Horizon (In the Absence of Kings Book 3)

by Lee LaCroix

  There was no weakness in Rakash’s offhand as he slammed the right, then left, then right blade into Garreth’s sword, and Garreth could feel his bones shake every time their weapons connected. As Garreth watched as the one blade fell towards him, he angled a strike towards it and knocked Rakash’s blade aside. With a wider gap to strike at, Garreth drove Darkbreaker into the other falling sword. With both blades pushed outwards, Garreth stepped in for an overhead slash towards Rakash’s neck. Rakash returned with the powerful force that Garreth had placed upon his blade and returned both blades with a scissoring slice aimed at Garreth’s neck. The hunter dove onto his stomach, under the flying death, and scrambled to his feet. Garreth had just enough time to catch the commander on his knees and began to bombard him with quick slashes, knocking him off balance as he tried to rise.

  Rakash roared as he tossed away Darkbreaker with a strong push from both of his swords and leapt towards Garreth to stab with both blades. Garreth hung his blade from on high and stepped to the side, placing himself beside the Rakash’s lunge. As soon as Rakash’s blades went grinding by, Garreth raised his sword and sent it slicing down Rakash’s back. If the Vandarian lord felt the wide cut on his back, he did not show it, but the pooling of blood on the floor was sign enough for Garreth. Garreth gave him a grin and waved the beast of a man towards him, and Rakash did not disappoint.

  Garreth was flecked with the man’s blood as he spun around. Rakash threw his muscular weight into his blades, unleashing a furious combination of strikes and slashes that Garreth could not hope to intercept or counter. Garreth kept his footwork lively as he paced around the room, giving himself enough space to back away as well as not to interfere with Novas’ battle. The hunter watched that terrifying display and understood why the Dusk had had such a trouble defeating the man; exposing Rakash’s zealous anger was only tactic to break his confident and fortuitous defense. Rakash tried not to show it, but he was breathing hard. In the red of the firelight, Garreth could not see him growing pale. For the brief moment Rakash had ceased his assault, Garreth moved in with his own.

  Garreth took a quick step to the right, slamming into Rakash’s sword with his own, and then a step forward to the left, grinding against the other sword. Garreth brought his sword up for an overhead swing that Rakash could easily predict, and Rakash brought up his crossed swords guard. Garreth brought down the sword from on high but twisted the edge, running the smooth flat of the blade to the ground. Garreth rebounded Darkbreaker off the stone floor, forcing his blade higher and faster with a leap. Rakash’s arms were spread wide as Garreth’s upwards strike broke the guard. As Garreth’s feet touched the floor, he turned and reached out. Rakash doubled over and fell to his knees as the blood poured from the tear in his stomach.

  “This is not the end. Andalvia will be your great undoing. You will see the error in your ways as this false light has guided you here,” Rakash spat in chunks of words and blood, the sweat rolling off his face like a storm.

  He grit his teeth, closed his eyes, and fell to the floor. Garreth kicked away the twin blades and then brought his vision to the two sparring combatants across the room.

  “Is this the part where I beat you into submission again? Your assault has diminished noticeably. Are you all out of ideas?” Malic taunted as he swirled his fists around.

  Novas responded with a sideways slash and then a spinning strike, which Malic pushed away with a parry and a step backwards. Wherever Novas would strike, Malic would angle himself away from the blade’s course and push it away with his dagger. And the way that he held his wrist up to the collision of their blades, Novas had never seen such coordination. Novas raised his blade and watched Malic crouch and weave, anticipating Novas’ every move. There was no way he could pierce Malic’s defense if he kept aiming for an open weakness, Novas thought.

  Novas twisted around his sword and brought an angled upwards strike. When Malic moved to deflect it, Novas stepped forward to meet the blade, forcing it aside. Novas pulled around his arm to the other side and sent Dawnbringer sailing towards Malic’s right hand, which moved to pierce Novas’ open side. Malic wobbled back as Dawnbringer connected with his second blade, and both of daggers were pushed away from him. With a little hand-to-hand of his own, Novas sidestepped in and forced his elbow into Malic’s kidney. Novas took a quick step back as Malic lurched forward, and raised his sword high above. The wind whistled around the blade as it fell. Instead of a silent slice, a blunt thump echoed as Novas drove the pommel of his sword into Malic’s neck. The assassin dropped his daggers as he fell and crumpled to the floor.

  “That revenge was sweet enough for the both of us,” Garreth told him, putting a hand on his son’s shoulder, “Now, let’s tie him up in the room and get down to our allies,”

  “I almost killed him you know. If it wasn’t for Berault,” Novas explained.

  “I know, I know,” Garreth replied as he lifted up Malic’s body over his shoulder.

  At first, the Vandari cheered as they saw the lighted explosions appear through their ranks, knowing that their savior—the Light of Judgment, Rakash Dommath— had come to claim victory in that battle. Shortly, they were gravely dismayed when they found the mursame blades were turned upon themselves and wielded by the travelers from the far shore. Soon the shouts rang out; the warriors of light were among them. Garreth gave Novas one pat on the shoulder before he ran off to join Ilsa on their side of the battlefield, and Novas watched his father point a different way as he left.

  Novas followed the outstretched finger to the fiery tumult on the other side of the courtyard, and he dared to believe that he saw a plume of red hair. There was no time for words, only might and steel, as Novas stood in front of Kayten and locked eyes with her. Time seemed to slow as they gazed at each other. Novas was bathed in the light of Dawnbringer still blue-white and radiant from the recent duel. With her sword as hot as her determination to rescue the man who now stood before her, Kayten’s hair and face was as red as fire. They did not embrace but collided shoulder to shoulder and charged the Vandarian lines without fear.

  Restless eyes were forced open and stared upon rooms still dark as the people of Andalvia were woken from their beds by racket. When they peered down from their windows at the street, they came upon a curious and awakening sight. There were citizens with torches and citizens with arms raised high. Vandari were bound by the hands with heads cast down, marching forward. Copper pans were rung with abandon, and street callers shouted into the night. The main thoroughfare was filled with Kal’reth pouring from their homes to join the pre-dawn meeting. The bold and the curious ebbed from every single way, meeting in the market in the center of town.

  “Andalvians, my Kal’reth, my people!” Ayden called out from above a wooden stand.

  “For years, we have lived in the shadow of Vandar. Our lives, our ways, and our words have been irrevocably changed. I know you thirst as I do, to walk the streets without fear, to speak the tongue of our mothers and fathers without persecution. I came here because I fear for my friends, for my family, and places like Erawal where the Vandari poison the oasis with their greed. Together, we can free Kal’resh and travel from coast to coast, over shaded canyon, and sandy sea once again with only the sun and the heat to stop us. Join us! Whether you want to hold up your brothers or the blade, your sisters or the sword, we will never let our homeland slip again into darkness but rise again with the sun and remain stalwart through its falling, through this night, and all nights as we watch for those who would take from us. My allies and I have given you the chance to be everything you once were and everything you want to be. So be strong, and be!” Ayden shouted at them, his sword glinting in the fiery red-orange of the sunrise as he raised it to them.

  He stared about the crowd as they conversed with each other, skeptical and nervous about such sudden and drastic change.

  “For Kal’resh! For freedom!” a voice yelled in the crowd and began to yell and clap.

  Like a spark to
a spattering of bloodfire ore, the applause tore through that crowd. Soon, the market was loud and alive like an explosion. Ayden was helped down off the stand by reaching hands, but he was made visible by those who lifted him onto the crowd.

  “This reminds me of a time not long ago,” Ilsa said, laying her head on Garreth’s shoulder.

  “In a different city, on a different land,” Garreth replied as they watched from the street afar.

  “Malic is in captivity. Our mission is done. We can finally go home,” Ilsa stated with a smile.

  “Indeed. I cannot wait,” Garreth told her as he looked into the crowd.

  In his mind, he looked beyond and wished for the green of the trees and the fields once again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The wrinkles on Rahven’s face seemed deeper than usual as a single brazier was lit and pulled up above him. He leaned onto the rest of his throne of cold stone, put his chin in his hand, and wheezed, trying to not let age betray him. As soon as the brazier was lit, the rest of his subjects moved into the borders of the room and stood on the edge of light and shadow, waiting at attention. Rahven straightened up as a rift formed in the back of the room, and the silver-haired Zoreyn forced a red-eyed man to the center in front of them all.

  “Malic. Malic the Red. Malic the Betrayer. Welcome home,” Rahven announced.

  Malic remained silent except for spitting blood and phlegm upon the steps of the throne.

  “We were sure that you’d be dead when Wulfred left to find you. It is a twist of fate that you stand before me today instead of him,” Rahven continued, drawing out the man’s sentencing and waiting for a response.

  “Everything that we had taught you, you revealed to Vandar. In doing so, you threatened generations of work put forth by our peacekeeping brothers and sisters,” Rahven accused, flattening his fist upon the arm of the throne.

  It was here that Malic seethed and reddened and could stand no more.

  “Peacekeepers? Before you were killing Vandari, you were killing the Kal’reth… anyone who stood in the way of your vision of ‘peace’,” Malic exclaimed, glaring at his accuser.

  “Your words are not false, but they are here nor there. We did what was necessary to facilitate harmony across Kal’resh. Whether your inability to see that drove you to turn against us is inconsequential. You have brought death upon us, and we must bring death on you in return,” Rahven dictated, raising his arm to Zoreyn behind the prostrate man.

  Zoreyn withdrew his dagger and laid the blade alongside Malic’s throat. Red eyes burning like hot coals, Malic would not take his eyes off the old man.

  “You are judged,” Rahven stated, dropping his hand.

  Zoreyn touched the blade to the traitor’s neck, and the tiniest cut drew blood.

  “Wait!” Garreth yelled as he barged through the gathering with Ilsa, Kayten, and Novas.

  “You cannot kill him. He needs to be interrogated. He poisoned our leader, and we must know the cure. We helped you win back your city. Now, help us,” Garreth pleaded.

  Zoreyn spat but would not relinquish the blade, and blood trickled down Malic’s throat.

  “He dies at sundown. He is yours till then,” Rahven stated and shooed them away.

  Garreth pulled Malic up from the binding on his wrists, dragged him from the room, and put him in the darkest cell he could find.

  The tapping of Garreth’s foot was all that could be heard over the crackling of the torch or the falling of tiny dew drops in their windowless, subterranean room. Ilsa sat beside him at the single desk while Kayten and Novas laid on one of many hammocks strung up around the room for sleeping. Kayten stared at Novas, happy to have him back, while Novas twiddled his thumbs and waited for his kidnapper to finally crack.

  “So, we just need to get the name of this plant from him, find it somewhere in Kal’resh, and then get it back to Berault in Malquia?” Novas asked.

  “Yes. But, we won’t get a word from him until he’s had time to stew. There’s no use in rushing it,” Garreth explained as he leaned the chair back against the wall.

  “After that, we’re free to go right?” Novas persisted.

  “Mmhmm,” Ilsa murmured from her chair.

  Novas exhaled as his head fell back into his hands. He returned the smile from Kayten.

  “Hello, Malquians,” Ayden greeted as he poked his head around the doorframe.

  They each greeted him, and he stood in the center.

  “Things are going better than I had dreamed. There has been so much support for our independence. Better yet, they say that they want me to lead them into this peace. The followers from Erawal have testified of my greatness. I have been told I am charismatic and maintain my youthful energy… qualities that are needed for a time of an undefined reign,” Ayden explained to them.

  “Reign, you say? Try not to let it go to your head. It will be you they blame if things go ill,” Garreth warned and kneaded his fingers.

  “I see your point, but I cannot choose to be pessimistic in this time. Much will have to be done for Andalvia and all of Kal’resh before its former glory is restored,” Ayden explained.

  “Well, best of luck to you. We’ll be headed back to Malquia tomorrow. Hopefully, the Crown Aegis will be gone from Nacosst shortly after,” Ilsa explained.

  “That seems to be the plan,” Garreth added.

  Like a shadow tearing from the darkness of the hallway, Zoreyn swung around the door.

  “Malic has escaped,” he spoke before receding into the black just as fast.

  When the five had finally caught up to Zoreyn, he was standing over the body of a fallen Dusk who had subdued by Malic’s trickery from inside his cell. The cell was wide open, and the member of Dusk was sprawled out across the floor and spattered with his own blood. Zoreyn was bent over, holding the torch to illuminate the corpse and a marking no one could make out without bending over. Ayden gasped as Zoreyn leaned in close to read the message scrawled in blood.

  “Novas,

  Now is the time to put your words on trial. Just as I have been judged, your statements will see the same. I ride to Vandar where I will summon an army great enough to crush your fleeting shadows and your passive sand rats. Either your precious Kal’reth will rise to meet us like you have so foolishly hoped, or Vandar will cast that land into the shadow of eternal servitude, and we will not stop there,”

  Zoreyn spoke. Novas met his glare and then stared at Ayden, who stood slack faced with awe.

  “The time to lead your people has come,” Garreth uttered before he paced down the dark hall.

  Garreth and Ilsa stood on the highest wall of Andalvia, overlooking the wide sea change from bright orange to dark red, and watched the sun disappear over the mountains to the north. From their height, they could just see the snow-capped peaks shining bright on Vandar’s northern horizon, reflecting bright in the rays of sunset. On the coast of that far country were rocky cliffs and a treacherous fall just like the height of Andalvia. Where Vandar and Kal’resh met, they were connected by a long length of stone that was neither thin nor wide; a reaching peninsula joining the two land masses. The great chasm of the powerful Dikaas River separated the two lands and had worn away on the bottom side of the Telfir Peninsula, the foundation of which was curved like the underlying arches of a bridge. Garreth looked upon that stretch of rock and knew that that was where they needed to make their stand; it was the only one place they could repel the might of Vandar as their people poured unimpeded from their homeland.

  Act Four

  Chapter Nineteen

  The rising sun turned the ink to lighted gold as Garreth scribbled upon a piece of parchment in his room at the Cliffside Corner. Ilsa sat on the bed nearby, parsing her way through a local text, and waited for Garreth to finish his letter to the Crown Aegis in Nacosst. Beginning to know the assassin better with every arcing slash and spiteful word, Garreth knew better than to try to call Malic’s bluff, and the Malquian wanted his allies in Andalvia in the
days to come. Garreth knew they would need not only the strength of their swords but their presence and martial skill; the Kal’reth were still a long ways from becoming a functional army.

  “Do you think they’ll make it on time?” Ilsa whispered as if fearing the answer.

  “We have had no word from the Vandarian front. We do not know when their army will arrive. We can hope, but there’s no way to truly know,” Garreth explained with a twirl and a flourish of the feather as he signed the parchment.

  “I wish there was something we could do. I don’t like this waiting,” Ilsa remarked.

  “Well, there’s something you can do for me. I need to get up to the command tower right away. Could you get this letter to a courier in the market and then meet me there?” Garreth asked, rolling up the letter and then tying it securely with string.

  “As you command, my lord,” Ilsa teased as she stood from the bed and grabbed the letter off the desk, bending down to kiss his cheek before striding out the door.

  Garreth reached for her hand and let it glide through his as she left, and then he turned to look out the window at the city below.

  Only slightly out of breath, Garreth paced up the tower stairs and found himself at the highest landing before striding through the open door of the commander’s office. The Vandarian banners had been torn down, the blood spilled had now been cleaned, and the cool breeze made Garreth feel like the previous battle was a distant memory. Two new desks had been brought in and placed on adjacent walls to the original one where councillors scribbled and conversed as they tried to tame the city that had flourished without restraint. Behind the center desk, a young man sat with both hands in his hair, looking over a spread of documents while his two advisors spoke to him and gestured to different figures on the pages. Garreth could not shake the resemblance of Berault that Ayden seemed to radiate. Slouched, stressed, yet enduring, the young man was beginning to get a true taste of leadership outside the battlefield.