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Chapter Fourteen
Forgiveness
Adder was not happy with that blond lummox, Phebos, so close to Nightjar. The man’s first mistake had been to bring the Lakon’s sword, Charos, from Lakoneh. Adder had been planning on giving him a sword as he proposed. There was no point in that now. The second mistake had been to convince Nightjar to fly one of those dreadful beasts, the vulhurs, instead of Thunderstrike. Another slight and Adder would find any excuse to skewer the dog-son with his own sword, Telos.
A new morning came to be, orange and magnificent, as Adroit followed Soulfire’s trail in the currents of air. Those who didn’t ride gryphons were not aware of their ability to find each other, especially if they had been raised together or their riders had a connection. Renan’s and Adder’s gryphons would be able to find each other even if one was in Munus and another in one the Land Kingdoms. Distance was nothing for them because the messages in the wind did not die for a gryphon seeking another. Knowing this, Renan had escaped on Soulfire, sure that they would pursue him. This meant he was planning something, an ambush or something more evil.
Contrary to what Adder had expected, Renan didn’t flee to Lemvar, where his family had an estate; he’d decided to make his stand halfway there. Adroit was descending toward the Cerbera Forest, a dense marsh area of not-so-tall trees, where people in ancient times used to come to commit suicide. The mysterious evergreens with their vibrantly green leaves, beautiful white flowers, and plump mango-like fruits were a deception because they contained a toxin capable of stopping the human heart if ingested. It was also a place where gryphons could not maneuver successfully if a fight ensued. It was better to not search for Renan and his cohort on their gryphons’ backs. They alighted at the edge of the forest, forty gryphon riders and forty vulhur riders.
“We can’t take the gryphons in there,” Adder explained to Nightjar, dismounting.
“Ah,” the King of Lakoneh patted the neck of his beast, “but the vulhurs can negotiate it easily.”
Adder could see why since their form was streamlined, encompassing the agility of the horse with the flying capability of the vulture. They had not been created to be beautiful but to be effective. He shuddered internally; these monsters could be a threat to all the kingdoms if Lakoneh decided to use them on a conquering agenda.
That asshole Phebos and his beast trotted forward. “I’ll take you, King of Munus.” He extended his hand, offering to pull Adder upward.
Adder would rather throw one of those vulhurs on his back and carry it around the Cerbera Forest than to share a mount with that blond lummox.
Nightjar move forward. “King Adder is coming with me, Phebos. Don’t be obnoxious.” He chuckled and winked.
The wink was returned with a cheeky grin.
The image of Phebos’s head flying in the air after a lightning swing of Telos prevented Adder from telling the man to go fuck a vulture because Nightjar was his. The awareness of his time around the Lakon coming to an end was a toxic addition to his already foul mood. He took the hand that Nightjar offered and climbed behind him. The armor felt right as he embraced it, and he noticed the slight trembling of the hard body flush to him.
Other words would come out wrong, so Adder settled for, “I’m ready.”
Five men were left to attend the gryphons, the others shared mounts with the Lakonians, minus two trackers (one for each kingdom), who moved on foot. So at the end, there were more Lakonians in their party, which meant that Renan’s capture would be a victory for Lakoneh instead of Munus. But that was a petty thought; the important thing here was to find the traitor.
They moved through the trees since this forest didn’t have a defined path to cross it. The low branches were so close they only had to extend their hands upward to touch the hanging, ripe fruits. Some Lakonians were grabbing them and saving them on their saddles. “These fruits are poisonous to humans,” Adder told Nightjar.
“They know. We have these trees in Lakoneh too.”
“Then what are they saving them for?”
“What do you think?”
“You Lakonians are something.”
“That’s why we keep to ourselves.”
Adder sighed. “I’m going to miss you, Nightjar.”
The Lakon’s helmeted head moved backward and rested on Adder’s shoulder. “Let’s not think about that right now.” The almost colorless eyes stayed open, looking at the green leaves blocking the still-awakening sky, and their bodies swung softly with the steady gait of the vulhur.
The temptation to kiss the exposed throat was strong, and Adder didn’t resist it. Nightjar moaned when Adder’s lips touched him. “I just hope there is an after for us,” Adder murmured.
“I found it!” called one of the trackers.
They converged toward the trackers. They followed them for twenty minutes when suddenly, yells and war cries descended upon them. Their attackers didn’t wear the colors of Munus but those of the House of Bathos, green and silver.
So the dog-son is planning a civil war.
Adder tried to dismount, but Nightjar kept him in place and snapped, “Not yet. Let the warriors do their job.” Still, they moved amid the fracas, slicing and hacking, each leaning from one flank of the vulhur.
Most of the men of Munus were on the ground, using the vulhurs to cover their backs, and the Lakonian riders fought alongside them from their saddles in astonishing synchronization. Even the vulhurs had joined the fight, their powerful beaks biting off limbs and necks and their hooves stomping on fallen enemies. Renan’s men were myriad, but soon the combined forces of Lakoneh and Munus were decimating them.
Out of nowhere, a roar surged above the screams and yells and the clang of metal on metal. So out of place, it rent the chaotic rhythm of the battle. Everyone stood still for several heartbeats, trying to fathom the origin of that unnerving sound. Another roar, and then they saw it coming, zigzagging swiftly amid the poisonous trees, a fucking giant feline covered in silver-plated armor. Adder couldn’t say he had seen the feline before, but he would recognize the armor of the rider anywhere. Renan was riding a beast that didn’t have a reason to be in Munus.
Pouncing on the nearest vulhur, the feline went for its neck. The force of the attack toppled the animal and hurled the rider away. Bewildered, all watched as the feline shook the vulhur in its jaws as if it were a rag doll.
“NO,” Nightjar shouted out. His outraged call galvanized his men and those of Munus still standing back to battle. The sounds of war rose to the sky anew.
Renan steered his feline away from the dying vulhur toward Nightjar and Adder. As he came closer, he yelled, “You two are mine.”
Phebos and his vulhur crashed into Renan sideways before he could reach them. Both Phebos and Renan were flung from their saddles with the impact. The vulhur didn’t have a chance but gave a good fight before the feline shredded it. Phebos engaged Renan, and Nightjar and Adder jumped from their mount and ran to them.
The impact had Phebos limping; thus he deflected more than attacked, but he stood his ground even if it was with difficulty. Nightjar entered their space and caught a downward cut that would have severed Phebos’s forearm and kicked Renan in the stomach making him stagger backward. Adder grabbed Phebos and sent him out of the way. “He’s ours.”
Renan straightened himself and circled with them. He had Schizo and another sword Adder didn’t recognize, but it had a Sulfus-style coiled hilt. The sword and the feline were strong indicators of foreign support. If Adder confirmed that Sulfus was backing Renan up, there would be an all-out war before next spring. Renan sliced his swords down rapidly, making a figure eight as if this was some kind of swordsmanship exhibition. “Come on, birdies. Time to finish this.”
Nightjar and Adder had their own swords in their rights and long daggers in their lefts. Adder spun Telos before lunging. “Why, Renan? I loved you like a brother.”
The Great Counselor deflected with a counterstroke. “Tha
t wasn’t enough.”
From the left, Nightjar backswung. “There was no reason to pull Lakoneh into your shit.”
Renan laughed and swung upward to parry Nightjar’s cut with his left as he flicked Schizo at Adder. “I was hoping you would end Adder.”
“Because you didn’t have the balls to do it yourself,” hissed Nightjar as he cut sideways aiming at Renan’s ribs.
Adder swung low from the opposite direction to slash the back of Renan’s knees. “You had everything,” he spat.
With a skillful backward jump, Renan avoided both impacts. “I couldn’t claim your place if I killed you myself. But this cocksucker had to fall for your dick and you for his tight ass.” He thrusted forward with both swords. “Now I’m gonna get rid of both of you and claim two kingdoms.”
“Pleasure is not a crime, but high treason is,” Adder growled, dodging a descending blow. He cut with Telos as if directing his right toward the neck, and as Renan moved to parry, he stabbed Renan’s thigh with his left. “And you’re going to pay for it.” He lowered himself, and Nightjar severed Renan’s neck neatly with Charos. The shower of blood on them was minimal as both kicked the body away. They turned around quickly, putting their backs together and ready for the next assailant, but no one was coming. The battle around them had come to a standstill waiting for the outcome of their match.
The men in the House of Bathos’s colors threw down their weapons in surrender. Several Lakonians were wrangling the feline. Both men of Munus and Lakoneh were pushing the enemies to their knees.
Adder grabbed the Lakon’s face and kissed him— kissed him like never before because perhaps this was his last chance to do so. It was sweet and wrong because there was blood on their lips, but they were victorious and alive and hard.
Phebos shouted, “What do we do with these?”
Adder let go of a shocked-looking Nightjar. He understood the question since the Lakonians never kept prisoners.
“Sons of Lakoneh, haven’t you spilled enough blood of Munus already?” Nightjar asked as he composed himself. He took Adder’s hand. “These traitors belong to their king. I claimed the life of our enemy. That is enough for your king.”
The Lakonians cheered the name of their king, “Bracken! Bracken! Bracken!”
“Men of Lakoneh and Munus,” Adder shouted, and the chanting men became silent. “Traitors do not have a place in my kingdom. I cannot allow their poisonous hearts to beat and sully our land, the land of our ancestors.” He raised Nightjar’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “Sons of Lakoneh, please step aside and let your brothers of Munus take care of the traitors for there is no leniency toward those who follow Greed instead of Brotherhood.” He saw the men wearing the midnight blue and silver of Lakoneh move away from those on their knees. “Let this be a lesson. Let their wicked hearts die here among poisonous trees to end this circle of lies and deception.” His men grabbed hairs and placed swords on throats. He squeezed Nightjar’s hand. “Your sentence is only one and it won’t be delayed. I hope you find forgiveness in the hands of Erin and Apheilon because there’s none in my heart.”
****
Chapter Fifteen
Wish
Shillelagh, the Head Alchemist of Lakoneh, greeted Bracken as he alighted at his palace in Nakohel, the capital city of Lakoneh. “My King, it’s so good to see you again.” He bowed and moved aside so Bracken could crouch and kiss the ground. He took his helmet off and felt the earth on his lips. So many moons away from his homeland, it seemed almost a miracle that he was back. Alas, not a completely happy one.
As Bracken straightened himself up the chubby hands of Shillelagh grabbed his shoulders. He protested, “What is this manhandling, Alchemist?”
“Who did The Rite on you, sire? We heard that you were attacked, but for it to be so grave that The Rite was needed is inconceivable,” Shillelagh said after taking Bracken’s chin and squeezing his face, turning it this side and then the other. His old but rotund face scrunched, his eyes narrowed in concentration.
Bracken swatted the alchemist away. The man was worse than a pesky fly when he turned grabby. “Nobody did The Rite on me. I would have known.”
Although, now that Shillelagh mentions it, I do have a distant, fuzzy recollection of Timir saying something about “a mite.”
“Not necessarily, King Bracken. You must have been a child trapped in a man’s body for weeks and by the time your full consciousness returned to you most of those ‘new childhood recollections’ would have been gone.” Shillelagh turned to one of Bracken’s escorts, beckoning him. “Help the King out of his armor.”
This armor was the only thing he had left from Adder, beside the memories. Adder had secured it on Bracken’s body with firm, sad hands and whispered good-byes. It seemed almost a sacrilege to be out of it so quickly. “What are you planning, Shillelagh?” Bracken growled, scowling at the alchemist.
“A test, my King.”
Another rider moved to help. Soon, Bracken was only in his tunic, his arms crossed over his chest, and seriously ready to smack the Head Alchemist.
“The tunic too, sire.”
Nudity wasn’t a problem for them, but Bracken couldn’t see the purpose of this exercise. He took the tunic off and stood there, counting to ten to keep himself from strangling the old man.
Shillelagh walked around him, observing, looking for something Bracken couldn’t fathom. “Aha!” he exclaimed. “Come over, rider.” He pointed over Bracken’s left side. “What do you see here?”
The man looked at the place with a puzzled face for several heartbeats, his head cocked and with squinting eyes. “Just skin, Alchemist. Normal tanned skin,” he said flatly, apparently not sure if he had aced the test or not.
Bracken could see the scar left by the assault in the Kept Hall. How could this man not see it? He was about to say something when Shillelagh put his hand up, asking him to wait.
“And here?” he asked the man to check the opposite side, where the other scar was clearly visible to Bracken.
Squinting more, the rider moved closer, so close Bracken thought the man was going to touch him, but he didn’t. “Am I supposed to see something, Alchemist? All I see is regular skin. What am I looking for?”
“You did well,” Shillelagh said, patting the rider’s shoulder. He called another man to inspect Bracken with the same results, then five more. Phebos was one of the last to try. He put his fingers on Bracken’s flank, but the touch, far from inciting the usual response, just annoyed him doubly.
None saw the scars from the attack. They weren’t the only scars on Bracken’s body, but these areas were devoid of marks; thus, those two could not be confused with old ones.
“What’s the meaning of this, Shillelagh?” Bracken asked, disturbed. He had never performed The Rite himself, only knowing about it as part of his Royal Training— an arcane thing and only for few. Fern would only learn it after he became king and not before.
“Scars left by The Rite are only for those who bear them and us who can see things in deeper realms.” Shillelagh moved closer and tiptoed to speak in Bracken’s ear, “The King of Munus saved your life with his own blood.”
Fuck.
Even away from Adder, Bracken discovered new things that encouraged the illusion of something greater than just mere attraction between them. The Rite took life from the giver. Adder had lost perhaps years of his life (depending on how much blood they had used) for a Kept, a mere War Trophy. He looked at the alchemist for a moment, then blinked. “Thank you, Shillelagh. I need to be alone now.” He asked for his tunic and donned it with a swift motion; he didn’t bother with a belt.
The men around him bowed and let him go. Phebos walked beside him silently, dissuading anyone who seemed inclined to stop him for a word.
Bracken didn’t admire the blue marble of his palace walls or the swirling columns of its corridors, didn’t care for the beautiful statues of old kings and queens of Lakoneh, nor for his people bowing as he walked among
them. He just wanted to be alone. Alone to process the confusion and the need and the helplessness enveloping and restraining him like a sweaty bedsheet during a nightmare. “I don’t want to be disturbed until I come out on my own,” he ordered Phebos when they reached his chambers’ doors.
“You know I’m here for you if you need me.” Phebos took Bracken’s hand and pressed it over his heart.
“You’re a good friend,” Bracken murmured, removing his hand quietly from the other’s hold.
“Whatever you need, Bracken.”
“All I need right now is solitude, Phebos. Now post guards at my door and see to your wounds. You aren’t indestructible. None of us is.” Bracken opened his door, entered his chamber, and left blond, broad-shouldered Phebos standing outside with a pained expression on his handsome face.
Three days later, Bracken came out of his chambers, resolute. He had decided to forgive his heart for being selfish— forgetting its duty to Bracken’s people. He had resolved to let Adder be a good memory amid an awful moment of his life. He had chosen devotion to his nation instead of the egotistical dream where the King of Munus was something other than a man who had him in his grip thanks to the trickery of another.
Bracken found Laelia sewing with other ladies in one of the high pavilions of the palace. The weather was getting chiller because autumn was coming to its end, but it was still very sunny; thus the women enjoyed the light and the breeze, shielded by their gauzy shawls.
Laelia saw him, put her work aside, and ran into his arms. “Oh, brother, I was so worried. It’s not like you to coop yourself up for days.” She inspected his face, her violet eyes almost watery. “Are you all right now?”
“I’m a king.” How he hated that word, but it was his reality. “I ought to be all right for my subjects.”
She sobered up, narrowing her eyes. “You know that’s a lot of smeared vulture dung.”
Nightjar Page 9
