The Defender

by Rachel Rossano

  Hadrian nodded. “An emissary from the battlefield has sent for me to accept the surrender of the mesitas’ forces. I would be honored if you would join my escort.” He gestured to the three men standing on the edge of the field of pallets.

  I instantly recognized Selwyn and Plantonio standing next to Korneli. Selwyn’s head was bandaged, and Plantonio had acquired a makeshift cane, but otherwise, they looked whole.

  “Then Zez can stay with me,” Manvel concluded with a wide smile for me.

  “No, I am sorry, but I still need her services as well.”

  “Ah, well, see you later.” He gently punched my shoulder like I was his brother instead of his sister. “I have to lie down again.”

  “Sept Son Aleron.” Lynneta spoke up. “I wish to ask for your forgiveness. I didn’t know who you were and I thought…”

  Hadrian cut her off. “You thought I had harmed your son and did what any mother would do. There is no apology needed.”

  Lynneta nodded. “Thank you.”

  As we went to join the rest of Hadrian’s escort, I overheard Manvel asking, “So, you have a son? How old?”

  I had a feeling that I would know a lot more about Lynneta and her family very soon.

  * * *

  Chapter XIX

  Hadrian

  The chill in the air reminded me yet again of the coming season change. The wind whipped around us, cracking the blue and silver banner of the sept son over my head and biting through the inadequate cloak around my shoulders.

  We stood at the crest of the hill, the rose color of the rising sun at our backs and the carnage of the battlefield at our feet. The once fertile field awaiting harvest had been churned to a muddy wasteland that would take seasons to recover. The stench of blood and death filled my nose as bitter reminders of the price paid so that this meeting of men would come about.

  Through Zezilia’s heightened senses, I could feel Errol’s grief, Clovis and Korneli’s anger, and Selwyn’s deep exhaustion behind me. Zez, herself, was deep in prayer, pleading for the families of the men dead and dying. I wanted to join her, but I couldn’t. I had to prepare. The scraggly cluster of men approaching would need my full attention.

  I recognized Cayphis’ silver-laced brown head at the forefront of the truce party. His attention focused on the ground before him, but I could see from the way he held his shoulders, he formulated his speech as he walked.

  In the faces around him, I recognized other royals, most of them second or third sons, even a fourth born. Was this the remnant? My heart sought the Almighty for wisdom as Cayphis stopped five feet away and lifted his gaze to mine.

  “My Lord Sept Son Aleron,” he began, clearly indicating this was going to be a very formal speech by his use of my most formal title. “We, the heads of to the houses of Adrasteia, Quintinos, Marcellus, Euginius, and Honorus, come to petition you for peace. You have defeated us honorably upon the field of battle. Despite the fact we wrongfully attacked your men, you have graciously spared our wounded, tending to them alongside your own. You have also allowed us to petition in this manner, as men with dignity and pride, agreeing to meet with us in person. Because of these signs that you are a merciful and wise man, we request that you allow us to join you in dealing with the remaining wayward houses of Ilar and Sabine who even now attempt to establish themselves as the sole government of the nation of Pratinus.”

  I waited for the formal ending to such a plea, an entreaty to the goddess, but it never came. Instead, Cayphis drew his sword. The four representatives with him did likewise, and they presented them as a whole to me, hilt first on bended knee. The rest of their escort knelt and bent their heads.

  I took a deep breath. “Cayphis Honorus, I accept your terms of surrender. I wish for you to keep your swords. Use them as tools to heal this land, our country, from the strife that has torn it apart. I have been informed that the high king has been dead for seven days. I now name you, Cayphis Honorus, High King of Pratinus, with the authority and power to deal as you deem best with the wayward houses of Ilar and Sabine. You can depend upon the loyalty and assistance of the house of the sept son and all the forces that I can command.”

  Cayphis looked up at me in shock. “But, my father was high king.”

  “There was a high king between your father and yourself. I have endorsed you. You have legal claim.”

  “Among all of us,” Blaise Marcellus, the former High King Deucalion Marcellus’ brother, said, “you are the best choice. You saw this coming from the beginning and stood against it.” Laying his sword at Cayphis’ feet, Blaise knelt low, offering the back of his neck as a sign of allegiance and homage. The remaining three kings did likewise.

  I completed the ceremony. “Cayphis Journa of the house of Honorus, I declare you High King of Pratinus and its surrounding isles, liege, defender, and sole governor of the council of Kings. I declare this by the power of my office, Sept Son of the Talented of Pratinus and defender of the people.”

  * * *

  Zezilia

  My body hummed with the emotions of the men around me. Hope and optimism coursed through me. Hadrian’s response was a tempered shadow of the rest. I could understand his reserve. Even I, a novice at matters of kings and sept sons, knew there was much still to be done. Our land still stood in the midst of civil war. High King Honorus wasn’t going to be able to just march into the capital city and take his throne. He would to have to fight for it.

  Before High King Honorus could secure his throne, he had scores of difficult decisions to make. The mess of the Elitists alone offered no easy answer.

  “As your first act, High King Honorus,” Hadrian said as soon as the congratulations had been expressed, “I strongly suggest that you turn your mind to the condition of the Elitists.”

  “Update me on the situation with them.” the high king ordered.

  Selwyn answered his question. “A small group of men, at best estimate fifteen, still remain on the sept son’s compound. They have barricaded themselves inside the sept son’s office building and are holding our men at bay.

  “They have committed criminal acts: kidnapping, mind altering, beating, maiming, and even killing women and children. They have also have committed treason, assassinating the high king and many lower kings. We request permission to deal with them as the law requires.”

  “Given,” the high king said. Waving a hand at two of his men, he added, “Go with them and make sure it is done.” The men bowed and left.

  “There is also the matter of the Elitist’s women and children,” Errol pointed out.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but Hadrian spoke first. “I wish to speak to that.”

  The new high king looked at Hadrian with a raised eyebrow.

  “These women and their offspring have been abused, physically and mentally. In the whole country, I believe my people alone have the skills to help them heal.”

  “Aren’t you concerned that they will contaminate your community?” the high king asked. “I don’t want to be dealing with another Elitist uprising in a few years, this one from within the house of the sept son.”

  “I assure you. That will not happen.” Hadrian met the man’s gaze firmly. “I will personally oversee every aspect of their housing, instruction, and rehabilitation.”

  The high king considered this for a moment. “That will be difficult since I will need your services for the foreseeable future. And considering recent events, I doubt that you will be seeing much of your compound. However, I am sure that you have men whom you can trust to keep you informed.”

  Hadrian glanced at me. “I do.”

  “Then, I accept your proposal.”

  Hadrian bowed.

  “Now, if you will lead me to your camp, I believe we have many more details to discuss.”

  I walked in Hadrian’s wake, following protocol without much thought. He was distracted with weightier issues. I couldn’t bring myself to interrupt his train of thought with a question now. So, I waited in confu
sed silence, uncertain what my role would be in this new arrangement.

  * * *

  Hadrian

  The days passed in a whirlwind, filled with tasks, plans, and minor crises. Before I knew it, I was back in my old quarters on the compound, packing to join High King Honorus at his temporary headquarters near the capital city. King Ostin Ilar had indeed declared himself high king. The house of Sabine, for reasons I could not comprehend, supported his claim with troops. Currently, Honorus lay siege on them in the capital city.

  The Elitists’ widows and children were given quarters on the other end of the compound from the men, and a guard under Errol’s command was set up to protect their privacy. Modifications to the buildings were already planned to better accommodate their needs. I found myself observing with growing hope as the usual residents of the compound returned and seemed to accept the women’s presence without qualms.

  In the parlor of my old living quarters, I glanced around my makeshift office. My original office had been picked clean by our unwelcome guests, the walls ripped apart and my desk burned. On top of the deliberate vandalism, the rooms of the building reeked with the smells of bodily functions and the scents of death. So, despite the tightness of my current surroundings, I much preferred them for now.

  Spotting the book I was looking for, I collected it and moved to stow it in my luggage when a sound made me look up. Zezilia stood in the open doorway, framed by the deep green of the garden. Just the sight of her brought the empty void in the back of my mind to the forefront of my thoughts. It had been two days since our last commisceo, and I still could not pause and clear my mind without the ache of missing her. Like a craving, the thirst was always there. I was beginning to understand how Qunitus Tavey went mad.

  “You sent for me?”

  I nodded, not trusting my tongue. I dreaded this conversation.

  “I was surprised that you wanted to see me since you have been avoiding me.” Her voice was soft and gentle, without a hint of accusation. “Are you hoping to ease the hunger for connection with distance?” She scanned the room, her gaze lingering on the partially packed boxes.

  “The high king needs me at his side,” I explained. “And, yes, I am hoping distance will help both of us with the hunger for commisceo.”

  She nodded without meeting my eyes. Stepping forward, she straightened a stack of books across the table from where I stood. Her dark hair was wispy, mussed from the wind. The loose strands curled around her lowered face. The wound on her cheek was already healing. It would scar, but it wouldn’t be very visible. It pained me to see it. She had come so close to death. Her slender fingers rubbed the leather binding of the topmost book on the stack.

  “What if it doesn’t?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “Right now, I am in such an emotional muddle that I cannot distinguish my real feelings from those induced by the commisceo.”

  She nodded.

  “I think we both also need time and distance to figure out what the Almighty’s will is for us.” The words sounded false and hollow even to my own ears. I longed for the link we once shared. It seemed a lot longer than two days since I last tasted her sending. Yet, I refrained from touching her mind with a sending of my own. It would be tempting my better nature to do it now. Besides, the longer I distanced myself, the closer I would be to relief from the desire.

  “I agree.” She looked up at me. “I have been seeking the Almighty’s will, and He isn’t giving me a clear answer, except perhaps to wait.”

  I received the same indications.

  “I will have plenty to occupy me,” she added. “Errol asked me to teach the young girls in the basic Talented and non-Talented skills.”

  “I thought he was going to teach both the boys and the girls.”

  She smiled, a slight lifting of the corners of her mouth. “He has his hands full with the boys. Vito alone will probably drive him to distraction. The boy swears that he has no Talent and thus needs no schooling.”

  I smiled too. Vito would bring many challenges for all of us as he grew. “I also have some tasks for you.” I gestured to the small stack of books and notebooks before me as I finally stowed the book in my hand in its box. “Your own studies are hardly over.” I came around the table to hand the stack to her. “The notebooks contain my notes from when Neleck taught me. They will take my place until I return. I expect detailed letters from you outlining what you have learned, any questions you might have, and copies of all your own notes. Some of these contain very difficult theory that might be nearly incomprehensible for you. It took me a few years to work my way through these even with Neleck at my side.”

  She took the stack and glanced at the book spines, skimming the titles. There was one more topic that needed addressing between us. It had lingered in the background for so long that it seemed as though we discussed it constantly, yet I knew we hadn’t.

  “I once made your father a promise.”

  She froze.

  I continued. “It was made without your consent, and I feel that you shouldn’t be bound by it. If at any time you wish to be released from the agreement, you have only to ask.”

  She finally looked up into my face. Emotions I couldn’t put names to crossed her features, while her expressive grey eyes studied mine.

  “In time you might meet someone that you wish to entertain as a possible marriage partner,” I explained. “Should that happen, I just want you to know that I will not bind you to your father’s word.”

  She shook her head firmly. “I have no desire to be free.” Then quickly looking away, she added, “However, I do not know what the Almighty wants.”

  “Neither do I. If He reveals something to you before me, please let me know. I will do the same.” I offered my hand to seal the bargain. She took it and shook it firmly.

  “Thank you.”

  Then, she was gone. I turned back to my packing with a heavy heart. I hated not knowing if this was the Almighty’s will or not. It felt wrong and right at the same time. However, I did know one thing. Time apart was the only answer that we were going to receive for now.

  * * *

  Zezilia

  How long? I stroked the leather bindings of the books in my hands. The surfaces, worn smooth from many more hands before mine, were soft beneath my fingers. Almighty, how long will it be before you give us an answer? And how shall I endure the wait?

  I remained in the shadows of the gardener’s shed across from Hadrian’s quarters. I watched as he finished his packing, hammered the boxes closed, and gathered up his traveling cloak. The groom brought around his horse. Hadrian stowed his letters and copy of the Revelation in the saddlebags and mounted.

  For just a brief second, he paused and gazed my way. I knew he knew I stood there. It was like having a compass inside your head tuned to one person constantly. He raised his hand in farewell and then turned his horse toward the front gate of the compound.

  * * *

  Zezilia and Hadrian will return

  in the final installment of The Talented,

  Living Sacrifice

  About the Author

  Rachel Rossano, author of historical-like romantic adventure stories and science fiction dramas, has carried the workings for Zez and Hadrian’s fantastical story with her for over a decade. Burdened with the weight of the message, she frequently set the writing aside only to pick it up again because she was driven to finish. As with all of her work, she hopes and prays that this story will encourage, inspire, and draw the reader’s attention back to the one true source of peace, the Lord Jesus Christ and the glorious purpose He is working in each believer’s life.

  Mrs. Rossano lives in the Northeastern portion of the United States with her loving and supportive husband and their three growing children. She loves to spend time reading, teaching, and creating midst the chaos of family life. She has been known to claim that writing keeps her sane because her characters are less argumentative than her children, most of the time.

/>   Also by Rachel Rossano

  Novels of Rhynan

  Duty

  Honor

  The Making of a Man

  (a short story anthology)

  The Theodoric Saga

  The Crown of Anavrea

  The King of Anavrea

  The Reward of Anavrea

  The Talented

  Seventh Born

  The Defender

  Stand Alone Works

  Wren

  (a Romany Epistle Novel)

  The Mercenary’s Marriage

  Word and Deed

  (a short story)

  Exchange

  (a science fiction short)

  Sneak Peeks

  Duty

  First Novel of Rhynan

  Chapter One

  "The red one is mine," he said.

  I didn’t raise my head although instinct urged me to. Father had called me Red. He said I was born screaming, skin deep red like the beets in the garden and hair fiery like the setting sun. The man who spoke was not my father.

  I glanced at him from beneath my cloak’s hood. Arrogant in his size and superior mass, his eyes picked me out of the writhing mass of captives. Early morning sunlight glinted off plain armor and an unadorned helm, yet the unwashed barbarians treated him with the respect due a commander.

  The crowd of women around me parted for the soldier fulfilling his order. Mothers moved back with babes in their arms, toddlers clinging to their skirts. Their fingers clutched older children’s hands or shoulders. A living mass, their voices silenced by the army surrounding them. Their faces spoke eloquently of their fear.