Dissident (Forbidden Things Book 1)

by Nikki Mccormack

  He unclasped the chain, letting the stone slide off onto a bed of clothing, and shut the drawer. The stone forgotten, he walked to his sword stand and slipped Indigo’s ring onto the chain. Then he clasped it around his neck and tucked it under his shirt seconds before Adran swept through the door.

  “Let’s go!” His grin faded to disappointment when he saw Yiloch awake, dressed and ready to depart.

  Yiloch scowled, pretending displeasure and strapped on his sword belt.

  “Where’s your sword, Captain Adran?” In the reflective surface of his blade, he saw Adran glance at his own waist.

  “In my room.”

  Adran sounded somewhat surprised and Yiloch had to swallow a laugh.

  “I’ll see you in the courtyard.” He sheathed his sword and strode past Adran into the hallway.

  In his armory, Yiloch strapped another sheath to his thigh that held two daggers and fitted a third dagger to one boot. Satisfied, he proceeded to the rear courtyard where twenty-five mounted soldiers and Ian waited. Three extra horses carried supplies for the trip to Tunsdal and another four carried items for their stay in Demin. His dappled gray stallion, Tantrum, stood saddled and waiting next to the well-mannered bay gelding Adran rode. Dalce was near the front of the group talking with some soldiers.

  Beyond the courtyard wall, the snowcapped peak of Mount Serst, the highest peak in the range, loomed over them, ominous and magnificent. Yiloch admired the fierce beauty of it and inhaled fresh, crisp mountain air. Now, when he finally started to appreciate the majesty of this place again, when he finally started sleeping through the night without the prison haunting his dreams, he was leaving. Perhaps he didn’t need to go, but King Jerrin would appreciate the respect implied by the effort. That alone could prove pivotal in securing their alliance.

  And what of Indigo?

  Ignoring the thought, he walked over to Dalce.

  “Prince Yiloch.” Dalce and the soldiers with him bowed.

  Yiloch nodded acknowledgement. “Commander Dalce, is everything in order?”

  “We’re only waiting on Lord Adran now.”

  As if on cue, Adran came through the door. His long strides and straight posture suggested bold confidence. Only someone who knew him as Yiloch did would catch the flicker of self-consciousness in his eyes at being the last to arrive. He wore his sword with the self-assurance of a man possessing considerable combat skill.

  Adran met his eyes and smiled. Then his gaze wandered to Ian and the smile disintegrated.

  “What’s he doing here?”

  “I requested that he accompany us to mask our identity when necessary,” Yiloch replied. Adran might be Ian’s cousin and Yiloch’s closest friend, but neither would help him win the battle he was starting.

  “He’s too inexperienced. The real world is a story in a book to him,” Adran argued.

  An undignified choking noise came from Ian, who might have come to his own defense, but Yiloch spoke first. “If he’s to be of any use, he needs to gain experience. He won’t do that hiding here behind his cousins. He goes or he is no longer welcome in this stronghold.”

  “I would much prefer to go if…” Ian trailed off before a sharp look from Adran.

  “You wouldn’t send him away,” Adran countered, though his eyes shifted away and his shoulders sank a touch, little indications of expected defeat that someone else might have missed.

  “Try me.”

  Ian cleared his throat. “Prince Yiloch requested my services, Cousin. It’s my responsibility and privilege to honor his request. I don’t believe you have a say in the matter.”

  Yiloch smirked, enjoying the started look Adran gave the young creator, though he too was surprised by the show of spirit. An adventure might bring out some backbone in the youth. If not, Yiloch would deal with the consequences when the time came.

  “Let us be off then.” Yiloch took Tantrum’s reins and swung into the saddle.

  Adran shook his head, muttering under his breath. He swung up on his gelding, squared himself in the saddle, and stared hard ahead.

  “Commander Dalce, I trust you to handle things. We’ll return as soon as the alliance is secured and start this war.”

  “I look forward to it, my lord.”

  Dalce patted Tantrum’s neck with a firm hand. The stallion ignored the rough gesture and swiveled his ears toward Yiloch.

  When Dalce stepped back out of the way, Yiloch urged Tantrum forward with a light squeeze of his legs. The rest of the retinue started to move, the guards positioned before and behind Yiloch, Adran, and Ian. Outside the courtyard, the mountain path forced them to travel two abreast, squeezing them into a long line.

  Ian maneuvered up beside Tantrum when Adran didn’t claim the position.

  “My lord?”

  “Creator Ian.”

  “What sort of disguise did you have in mind?”

  “A travelling merchant or a lord with private guards. Something close to reality. You’ll be maintaining it for a while. The simpler the better.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “We shouldn’t need it until we’re past the second river crossing.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Ian repeated.

  The creator slowed his mount, falling back beside Adran again. The route was narrow and steep, but faster than the wide track that wound down the other side. Tantrum had an overabundance of energy apparent in tight prancing steps and the tossing of his head. Yiloch stroked his neck, soothing the stallion while he admired the towering cliffs of the Leras range. The mountains were steep and dangerous, piercing the sky with jagged peaks. Only the boldest winter hawks soared high enough to know those snowcapped summits.

  The incline lessened and the path joined a wider track where they could ride five abreast, creating a buffer on all sides between Yiloch and any threat. He increased the pace, moving the retinue up to a swift trot until they stopped mid-afternoon at the first river crossing to refresh the horses and themselves. The river ran high and strong with snowmelt, chill water pulling at the horses’ legs when they forded the crossing. After they crossed the winding river a second time, Yiloch glanced back at Ian who met his eyes and nodded. The creator’s expression turned distant and the ascard in the air around them reformed, masking their identity.

  Yiloch waved Adran close. “Keep an eye on Ian. If he shows signs of fatigue I need to know.”

  “I still don’t think he should be here. He isn’t ready.”

  Tantrum pawed the ground, sensitive to Yiloch’s rising irritation. “Think what you want, but this reduces our risk. Your precious cousin will earn his keep.”

  Adran’s gaze drifted to the young creator. “I worry about him.”

  “You care more than you should,” Yiloch snapped. “We’ll all sell ourselves for the right price. Ian’s price is adventure and recognition. He’s cheaper than most.”

  Turning his back on the dismay in Adran’s eyes, he motioned the group onward.

  *

  Yiloch had them back on the road before dawn the next day. They kept up an easy trot through the morning, breaking in a meadow at midday to refresh and let the horses graze. They had just mounted up again when three men entered the far side of the clearing, one mounted and two on foot bearing the imperial crest on their surcoats.

  Imperial soldiers rarely patrolled this far from the capital. They might be a rogue group. Regardless, three soldiers weren’t likely to stir up trouble with a party this size.

  Yiloch ordered the retinue to a walk and closed the distance until they were a few yards apart. He recognized the mounted one. Garn, an unpleasant sort who fancied himself a great warrior and ladies’ man.

  Garn held up a hand. “Halt!”

  They obliged, waiting while Garn looked them over then settled his haughty gaze on Yiloch. So much arrogance in the face of a large armed group meant he was either a fool or he had some hidden advantage. Hope for a peaceful encounter began to fade.

  “For what market are you bound, good mer
chant,” Garn asked, pleasant enough.

  “My lord, I carry goods to Aldis and Tunsdal.” The respectful address tasted like bile on Yiloch’s tongue.

  “A long road.” Garn scanned their weapons. “We have been long on the road as well. Perhaps you would spare food and drink for the emperor’s men.”

  “We have naught to spare.”

  “I think you have plenty,” Garn countered.

  More imperial soldiers emerged from the trees on both sides. Yiloch lowered his hand to his sword. His soldiers mirrored the movement and Garn narrowed his eyes at the synchronized response that suggested considerable training.

  “I advise you to let us pass,” Yiloch warned.

  “We do this the hard way then.” Garn drew his sword.

  The imperial soldiers drew weapons and charged. Dalce had chosen Yiloch’s guard carefully, selecting the best the stronghold had to offer, and they showed it now. They spun their mounts into the oncoming attackers, swords swinging with lethal precision. Still, Garn had an advantage, with two men for every one of his.

  An imperial soldier staggered back, his blade bouncing off the air around one of Yiloch’s men. Yiloch scowled, anger burning his blood. Ian had created shields for them. The shields would deplete the creator, but he had other problems to deal with first.

  Tantrum lunged on Yiloch’s cue, ramming his shoulder into Garn’s horse. The horse went down and Garn rolled clear, jumping to his feet. Swinging off Tantrum, Yiloch closed with him. He sped his attacks with ascard and crippled Garn with a strike to the thigh and another to the shoulder of his sword arm. Then he parried a clumsy attack and drove a dagger home through the man’s throat. Pulling the dagger free, he spun and thrust his sword into the back of an imperial soldier fighting another of his men.

  He felt an abrupt change in the ascard when Ian passed out from strain. The shields and their illusion fell away. Only a few imperial soldiers still stood, fighting against much altered odds.

  “The Blood Prince!”

  Yiloch turned. On the outskirts of the battle, an imperial soldier stared at him in wide-eyed recognition now that the illusion was gone. The man turned and ran.

  Drawing on more power, Yiloch swapped himself with the ascard in the air behind the fleeing soldier. He grabbed the soldier’s tunic, pulled him close, and swept his blade across the man’s neck. The gurgling man dropped when he let go. All the imperial soldiers lay dead or dying, their blood soaking the trampled ground around the roadway. Yiloch stalked back to the retinue, his soldiers clearing from his path.

  Adran was helping Ian to his feet. Yiloch shoved him aside, took the front of Ian’s shirt in his fist, and hauled the boy close enough that their noses almost touched.

  “If you ever push yourself to the point of passing out again, I will kill you where you fall.”

  “My lord.” Ian’s eyes grew wide. “I was only trying—”

  “Trying to help? Your one responsibility is to ensure that I am not recognized. See to that before all else.”

  He shoved Ian away. The youth reeled and fell, landing hard on his tailbone.

  Yiloch turned to Adran, who looked ready to strike him. He plowed over the other man’s anger. “Captain Adran, find a secluded spot away from the road for this fool to rest.”

  He turned his back on them both and went to Tantrum, still waiting by Garn’s body. A bright streak of red colored the stallion’s right foreleg. He grabbed his water skin and pulled the leg up, resting the hoof on his knee so he could clean and inspect the wound. A shallow cut. It wouldn’t affect the animal’s performance.

  Indigo invaded his thoughts again. Her gentle hands on his arm, healing the cut and pressed to his ribs, restoring broken bone and injured muscle.

  How beneficial it would be to have a healer in his retinue. But why stop there. Imagine the power of a Lyran army with a troop of healers ready to tend minor injuries and get soldiers back into battle. If King Jerrin were at all receptive to the idea, it would be worth negotiating.

  He set down Tantrum’s hoof and glanced around at the bodies his soldiers were searching and moving into the trees. Such a large patrol shouldn’t be this far from the capitol unless they were looking for something. Him perhaps? No matter the reason, they were venturing too close to the stronghold.

  He caught the attention of the nearest soldier.

  “Ride back and tell Commander Dalce what happened here. Tell him to increase the watch and send out scouts to look for more patrols. Tell him to send word to the other officers as well. This may have been a rogue band, but if they know I’ve escaped it could mean trouble.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  The man swung up on his mount and galloped back the way they had come.

  A waste of good men. His father’s erratic behavior had driven many troops rogue, even to the point of attacking other imperial patrols. Admittedly, some of those groups received discreet compensation from his coffers. In those cases, the soldiers’ discontent worked in his favor, helping him undermine Emperor Rylan’s control, but it was one more thing he would have to fix when he took over.

  Yiloch leaned on Tantrum. The last move with the ascard, transferring to the fleeing soldier, sapped his energy. When they found a place for Ian to recover, he would also need rest.

  He led Tantrum back to where Ian waited, hunched alone and miserable in his saddle. “Do you understand what you did wrong?”

  “I…” Ian trailed off, dejected and wary of incurring more wrath.

  “Your intentions were good,” Yiloch explained, his temper cooled now. “But you’re here for a specific purpose. We don’t want Rylan to know I’ve escaped. Even if he already knows, we can’t risk him learning my plan. The lives of my soldiers hang upon my decisions. I make no decision lightly. Neither should you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, my lord,” Ian mumbled.

  “Good.”

  Adran emerged from the trees and scowled at him.

  Hiding his own fatigue, Yiloch mounted and watched the soldiers finish their cleanup. Behind him, he heard Adran speaking to Ian.

  “What did he say to you?”

  “What I needed to hear,” Ian replied.

  Yiloch nodded to himself. The youth was no fool. He would learn.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The sun shone bright and warm on the front courtyard of the Caithin Healers’ Academy where Indigo and Andrea finished their afternoon meal. Spring blooms on trees and bushes were a balm to unrest, soothing with sweet perfumes and cheerful colors. Other students out enjoying the day occupied every stone bench and open patch of grass between winding paths.

  Andrea tilted her hand this way and that, playing with reflections of light on the brilliant center stone of the engagement ring Caplin had given her. Indigo thought it less attractive than the ring she’d left in the prison, but would never say as much, especially now that the subject of her mysterious disappearance had ceased to be Andrea’s favorite conversational topic. Jayce had replaced Indigo’s lost ring with a less expensive one bearing only a single blue stone centered on a simple band. He said the downgrade would remind her that such things were expensive.

  The new ring weighed heavy on her finger, a tiny shackle.

  Andrea set her hand in her lap. “Is something wrong?”

  “I’m just tired from the long days.”

  Andrea scrunched her face into a sour expression. “When will they give up? The sessions obviously aren’t helping.”

  A flutter of tremulous excitement rose in Indigo’s chest in anticipation of her afternoon training with Headmaster Serivar. She could do much with ascard now that she never would have thought possible. Even Serivar was impressed with her accomplishments. A vast store of knowledge had opened up that she might never have discovered if she hadn’t gone into the prison with her handsome Lyran revolutionary.

  She breathed a sigh. “They think Lyran slaves were involved. They might never give up.”

  “Well, those beasts should be
put in their place.” Andrea’s expression turned ugly with the harsh words.

  Indigo shied back from her, appalled.

  “I know you sympathize with them—though I’m surprised this experience hasn’t changed that—but I can’t help my upbringing.” Indigo would have disagreed, but Andrea moved on, dodging the inevitable argument. “Have you remembered anything?”

  How she longed to have a friend she could tell the truth—one person with whom she could share her fears and accomplishments. Was that so much to ask?

  “No, nothing.”

  Andrea put a comforting hand on Indigo’s arm. It was hard not to pull away.

  “I wish they hadn’t rearranged your schedule. Classes aren’t as fun without you.”

  So many lies built up between them. At least Andrea now had wedding plans to occupy the time they once spent together after classes.

  Indigo faked an encouraging smile. “They have to give up someday.”

  The academy bell tolled, somber tones signaling an end to the break and the awkward conversation.

  Indigo grabbed her things and hopped to her feet, giving Andrea a quick wave as she hurried away. “See you tomorrow.”

  She hated talking to anyone of late. The more she learned, the more she wanted to learn, and the more she wanted to share it with someone. The inability to share this vital part of her life walled her off from everyone except the headmaster.

  Andrea was too excited about her engagement to Caplin to notice the growing distance between them. Jayce was worse. At first he complained about her time spent studying to catch up in accelerated classes. Then one of his peers convinced him to join an archery guild. Now he spent most evenings with that group either practicing or, more often, drinking. At least it got him out of her way and, as long as she allowed him to do as he pleased with her when he stumbled in drunk late at night, he didn’t seem to care if she distanced herself emotionally.

  For the first time, she faced a closed door at the Headmaster’s office. She raised a hand to knock when it swung open and Caplin nearly fell over her on his way out. He caught himself with a hand on her shoulder and offered a generic apology before recognition kicked in. Then his charming smile sparkled to life, rising into his eyes.