Blackmark (The Kingsmen Chronicles #1): An Epic Fantasy Adventure Sword and Highland Magic

by Jean Lowe Carlson

  Elohl had just slipped back to his apartments at the King’s Cross before the first true light of dawn could spill over the Eleskis. Shutting the door softly, he glanced at the snug bed where Eleshen was sprawled in sleep. Naked and lovely by the blushing light coming in through the open window, her honeyed hair was spread out over the pillows, one leg slung up over the covers. She was an energetic sleeper, always tangled in the blankets. It was sweet and simple. Elohl would have smiled, but his heart was twisted in knots. Emotions long buried had swamped him tonight, and he was exhausted to his bones. After his night with Ghrenna, nothing was simple anymore. And it really never had been. He’d been lying to himself that he could have a life with Eleshen when Ghrenna was still out there, her lake-blue eyes still pulling him. And now he knew exactly where Ghrenna was, and how she was.

  And that she still loved him. Elohl’s gut twisted, looking at Eleshen’s golden beauty in the rising light, feeling like an inconstant cur. Though whether he was betraying Eleshen or Ghrenna he couldn’t say. He only knew that he was a bastard either way. And that either way, he’d soon have to make a choice.

  A woman he couldn’t even touch, because he loved her? Or a woman he could touch, because she loved him. Elohl’s heart felt cavernous. He gave a soft sigh, turning to the pegs on the wall, unbuckling his climbing harness, hanging it up by his longsword and its back-harness on their pegs. A knock suddenly came on the plain ironwood door, startling Elohl. Fast as instinct, he had a longknife to hand from its sheath on his climbing harness. Spreading his sensate sphere wide, he felt for a threat on the other side of the door, his knife poised.

  The knock came again. Whoever it was, was trying to be civil, not an intruder. Elohl lowered his knife, suspecting that the thief Luc had decided to follow him and give him an earful. He hauled open the door, intending to tell the man to go back to Ghrenna, but instead found himself face to face with a cobalt-jerkined Palace Guardsman.

  Of average stature, the man was wiry as a mountain-cat, and something about his lithe, liquid movement as he gave a nod reminded Elohl of a keshar. His eyes were a curious shade of brown, the center ringed with gold that caught the flickering lamplight of the hall. His brown waves were carefully curried back from his forehead, and something about the set of his jaw commanded instant respect. Cool patience sighed from him. A deep calm was set into his frame, utterly at ease under Elohl's grey-eyed scrutiny.

  “Elohl den'Alrahel?” The man's voice had a soothing ripple of baritone to his tenor, like a well-practiced bard. His gaze flicked to Elohl’s longknife.

  “Who are you?” Elohl's growl was low, not wanting to wake Eleshen, purposefully putting menace in against a man he knew nothing about. He didn’t brandish the knife at the Guardsman, but he didn’t put it away, either. Elohl still had his Kingsman greys on, hood up from the night, and he used it now, lowering his chin, giving an air of stern authority.

  “Your sister, my commander, sent me. Don't even try denying who you are, you look just like her. But taller. More masculine. Obviously. And your Kingsman greys rather give you away.” The man's gold-brown gaze glimmered with a sudden unexpected humor. “In any case, Olea sent me to find you. She’s been imprisoned by the Dhenra and needs your help.”

  “Fucking hells.” Elohl hadn’t realized he’d spoken until after it was out of his mouth. He reached out to collect his longsword and climbing harness from the peg. His gear was buckled on swiftly. He reached up to adjust the placement of the longsword’s grip in its scabbard over his shoulder. “Where is she? Is she in danger?”

  The wiry man shook his head. “Olea’s fine, for the moment. She’s in the Upper Cells of Roushenn. They're harmless, cells for nobility. She just had a very unfortunate argument with the Dhenra. It's not something she'll be punished for beyond temporary incarceration. But I warn you that if you pull heroics and break her out, she will be untrustworthy of the Crown. She must remain where she is. But she sends you a plea. She wants you to protect the Dhenra. She is in danger, or so Olea believes. And I am tempted to confirm it with some of the things I suspect.”

  “And who are you?” Elohl eyed the wiry, brown-haired man. He took in the lean Guardsman’s frame, noting his sinewed, calloused hands.

  “I’m called Fenton. Fenton den'Kharel. First-Lieutenant of the Palace Guard. Your sister's right hand officer.”

  Elohl’s brows raised, stunned. The name Fenton den’Kharel was legend among the High Brigade. Like Elohl, the man had never set a bad route. Unlike Elohl, he had managed to keep his entire team alive the full ten years of his service, and then served another five for no reason at all. Ihbram den'Sennia had regaled Elohl and anyone else who would listen with tales of Lead-Hand den'Kharel, of daring ascents and skirmishes won, whom Ihbram had had the pleasure of serving under for five years. But the infamous Lead-Hand had left for warmer climes just prior to the event of the Summons and true war breaking out upon the Valenghian border, and Elohl had never met the legend Ihbram had so often spoken of.

  “Fenton den’Kharel? Veteran High Brigade?”

  The Guardsman nodded, calm serenity flowing through his every sinew. Incredulous, Elohl gave a lazy Brigadier salute. The man returned it just as lazily. Elohl grinned, and the grin was returned in kind.

  “I heard from Olea that her twin was a Brigadier.” Fenton murmured, a feverish light in his calm visage. “It’s nice to meet another come home.”

  “I heard you served fifteen years.” Elohl raised an eyebrow.

  “You heard right.”

  “And never once lost a man on your team.”

  Fenton's gold-dark eyes glimmered. “We fought hard. And climbed carefully.” A small smile lifted his lips. “Who did you hear all this from, may I ask?”

  “Ihbram den'Sennia.”

  And to Elohl's surprise, the man before him gave a good-natured chuckle, scuffing one boot on the boards of the hallway, his hands settling casually to his hips. “We'd better get going. Olea's expecting us. Shall we?”

  Elohl found he was much at his ease now that he knew whom Olea had chosen for her good right hand. He checked his gear, then turned an eye to Eleshen, still sleeping in the early morning hours. But he couldn't just leave her that way, wondering where he'd gone, so he turned back to Fenton. “Give me a minute?”

  Fenton's gaze strayed within, then acutely away. “Of course. I'll wait here in the hall.”

  Elohl nodded and shut the door. Eleshen was watching him as he turned back, awake upon the bed. Her sweet face was sad rather than peevish as she sat up, tucking the covers up over her breasts. “Only a few days into Lintesh, and you’re already in the serpent’s maw.”

  “Were you awake?”

  “I was. Eavesdropping. I heard the whole thing. I’m so sorry, Elohl… I didn’t know you’d be thrust right back into danger coming here.” She brushed her long honey-blonde hair over one shoulder, a gesture that tore at Elohl’s heart, reminding him of Ghrenna. Elohl slid onto the bed, wrapping an arm around her. She snuggled close, laying her head upon his shoulder. He felt guilty holding her, soothing her, when his mind kept straying to Ghrenna. His gut twisted, demanding that he tell her everything that had happened. Elohl pushed it away. Let it wait a day, or a few. Holding her close, breathing in her lavender and spice scent, he pressed his lips gently to her temple.

  “It’s not your fault, Eleshen.” Elohl breathed. “No place is safe for me. I didn’t imagine Lintesh was going to be any different. But as a Kingsman, my sworn liege needs me now. And Olea needs me. I have to go.”

  She nodded, taking it in stride. “Did you get into the Abbey tonight?”

  Elohl shook his head. “I ran into a complication.”

  “Complication?”

  Elohl decided to tell the truth, as much of it as he could stand with Eleshen gauging him. “A group of thieves. One of them was a Kingsman. She was scouting the wall. We had a run-in. She got hurt before I recognized her. She’s one of those I told you about, from my past. Ghrenna.”
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  Eleshen blinked wide. “The one with visions?”

  “Eleshen…” Elohl murmured. “I have to go to the palace, but can you take a message to Ghrenna from me, today? She’s staying at the Proud Marlin in the Abbey Quarter.”

  “Of course!” Eleshen nodded, eager to be helpful with intrigue. Blissfully unaware of Elohl and Ghrenna’s history, or of what had happened tonight. Elohl’s gut twisted again, telling him he was a bastard.

  “Tell Ghrenna that the Dhenra needs her to earn her Inkings, if she’s well enough. Tell her to come to the West Guardhouse and ask for Fenton den’Kharel, First Lieutenant Guardsman, and to not take no for an answer. To not leave until she speaks with him. And tell her…” Elohl died inside, saying this to Eleshen, but it had to be said. “Tell her I will find a way… to get in touch after all these years.”

  It was horrible. He was worse than a lout. Elohl found he couldn’t give Eleshen a proper embrace, couldn’t kiss her with so many wrenching emotions boiling within him. All he could do was snug her close around the shoulders, and press another kiss to her temple.

  “Be safe,” Elohl breathed. “I’ll be back soon. I promise. If you need anything while I’m gone today, go to Vargen’s.”

  “How long will you be gone?” She murmured, twisting and looking up at him, so he had to face those lovely green eyes.

  “Hopefully not long.”

  She nodded, taking it in stride. Lifting up, she pressed her lips to his, a sweet, tender kiss. Her warmth flooded him, her goodness, her dedication. It was more than he deserved. Elohl pressed his forehead to hers, feeling Eleshen’s love for a moment, letting it soothe him. And then he rose, leaving her behind and heading for the door.

  He didn’t look back as he left. It was too painful. Elohl shut the door with a sinking feeling in his chest, turning down the hallway with Fenton den'Kharel at his side. They tromped down the wooden stairs and through the common room. The inn was just waking with sounds of clinking cutlery as the innkeeper and his wife prepared for the day behind the kitchen curtains. The hearths had been lit and already it smelled of baking bread, cinnamon and rosemary, and all the good smells that were also Eleshen’s.

  Hearth and home.

  Elohl pushed the thought away, smoothed it down. Today he had been called to duty, his reprieve of dreaming about a simple life ended. Today he’d been inescapably reminded of what he was, pulled by Ghrenna’s gaze, tossed into a mystery of what his golden Inkings were doing to him, and now this. Right back into battle, into service. But it was a service he couldn’t run from, that he wouldn’t run from. Elohl was a Kingsman, first and foremost. And his liege was in trouble.

  In a short minute they were out the inn's weathered double-doors. The Guardsman Fenton must have picked up on Elohl’s dire mood as they moved up the stone-cobbled avenue at a good clip, golden sunlight just starting to slant through the tops of the buildings. A cool morning breeze lifted the dust on the cobbles, swirling it as they walked.

  “So.” Fenton picked up their conversation amiably. “Ihbram was blabbing about me?”

  Distracted from his brooding, Elohl looked over. “Said you were the best climber he's ever seen.”

  “Ihbram needs to learn to keep his fat mouth shut. Is that redheaded half-Elsthemi miscreant still alive?”

  “He was when I left.” Elohl's spirits began to lift with the easy camaraderie and the early bustle of the city streets. “Ihbram was just as much piss and vinegar as ever. He was headed to Valenghia. Served fifteen years, just like you.”

  “Did he?” Something like pride shone from Fenton. “Good lad.”

  “Lad?” Elohl blinked, taking in Fenton's wiry frame as they paced side by side. “He's got more grey in his braids than you do.”

  Fenton shrugged easily. “I was his superior officer. They will always be my lads. Ihbram was under my care, same as the rest of my team. And, so I gather, under yours?”

  Elohl nodded. “I was a Lead-Hand almost from the first. Nine years. Once Captain Arlus den'Pell saw me climb, and fight... he made sure of it.”

  Fenton glanced over. “Kingsmen do know how to fight. How did you manage to keep your greys all these years? Olea hasn’t got hers.”

  Elohl raised an eyebrow. “I was arrested in them. Managed to slip into the armory at night to liberate them, hide them in a root-hollow before they got burned. I was whipped for it, but eventually Arlus just let me wear the damn things whenever we engaged. Found out they instilled a bit of fear when we skirmished with the Red Valor, especially during night raids. But most of the time he still made me wear military-issue. When I was released, I brought them with.”

  “Well.” Fenton chuckled good-naturedly. “You’ll get a change of gear when we get to the palace. You’re going on the Dhenra’s guard, so we have to get you a set of the blue. But you’re lucky, keeping your greys. Olea had to burn hers personally, the first week she was in the guard. I can’t imagine what that must have felt like.”

  Fenton's mention of Olea brought Elohl back to the moment as they chose a narrow alley as a shortcut, Fenton moving with lithe grace around barrels of rain and garbage. “So what do we do about Olea?”

  The Guardsman’s eyes went hard as he ducked a waterspout from a low roofline. “Unless you want to be a fool, nothing. I’ve got a man watching her cell, discreetly. He’ll keep her safe. But the Dhenra is another matter. They’re only two men I trust on her guard besides Olea, and one is myself. Do you know any other Kingsmen in the city? How many can we summon?”

  The question caused Elohl to blink. He wasn't used to having someone trust him because of the Inkings he wore. “Only three, other than Olea. Myself, and a Kingsman in hiding as a silversmith.”

  “Vargen.” Fenton's speech was prompt. “Yeah, I just met him. Olea sent me to him also, before I came to find you. He's already at the palace, getting outfitted to act as a new guard same as you. Who's the third Kingsman in the city?”

  “Her name's Ghrenna. But she may be out for this. She’s not well. Do you know any Kingsmen? You talk like there are more here.”

  Fenton glanced around. “I know five hiding in Lintesh, including myself. But only myself and one other can assist us with the Dhenra. The others have duties elsewhere.”

  Elohl stopped dead in the middle of the street. “What?” He murmured low so no one nearby could hear. His eyes flicked to Fenton's immaculately buckled cobalt jerkin. “You're a Kingsman? But wouldn't Olea have told me?”

  Fenton's soft chuckle was amused. “She didn't know. I told her last night, just as I'm telling you now. Nor was she aware of my associate's identity until last night. She still doesn't know any of the others, and it will remain thus. It's not my place to disclose the Shemout Alrashemni who are not a part of the Guard. But I have a feeling all those of us who are left will be coming out of the woodwork soon. We need solidarity, Elohl, if we suspect a potential attack on the Dhenra's life.”

  “But... Hasn’t Olea seen your Inkings?”

  Fenton sidled close enough to murmur low by Elohl. “I don't have the traditional Inkings, Elohl. I'm of a sect that is not supposed to exist, the Shemout. A special sect of Alrashemni political spies who have operated discreetly for generations. We didn't attend the Summons. So we survived when it happened. I couldn't tell Olea. But things are changing. She, and you, and our Dhenra, need me to make myself known. So I'm breaking my ancient oaths to keep our liege safe. But this knowledge goes no further than us. Do you understand?”

  And something in that plain, direct admission of Fenton's held the power of decades. “I understand.”

  Fenton eyed Elohl suddenly, shrewd. “I must know… are you still a Kingsman, Elohl, through and through? Despite all that’s happened these past ten years?”

  “My father told me once,” Elohl murmured, “that the primary Alrashemni law to remember when mediating and passing judgment is that the transgressions of the father shall not be passed to his children.”

  “Wise words. Wo
rds to live by.” Some old sadness lingered there, deep in Fenton’s gold-tinged eyes. His eyebrows were knit, his gaze far away. He gave a slow blink, and then his odd reverie was gone. “In any case, the Dhenra will get as much protection as we can muster for her.”

  “Olea is a Kingswoman, sworn to the Crown. I am no less loyal.” Elohl agreed. “A sword through my chest before the Dhenra is harmed.”

  Fenton nodded as if satisfied. “Very well. Pick up your steps, Brigadier. This may be a very long few days until the coronation.”

  Elohl nodded. “If it means clearing Olea’s name and protecting my liege, I’ll do anything I have to.”

  Fenton cocked his head again, a small smile lingering about his lips. “Let's hope those words aren't tested.” He moved on up the avenue at a brisk and steady pace, his lithe boot-falls reminding Elohl of a keshar's grace.

  CHAPTER 28 – GHRENNA