Prophet (Books of the Infinite Book #1)

by R. J. Larson

  Ela hoped she had the strength to resist him. If she was supposed to resist him. She hesitated, afraid to question the Infinite. What if she didn’t like His answer?

  By now the destroyers were circling her, showing interest in the bowl’s contents. Tzana frowned and waved her tiny gnarled hand. “Stay away! This is ours!”

  The herd obeyed.

  It was good to feel rested. Not wrung out like a rag fit for nothing.

  Ela hummed a lilting Parnian lullaby as she brushed the smallest destroyer—a female, who was elegant, yet still impressively large. Finished with her humming and the grooming, she smoothed the destroyer’s glossy dark mane. “You’re lovely!”

  The destroyer tossed her head, seeming pleased. Good. Ela had been worried about the creature’s persistent misery after the battle. Obviously she truly loved and mourned her master. “What was your battle name?” Ela wondered aloud.

  Again, the female tossed her head, her mane shimmering and flowing like liquid. It reminded Ela to comb her own hair, still damp from her jaunt to the river.

  She’d just finished tying off her braid when Tzana—perched on Pet—called from the edge of the field. “Ela! Visitors!”

  Ela flung back her braid, retrieved the branch, and wove her way through the herd to the field’s edge. The general. And one of his aides, who carried a tray.

  What? A cordial visit from the general? Infinite?

  When silence met her question, she prayed for dignity. And for His words, which would undoubtedly be more significant than her own sarcastic inclinations. The general halted within earshot, but still a safe distance from the destroyers. Ela bowed her head. “General.”

  The general offered Ela a formal bow in return. “Good morning. Forgive my intrusion, but I would like to know your plans concerning these destroyers. Today is the third day.”

  He’d remembered. Was he taking her more seriously than she’d believed? Ela nodded. “Thank you for asking, General. Yes. At midafternoon, the Tracelanders may assemble here and—one-by-one—request a destroyer. The Infinite will select those He deems deserving of such responsibility. Anyone may ask.” A mental image forced her to add, “Including you.”

  Really? The general too? Infinite . . .

  Behave.

  Ela sighed unspoken agreement. “Did you have another question, General?”

  “My men have been concerned about your well-being,” the general said, noticeably ill at ease. “I too have been troubled. Granted, I am . . . strict . . . but not without . . .”

  “Honor,” Ela finished at a divine prompting. Honor? Seriously? She quashed her impulse of rebellion. Naturally, the Infinite saw what was hidden from her own mortal gaze.

  The general blushed. “For one so young, Ela of Parne, you are an inspiring person.”

  Despite herself, Ela thawed toward the self-conscious Tracelander, giving him a genuine smile. “Thank you, General. However, I’m nothing. Any of my actions that are worthy or inspiring are from the Infinite.”

  “My men and I disagree.” The general motioned to his aide, who stepped forward with a tray. “We hope you . . . and your sister . . . will accept this noon meal—the best we have in camp. We regret we haven’t offered you more.”

  So much for sarcasm. “Thank you, General.”

  Kien caught glimpses of Ela throughout the morning. Leading Tzana and the herd to the river. Grooming some of the destroyers. Braiding her hair. And talking to the general, who stood at the edge of the field, watched by suspicious destroyers. Kien tensed. Was the general causing Ela trouble?

  Finished shaving, certain he was outwardly prepared to greet his parents, Kien decided to satisfy his curiosity. If he gathered a bit of destroyer slobber in the process, so be it.

  He found Ela and Tzana sitting on their protective tarp, with an ornately carved wooden tray between them. On it were delicacies Kien hadn’t seen in months: glazed squab, fresh green herbs and vegetables, soft bread. A fruit tart.

  Torture.

  Ignoring the picnic, he asked, “Are you well? Was the general polite?”

  “Yes, he was most polite. We exchanged compliments, and he offered us this tray as an apology.” Ela looked uncomfortable. As if she’d learned a scaln was friendly.

  “We have lots of food,” Tzana piped up. “Do you want some?”

  Manners. “Thank you, little one. I appreciate your offer, but the general’s gift was meant for you and your sister.” Surely he’d passed some sort of cruel test. Kien focused on other distractions—namely the warhorses. “If I bid for a destroyer, which one will be mine?”

  “You’ve ridden him already.” Ela picked at a squab. “There’s no reason for you to bid. But we can’t discuss him now.” She glanced toward Scythe, who was muscling a path through the herd. The big destroyer greeted Kien with a jarring nudge, forcing Kien to step back.

  Ela was giving him Scythe? Impossible. Why? He sent her a questioning look.

  But she didn’t notice. Her expression was distant now, as if listening to the Infinite.

  And her eyes, her lovely eyes, became so sorrowful that Kien stared.

  25

  Mother always complained that Father drove his light chariot too fast. Today was no exception. If anything, Rade Lantec was surpassing his own record, raising a cloud of dust that heralded his approach more surely than any banner.

  Dread warring with pride, Kien admired his father’s skill as he drew his pair of matched gray horses to a standstill amid the ruins of Ytar.

  With all the assurance of a man used to being obeyed, Rade bounded off his chariot without looking back. His horses would wait. Underlings would appear from nowhere to tend the poor beasts and guard his belongings. Woe to anyone who dared to disappoint him.

  Like his son.

  “Kien!” Rade beamed and held out his arms, his brown eyes crinkled by a warm grin.

  Perhaps for the last time, Kien stepped forward and hugged his father, then gasped at Rade’s ferocious, unending grip. Finally, Father thumped Kien’s back and released him. Kien saw hints of tears in Rade Lantec’s eyes. A staggering sight.

  “You look well for someone we’d given up as dead,” Father joked. He wiped his eyes.

  Kien hoped the gesture was sincere, not for show simply because the Traceland’s finest soldiers were watching. “I’m glad to see you, sir.”

  Father gave him another evidently fond wallop on the shoulders, then turned to greet the general. “Rol. Congratulations—you’ve won a great victory.”

  “Don’t congratulate me until we succeed in having the captives returned to Ytar,” the general cautioned. “We’re depending upon your son to assist us in the negotiations.”

  Kien managed a smile. Kind of the general to mention negotiations to him.

  “Kien!” A light, feminine voice called to him from a distance. Beka in a sky-blue tunic and black mantle was waving to him from a large chariot, evidently guiding the horses one-handed. Mother stood beside her, slender and elegant in black. Apparently speechless. Crying genuine tears. Kien hurried to meet them, leaving his father to talk with General Rol.

  The instant the big chariot lumbered to a standstill, Kien helped his mother descend. Ara Lantec clung to him and sobbed, trembling. “Oh, my dear boy! You’re alive! Oh, you’re alive!”

  Father hadn’t been joking? They’d thought he was dead? Kien kissed his mother’s hair. “Yes, Mother, I’m alive. Don’t cry. I love you.” Wrong thing to say. She cried harder.

  “What about me?” Beka demanded, tapping his shoulder. He freed one arm and gave her a hug. She returned the hug, kissed his cheek, and teased, “I knew you were alive. Where’s Jon?”

  “Here,” Jon said from behind Kien. Beka turned.

  “Oh.” She sounded worried. “Why is Father angry?”

  “You . . . gave up . . . a crown!” Father whirled around in Jon’s tent, so livid with rage that Kien feared he would have a seizure. “Without discussing the matter with me!”

&nb
sp; “Yes.”

  Rade Lantec grabbed the front of Kien’s tunic and shook him. “Are you insane?!”

  Resisting the impulse to defend himself and possibly heighten the confrontation, Kien answered quietly. “No. I knew that if I accepted the crown it would be disastrous.”

  “Not if I’d been advising you!” Father snarled. “It would have been—”

  Civil war.

  Kien jumped. “What?” He looked around. No one else was in the tent, but he’d heard a voice. As if someone were standing at his shoulder, offering counsel. Wise counsel. Infinite?

  “ ‘What’ nothing!” Rade seethed. He flung Kien back several steps, then turned away, his well-tended hands clenched in fists.

  “Father, if I’d accepted the crown, Istgard would have been plunged into civil war.”

  Crimson-faced, almost purpling, the elder Lantec roared, “You can’t possibly know that!”

  “I do know. The Infinite said it would happen.” Wait. He’d mentioned the Infinite. Kien exhaled. Oh, why not? Bring out everything now. No secrets. If Rade Lantec was about to kill his reprobate son, then make the event worthwhile. “And if the Infinite says something, it’s true.”

  “The Infinite?” Father hesitated and cast a furtive glance around the tent as if scanning for shadows of eavesdroppers. Then he hissed, “Stupid . . . ! I cannot believe I’m hearing this! You’re following Parne’s Infinite, like some rustic?”

  The truth. Ela had warned him that he must tell the truth. Kien lifted his chin. “Yes.”

  “Fool!” Father shoved Kien and sent him crashing into a storage chest. As Kien twisted around to pick himself up, Rade bellowed, “Not while I live! Forget that idea or you’re no longer my son.”

  “I can’t. You may disinherit me if—”

  “Kien!” Jon raced into the tent, dragging the shocked Beka with him. As he hauled Beka to the side farthest from the entry, Jon cried, “Your destroyer is coming!”

  “No!” Kien scrambled to his feet and rushed to his father.

  The huge black beast charged through the entry flaps. Ripping half the tent free of its pegs, Scythe lunged toward Rade, massive teeth bared to attack.

  Rade screamed. Beka screeched. Kien yelled, “Stop!” Scythe halted, but stomped and quivered violently, obviously longing to annihilate Kien’s assailant. Kien threw his arms around his now-cowering father and kissed his whiskered cheek. “Scythe—steady! Look!” He patted his father’s head. “It was nothing.” Inspiration took hold. Straight-faced, Kien said, “Don’t kill him. He won’t taste good. And we’re family. See—he loves me.” Kien gave his father a shake. “Sir, tell the destroyer you love me before he starts crunching your bones.”

  Scythe huffed threateningly, moving nearer, fixing a killer look on Father. Rade shuddered and clutched Kien. “I love him! He’s my son. I won’t hurt him.”

  “Scythe, look—” Kien kissed his father again, certain of victory over the destroyer and Rade. “We’re fine. Smile, Father.”

  Rade showed his teeth in a terrified grin. Scythe snorted, clearly unconvinced.

  Trying to divert the destroyer’s attention from Father, Kien asked, “Where’s Ela?”

  The huge horse shifted. His ears perked over Ela’s name. Relieved, Kien continued, “I’m safe. We won’t argue again. Go find Ela, and I’ll bring you a grain cake. Go!”

  Scythe backed out grudgingly, darting a final glare at Rade. The tent collapsed into a peaked heap of slender poles and pale leather billows as the destroyer departed. Jon laughed, though he protested. “Your beast ruined my tent!”

  “Father will buy you another tent.”

  Releasing Kien, the elder Lantec sat on Jon’s half-buried cot. “He was going to kill me.”

  “Yes.” Kien sat beside his father. “But we still need you.”

  Agitated voices lifted outside the collapsed tent. Ara Lantec cried, “Rade? Kien! Are you there? Answer me!”

  Kien yelled, “We’re fine, Mother! Don’t worry.”

  “Fine?” Father scowled at him beneath the tent’s shadowed folds and muttered, “Prison has driven you mad.”

  “No it hasn’t.”

  “Shut up! I’m deciding what to tell everyone. Prison changed you, Kien. Battle changed you. That’s what I’ll say.” Rade paused, then sighed heavily. “No, it won’t work. You’d be considered mentally unstable. Your reputation would be torn to shreds if you tried for the Traceland’s Grand Assembly—you’ll never survive politics. Defiance. Yes . . . my best tactic . . .”

  Good. Kien relaxed and let Father ramble. Behind them, Jon was shoving aside the tent’s framework and complaining beneath his breath. Beka laughed. “That was your destroyer? He’s amazing! Kien—”

  “Hush, Beka!” Rade ordered. “I’m thinking. Kien, General Rol praised your battle skills. With your training, you could join the military. As an arbitrator. A martial diplomat and judge-advocate—with some sort of officer’s rank. I’ll buy you a commission. Perfect. You’ll be gone most of the time, we’ll avoid scandal, and you’ll have a respectable career.”

  A military judge-advocate? Kien recognized the idea’s rightness. Was this what Ela had hinted at? “Father, that is a brilliant idea.”

  “Of course it is.”

  Jon waded past them, hands raised to lift the tent out of his way as he rummaged for the entry. “Kien, it’s almost time for the bidding, and I’m not going to miss it. Not even for you.”

  “Bidding?” Beka followed her husband’s path, lifting tent folds out of her way. “Jon, what are you bidding on?” She chased Jon outside, demanding answers.

  Kien offered his father a hand. “Sir, I regret offending you. Now, if we don’t show ourselves at once, Mother will come after you. And I must help Ela with the destroyers.”

  Rade clasped his son’s hand but asked, “Who is Ela?”

  Branch in hand, Ela waited. The vinewood remained cool, unchanged. Ela shook her head at the burly Tracelander and offered him a regretful smile. His shoulders sagged with disappointment, but he nodded and moved onward. A destroyer would have ruled him, Ela knew.

  Accompanied by his wife, Jon Thel stepped forward next. His expression was controlled, his bearing strictly commander-like. As if he expected to be refused. But the branch glistened, exuding light and warmth. Ela almost sighed her relief. She looked over her shoulder just as one of the younger destroyers lowered his head toward her and huffed his breath in her face. Impatient scamp. Before the destroyer could lick her, Ela grabbed the beast’s halter and led him forward. When she was sure the young rascal saw Jon, Ela growled, “Obey! Go!”

  The destroyer grumbled, but ambled forward. Jon Thel’s soldierly composure failed. He grinned like a boy about to embark on a much-anticipated adventure. But the mischievous destroyer stopped, as if daring his new master. Jon frowned. “Come here. Now.”

  The young monster-horse obeyed. Jon Thel’s wife ignored them.

  Ela would have recognized Kien’s sister anywhere, even if she hadn’t seen the young woman in a vision. Her dark eyes dancing, Beka threw Ela a radiant smile, took one step forward, and lifted her chin. Was she bidding for a destroyer?

  Ponderous murmurs lifted among the ranks of Tracelanders. Ela hesitated until the branch sent tendrils of heat and dazzling light through her fingers. “Thank You!”

  “You gave my baby sister a destroyer?” Kien confronted Ela in the camp. Aware of little Tzana watching from her perch on Scythe’s back, Kien kept his voice low and his expression agreeable despite his disapproval. He could see Beka bitten. Tossed. Trampled. “Why?”

  Ela cradled her branch, looking as ecstatic as a caretaker just freed of forty overgrown toddlers. “I don’t know. Ask the Infinite—it’s His will. Most likely she’ll need a destroyer.”

  Beka needed a destroyer? Kien was about to demand clarification when Ela looked past him. Her bliss faded, replaced by sorrow. Kien turned.

  Tsir Aun and the few remaining Istgardians approached them, tra
iled by a handful of dejected destroyers. The crown commander bowed, evidently on a formal mission. “Ambassador. Is the general nearby?”

  “He’s coming,” Ela said. She tipped the branch at the Istgardians. “Haven’t you praised your poor destroyers for saving your lives by fleeing at the Infinite’s command?”

  “Did they?” one of the survivors asked, sounding shocked.

  “Commander Tal!” Ela sounded pleased. Kien stared, displeased. She continued, “Yes. If your destroyers had stayed against the Infinite’s will, each of you would have become a target. You would have died in the battle. Stop treating them as if they’ve failed you.”

  “Thank you for the advice.” Tsir Aun’s fondness for Ela was too clear for Kien’s comfort.

  Ela smiled, a bit mournful. “You and your men leave for Istgard in the morning.”

  “Yes.” The crown commander looked as if a burden had suddenly dropped upon him. “We’ve identified and buried our dead. Now we must face our people.”

  “The Infinite will bless you all,” Ela said.

  Kien wished she wouldn’t look at the man so kindly. He’d mistake her meaning. A commotion and a flurry of Tracelanders snapping to attention gave Kien the perfect excuse to interrupt this too-tender conversation. “The general approaches.”

  With Father, Kien realized. Rade Lantec was walking alongside General Rol, both men engrossed in an expansive conversation, nodding, hands gesturing. Talking about him, Kien feared. Father never wasted time.

  Tsir Aun removed a wooden tube from his belt, opened it, and produced a slender role of parchment. As soon as the general halted before him, the crown commander offered him the tube and the parchment. “This morning, a courier arrived. Evidently Ambassador Lantec had been secretly negotiating with King Tek An concerning a possible settlement between our countries. The final document has been found and approved by Istgard’s new government.”

  “What?” Kien tried to cover his surprise. They’d approved his sarcastic peace treaty?