The Axe and the Throne (Bounds of Redemption Book 1)

by Ireman, M. D.

  “Leave me be, you coward,” she had screamed at him through the door. “How can you let him destroy our family and do nothing?”

  It was all Ethel had to say to stop her father from further pursuing his attempt to console her. He left without another word of his own.

  Annora knew Ethel referred not only to the imprisonment of Stephon and her mother, but also of Lyell’s advances on Ethel herself. Ethel was convinced that her grandfather planned to marry her, and with Alther powerless to prevent Crella from being jailed, it was obvious he would also be unable to stop such a marriage, should it be Lyell’s intention. A good man perhaps, but what good can such a man accomplish without the strength to act? It was a sentiment she knew Ethel must share but had never spoken.

  “What food is there?” asked Ethel. Annora fetched the nearby tray of all Ethel’s favorites and held it out to her. Ethel reached for a rolled pastry with a crumb filling of sugar and nuts. She finished it quickly and went for another.

  It was pleasing to see her finally eat, but as Ethel turned to meet her face, Annora saw the tears. Annora sat beside her on the bed and held Ethel as she cried into her chest.

  “I should not have spoken to him in that way,” Ethel sobbed.

  If it drives him to action, it will have been worth it. Annora did not know how things were done among the ruling parties in the Adeltian Kingdom, but she understood enough from her own land to realize there was little one could do to challenge a king’s verdict short of killing him. Voicing this would be of no comfort to her friend. She remained silent and stroked Ethel’s hair with her fingers.

  “I feel like a prisoner.” The words did not sit well with Annora who stopped stroking her hair upon hearing them. I am a prisoner. Having recognized her mistake, Ethel looked up at her with an implicit apology.

  “Are you not free to leave?” Annora asked her.

  “Where would I even go?”

  It was a fair question. The thought of a young, pretty highborn girl setting off with a purse full of coin and meeting with anything but ill fortune did not seem rooted in reality. Ethel had none of the experience gained by commoners as they eked out their meager existence, learning to sense, by instinct, signs of potential danger, and to avoid showing the signs of weakness that invite that same danger—neither of which can be taught or defined by words. Without protection it would simply be a matter of time before men would take all that she had. Annora had no answer for her.

  “Where would you go then?” asked Ethel. “Back to the Spicelands?”

  “I do not know. But not there.” Annora considered whether she should reveal just how much she had planned. “I would dirty myself and put on the most common clothing I could find. I would cut my hair short like a boy. I would steal as many small items of value as I could and bring them with me to pay for wagon rides and inns. I would search for a safe, honest community, far from the city, where I would be free from the immediate threat of harm. Some place I could work as a farmhand or apprentice for some tradesman.”

  She did not know how Ethel would react to what she had told her. For a servant to admit to planning to steal and flee would be grounds for severe punishment in any other setting. She could not look at Ethel, though she could tell Ethel stared at her. The thought of toiling in the soil would turn any highborn’s stomach. She would not blame Ethel if she resented her for wishing to work in the dirt when she had been given such a comfortable life here in the Throne.

  “You must promise to never leave me,” said Ethel. “And if you do go, you must promise to take me with you.”

  Annora looked down into her pleading eyes. She knew she could not make such a promise honestly. It would be difficult enough to abscond by herself, let alone with a member of the royal family. But Ethel had been hurt enough these past few days. If a harmless lie would help her, then she would give her that reprieve.

  “I promise.”

  KEETHRO

  The cries of gulls reverberated off the clouds.

  The birds seemed to have influenced Keethro’s dreams, as he had just been walking on the shores of the Timid Sea. It was a most-welcome dream, though he could not remember the last time he’d had it, of his first real voyage as a young boy. His father and uncle had allowed him to accompany them on one of their trips to meet with the sea merchants of the eastern coast. They had expected him to be impressed by the many items the merchants had to trade, and they had to laugh when Keethro ignored the merchants and played at the shore. It was the new landscape that captivated him, and he paid the cold grip of the sea no bother as he chased after the gulls, splashing through the small waves. The elation of having found a new land overwhelmed him, and he had forever longed to see what lay beyond.

  Keethro rubbed his eyes free of their waking fog, and saw Titon with a makeshift paddle at the front of the boat. Breathing deeply to take in the warmth of this exotic land, he wondered how it was he had allowed himself to grow so timid with age—to the point of being deathly reluctant to aid his friend on this voyage. Thank you for making me remember what years of internment with a self-serving woman had robbed me of. But Keethro was unable to thank Titon, even in thought, without being reminded of the letters, the image of them curling into ash still emblazoned in his mind.

  “I am beginning to think the Mighty Three sent the rain merely to bathe us, not humble us,” said Titon, seeing Keethro had awoken.

  Indeed, it had been many days since they had been able to bathe. After the encounter with the river dragon, both men—even Titon—had decided it would be wisest to avoid unnecessary dips in the murky waters. Being restricted to whore baths with a wet rag had taken its toll on them. Galatai were not acquainted to the amount of sweat one could produce in such damp air.

  Your gods took from us Iron Hips, Keethro remembered. He was still bitter from the loss of their companion, but he knew Titon would have felt her absence just as much, given that he ate the wolf’s share, and hungrily so.

  “Yes,” Keethro said. “I feel…immaculate.” He got the laughter from Titon he had hoped for. “Something I intend to remedy as soon as we find a city.”

  They’d wasted no time fashioning a similar, albeit smaller raft. The loss of most of their supplies and the recent flood had them placing more importance in their craft being manageable rather than luxurious.

  “Good that you intend to wait that long. I was afraid you might hop onto the first boat with tits aboard that passed us.”

  The river they’d traveled southwesterly upon fed into another, far larger body of water flowing north to south. It seemed to Keethro more like a narrow sea, but the water was without the taste of salt. “The Eos,” both men had agreed in humble veneration when they found themselves upon its mighty waters. They had remained close to the shore to avoid the potential dangers that may lie in its center: odd currents, swells…leviathans. It had been a clear day and they could barely see the far shore. Although daunting, such grandeur gave Keethro hope for the first time that they may actually find a cure for Titon’s wife in this faraway land.

  “We must be nearing the kingdom of the delta. These are sea birds, I believe. Like the ones on the eastern coast. I would think their presence signifies our approach on the southern seas.”

  “We can hope so,” said Titon. “But it is no matter. We are definitely heading somewhere of great wealth and knowledge.”

  Keethro supposed it was for the best that they had lost the giant horse hock to the rain. It had given them more of a savage appearance—something they wished to avoid, as they were no longer alone on the water. He had lost count of the many boats and barges that passed, paying them little mind so long as they were not in their way, but one such craft was headed toward them now.

  It was an impressive ship with a deck that stood over two men proud of the water’s surface. Its sharp bow looked more suited for sea travel, and its sides had been painted white, giving it a finished appearance that was easy to appreciate. The two men looked on in awe of its beauty as
it careened toward them.

  “We had better move to shore,” Keethro thought aloud.

  As they began to paddle, the ship continued on its path directly toward them. Three burly men were visible on the bow, waving their hands from one side to the other.

  I fear that is not a southern gesture of greeting. It became evident the men were motioning for them to paddle their raft in the opposite direction.

  “Keep paddling toward shore,” said Titon. Keethro had no cause to object. Their raft did not reverse direction willingly.

  The men shouted obscenities and Keethro began to fear for their safety—the safety of the men on the other boat, should they provoke Titon to anger. God of the Mountain, give Titon restraint, thought Keethro, having no time to be amused by his inadvertent prayer.

  The captain of the other boat must have realized they would not be accommodated in their request, and in turn banked away from shore to avoid the impending collision.

  The crafts came dangerously close—so close that the men aboard the other boat saw fit to hurl more than insults. Spit and rotting vegetables made up the majority of the barrage. Keethro watched in horror as pieces flew by Titon’s head, smashing upon their raft’s deck of lashed timbers. He could not see Titon’s expression, but Keethro had known his friend to be incited to violence from less. It would not be long before Titon sent a spear to silence one of their harassers, but rather than look away from the impending debacle, Keethro readied himself to assist Titon in his attack. He’d spent some time earlier in their trip fashioning a throwing weapon not unlike an axe out of a piece of wood and a rusty knife, and Keethro did not mind the opportunity to sink it into something other than the trunk he had practiced on.

  “Sons of whores,” shouted the men. “Fecking dolts!”

  Keethro had picked out the man to kill first. It was the shortest, most nimble looking of them. While Titon liked to attack in order of size, Keethro attacked in order of quickness—a combination that had served them well in the past. Keethro could see the ringleader, a large rough-looking fellow missing plenty of teeth, likely due as much to rot as to bar fights. He was winding up to throw something substantial at them. A head of lettuce, dark and wilted, flew from the man’s hand, downward, and exploded atop Titon’s skull. A fine throw, but I am afraid it will be your last, Keethro eulogized, his grip on his makeshift axe tightening in anticipation.

  Titon roared with laughter.

  “My friend,” said Titon, turning to Keethro. He was covered in bits of wet, slimy roughage and grinning. “I believe we are on the wrong side of this river.”

  DECKER

  A thin sheet of ice and snow concealed the stream that ambled past their home. The covered water made a different sound, but it was still disturbingly audible. Each of the splashes seemed to bounce between the valley walls, overlapping and endless. To Decker, the unrelenting trickle served as stark reminder that his mother’s condition was as perpetual as water’s downward flow.

  No matter how cold the winters had been in years past, the stream had never fully frozen, making it even more valuable to their family and irritating to Decker. “The Mountain cries for your mother, and his tears cannot be frozen,” his father had told him, but during his life Decker had seen little evidence of the three gods his father so revered.

  Having already fed his mother her supper, Decker sat beside her in his father’s chair. She had fallen silent from her affliction prior to him forming memories of her. All Decker knew was what his father and brother had told him, and all they spoke of was her strength of spirit and her wisdom. He’d gotten better at not allowing his anger to take while visiting her. It was a cruel thing to have so strong a mother and yet be completely without her guidance or acknowledgment. And it was often that Decker wondered, with resentment difficult to repress, that perhaps if she had truly been a mother to him, he might have inherited more of those qualities.

  I have made the gravest error a brother can make, Mother. Should Titon’s condition not improve, I do not know what I will do.

  He did not speak to her with words, the way his father did. He looked at his mother, her long white hair shining with pearl-like luster. To him she looked nothing like a wolf. To him she always seemed some sort of sorceress—from a distant land where magic was plentiful and wyverns roamed the skies. His brother had spoken to him of the more colorful stories he had read, of knights and mages, lightning and fireballs, hydras and dragons. Though he tried to convince Decker, straight faced, that all he told was truth, that such places did exist, Titon would eventually crack a smile, allowing the two to laugh at the notion. In spite of that, Decker still held on to the belief that his mother could be something more, if only to assuage the guilt he felt for only speaking to her with his thoughts. His father encouraged both him and his brother to speak aloud to her, regardless of her condition, but Decker could not. The embarrassment of hearing his own words was too great.

  Decker gnashed his teeth and slammed his fist onto the chair’s solitary arm. “Why did I not simply let him beat me?” he raged. The thought had not even crossed his mind when Titon had attacked him. Decker had had no chance to think rationally; he’d merely defended himself and with all the restraint he could muster.

  Had Titon expected me to let him win? The prospect made the hurt worse, and it was not outside the realm of possibility. He’d been an advocate of his brother’s leadership the entire trip, and Titon had responded with begrudging looks. Perhaps it had all been a ploy by his smarter brother to fool the men into believing the fight was justified, despite the lack of precedent. Had Titon merely been too embarrassed to explicitly plan it with him? Or did Titon assume that Decker had anticipated it as a means to finally solidify his right to lead? What kind of fool am I to not have seen it? And now he will die for my idiocy and aggression.

  Decker remembered where he was, and who sat beside him. I am sorry, Mother. Titon will recover, and Father will return, as I have promised. It took all his self-control to prevent his thoughts from wandering toward the outcomes he felt were far more probable.

  The two sat in silence as the Dawnstar hid itself behind the mountains. From the stories Decker had heard, she always loved the dawnlight, and there was no shortage of its rays here, in spite of the cold climate. Even in her current condition, she seemed to soak them in, their light making her hair shimmer and her skin glow with youth.

  A gentle rapping sounded from the door. They arrive early, thought Decker, not expecting Ulfor’s girls for yet another hour. He kissed his mother on the head, said his silent goodbye, and went to the door.

  The figure that greeted him was neither of Ulfor’s girls, but it was familiar nonetheless—he had studied it from afar and often. The tight vest Kilandra normally wore had been replaced by a simple fur shawl draped across her shoulders, and Decker could not help but notice the flesh of her breasts, which not only still showed, but was just as enticing unaided by the support of her usual garment. With some difficulty, he forced his gaze upward, meeting her eyes and finding them as warm and welcoming as the rest of her.

  “You must be freezing,” Decker said, immediately regretting the clumsy nature of his greeting.

  Kilandra laughed politely, putting him at ease. “My mother taught me that to walk amidst the frost with bare skin helps to retain one’s youth.”

  It must be true, he thought, unable to find words with which to respond, too busy wondering how it was that her skin did not rise to bumps from the cold.

  “May I come in? Or would you wish to take a walk with me?” Kilandra twisted her body toward the distance, as if anticipating his answer, if not implying what it should be. In any case, he could not bring a woman such as her into his home, not with his mother present—a mother he believed could read his thoughts.

  “We’ll walk,” he said. Decker knew the girls would let themselves in if he did not answer the door, and there would be no harm in him leaving a bit early.

  Kilandra slipped her arm under his as the
y started out, surprising him more by how fragile it felt than by the action itself. The touch from a beautiful woman seemed unfamiliar to him and sent a burning warmth through his body. Not knowing whether her contact was that of mere friendship or the pursuit of more only increased the sensation. Decker had bedded girls from his clan before, but they had been blushing youths. The ease of which he gained their affection lessened the thrill, as if his success had been a forgone conclusion. And the Dogmen women he had taken had been exhilarating, but when the rush of conquest had gone, he was left with the sight of their imperfections, nearly sapping any gratification. Kilandra had none of these shortcomings. She was composed, she was proud, she was statuesque, and she was claimed—by one of the most powerful men in their clan, no less.

  Decker peered around to see who may be watching them. Keethro is a wolf of a man and deadly with an axe, he reminded himself, unable to shake the feeling that at any moment some cold blade would bite into the length of his spine. It made him shiver and was already beginning to ruin what should have been a rather enjoyable outing.

  “It would appear as if we are both cold,” she said. Her voice was like winter-chilled honey, melting slowly to reveal its sweetness. She moved her arm to his waist, pulling herself close to him. With his arm heavy bent at the elbow, as to not encircle her, he clasped his hand around her upper arm, tantalizingly close to her breast. “He will not be returning… My husband.”

  Decker was grateful that she did not speak his name. “My father will assuredly return. What makes you say such a thing about…him?” Decker had no wish to speak the name either.

  “We are no longer one, he and I. It has been that way for some time now. He was not the man I once thought he was.”