So Kal dug. Grayson reported no shadir, but he did point out a gowzal that had fluttered to a nearby bush. Kal hoped the creature wasn’t one of Charlon’s pets.
Before long, the head of his shovel struck the crate. He dropped to his hands and knees to dig with gloved hands. He should pull it out and have Grayson carry them away before they were seen, but curiosity got the better of him, and he used a dagger from his belt to prise up the lid.
The sight of so much root filled him with relief. Some was missing—a couple sacks, if he remembered right. He blew out a long breath, thankful it wasn’t more, and replaced the lid.
A gowzal fluttered to the ground beside him. Kal shooed it away and glanced at the tree. The first gowzal was still watching. This was a second.
He dragged the crate out of the hole, then filled in the space with dirt and snow. A third gowzal arrived, and the first flew over from the tree. Kal finished his work, strapped the shovel on his back, and hefted the crate in his arms.
One of the gowzals flew up to his shoulder. Kal yelled at the creature, but it stayed put.
“Grayson! Let’s get out of here.”
Grayson appeared in front of Kal.
“I won’t be able to hold onto you and this crate at the same time,” Kal said, wincing as the gowzal nipped his neck. Another bird landed on Grayson’s head and pecked at his hair.
Grayson twirled away, and the bird dropped. A second gowzal perched on the crate and squawked, sending foul breath in Kal’s face.
“We’ve got to get away from these birds,” Kal said.
Grayson grabbed Kal’s belt with both hands. “Hold tight.”
He jumped. They were moving more slowly, heavily, as if someone had grabbed onto their ankles. Kal took in the detail of a tree and a snowcapped boulder. They landed on a snowy plain, but the gowzal was still there, its claws digging into Kal’s shoulder.
“Get off!” He tried to knock the bird aside with his head but hadn’t the leverage.
Grayson released Kal and punched the bird, which squawked and fluttered to the snow.
“There’s one on your back,” Kal said.
Grayson twisted, spotted the creature, then vanished. He reappeared a few paces away, lying on his back in the snow. The gowzal shrieked, and suddenly Grayson was before Kal again, grabbing hold of his belt.
“There was a spell on the crate. We’re breaking it, which explains the pull,” Grayson said. “Here we go.” They jumped, this time leaving the gowzals behind.
They moved gradually, the sun sinking lower with each jump. They stopped by a river, and Kal put down the crate to rest. He sat on the lid and stretched his arms up over his head, then finished off the water in his jug.
“Mine’s empty too,” Grayson said. “I’ll go fill them.”
Kal handed over his water jug and Grayson jumped away.
Kal breathed in a deep, chilled breath and listened to the heavy silence. The moment took him back to the farm where he’d grown up. He and his brother used to stop by the creek on their way home from the training camp. Their father had been gone to the war for years by then, and it had been Kal’s greatest dream to join him.
A distant wail pulled him back to the present. Grayson knelt on the riverbank, seemingly fine. That had been a child, hadn’t it?
Kal surveyed the countryside. Across the river he spotted an unpainted carriage with bars on the windows being pulled by two horses. A prisoner transport? Out here?
Kal dragged the crate behind a nearby bush and heaped snow on it. He left his and Grayson’s packs there, along with the shovel, then walked to the river.
“There’s a carriage.” Kal pointed it out. “Can you take a look? Without being seen?”
“Sure.” Grayson handed the water jugs to Kal, then vanished.
Kal carried the water back to where he’d stashed the crate and kept his eye on the carriage. He took a long swig from his jug, then left both on the ground beside the crate.
A crunch in the snow behind Kal sent him spinning around. Grayson had returned, and by the look on his face, had seen something shocking.
“Two men riding up front. They’ve got six inside. Children tied and gagged. One of them is wailing. They all look pretty banged up.”
Alarm shot through Kal. He had no patience for sadistic men who sold children. He touched his sword, hesitant only because his arm might fail him.
He’d been trying to make peace with his past, as Onika had said. Would it make any difference?
“We don’t have to fight,” Grayson said. “I could carry the captives to my receiving chamber.”
That would be easier than a confrontation. “What about the men?” Kal asked.
“We could leave them. Or I could carry them to a cell?”
“You might be hurt.”
“Not if you disarmed them first,” Grayson said.
Kal narrowed his eyes at the distant carriage. He could likely do that much. “Drop me in front of it. I’ll confront the men. You take the children to Armanguard.”
“I could help you,” Grayson said. “Then take the children once the men are captured.”
Kal wasn’t sure about that.
“I can disarm one of them easily,” Grayson said.
The more Kal thought about it, the more he saw the asset of Grayson’s abilities. “Carry me to the road, then take the sword of whichever man looks the strongest. If you can get swords off both men, do it. If not, come to my side, and we’ll confront them together.”
Grayson grabbed Kal, and the world spun. Before Kal had time to breathe, Grayson had left him alone in fresh snow, facing the oncoming carriage, which was moving slowly, its wooden wheels spinning uselessly in the snow each time the terrain dipped.
Two men on the driver’s seat stared at Kal and exclaimed to each other. The driver jerked the reins and called to the horses. The second man stood, a steadying hand on his seat.
“What you doing out here, stranger?” the driver asked.
That voice sent a prickle of remembrance up Kal’s spine. He took in the portly frame and balding head, the fringe of short warrior’s tails attached like a mane. Kal knew him. Donn Flane, a soldier from the war. He’d fought in the second division out of Raine.
Tace Edekk’s man.
Kal didn’t know the companion. Strong and surly with a crooked nose, he was glaring at Kal when Grayson appeared, standing on the footboard, and drew the man’s sword from his belt.
“Hey!” He grabbed for Grayson, who vanished, causing the man to fall forward. He just managed to grip the footboard before tumbling over. “Where’d he go?”
The driver dropped the reins and drew his blade, suddenly alert.
“Flane,” Kal said, hoping to unnerve him. “What does Edekk have you doing for him these days? Abducting children?”
“I don’t know you, stranger,” Flane said, “but you best mind your business, lest you and your friend get yourselves hurt.”
Kal drew his sword, and a tingle ran up his arm. “Don’t you know me? After we fought side by side against the yeetta outside Lifton?”
Flane’s face sank into a plain mask. “Kal?”
Kal started forward slowly. Grayson appeared on the seat behind Flane and pushed him. Flane fell off the side of the wagon, dropped his sword, and landed on his back in the snow.
His partner jumped down. Grayson appeared on the ground and reached for Flane’s sword, but the stranger got there first. He swung the blade at Grayson, who vanished before the sword could find its mark.
“Mantics!” the stranger said.
“What do you want, Kal?” Flane was on his feet now. He’d pulled a dagger, which he held flush against his leg.
Kal stopped two paces away, eyes darting between the stranger’s sword and Flane’s dagger. “You’ve got some passengers who don’t belong to you. I’ve come to take them back.”
“They’re none of your business,” Flane said. “And since when do you serve Armania? Last I heard you’
d turned traitor.”
“The king pardoned me,” Kal said. “I might be able to convince him to do the same for you if you come quietly and tell us who you’re working for.”
“We can take him,” Flane said to his comrade.
“But he’s got the mantic.”
“Now!”
Both men lunged toward Kal. He raised his blade to meet the sword, then shoved off and deflected a stab from Flane. The stranger came at him again, but Grayson appeared and shouldered him aside. The stranger stumbled headfirst into the snow. Grayson vanished and reappeared, standing on the stranger’s sword hand.
As Grayson disarmed the stranger, Kal swung his blade for Flane’s head. Flane caught Kal’s sword with the guard of his dagger and slid in tight where the blade couldn’t hurt him. Kal grabbed Flane’s tunic and yanked him close, twirling his sword into a reverse grip so he could stab from behind. Flane spun out of reach, then came back, stabbing the dagger toward Kal’s face. Kal seized the opportunity, regretting what it would cost his old comrade. He sidestepped and sliced a hand’s breath higher than the dagger, severing Flane’s hand from his arm.
Flane howled and collapsed on his knees. Kal kicked his back, knocking him face-first into the snow. He looked for Grayson and the stranger but saw neither, so he sheathed his sword, which took him three tries—but not because his arm was numb. It pinched, like he had a sore muscle. Curious.
He checked Flane for more weapons, took two knives off him.
“You’ve killed me,” Flane said, his voice broken.
“Only if I leave you here,” Kal said.
“I’ve no life with only one hand.”
“The Duke of Canden has managed just fine,” Kal said.
Grayson appeared beside them, eyes wide as he took in the bloody snow. “I carried his friend to an empty cell in Armanguard.”
“See if you can find something to stop the blood flow,” Kal said.
Green light appeared on Grayson’s hand, just like the kind Shanek could make.
Kal shied back, shielding his eyes with one arm. “What are you doing?”
“I helped the physician after the Battle of Armanguard,” Grayson said, crouching at Flane’s side.
“Keep back, mantic!” Flane rose onto his knees and one hand, clutching his stump to his chest. He tried to crawl away but fell onto his side.
Kal straddled the man’s chest and pinned the bleeding stump to the ground.
Flane bucked beneath him. “No!”
Kal held fast, trying not to look at the blood. “Hurry. He’s making it worse.”
Grayson popped to Flane’s side and knelt in the bloody snow. He pushed the green light against the stump. Flane shrieked, then went limp. Fainted.
Kal sat back. “Take him, then inform the king about both men. Hurry back. I’ll check on the children, but I’ll need you to transport them. Then we must get that crate to the king.”
When Grayson and Flane disappeared, Kal approached the carriage. He flipped the latch and opened the barred door. Two children fell back, squirming on feet and hind ends. Hands bound behind their backs, ankles bound, gags in their mouths. Someone was crying, but Kal couldn’t tell who.
“You’ve been rescued,” he said. “Will you let me untie you?”
Three of the dirty faces nodded.
“Who’s first?” Kal asked.
A girl with golden eyes threw herself to her knees in the open doorway. Kal raised his dagger to the girl’s ear. She tensed, head shrinking into her shoulders.
“I’m going to cut the fabric,” Kal said, slowly sliding the metal between her skin and the hemp. His blade sliced through and he pulled the cord free from her mouth. “Who’s next?”
While Kal cut away ropes, he struck up a conversation, speaking loudly over the wails of the crying child. “You know each other?” he asked.
“We’re cousins,” said a boy.
“What happened to you?”
“We were fetching cattails for flour when the men came,” the golden-eyed girl said. “There were six of them, dressed in black with blue capes.”
“Some of them had the snake and goblet on their tunics,” a smaller girl added.
Tace Edekk’s sigil.
Grayson came back and transported the children, one at a time. When he was done, he returned for Kal and Charlon’s evenroot.
The king was overjoyed by their success and bade Grayson and Kal help him dispose of the magical substances. They burned dry root in the king’s fireplace and dumped the contents of the bottles down the nearest privy hole. While they worked, they discussed the children.
“House Edekk’s livery is evidence enough to convince me,” the king said. “He must have been trading children to the giants for sacrifice, but why?”
“An alliance?” Kal guessed. “Or to keep the giants from attacking him.”
The king looked weary. “I’ll have to speak with Ulagan. If Edekk has giants willing to fight with him, that’s trouble enough. But if he’s also allied with Rogedoth, and I suspect he is . . .” He sighed. “Shanek has attacked in the village again, Sir Kalenek. Do you think he will come to the castle?”
“I know not, Your Highness.” Kal couldn’t fathom why Shanek would attack innocent families. “He likely will, and I fear he has allied with Rogedoth too.”
“Arman help us,” the king said. “Only the God knows what’s to come.”
Hinck
Hinck followed Saria into the meeting chambers of the Sarikarian Council. The chatter ceased as all eyes watched him. There were six men present, and only Father Wolbair greeted him with a smile. Hinck pretended not to notice and took a seat beside the old prophet. His nerves were on fire just thinking about how these men might react to Saria’s announcement. She and Trevn had gone back and forth on every word of the betrothal agreement, and Trevn had been right. She’d given Hinck more than she had initially said she would.
Saria strode to the head of the table where Finnel Wallington was standing. Finnel was married to Princess Nolia, Saria’s aunt, and was the son of the Duke of Everton—one of the suspected traitors in the Armanian nobility. He was in his late thirties, slender, and primped to perfection.
“Gentlemen, thank you for coming.” Saria stopped so close to Finnel, the girth of her skirt forced him to step aside. “I believe you all know the Earl of Dacre, recently titled Duke of Armanguard. We owe immense gratitude to our Armanian brothers, who came to our aid in the Battle of New Sarikar. The duke comes to us as more than an ambassador, he—”
“We’ve no time for visitors, Princess,” Finnel said, his voice throaty and smug as he took a seat across from Father Wolbair. “I know it’s difficult for a woman to understand, but this council deals with important matters.”
“Is this about building that border house at the river fork?” Duke Brixmead asked. He was a portly old man with a receding hairline and no teeth, that Hinck could see.
“We’ve discussed this already. Don’t have the funds.” This from Duke Pixford, who had more wrinkles than Duke Brixmead but was tall and wiry enough to still wield a sword.
“We never finished discussing the border house,” the Earl of Faynor said. He looked to be the age of Hinck’s father and wore a long mustache that was braided into his beard. “We were interrupted when word came of the giants’ attack on the northern village.”
“The border house would be a great asset to our security,” General Norcott said.
“I was told that this meeting was about your relinquishing your claim to the regency, Princess Saria,” Finnel Wallington said.
“I heard the same,” Duke Brixmead said, smacking his gums.
“If you’ll give me a moment to explain, all will become clear,” Saria said.
“A moment?” Duke Pixford said, his wrinkled cheeks stretching with his smile. “Girl, you talk more than my wife.”
The men chuckled. The disrespect they showed their princess shocked Hinck, and he found Saria’s restraint impressive
.
She raised her chin and cast a regal gaze around the table. “A new claim to the throne of Sarikar has come forward.”
Finnel Wallington jumped to his feet. “Who has made a claim?”
“Sit down, Wallington,” Father Wolbair said, “and the princess will tell you.”
Finnel lowered back to his seat, casting the prophet a dark glare.
Saria unrolled the scroll that proved Hinck’s heritage. “Second only to myself and Prince Mergest the usurper, Hinckdan Faluk has the greatest claim on the throne of Sarikar through his great-grandmother on his mother’s side, Princess Maqee of Sarikar.”
“Rubbish!” Finnel snatched the scroll from Saria’s hand and inspected it himself.
“Speak now, Hinck, before Finnel tries to refute you,” Saria bloodvoiced.
Hinck pushed back his chair and stood, holding the betrothal agreement Mielle had brought with her from Trevn. “At the blessing of my king, I offer this betrothal agreement between myself and Princess Saria. It is our wish to rule the realm of New Sarikar as co-regents.”
“That is outrageous!” Finnel dropped Saria’s scroll and snatched Hinck’s.
The Earl of Faynor picked up Saria’s scroll and inspected it. “Claim seems valid,” he said. “I’d forgotten about Princess Maqee’s line.”
“Why should King Trevn have any say in who rules Sarikar?” Duke Pixford asked.
“Or whom our princess should marry, for that matter?” Duke Brixmead added.
“We led King Wilek and his army into a slaughter as they fought to defend us,” General Norcott said. “That sacrifice alone has deeply indebted us.”
“Add that we have continually asked Armania for aid since arriving in this land,” Lord Faynor added. “They’ve sent us more food than we’ve grown ourselves.”
“Precisely,” Saria said.
“Know your history, men!” Duke Pixford said. “Armania has been in debt to our realm for over one hundred years. Do you know how many ships we built for Rosâr Echad?”
“Seventy-six,” Duke Brixmead said, “and they still haven’t paid them off.”
“Immaterial,” Lord Faynor said. “New Sarikar is a new realm.”
“Whatever they owed us in the costs of ships, wood, and food, they have paid for threefold in blood,” Saria said.
A Deliverer Comes Page 27
