by Kel Kade
After calculating the direction of the projectile’s source and maximum possible distance over which it could retain enough force to sink into the tree, with consideration of its size and probable weight, he realized the assailant had to have been within ten yards. Rezkin withdrew the small crossbow that was hidden beneath his cloak and made a circuit of the area. Despite his earlier sense of impending doom, he no longer felt the presence of another. As he returned to his original position, he spied Shezar and Millins walking toward him. When they reached him, Shezar’s gaze flicked to the crossbow. Then, he examined Rezkin with a critical eye.
The striker said, “May we assist you, Your Majesty?”
“Yes,” said Rezkin. “You can search for whoever just attacked me.”
Shezar and Millins both tensed and glanced around them. Shezar said, “He got away?”
Rezkin surveyed the foliage as he spoke. “I never saw him. I sensed the attack and managed to avoid the knife he threw at me.” He pointed to the tree, but the knife was gone.
Shezar and Millins both looked at the tree and then back to him. Shezar said, “We have seen no one out here besides you. Where is your escort?”
“I need no escort.”
“My pardon, Your Majesty, but if you are being attacked—out in the open, no less—you should be accompanied by guards and at least one mage.”
Rezkin considered the details of the attack. “I do not believe it was his intent to kill me. It was an excellent throw, well-practiced. Perhaps it was a warning or an announcement of his presence.”
Shezar glanced back at the tree and then returned his gaze to Rezkin. “Are you sure it was an attack? Perhaps a branch broke—”
“I know an attack,” said Rezkin. “It was a small, silver throwing knife, only slightly different from my own.”
“Are you missing any?”
“No, and I own none like it.” He eyed Shezar suspiciously and then dismissed the idea. The attack would have come from the wrong direction, and Shezar had been with Millins.
Rezkin stepped up to the tree. He could see a divot that might have been caused by the tip of a blade. With another glance backward, he ordered Shezar to lead the rest of the way to the demon attack site. Millins took the rear. Rezkin was uncomfortable with the man at his back, but Millins was slow. He was sure he would be able to fend off an attack from the sergeant.
In the receiving chamber of the makeshift throne room, Frisha looked at herself in the strange mirror. In the dark, the mirror was clearer than glass and she could see right through it, but the light of the lamp caused it to become reflective. The image was of her wearing one of the few gowns she had kept for herself. For this particular occasion, she felt a more somber appearance would be appropriate. It was not her ceremony, after all. Her appearance was not all that important. She had donned the black skirt with the fitted tunic bearing Rezkin’s crest or, rather, the crest of Cael.
“Are you jealous?”
Frisha glanced at Reaylin. “No, of course not. Why would I be jealous?”
Reaylin shrugged. “It’s Yserria. Tall, beautiful, exotic Yserria. I’m jealous.”
“Well, I don’t see any reason to be jealous,” Frisha said. “I never really thought it through before. I mean, it was new and different and seemed exciting, but”—she glanced at the warrior chieftain standing across the hall—“since Rezkin has been gone, I have concluded that this is definitely something I don’t want.”
“I guess you know yourself best, but I think it’s just an excuse. I didn’t realize Rez was paying that much attention to Yserria—you know, after the thing with Palis.”
“She deserves this. She is a strong warrior, and that is important in this new kingdom.”
Reaylin said, “I still think it’s weird that you’re involved in the ceremony.”
As Frisha turned toward the entrance to the largest chamber where a dais had been built, she said, “So do I.” She then entered and stood upon the raised platform between Tieran and Ilanet.
Rezkin appeared at the entrance to the hall, and her thoughts of not wanting him fled. Even when he had been dressed in filthy traveling clothes and worn armor, he had been strikingly handsome, but the dark warrior king who looked at her now with ice in his eyes was something otherworldly. His confidence flowed with every graceful motion, a certainty of his being endowed each movement with intent. His fluid approach was on silent feet, and she briefly wondered if this ethereal man was, in fact, another specter forged of the mystical citadel.
He stopped in front of her, a few steps short of the dais. He gave her a slight bow and said, “I am pleased that you agreed to be a part of this. A public show of your support will be significant in the future.”
Frisha caught herself staring at his lips and then reminded herself to speak aloud. “Of course, I am honored you would ask me, but I do not see how my involvement is important.”
His topaz gaze was enchanting, and she could barely follow his words as he said, “Everyone knows of our betrothal. The people were already inclined to look to you for guidance.” He glanced at Tieran and back. “It has been brought to my attention that you have gained the favor of many. Yserria is about to receive an official position of power. She, being a woman, will need your support.”
“I understand,” she said, “but I still feel uncomfortable with this.”
“I know,” he said, “but you will get used to it.”
He then turned to greet Ilanet who stood, as both a visiting royal and Rezkin’s ward, to Frisha’s left.
Ilanet smiled and said, “Master Tamarin will be upset that he missed this.”
“I have no doubt,” Rezkin said. “He is already frustrated with me about not taking him on my next mission.”
“Well, I am glad of it,” she said. “I do not know where you are going, but it sounds like it will be dangerous. You will not leave Tam in Uthrel for long, will you?”
“He is performing an important task, but he will return once my business with Gendishen is concluded. Are you so eager for his return?”
She blushed. “He is my friend, the first I have had, I think. But, well, he has barely spoken to me since discovering who I am. I wish to make amends.”
Rezkin said, “I will do my best to conclude the matter quickly.” She smiled, and then he stepped onto the dais to take his position.
A few minutes later, the doors opened again, this time to permit the long train of guests. Rezkin’s subjects approached first in pairs and were introduced formally by name and title as they bowed to their king. The visitors came next, seemingly appreciative of the spectacle. Once the audience was gathered on either side of the hall, two lines of the king’s guard entered to take up positions along the path to the dais. Wesson strode up the aisle next, wearing a black fitted robe overlaid with black panels trimmed in red. Unlike the other mages, Wesson did not wear the sigil of Cael since he had never sworn fealty to Rezkin. Despite this, he took his position on the dais to the king’s right, the position that was, by tradition, filled by the King’s Mage or First Counsel, depending on the kingdom. While there had been many whispers about the journeyman being the king’s choice for the position, and many more rejecting the ridiculous notion, this was the first time Rezkin had made his decision clear.
Since they did not have the luxury of a carpet, Life Mage Ondrus Hammel came next, dispensing fresh flower petals over the polished stone. As he passed, each one sprouted a tiny fragrant blossom of its own. Yserria entered next, followed by the three strikers, lined up as if to prevent her from turning for escape.
Yserria stepped into the hall, her bare feet cushioned from the cold stone by plush flowers. She had been shocked, anxious, and uncertain when Rezkin informed her of his decision. It was not an offer she would have considered rejecting, however. Her black dress dragged the floor as she strode up the aisle purposefully, with grace, the grace of a warrior. When she reached the dais, she saluted her king, as would any member of the royal guard, and lifte
d her chin in defiance, a silent protest against any who might reject Rezkin’s decision. One such person was the man who spoke next.
Tieran looked at Rezkin sideways, as if making sure he still intended to go through with the absurdity, as he openly referred to the event. Rezkin’s hard glare was confirmation enough. Tieran stepped forward and intoned, “Yserria Rey of the King’s Royal Guard of the Kingdoms of Cael and Ashai, you have been summoned to appear today, in this hall, before the king and his subjects. Do you know why you are here?”
“Yes,” Yserria said, glad to hear strength in her voice, rather than the fear that was quaking in her core.
“And do you accept this honor?”
“I do,” she said, and again her words did not waver.
“Then kneel before your king,” Tieran said.
Kai and Shezar approached on either side of her, placing over her head a black and green tabard, now with additional silver embellishment. A wreath of twisted black vines and crimson leaves was placed on her crown, and she looked up just as the black sword came to rest on her shoulder. Crystal blue eyes stared down at her like stars from above.
“For acts of bravery in multiple battles, for achieving mastery of the sword, for performance in your oath-bound duty and selfless defense of your king, and for saving the life of Malcius, heir to the Great House Jebai, I hereby raise thee to Knight of the Realm.” Yserria blinked up at him, holding back her tears by force. He said, “You have already sworn the oath, so I will not require you to repeat it. You may rise.”
She rose and turned toward the audience. Farson stepped forward to strap her sword about her waist. The handle had been rewrapped, and the scabbard adorned to represent her new station.
Rezkin said, “All see and know Lady Yserria Rey, Knight of the Realm.”
The audience applauded—most of them—but before Yserria could take a step, the two priests of the Maker stepped into her path. The strikers immediately bristled but held their ground.
The minders bowed and then Elder Minder Thoran said, “This young and inexperienced king sees in you something that others would not. You are the first woman to be granted official knighthood in all the kingdoms of the Souelian, and he has done so without seeking the blessing of the Temple.”
The elder minder scowled as Minder Finwy stepped in front of him. Finwy smiled and bowed again. “Lady Yserria, I have personally witnessed many of the accounts for which you have received this honor, and on behalf of the Temple of the Maker, I would like to bestow upon you our blessing. Would you accept?”
Yserria felt a flutter of joy for something she did not realize she had been missing. She said, “It would be a great honor to have the Temple’s blessing.”
As Minder Finwy raised his hand toward Yserria’s head, an elven wraith appeared between them. Several people shouted, and Minder Finwy jumped back in fright. Although most had seen the wraiths from time to time from a distance, few had ever been confronted by one.
“This knight cannot accept the blessing of the tri-god,” said the wraith.
Rezkin stepped down from the dais to confront the wraith, but Yserria was first to voice her discontent.
“What do you mean? Of course, I can. It is none of your business.”
The wraith turned to her in the most disturbing way, its front becoming its back in a vaporous wisp. “To accept the Blessing of the tri-god, a knight of Caellurum must first prove worthy of the Blessing of the three Gods. This human”—it said with a stretch of its long, wispy finger toward Minder Finwy—“does not possess the power to bestow such a blessing.”
Rezkin said, “Shielreyah Manaua, the blessing offered by the priest of the Maker is not one of power. It is a kind of metaphorical blessing. He offers the support and acceptance of their Temple. That is all.”
The shielreyah turned to stare at Minder Finwy.
Finwy’s jaw wagged several times before he finally said, “Only the Maker can bestow power.”
Wispy tendrils shot out from the vapor and then wrapped back inward as Manaua communicated with the other shielreyah. Finally, he said, “This metaphorical blessing is acceptable.”
With a puff, the shielreyah disappeared. The onlookers chattered and grumbled, and after a few minutes, Minder Finwy performed the blessing without interruption.
Chapter 5
Rezkin slipped around the corner of the yard ahead of her. Frisha hurried to catch up, knowing how difficult it would be to find him again. The previous night’s celebration had lasted nearly until dawn, and people were slow to rise that morning, thanks to Apprentice Aplin’s wine. Frisha had not indulged, having spent the evening fretting over her own worries. She noticed that Rezkin had also abstained, which concerned her. If Rezkin chose not to do something, there was usually a good reason for it. He had risen early for training, as she knew he would, and now she was chasing him through the streets hoping to catch him alone for a private word. It was growing nearly impossible. She rounded the corner to find herself alone in a courtyard.
“Rezkin!” she called. “Rez?” She huffed in disappointment, knowing she would never find him. A part of her was relieved. She really did not wish to have this conversation, but at the same time, she really did. She turned to leave and nearly bumped into a wall of muscle. “Oh!” she sputtered with grace. “There you are. I—didn’t hear you.”
He raised his brow. “Did you need something?”
“Yes, um …”
Heat rose to her cheeks as she was suddenly at a loss for words. Broaching the subject was more difficult than she had thought it would be. Finally, she mumbled, “I was hoping to talk to you about … something. We haven’t spoken in a while.”
“We spoke yesterday,” he said. “Several times.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, but, I mean we haven’t really spoken. You know, between you and me.” He furrowed his brow in confusion. She said, “I guess I have some concerns.”
His gaze shifted to scan the tops of the courtyard walls, and then his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. “Very well, Frisha. What is it that concerns you?”
She dropped her gaze to his chest and immediately regretted it. He wore a thin linen undershirt that was unlaced down to his navel and soaked in sweat to translucence. She jerked her eyes upward, cleared her throat, and said, “Striker Farson says you know how to sing, that you can serenade your love with the best of them. He says you know poetry. Why don’t you ever recite any to me? Why don’t you sing for me, Rezkin?”
He tilted his head curiously. “Why would I?”
Flustered, she said, “Because I’m your girlfriend, of course!”
He nodded. “Exactly. Ballads and poetry are meant to coerce, to entice a lady into feeling a sentimental attachment. Why would I do that to you, Frisha? You are already my Girl Friend.”
She thrust her hands onto her hips and scowled furiously. “So you think I don’t deserve to be enticed?”
Rezkin looked at Frisha uncertainly. He had thought it strange when she followed him from the palace, but since Farson’s name had graced the conversation, he knew this was more than the typical social call. With her hostile stance and angry gaze, this felt like a trick question. Slowly, he drawled, “No?”
“Oh! I can’t believe you,” she screamed before storming out of the courtyard.
A hearty laugh, followed by slow applause, erupted behind him from across the yard. Recognizing the voice, Rezkin inwardly groaned. He turned. “What do you want, Farson? Why do I feel like this was your doing?”
Farson strolled forward. As usual of late, he took no precautions, and Rezkin wondered if the man had already accepted his fate. Farson said, “You have no clue what just happened, do you?”
Rezkin furrowed his brow and glanced in the direction Frisha had fled. He considered bluffing, but he doubted the striker would buy it at this point, and he needed information. “No, it makes no sense.”
Farson looked at him with a familiar expression, the one he had worn when Rezkin was
young and unable to grasp a concept that should have been obvious. “She wants you to sing and spout poetry to her, Rez.”
“Why would she want that?”
Farson chuckled. “You are asking me to explain women?”
Rezkin said, “You are a trainer. It is your job to explain.”
Meeting his gaze, Farson said, “I was a trainer.” He paused then seemed to think better of his next words. Looking away, he finally said, “I suppose it is for the thrill of it. People want to be drawn by another’s desires.”
“You are saying she wants me to manipulate her?”
The striker sighed heavily. “No, she wants it to be real, for you to express your genuine feelings.”
“But I have none.”
Farson’s gaze hardened and his hidden contempt reemerged. “Therein lies the problem.” The striker backed toward the gate and disappeared around the corner.
Rezkin stood in the courtyard alone for several minutes. He was not supposed to develop feelings for anyone, yet his former trainer seemed to disapprove, and Frisha was angry and hurt. He decided to focus on more immediate tasks. He finished collecting his personal supplies and then headed toward the docks to survey the progress on the ships.
Two ships now belonged to their armada, Stargazer and Marabelle. Marabelle had been a passenger vessel independently owned and operated by its captain. The collectiare in Channería had selected it for refugee transport because it was not associated with any of the great merchant companies and had no political affiliations. Rezkin had been told that one of the priests knew the captain personally and felt it unlikely the passengers would end up at the slave market. The Marabelle’s Captain Geneve had been determined to retain ownership, but Rezkin’s offer was more than she could refuse, especially since she would maintain possession of the vessel. The Marabelle’s purpose was to shuttle passengers and supplies; while Stargazer was, at that very moment, being outfitted as a military vessel and its crew trained accordingly.
