“…but you are still concerned.”
Jikun’s brow knit. “Hairem is young. For all Liadeltris’—”
“May the gods grant him peace—”
“—experience, he still bent to the council’s pressure. Three hundred years as king, a dozen centuries as the El’adorium before that, and Liadeltris could not resist them. Once Hairem learns how the damn politics in this country go, I wonder just how strong he will remain.”
Navon gave a nod of reluctant agreement, eyes staring stoically ahead.
“Here is more news from home whilst we were away—”
“Something in your tone brings me to believe that I am not going to like what you are about to say…” Navon frowned, eyes flicking toward the general attentively.
“You remember the murders before we left? Another council member was assassinated.”
Navon’s eyes flashed in recognition, but the rest of his face remained apathetic. “He struck again?” He gave a heavy sigh, as though the capital should have done better to prevent such an atrocity. “No doubt the Night’s Watch will be far more numerous for some time now. It is unprecedented that an assassin has committed so many murders on high officials—within an elven capital, especially.” He paused to give a slight smile, churning out optimism from the news as he usually did. “I suppose there are some benefits to being out of the comfort of this city.” His eyes shifted across the nearest alley as he spoke, almost with a certain daring curiosity.
Jikun watched Navon for a moment and then cleared his throat loudly. “Gods, I could use a drink!” he barked. “How about a good drink and a fine woman to share it with?”
The darkness in Navon’s eyes faded and he surveyed his general in a reprimanding fashion. “General.” He pulled his horse to a stop, interrupting Jikun before he could continue. “Let us pause this conversation. Sel’ari’s temple. We should stop and thank the gods before we retire for the evening.”
In Jikun’s absorption with his news, he had somehow missed the building’s slithering approach. His eyes lifted to the golden dome rising up toward the heavens, the white doves nestled at her base, and the pillars that made the elves below seem small and insignificant—as they undoubtedly were. He could hear the echoes of soft singing in the distant marble halls and the pure chime of bells, calling the elves to worship. He turned his head and laughed. “I’ll thank the gods when I see the gods at work. When we are in the right and Saebellus in the wrong, I can only spit on their names every time they let one of my soldiers die for Saebellus’ damn cause. We sleep in shit and spill our blood so some damn elf can rise in the morning to sing praise to their righteous asses. We are just their pawns. No. No, gods for me today, Navon. Give me a good drink and a fine woman—those are all the gods I need.”
Navon gave Jikun another distasteful and reprimanding glare before he stiffly dismounted, the offense apparently affecting his gait. “Then can you keep a hold of these for me, General?” he asked tartly, tossing Jikun the reins to his bay horse. “Someone has to give Sel’ari thanks that you are still breathing.”
Jikun leaned to the side sharply in order to the catch the reins. His horse whinnied in protest and the general quickly righted himself. “When I was a boy in Darival, a priest of Sel’ari came through. A group of youths beat him dead for the single coin in his pocket. I don’t think Sel’ari cares about any of us, Navon, more than she’d care about one of her priests. And if she did not see fit to save him, then we’re all going to the grave, god or no god.”
Navon leaned forward, squinting in a reflective manner. “They are not absent from us, Jikun. And I have a story to counter your own. Years ago on my way to Sevrigel, I saw a stowaway cry out in Sel’ari’s name for protection. Everyone who tried to lay a hand on him perished in an instant. Sel’ari always has her reasons, Jikun,” Navon replied with a simple smile. “Sometimes they just do not fit into our expectations. Religion is a virtue …and one of the only reasons Sel’ari hasn’t sent this country to Ramul.” He turned toward the temple, as though his words were a monument of inspiration and the general should immediately reflect upon their wisdom.
Jikun shook his head distastefully. “While you are in there, put in a good word for me for lovely company tonight,” he called after with a smirk. “The more ‘virtuous,’ the better. I’d take a cleric!”
Navon gave only a dismissive wave of resigned acknowledgement.
Jikun’s smirk broadened in amusement and he leaned back idly in the saddle. He watched the lean, dark male vanish through one of the double golden doors. For just a moment he glimpsed the white marble interior, gleaming from the countless candles within. And the face of Sel’ari. He felt himself recoil slightly, perhaps more out of shame than disgust. Even in the form of a statue, the goddess’ eyes were coldly perceptive, piercing through his veil of disbelief like a dagger. He nudged his horse lightly in the flank, urging it away from the doors and further along the street until he came to the shade of a low balcony.
Away from the temple, he found himself once more at ease. He leaned an arm against his horse’s neck, watching the bustle of elves moving about through the sunny street. They acknowledged him with polite nods of their heads or wide smiles, but Jikun found little reason to smile in return. Why should he? What had they done today to equal his last two years of warring for their sake? Ate and danced and pleasured themselves. He knew not all males could serve in the army. And yet, that did not stop his resentment at every able bodied male he saw enjoying himself in the comfort of the city’s walls while Saebellus waged war outside.
Perhaps his inner thoughts had revealed themselves on his expression as he noted several responding elves regard him with unease and confusion. He wiped his face of expression and instead let his eyes trail up along the towering buildings with their many windows, pillars, and gleaming rooftops, still further up the hill of the street and into the distance. Elvorium was not his home, but even so, it was better than any place he had been since he had left Darival.
Except, perhaps, for the whore houses of Roshenhyde.
“That was pleasant to see her again,” Navon’s voice came from behind him.
Jikun straightened and turned, eyeing the peaceful smile stamped across his captain’s lips. He tossed him the reins, watching Navon leap with some faint form of grace onto his horse.
“So, where to, General?” Navon queried. His voice had livened from his perceived notion of Sel’ari’s mewling praise, afforded to him by his recent prayers. “To the camp?”
Jikun laughed, pulling his horse away from the egress of the city. “No, let the soldiers relax without your reprimanding eyes. They deserve a little freedom and rashness. To my estate, Navon. And we will stop along the way to pick up some gods of my own.”
Chapter Two
The morning rays filtered through the cracks in the sheer curtains, mixing with the thin layer of smoke that still clung to the air of the bedroom. Jikun groaned and pulled his pillow over his face.
Two years since he had had such comfort and now the sun dared wake him.
He grumbled to himself, his mind resisting his body’s urge to sleep longer. He reached out a hand, but the woman who had lain with him was gone. He sighed disappointedly, sitting up with a grunt and drawing forward a knee on which to rest his head. The sweet taste of Elvorium wine still hung on his lips. Or was that the woman?
There was a bellow of laughter several floors below him, startling him from where he had begun to doze. He determinedly swung his legs out of bed, running his tongue along his lower lip, and picked up his shirt from the glassy marble floor.
“How do you manage?” he muttered to himself as her undergarments fell from its folds. The women around Elvorium almost seemed to do it with deliberate frequency. He picked them up and tossed them casually into the smoldering fire. It flicked to life, lustfully spreading its flames over the silken red fabric.
Jikun pulled his shirt on, stretching his arms above his head and twisting his wai
st. He inhaled heavily. The thick aroma of flowers that slowly became apparent to his senses was pleasantly calming—such a stark difference to the usual stench of wet leather and the forest floor.
The marble was cool against his feet as he padded to the open chest beneath the window. He reached up, pulling the curtains back sharply and flinching slightly at the light that burst into the room. It was shortly after dawn and the glare of the sun reflecting off the gold-slated rooftops of the city below him was not unlike armor in a midmorning’s march. He possessed a certain level of disdain and affection for that. He held a hand out against the glare and cast his eyes across the city.
He was mildly disappointed to find his first morning in Elvorium as he expected: peaceful, serene, and wholly uneventful; he could see Elvorium’s citizens far below him, walking along the cobbled streets of the city, milling through the market he could just glimpse between the towers of a nearby mansion. The Sel’vi were often up with the sun, their day beginning and ending with its cycle. How difficult it had been to get them to march in the evening! A throng of them gathered beneath the long shadow of a nearby pavilion, eating breakfast in the fresh spring air. Their music was far too cheerful for that time of day. He withdrew into the smoky room behind him to crouch at the chest at his feet.
‘Home to Darival…’ he thought to himself with a faint smile as the bright light and bustling city faded. It had been three years since he had seen his home. The Sel’vi’s warm, sickly polite facade had quite worn on him. He reached down and lifted free his chainmail, clean and unmarred, from the stack. The repairs had been perfect.
However, the rest of his gear was not as fortunate. He frowned as he lifted up his breastplate and leather. Gods, why hadn’t he thrown that away? He dropped the leather at his feet carelessly as he ran a hand meticulously across the dented surface of his armor. His fingers stopped upon reaching the deep gashes set into the side. Elven craftsmanship and armor: no doubt second only to the mountain dwarves on Ryekarayn. And yet the Beast had torn right through them. The sheer strength of his arm had crushed it inward. He flinched as he remembered the blow, the wind around his ears, the force of his body colliding with the earth.
There was a dull knock against the white frame of the open door and Jikun started.
“You’re not going to wear that home, are you?” Navon berated him as he stepped into the room, eyeing the breastplate with an amused shake of his head. “Sevrigel’s general should be a little better dressed during his homecoming than that twisted heap of metal.” He raised a hand in an afterthought of greeting.
Jikun dropped the breastplate into the chest, giving it a hard kick. The lid fell down and bounced once in a tetchy protest. “Of course not,” he replied with a scoff. He picked up the leather and tossed it to his captain. “Take care of it. Why do I still have that? Gods, am I sick of that smell.”
Navon lifted it to his face and recoiled with a gag. “Too many wet spring days and nights, I suspect. I’ll have a replacement in hand for when you return.”
Jikun pulled his chainmail over his undershirt and his shirt over that. “Don’t bother. I’ll pick up something in Darival. I’m tired of this damn cow hide.”
Navon gave an agreeable nod and paused. “When do you return?” he questioned. Jikun could see him eyeing the trunk of armor thoughtfully, his azure eyes flicking across the metal bolt. It was moments like this that Jikun felt the wild Helvarian blood in the captain stir.
He knew what his captain was thinking. His eyes flashed. “Navon, I expect that I can return home without worry that you will meddle in affairs you should not touch.” He threw his cloak over his shoulders, fastening his general’s emblem to his chest. “Whatever this beast is, it’s the libraries for you and nothing else. Do you understand me?”
He could see Navon’s eyes roll in protest, his thin lips purse. How swiftly Navon’s behavior changed off the battlefield in the privacy of each other’s company. Sometimes, Jikun found that tolerating Navon’s cavalier responses was difficult even after their years of companionship on the field. He watched Navon sweep a hand through his long, raven hair, silent to his general’s rebuke.
“I will be gone for six weeks, I imagine. Elvorium’s portal will emerge in a destination about two weeks outside of Kaivervale,” Jikun carried on in response, grabbing his sack from the floor beside his chest. He looked in with a frown. “Did you clean this out?”
Navon shrugged, waving a slender hand dismissively. “I don’t remember. Maybe? Sometimes I feel like a squire rather than a captain. Anyways, I already prepared one for you downstairs. Food and water. And your horse is equipped as well. You just need spare clothes and you will be ready.” He paused, a sly smile crossing his lips. “Oh. And this.” He held up a finger as he reached for his back pocket. “I never took you for one to keep a journal.”
Jikun stiffened as his eyes landed on the familiar and tattered object clutched triumphantly in the male’s hands. It was old, over-used, and had seen too many wet springs. Nor had matters been helped when a groggy, bleary-eyed soldier had, in a sad attempt to find a stump, pissed on his leather-bound sack late one night last winter. His gaze narrowed. “Navon, give that back.”
His captain held the leather-bound book behind him, keeping it safely out of his general’s furious reach. “The latter stuff was boring—after you joined the military. War, war, war. But the early stuff…”
“Navon!”
“The early stuff is downright delightful. Take this: 23 Felserine 8682:—That’s before the True Bloods left, isn’t it? Anyways—”
“Navon, give that back,” Jikun growled sternly.
Navon retreated another step for additional safety before clearing his throat. He then continued his tirade in a voice pitched high and feminine,
“As clear as ice
And white with glow
Her complexion like the tundra’s snow
Flowing, twisting, silks and furs
From southern markets ripe with heat—”
“Navon, I’m warning you one more time.”
“—She moves across the frozen land
On silent or whispering hurried feet.
The walls cannot stop her;
The wind carries her
Over and into the city of ice—”
“My patience is waning, Captain.”
“Ever oblivious the watchtower sits,
To the rise of the White Queen,
In Tuserine’s presence.”
Jikun flushed, feeling the heat rising to his cheeks in discomfiture. “Are you quite done?” He attempted to appear somewhat collected—his rise about the journal could only make the mocking worse.
Navon clicked his tongue as he flicked a yellowed page. “No, there are countless treasures in here. Give me a moment, I think I lost the folded corner to the next piece of—”
Jikun darted forward suddenly but the Helven twisted away once more, suddenly and superiorly agile. ‘You prying bastard…!’
“Ah, here it is. I like this one. Ahem.
“A soldier’s life
Working
Sleeping
Eating
Working.
Hands raw
Bodies burned.
Drinking until it doesn’t hurt.”
Jikun stepped swiftly aside the trunk, making a straight dash for the captain. He caught the end of Navon’s sleeve, but the Helven simply snapped his arm free and escaped to the empty center of the room.
“No, no, I want to read you another one—”
Jikun scrambled after the male, snagging the end of his sleeve and jerking his arm toward him. “I don’t need you to read them to me, you bastard. I know what they say.”
“Wait, I have to— You have to hear this next gem—”
“Tch!” Jikun clenched his teeth, patience finally reaching the end of its abilities; it was replaced with a far more final method of dealing with the insistent child before him. He swept his hand downward, fixing his at
tention on the ground behind Navon’s evasive feet. A small sheet of ice covered the marble floor, and as Navon retreated one step farther, his foot met the icy trap, slipping out beneath him. Jikun lunged forward and caught Navon by the arm, wrestling the journal out of the Helven’s clenched fingers. Then he shoved him away, straightening in an attempt to regain some dignity. “Are we done here?” he spoke sternly.
“Yes,” Navon replied casually, seeming unfazed by his defeat. “Well actually, I do have just one question…”
Jikun narrowed his eyes in warning.
“Are these poems… rough drafts? Because by the gods are they awf—”
Jikun lashed out his arm, cuffing Navon squarely in the ear with the palm of his hand. Navon choked off the rest of his words, raising a hand to his ear in indignation. He appeared ready to protest the violence, but a threatening glare from Jikun ended that notion as well. He instead stiffly smoothed down the front of his shirt, but Jikun could see the internal laughter raging behind those unabashedly curious azure eyes.
Jikun placed all the menace of Sevrigel’s general into his tone before speaking. “Don’t empty my sack again.” He stepped away, patting himself down subconsciously. “Ah, my sword,” he muttered, turning from his captain and back to the chest. He raised the lid, which gave a joyful squeak to once more breathe a fresh breath of air, and paused, eyes falling again to the torn breastplate and the blow that had smashed the chest inward. He knew those azure eyes were following him intensely now. And just as intrusively.
He paused. “…This creature could be demonic, Navon.” He pushed the torn metal aside, knowing his words fell on deaf ears. Navon already knew that the creature could be demonic. It was that fact that drove his curiosity. He reached down to the sword lying below, its hilt carved as though from Darival’s ice and embellished with the mountains’ countless gems. He pulled it out and fastened it to the belt at his side.
Kings or Pawns (Steps of Power 1) Page 3
