A King's Caution (The Eternal War Book 2)

by Brennan C. Adams

  “Truly?” Kylorian folded into his chair with his drink, sliding another across the table to Raimie. “You’d surrender your power so easily?” he asked.

  “If you’re competent enough to assume the title of king, you’re welcome to it,” Raimie answered. “I’ve only accepted the role because my people have forced it on me.”

  “Then let’s agree to let the Audish populace choose, much like your people have done,” Kylorian offered with a smirk. “That way, neither of us can blame the other for the position into which we fall.”

  “Agreed,” Raimie said.

  Anything to get out of accepting the burdens of the throne. Carrying a nation’s hopes and expectations was the definition of his worst nightmare.

  Kylorian nursed his drink rather than immediately guzzling it. How the alcohol hadn't more fully impaired the man, Raimie would never know. The fuzz affecting him had thickened to a full-on blanket, and for some reason, he couldn’t remember to keep his voice down. Alouin help him if he was required to stand.

  If needed, he could call on Ele to quickly regain his sobriety, say if Kylorian attempted to draw on him again, but for now, he avoided trying it. This time, free of care, relaxed nerves he hadn’t known had been jangled. The fight to free Da’kul, attempting to torture Nessaira, dragging Kheled’s body through a crowd of onlookers. All had wound him up like a spring, and that tenseness had almost unleashed itself on Kylorian last night. He needed a night sans problems, a night to relax. Worries concerning how next to strike Doldimar could wait until morning.

  “You’re a primeancer too, huh?” Kylorian asked, his words beginning to slur together.

  “If I say yes, will you try to attack me again?”

  “No and I’m…” Kylorian sighed, “I’m sorry about before. Seems I can only show you my temper.”

  “If Oswin hadn’t intervened when we met, I’d be the one apologizing to you. My temper nearly had me throwing the first punch,” Raimie confessed.

  “Can we agree we were both in the wrong and put it behind us?”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Hooray!” Hadrion tossed his hands above his head. “My task is accomplished. Finally! I can go home.”

  He tried to rise, but Kylorian’s hand on his shoulder forced the teenager back into his chair.

  “Oh, no, little brother! You’re going nowhere.”

  The waitress approached with a foam topped mug. She handed it the Kylorian, and he, in turn, gave it to Hadrion.

  “Drink!”

  Reluctantly sipping at the foam, Hadrion gagged, sending the older men into fits of laughter.

  “Don’t worry. It gets better,” Raimie assured the teenager.

  “Let’s get this evening started!” Kylorian proclaimed. “I expect an awful headache in the morning and golden, hazy memories of tonight. What say you two?”

  “Yes?” Hadrion agreed.

  Raimie simply finished his glass. “What are you waiting for? Let's drink!”

  Chapter Six

  Little slipped into the marching column, intently watching for disturbances from the Conscripted. The squad currently headed toward his destination, and he’d much prefer to infiltrate the place with his weapons rather than as one of the hapless prisoners who’d been herded by his hiding spot.

  No one noticed his addition to the march, and Little settled into its pace. Here he was, doing something he’d sworn he never would again. He hadn’t been beholden to anyone since Middle had…

  Well, swearing his loyalty would be worth it if it meant he could say he worked for a primeancer. Stories of the legendary thaumaturges had kept him afloat after especially rough nights when he’d gone to bed sore and covered in bruises. Before sleep came to soothe his tormented mind, he’d liked to pretend Ele primeancers were coming to his rescue or that he’d attracted a Daevetch splinter. The imaginings of what he’d do to former clients if he could manipulate Daevetch still calmed him on nights when nightmares woke him in a cold sweat.

  The march slowed, and Little allowed his mission to occupy center stage. They approached a gaping, cavernous pit, a sheer drop-off with what appeared to be no viable way down.

  For the last few days, Little had scouted it from a distance, never coming close enough to risk detection, but if King Raimie-Little made a face-was ever to successfully assault this place, details of what waited at the bottom should be included in his report.

  As to how the group he’d infiltrated would reach the pit’s floor, he’d no clue. This small squad of Conscripted was composed of ordinary men and women, not Kiraak. Unlike those monsters, they couldn’t survive a fall into the pit’s depths.

  The march halted at the cliff’s edge, its leader clearly expecting something. They didn’t have long to wait. A loud rumble shook the cliff, and when it quieted, a man with black orbs where eyes should be hopped over the edge. He and a soldier toward the front of their column conversed while the Conscripted began their descent.

  When Little reached the edge, he stopped short. Two sights spread before him, one awful and the other awe-inspiring.

  A stone staircase had been quite literally ripped from the wall. Holes beneath every step indicated from where the staircase’s material had come, and no mechanism joined the stairs to the cliff, none visible in any case.

  At the mind-boggling staircase’s base, the Birthing Grounds spread. A solid mile wide at all points, the lowered chasm was round and perfectly smooth. It appeared almost as if some ancient god had scooped a bowl from the earth, within which to store water for its pet humans.

  If any water had ever filled the pit, it had long since drained, leaving behind the perfect resting spot for a city dedicated to transforming decent and ordinary people into Kiraak. Squat, stone and wood buildings scattered the pit’s floor from one side to the other. These edifices were most likely barracks for the newly transformed Kiraak and the Conscripted stationed here.

  Armored people bearing swords and other weapons strolled through the open spaces between buildings, and even from the clifftop, Little recognized the black crawl under the skin of those who sauntered beneath his feet.

  He suppressed a shudder. The nightmarish beach battle from last fall haunted him at the worst possible moments. Was he ready to walk into a den of monsters, ones who’d keep moving even when throats had been slashed and jugulars had stopped pumping blood?

  At the Birthing Grounds’ exact center, a tall fence encircled a crowd. From half a mile away, Little couldn’t tell if the enclosed people were Conscripted, prisoners, or Kiraak. Whichever they were, they shied from the building planted within the fence. The small, two-story home wouldn’t have been out of place in Daira, Tiro, or any other human settlement, but here, among the barracks and minions of Doldimar’s army, the pleasant homestead loudly screamed WRONG to Little.

  He must not be the only one. A pair of figures emerged from the house, seized someone huddling by the fence, and dragged the unfortunate captive inside. Screams of protest and despair reached Little clear as a bell from where he stood.

  “How long do you plan to waste my time, boy?” the black-eyed man asked.

  Little shivered at the lack of menace, of any emotion whatsoever, in the other man’s voice. He hadn’t heard something quite like that since he’d joined the Hand. Hearing it now, Little lost his composure. His breathing shallowed, and his limbs shook. A shine passed through the orbs staring at him.

  “Forgive him, my better,” someone said beside Little. “He’s a new recruit, never seen the Birthing Grounds’ glory.”

  “Please, forgive me!”

  Little bowed low, but he also directed a tiny, knowing smirk at the black-eyed man. He well knew the look of hunger which had briefly flashed in the other man’s gaze and refused to let it cow him.

  “Now you’ve seen it. Join your comrades below,” the black-eyed man dismissively waved, “and hope I don’t drop the both of you while you descend.”

  “Your threat will make us swift, my bette
r!” the Conscripted who’d come to Little’s rescue exclaimed.

  And it did. Little raced the other man to the pit’s floor, sure with every step stone would give way beneath him. Once his feet were planted on solid ground, he watched the black-eyed man descend.

  After leaving each step, the imperious man waved a hand, and a stream of dark gloom eagerly rushed to it. Without the energy necessary to hold them aloft, the steps flopped to the wall with a crash. Some momentarily wobbled before they settled, and Little tensed, confident they’d careen to the ground, crushing anyone unlucky enough to stand beneath. Bouncing to the pit's floor, the black-eyed man strode past the collected Conscripted without pause.

  “Thanks,” Little told his rescuer. “I owe you.”

  “You certainly do,” the Conscripted said. “You must be new. Everyone knows to avoid the Enforcers’ notice whenever possible.”

  “Shit!” Little freely let the curse fly. “Seems I owe you more than I’d thought.”

  Normally, a new recruit wasn’t the best role to assume in an enemy camp because, most of the time, no one wanted to take an inexperienced fighter under their wing, but since he’d already found a ‘mentor’, he’d play the role to the best of his ability.

  “When did you join us?” the Conscripted asked, and his eyes narrowed. “I don’t remember recruiting you before the Lindow Harvest. In fact, I don’t remember recruiting you at all.”

  Glancing from side to side as if checking for eavesdroppers, Little leaned in conspiratorially.

  “I joined on the road,” he whispered. “Figured I had a higher chance of conscription if I showed enough initiative to reach the Birthing Grounds without notice.”

  The other man barked a laugh. “Oh, I like you! I certainly hope our Captain doesn’t kill you. Watching you bumble around should be entertaining.”

  “I don’t plan on dying,” Little informed him. “That’s why I’m here, yeah? Becoming a Conscripted in Doldimar’s army gives the greatest chance of survival in Auden.”

  “Unless you can find the rebel’s haven,” the Conscripted whispered behind his hand. He laughed at Little’s shocked look. “’Twas a jest, kid! Now, come on. The others are probably checking in with our Overseer by now.”

  Little trotted behind the older man, soaking in sights like a kid, or at least, that’s how it appeared. In actuality, he scanned every square inch of the place, looking for tactical advantages.

  So far, attacking this place seemed a supremely bad idea no matter how tempting cutting off Doldimar’s supply of Kiraak might seem. Sure, the King and his men would have the high ground upon the initial assault, but that advantage wouldn’t help if the enemy could hide like animals before the projectiles sure to rain upon them. If Raimie wished to use the Birthing Grounds for his own purposes, they couldn’t heavily damage the camp, and without some way to descend the cliffs, the battle would quickly turn into a siege. Little was fairly certain other arms of Doldimar’s Conscripted and Kiraak would come to crush the King’s army long before they could starve out the Birthing Grounds’ defenders.

  But it wasn’t his job to compose battle plans. He’d leave that task to the people who excelled at it, namely Raimie. He’d stick to his areas of brilliance: observing and performing.

  “Where are we going?” he asked his guide, curious new recruit that he was.

  “Overseer Raelinov’s quarters. He stays with the other Overseers. We’ll find him near the outskirts,” the Conscripted replied. “Hopefully, he’ll receive another appointment soon. I can’t stand this place.”

  “Why?”

  The Conscripted flipped to face him, confusion written over his countenance. He kept walking backward, causing others to scramble out of his way.

  “Being here’s a constant reminder of what will happen to us if we fail.”

  Little must have properly displayed distress because the other man crookedly smiled.

  “Don’t worry! You’ve accidentally joined one of the best Conscripted squads in the Dark Lord’s army. We rarely fail, if ever.”

  “Good to know.” Raimie would encounter substantial resistance when he came. “Is there anywhere I’m not allowed to go?” Little asked as if realizing for the first time the predicament into which he’d plunged.

  “The whole of the Birthing Grounds is open to all, but I’d stay away from the center if I were you.”

  “Why?”

  The Conscripted shuddered. “Just take my advice and stay away.”

  He faced forward once more, cutting off any subsequent questions.

  Little didn’t have any. The other man had already given him what he most wanted. As soon as he could quietly get away, his next destination would be the fence enclosed house he’d seen before.

  Leaving squat barracks behind, they quickly advanced on the black specks which dotted the base of the pit’s walls. Soon enough, they walked beneath earth, and Little suppressed a disappointed sigh. He’d hoped maybe with catapults, trebuchet, and a laughable amount of time, they could bombard the Birthing Grounds into submission, but if the enemy also had caves within which to escape, that idea was worthless.

  “You’re late, Lieutenant,” another Conscripted barked. “How’d you fall so far behind?”

  “Our newest recruit caught the Enforcer’s eye, Captain,” Little’s mentor explained. “I decided to help him, and now, he owes me a favor. A big one.”

  “I don’t remember recruiting anyone recently,” the captain said. “Certainly not one so scrawny.”

  “You picked me up in Lindow, sir,” Little spoke up, “and I’m not surprised you don’t remember me. I believe you said something about ‘expendability’ when we met, sir.”

  The captain stared at him, and the moment painfully stretched. Little calmly waited for the man’s pronouncement. Even if the captain decided not to believe the lie, he’d have no trouble ducking the handful of Conscripted who stood between him and open air, and once he’d left this narrow cave, getting lost in the crowd outside would be simple enough.

  “Perhaps,” the captain mused. “We can discuss your conscription later. For now, the Overseer awaits. Stay in the back, and don’t say anything.”

  “Yes, Captain!” Little loosely saluted, and the captain rolled his eyes.

  He pushed through his men to open a set of doors through which they filtered.

  “You are so lucky,” Little’s mentor mumbled. “I thought for sure he’d strike you down after such a fantastic lie. Captain must be in a good mood.”

  Little shrugged. He’d only said what had the highest probability of granting him the outcome he’d desired. From a very young age, he’d learned how to read people. His circumstances had required it, as failure usually ended in a beating.

  The twenty or so men of this particular Conscripted squad filed into a large, empty room. While no furniture occupied it, maps painted the walls. Pins poked through parchment, marking towns and other clusters of humanity. One or two green pins pricked villages on the map’s edges, and a smattering of blues and reds decorated the middle. A big, red pin conspicuously marked the recently Harvested town of Lindow.

  Overseer Raelinov studied one of these maps, never moving even after the doors slammed shut. While they waited upon his pleasure, Little shoved to the cluster’s middle, blatantly disobeying orders. If he’d stayed at the back as he’d been told, he wouldn’t have a decent view of the proceedings.

  The Overseer faced them, and Little gulped. The man’s skin was barely visible over the sheet of Corruption which bulged beneath it.

  “Report,” he demanded.

  The captain took a step forward, arms crossed behind his back.

  “We followed the gathered rebel force as ordered, my better, and as you suspected, they led us to several pockets of resistance. We wiped out any who were foolish enough to stay in place once their visitors departed. A small number fled before we could join with the Kiraak to attack, but besides those minor exceptions, my better, the rebels were slau
ghtered to a man.”

  “This is good news,” Raelinov mused. “What of those you followed to find these pockets? Did you manage to eliminate them as well?”

  The captain stiffened. “No, my better. They managed to elude us.”

  “Oh, well,” the Overseer sighed. “I had hoped… but it would have been an impossible task for a group of your capabilities, and they’d have smelled Kiraak a mile away.”

  The captain held perfectly still while the Overseer returned to studying the map.

  “Is there anything else you wish to say?” Raelinov asked.

  The captain relaxed. “No, my better. May we-?”

  “Are you sure?” the Overseer interrupted.

  “I-” The captain slumped.

  Turning to pointedly stare at Little’s new mentor, he gave a small nod which his subordinate returned with a tight jaw.

  “No, my better,” the captain replied, his posture stiff and proud.

  The Overseer strode forward until he was nose to nose with the man. “I see you’ve a new addition to your ranks,” Raelinov commented.

  “Yes, my better. He’s apparently from Lindow.”

  “I see. That’s good. Your presence won’t be missed.”

  Snatching the captain by the throat, Raelinov squeezed. Corruption-free fingers automatically clawed at the black vined stranglehold while the captain's other hand frantically unsheathed his sword. Twisting the weapon away, Raelinov claimed it as his own and shoved it through the captain. Its bloody tip thrust between his shoulder blades. Little bit his lip at the gurgles coming from the dying man, but the Conscripted to either side of him kept eyes impassively fixed forward even while the sounds of their captain’s violent death filled the room. When the man's limbs ceased twitching, Raelinov tossed the body to the side.

  “Which of you is his lieutenant?”

  Little’s mentor silently stepped forward.

  “Were you aware the man who would call himself King, Kylorian, led the group you’d tracked?” the Overseer asked.

  “We learned of it soon after he and his people escaped us, my better.”