws dug into Breton’s left shoulder from behind. Pain lanced through his shoulder and a cry was torn from his throat. The stench of a skreed’s breath was hot against his face and head. The skreed yanked him backwards, throwing him down on the cobbles of the market square. Maiten landed on top of him. Two of the skreed stood over them, bobbing their blocky heads while their tails slapped down against the ground. The blows broke through the stones, showering them with mud, rock, and water. The skreed pounded out a steady beat, a tempo that made his heart beat quicker.

The drums of war sounded, and they were played by the skreed.

“Take them all,” a voice shouted in Danarite

Crysallis screamed in reply, and the thunder answered the woman’s rage with a crash. The sky burned with golden light. Bursts of static danced over the chain armor. Breton’s body jerked and twitched. The ground glowed white and blue.

Lightning arced across the sky and lit the clouds with the same intensity of the noon sun.

Maiten scrambled off of him, and Breton struggled to get to his feet. The back of Breton’s head collided with the skreed that towered over him. Claws drove him down to the ground and held him there. Maiten writhed and let out a curse before hammering at the creature’s leg with his fist.

“Let me go, you overgrown legged serpent!”

The laugh burst out before Breton could stop it. The skreed holding him let out a hooting call, and it was accompanied by the sense of amusement. Maiten’s command wasn’t obeyed. When Breton ceased to struggle, the skreed held him with the lightest pressure, pinpricks of pain marking where the tips of its curved talons rested.

“Stay still,” he hissed at Maiten. The red-haired man jerked his head in a nod and obeyed.

Through the muscular, scaled legs of the skreed, Breton watched the mercenaries draw closer. Half of them split away from the main ranks to circle the creature who had once been Kalen. His throat tightened. In the scuffle, he had lost his sword. Despite his height, he couldn’t beat such long weapons. Not with his hands alone, and not when there were so many of them.

Another hooting call came from the alley. Two more skreed emerged, shouldering through the corners of the building and throwing debris across the square. They dragged Ceres and Varest with them, their claws hooked through the thick material of their boots. The two unconscious Guardians were rolled next to him and Maiten.

As one, the four slammed their tails against the ground changed the beat of their drumming. A group of the mercenaries ringed them, and the rest clustered together in preparation to swarm the creature that had once been Kalen.

The Rift King turned. Breton’s chest tightened. Blue eyes had turned gold, and they glowed. White, pale skin was splashed with blood that the rain washed away in streaks. The taloned fingers of the left hand stretched out and clenched. A streak of black marked the locks of golden hair. The hairs from Tavener’s tail were still braided into Kalen’s hair, untouched by the transformation.

Without expression, the Rift King lifted Gorishitorik up high.

A column of lightning and golden fire fell down from the sky and consumed the market square.

~~*~~

Kalen’s heart pounded out an erratic beat. Pain throbbed through his head and ears and bursts of white obscured his vision. When it faded, darkness engulfed him. He blinked and saw nothing.

Rain pelted his face, but he couldn’t hear it striking the stones at his feet. Each breath tore at his throat, and a shudder tore through him at the memories the feelings roused. He shook his head, blinked, and ducked his head to wipe his eyes against his elbow. The darkness didn’t fade.

Another shudder coursed through him and Gorishitorik slipped from his numbed, shaking hand. The hilt struck his foot, and the weapon bounced away, but he didn’t hear it clatter to the stones.

What had happened? The last thing he remembered, he’d been standing in an alley, back pressed to the brick. The First’s presence was gone, when he’d been certain he’d felt the creature raging within him, demanding release.

Something hard, narrow, and flat struck him across the chest. His heel slipped cross the edge of something sharp and he cried out, but no sound emerged. Even as he fell, he was pushed downward. His teeth rattled when he landed on the cobbles. The heel of a foot pressed down against his throat, forced his head back, cutting off his breath. Something cold, hard, and sharp prodded against the side of his neck in warning.

The rain beat down on his face and stung his eyes, but no matter how hard he blinked, he couldn’t force the darkness away. His mouth dried and he closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable.

The desire to lift his hand fight back and try to escape was there in the back of his mind, but he resisted it. It was easier to just lie still and let the blade bite into his throat with each breath he drew.
 

It was easier to be captured or killed than remain trapped alone in the dark.

Stone cracked next to his right ear. When the sound faded, he was once again plunged into silence. The pressure against his throat lifted. Something hot and wet struck his face and chest. Kalen tasted blood. Nothing held him down, but he couldn’t move. His arm and legs twitched, but he couldn’t find the strength to roll away.

It was easier to finally accept his fate, even if he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there or why his eyes and ears betrayed him. At least he wouldn’t have to bear witness to the disappointment of the few who wanted him to survive.

At least none of them were near to watch him fall.

He let out his breath in a sigh and waited.

Nothing happened. Then, the pain receded. While he was aware of the rawness of his throat, and the sting of fresh cuts and bruises, it was as though his body belonged to another.

The tension in his chest didn’t ease, but instead was tempered with the flutter of nervousness. Adrenaline surged through him. The sensation was the same of standing on a ledge that threatened to crumble beneath his feet, or the moment where he knew he was being hunted, but didn’t know by whom.

He drew a sharp breath. It reminded him of the shadow of a Guardian’s presence, lingering on the edge of his perception. If he moved, if he got to his feet, if he followed the gentle tug within, he’d find one there. Close.

In danger.

He opened his eyes. Yellow light curtained in the sky far above, broken by streaks of white light. Out of the corner of his eye, a figure shrouded in red moved through the darkness. The outstretched sword was surrounded in a blue haze. Kalen sucked in a breath and rolled. How easily he moved took him by surprise. Scrambling upright, he spun around. His feet slid on the rain-slicked stones. Bodies lay on the ground all around him, outlined in a gray so dark it was almost as black as the rest of his vision.

The figure approaching him wasn’t a Guardian. The tug, the sense of danger, came from the other direction. From behind him. The pale blue outline of a sword lay at his feet. Kalen scraped his toes against the stone and hooked the hilt with the top of his foot, tossing it upward. His fingers closed over the leather wrap.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Gorishitorik.

He could fight. He had to fight.

His Guardians needed him. Here. Now.

Lifting Gorishitorik and putting his trust in the sight that wasn’t true sight, Kalen stepped forward. The figure turn and ran. He let out his breath in a huff that he couldn’t hear, but he felt the heat of his breath on his cold lips. A flash of gold took chase. It was larger than a horse, stockier, but moved so quick that he couldn’t quite tell what it was. It fell upon the back of the fleeing form and tore it down.

The red light was extinguished.

The ground trembled beneath his feet, and Kalen felt something drumming a quick and steady beat. With a great leap, the creature vanished from his view. It didn’t return, and he twisted around. He had to find the Guardian. He had to ease the tightness in his chest. He had to put an end to the tugging, the calling, the need to remove the threat.

Kalen panted and his breath emerged as clouds of red that faded to black. With his heartbeat matching the drumming he felt through his feet, he turned. Three more of the golden creatures far too large and stocky to be horses stood over four red forms sprawled on the ground. Auras wafted from them and masked their true shape from his sight.

The beat stopped. The creatures jumped away from the four fallen figures. More red shrouded forms drew closer to those on the ground with miasmas of dark blue surrounding long weapons and swords. Tightening his grip on Gorishitorik, Kalen lunged into the fray.

~~*~~

Breton fought against the skreed, but the creature pinned him down with its weight. Its talons didn’t cut into him, but it pressed down against his chest with its foot and drove the breath out of his lungs.

“Breton, look!” Maiten gasped out. Breton twisted around in time to catch a glimpse of one of the skreed charging after a fleeing mercenary. The man fell with a shrill cry. Leaving the broken body, the black creature fled into the city.

Not far away, the Rift King stood with Gorishitorik clutched in his right hand. The blade glowed with the same golden hue of the lightning that arced across the sky. Lighting cracked down, and the rooftop of one of the nearby buildings burst into flame. Breton clapped his hands over his ears. The thunder rumbled. He shook his head to clear the ringing out of his hearing.

The Rift King didn’t even flinch.

“Kill them,” someone demanded in Mithrian.

None of the mercenaries argued against the order and they advanced with their weapons held at the ready. Breton writhed under the hold of the skreed. Slapping their tails against the ground so hard that Breton’s teeth rattled, the creatures continued to beat out the tempo of a war march.

“Not good,” Maiten hissed out. Breton didn’t reply, but nodded his head in agreement. All he could do was struggle helplessly and hope that Ceres and Varest wouldn’t awaken before it was all over.

The Rift King turned to them and strode forward, every step graceful and silent.

Trilling out a song, the skreed lifted its foot and let him go. They all retreated, leaping for the alleyways and scattering before the small figure could reach them. His eyes met the Rift King’s and paralysis held him in still.