The World of Samar Box Set 3

by M. L. Hamilton

  “Nonsense,” said Carona.

  “This is ridiculous. Lyell has been a faithful servant of Dorland his entire life. You have to release him, Adison.”

  “I have to do nothing of the kind!” Adison leaned forward, pointing at each of them. “I am King and my word is law!”

  “Aiden is still King,” said Carona calmly. “You’re a pretender.”

  Adison struggled with his control. He wanted to cross the room and drag the bitch out of her chair by the roots of her hair. “You’d do well to find some respect, my Queen. I tire of your petulance and bad temper.”

  “And I tire of looking at you.” She tossed her napkin on her plate.

  Adison made a tsking noise. “Honestly, my Queen, I see little use for you at this point. You may join Lyell if you find my behavior distressful.”

  She gasped.

  “Adison!” Alasdair said. “Think what you’re doing.”

  “I have, brother, and everything’s become much clearer.”

  “Lyell Vito’s family, Adison. He’s been like a father to us since our father died.”

  Adison rose to his feet, leaning on the table. “Lyell Vito is not family. Look around you, brother, I am the only family you have left and you’d do well to remember that. I keep you because you’re useful to me. If you out-live that use, well…”

  “You’re sick, Adison, demented.”

  Adison grabbed his glass and threw it at his brother. Carona and Alasdair ducked. It missed and struck the wall behind them, shattering. “Do not disrespect me anymore!”

  Alasdair blinked at him from behind his bottle-bottom glasses. “Adison…” he began, but Carona laid a hand on his arm, giving him a significant look.

  “Listen to your brother, Alasdair,” she said in a calm voice. “He deserves your respect.”

  Adison realized he was breathing heavily. He looked up at a waiting maid. “Get me another glass.”

  She scuttled off to do as he commanded.

  Carona gave him a forced smile. “You’re right, Adison. We weren’t showing you proper respect. I see that now.”

  He pointed at her. “You’re a terrible liar, woman.”

  “No!” She held up her free hand. “I mean it. Please, sit, Your Highness. Let’s have our dinner as a family should.” She gave Alasdair a warning look. “We’re sorry, both of us, for creating a scene. We were shocked by the news that Lyell Vito betrayed you, that’s all.”

  Alasdair started to protest, but she tightened her grip, glaring at him. He fell silent, staring fixedly at his plate. Adison eased back into his chair. He didn’t believe her for a moment, but fear was a powerful tool, and if used in the right way, he’d regain control. He smiled. If he could cow Carona, he could cow the entire kingdom.

  “I just want what’s best for my people,” he said, wondering how far she’d take it. An obedient Carona would be a boon.

  “Of course you do. We know that.”

  “And yet you question me.”

  “We have no right to do so. Neither of us are King.”

  “No, you’re not!” He grabbed the glass of milk from the maid’s hand and took a sip. “I’m King.”

  Carona nodded.

  “Say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “Say that I’m King.”

  He could see her internal struggle, but finally she lifted her chin. “You are King.”

  “Say it like you mean it.”

  Carona gave a tense laugh. “You, Adison Cerik, are the one and true King.”

  “Alasdair?”

  Alasdair looked at him as if he’d sprouted a second head.

  “What am I?”

  “King,” he gritted out between his teeth.

  “King,” repeated Adison, nodding. “Now, let’s eat supper like a proper family. What do you say, Carona? Aren’t we a proper family?”

  Carona’s jaw clenched, but she forced the words out, “We are a proper family.”

  “Good. Alasdair?”

  Alasdair blinked a number of times. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

  “Alasdair, am I your family? Your only family?”

  A shudder passed through Alasdair, but he gave a jerky nod. “You are my family, Adison.”

  “Good.” Adison sipped at his milk. “Now we understand one another.”

  * * *

  Adison found himself walking through a graveyard. Headstones rose up out of the earth in neat and manicured lines, their surfaces etched with names and dates. He didn’t recognize this graveyard, wasn’t exactly sure where he was. His father had been entombed in a mausoleum on the outskirts of Dorland with his mother. After they’d laid his father’s body to rest, Adison had never been back. He didn’t see the need. Alton Cerik had been a distant father, far more concerned with the needs of his kingdom than the needs of his sons.

  Night had fallen in the graveyard, a dark night with little moonlight. Stars blanketed the sky overhead and an owl hooted from somewhere in the distance. Adison looked around, feeling a little disconcerted by the location. Where were his guards? He forced them to follow him everywhere, always standing at attention.

  A noise distracted him and he whipped around, trying to find the source. It sounded like nails on wood, sending a shiver down his spine. The graveyard lay across rolling hills, the gravestones undulating beyond sight. A chill wind whipped over him, sending his clothes to fluttering. Suddenly he wanted out of this place, back to his safe castle with its walls and guards and barred doors.

  He picked a direction and began walking. He wanted to run, but a king didn’t run. He had to maintain some semblance of dignity. As he crested a rise, he noticed a grave standing alone at the top of a hill. Light shone down on it, but Adison couldn’t find the source, turning a circle, trying to locate it.

  He knew he didn’t want to go near the hill. He wanted no part of that lone grave, but for some reason, his feet started moving on their own, propelling him toward it. Sweat trickled down his spine, ran down from his hairline into the collar of his shirt. His heart was pounding, his breathing ragged and forced.

  As he moved nearer, he noticed it wasn’t a grave, but rather a yawning hole in the ground, the dirt mounded to the right of it. A gravestone had been affixed to the head of the opening, its white surface gleaming in the glaring light. Adison walked to the edge of the hole and peered over the lip.

  He’d prepared himself to see a corpse, but the grave was empty. Breathing a sigh of relief, he lifted his gaze to the gravestone, reading the inscription. Beloved King and Husband, Aiden Cerik. His breath left him in a gasp. Aiden was dead.

  He ran a hand over his mouth, wiping away the sweat on his upper lip. Aiden was dead. No more threat. He could relax now. No one would ever know what he’d done, know what part he played in it. The relief he felt was enormous.

  Closing his eyes, he took deep, slow breaths, trying to still the frantic pounding of his heart. A gust of wind sent shivers over him. A moment later, he felt a hand on the back of his neck and his eyes snapped open. The hand shoved him down to his hands and knees.

  Adison reared backward, but he wasn’t strong enough. The hand forced his head down, pushing him toward the grave. Panic made him writhe and struggle, but it did him no good. The hand just kept pushing, sending him closer to the edge. Beneath his fingers, he felt the dirt crumbling away, falling into the grave.

  Forcing his head up, his eyes came to rest on the gravestone, gleaming in the night. The words had changed. Instead of Aiden’s name, the gravestone read Betrayer, Adison Cerik. Adison struggled, but it did no good. His body was forced over the edge of the grave, and the next moment he felt himself falling.

  He came awake, sitting up in bed, clutching a hand to his heart. Just a dream, just a dream, he told himself. He was all right. He was in his bed, in his chambers, and the doors were locked. He scrubbed his hands over his face and forced himself to breath deeply, then he lay back down, but as he did so, he felt under his pillow for his knife.
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  CHAPTER 19

  A knock sounded at Kalas’ suite door early the next morning. Shandar rose from the couch and reached for his weapons as Kalas came out of his room, fully dressed. He also had his weapons. Behind him walked the older Nazarien Amaroq had seen him talking with the night before.

  “Shandar, you remember Dolan,” Kalas said to his uncle.

  Shandar and Dolan shook hands, then they positioned themselves on either side of the door as Kalas pulled it open. A tall Human with green eyes entered the room, followed by a Nazarien that Amaroq had never seen before.

  The Nazarien took in the people gathered in the suite, then his gaze fixed on Amaroq. He gave a brief inclination of his head before turning to the King. “Duard’s gone.”

  Kalas blinked in surprise, sheathing his sword. “What?”

  “He’s right,” said the Human. “He must have snuck off sometime in the night. We found the body in the shed.”

  “How did Duard get past our guards?” demanded the King.

  Amaroq moved closer to the door, drawing the Human’s attention. The man’s face drained of color as he glanced over at him. “Eldon’s blood star!” he said.

  Kalas nodded. “Baron, meet my brother.”

  “He looks just like…”

  “Our father.” Kalas motioned to the Human. “Parish Brazelton, this is Amaroq Taheny of the Tirsbor Nazarien.”

  Parish bowed his head to him as did the Nazarien, but the Nazarien also touched his fist to his breast in a gesture of respect.

  “And this man is Halish, one of your kinsmen, Amaroq.”

  Amaroq frowned at that. He’d never seen the man before in his life. Still he made the gesture in return as did Nakoda and Erjen.

  “I’m glad to see you,” said Halish. “I’ve been searching for you since you left Tirsbor, Eladrasen.”

  Amaroq exchanged a look with Kalas. “Eladrasen?”

  “They’ve always called me that too,” he explained, then his attention focused on Parish. “Baron, where’s Duard?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “The man got past our soldiers. How?”

  Amaroq felt a wave of anxiety. “He must have another way out. What if he’s gone to kill the slaves?”

  Silence fell in the room and Amaroq could feel the tension like a physical force. Kalas stared at him, then he was moving, shouting orders. Everyone scrambled to do as he commanded, including Shandar. Amaroq didn’t know what he was expected to do, so he just watched the chaos evolve into order around him.

  Grabbing a jacket, Kalas swung his arms into it, then he clasped Amaroq’s shoulder and urged him toward the door. “You stay by me. Somehow I think you’re going to be very important in finding the slaves.”

  “He’s a natural lie detector,” said Shandar, something close to pride in his voice.

  “That’s excellent news,” said Kalas, pulling open the door. “Baron, I want our men to shut down this homestead. No one leaves, no one breathes, no one even dares to piss until the slaves are located.”

  “On it,” said Parish, hurrying off with Halish beside him.

  Amaroq puzzled over Halish. He got a strange mixture of emotions from the man. He was definitely working hard to hide something. “Kalas?” he began, reaching out to touch his brother’s arm.

  Kalas turned to face him.

  Amaroq blinked in surprise. The King of Eastern Nevaisser seemed so focused on the task at hand that he hadn’t expected him to stop and listen. “How did this Halish come into your service?”

  “That’s a story for another time, little brother.”

  Amaroq shared a look with Shandar. “I wouldn’t trust him if I were you. I get a funny feeling from him.”

  “So do I,” admitted Kalas. “Believe me, I’m watching.”

  By the time they reached the front of the house, Kalas’ soldiers had rounded up all of Duard’s men and every servant that could be found in the house. They were huddled together in the middle of the front courtyard, watching the soldiers with wary expressions. Their anxiety battered against Amaroq, until his eyes came to rest on the huge slaver named Elvert, standing in the middle.

  Stumbling to a halt, Amaroq grabbed the post to steady himself. Shandar hesitated beside him, putting his arm around his shoulders.

  “Are you all right, Wolf?”

  Amaroq tried to draw in air, but his lungs felt tight.

  Kalas returned to his side. “What is it?”

  Amaroq pointed to Elvert. “He’s the one who was going to brand me yesterday, before Hogan took me into the storage shed.”

  Kalas looked over his shoulder at the big man. “Then that’s where we’ll start. Baron, let’s have that man there for questioning first.”

  It took two soldiers to haul Elvert forward and force him into a chair before Duard’s front porch. They tied his hands behind him and bound his ankles to the legs of the chair, but he still glared at them as if he could think them to death. Amaroq felt no fear in him. He was just angry.

  Kalas stepped in front of him. “Where is Duard?”

  Elvert shook his head, clamping his mouth shut tight.

  “Has he gone after the slaves?”

  “What slaves?” His eyes went beyond Kalas and fixed on Amaroq.

  Kalas glanced back at him. “Do you remember my brother?”

  Elvert smiled. “We was going to play, but you interrupted us.”

  “Play? You were going to brand him.”

  “Not where’s it would show.” He made a kissing motion. “He’s too pretty to spoil.”

  Amaroq swallowed the rush of bile. “Where’s my sister Naia?”

  Recognition flashed in the slaver’s face. “Naia? Now she was a sweet one.”

  Amaroq’s fist tightened. Shandar moved up beside him.

  “Where is she?” demanded Shandar. “If you’ve touched her…”

  Elvert gave his oily smile again. “Lots of them wanted to touch her.” He jerked his head toward the other men.

  Shandar started forward, but Nakoda caught him back.

  Amaroq moved closer to the bound slaver. “Do you know where my sister is?”

  “No.”

  He wasn’t lying.

  “What about the King of Dorland?” asked Kalas.

  “Not my problem.” His eyes shifted back to Amaroq. “You look like her. She was so sweet, so pretty.”

  Amaroq shivered in revulsion.

  “We coulda had fun, you and me. I woulda liked to hear you scream.”

  Kalas grabbed him by the throat. “I’m not known as a patient man. Where are the slaves?”

  “What slaves?” he said, never taking his eyes from Amaroq. “No slaves here.”

  Kalas released him, shoving him back in the chair. “Baron, this man seems unusually fond of brands. Will you bring them?”

  Amaroq’s gaze shifted to Kalas. Was he serious? Would he really use the brands on another person to get the information he wanted? He wanted his sister, but this seemed like crossing a line.

  “Last chance,” said Kalas, holding out his hands. “Tell me where the slaves are or…” He sighed. “...we’ll take it in flesh.”

  Elvert snarled at him. “No slaves here.”

  A moment later, Parish returned with two soldiers. One carried a small brazier, already heating with coals, the other a metal brand. Amaroq looked away as they set the brazier before Elvert and placed the brand inside the glowing coals.

  “Good thing we had a cook fire going this morning,” said Kalas. “It’ll only take a few moments to heat the metal.”

  Elvert’s gaze moved from him to the brazier and back again. Then he looked at Amaroq. “I liked your sister. She was different from the others. She never complained.”

  Amaroq’s jaw clenched.

  “Never cried out. Never said a word.”

  Amaroq’s hands closed into fists.

  “Do it!” snarled Shandar behind him.

  Kalas reached for the brand and held it up, looking at th
e glowing end. “Where are the slaves?”

  “What slaves?”

  Kalas took a step closer to him, motioning for two of his soldiers to hold Elvert in the chair. “I don’t usually enjoy inflicting pain, but with you, I’m happy to make an exception.”

  Elvert’s smile fell and a shiver raced over him. Amaroq could feel his fear as if it were his own. He remembered how he’d felt yesterday when this same man had held the same brand before him.

  Kalas brought the brand close to Elvert’s inner thigh. The huge man struggled against the bonds, but they held fast. His breath came in a quick pant, his terror washing over Amaroq. “Tell me where the slaves are!” shouted Kalas.

  Amaroq swayed, his heart pounding so fast, he felt like he was having a heart attack. “Stop!” he said, closing his eyes and lowering his head. “Don’t do this!”

  Someone grabbed his arm and pushed him back toward the stairs. He sank onto them without complaint, his vision dark. Sweat peppered over his body as a hand tightened on his shoulder, grounding him.

  “Take deeper breaths,” said Nakoda.

  Amaroq blinked up at him, forcing a nod.

  “Get me some water!” Nakoda ordered, then focused on his friend again. “You need to learn to block it.”

  “I wish I could.” He braced his forehead with a hand.

  Kalas placed the brand back in the brazier and came to the stairs, bracing a foot on the bottom one and looking Amaroq in the eye. “We need to find the slaves.”

  “Not this way. We’ll be no better than they are.”

  “Then how, Amaroq?”

  Shandar passed him a glass filled with water. “Drink!” he commanded, taking a seat beside him.

  Amaroq drank, draining the glass. “I don’t know, but there has to be a way. We need to think this through. We need to be methodical, logical. We…” His voice trailed off as his thoughts came into focus. “He had another way out.”

  “Clearly,” said Kalas.

  “No, I mean another way to leave the house.”

  Kalas straightened, his eyes lifting to the structure. “Nevaisser’s filled with lava tunnels. What if he had an escape route in the basement…” Kalas turned, striding back to Parish. “Baron, search the house and outbuildings for a tunnel. He must have hidden the slaves underground and escaped that way himself. Search everything!”