The wide-eyed routine usually worked with these types.
“Oswin,” hi client replied.
Ah. Maybe the man DID know what he wanted if he’d decided to give a name like that. The client wasn’t Eselan, didn’t conform to his understanding of the other race’s characteristics, therefore the Eselan name must be deliberate. He could run with this.
Sitting up, he folded his hands beneath his legs.
“Forgive me, master, my shape change is quite rusty.” Glancing at his lap, he blushed. “I can’t make it any bigger than it already-”
“No!” Holding a hand out, palm up, the client clutched his forehead with the other. “That’s not what I meant. Oswin is really my name. A cruel joke on the part of my parents.”
Now he was thoroughly confused. Relaxing his pose, he sprawled, inspecting his client up and down.
“Why are you here?” he demanded. “You’re obviously not interested in my body. I don’t own anything else of value.”
“I’m here because of your parents,” Oswin replied. “We were well acquainted before they moved to the Southern Kingdoms, grew up together in Daira’s Audish slums. When I learned they’d passed away in a foreign land, I used my spare resources to search for you. Finding you took longer than I’d have liked, and I’m sorry for that.”
The client spoke gibberish. That or this was an incredibly elaborate fantasy. When he didn’t respond, Oswin awkwardly continued.
“I may have a job for you. I’ve heard you’re quite good at reading your… clients’ moods. It’s how you’ve lasted this long without disfigurement. The Queen of Ada’ir could use someone like you in her Hand.”
Ohhh…. This scenario was one with which he was familiar. He rose from the bed.
“Well, master spy, I’m not terribly exceptional at blending in or finding things, but I’m sure I can manage.”
He reached for the ties to Oswin’s breeches, but the other man snatched his hands in his own.
“Lornilen, I’m serious!”
Time stopped for a minute while the room spun. He dropped heavily to the bed. Clients weren’t supposed to know his name, and the house madam was diligent when it came to withholding them. A client learning his name could impinge upon his safety, and he made the house too much money for its owners to take the risk.
“You speak truth?” he asked.
“I do. I knew your parents, and I can give you a job. A much more wholesome one. I can take you from this place. Is that what you want?”
Is that what he wanted? His body shook, and he wasn’t sure why until he burst into tears.
“Yes!” he wailed.
The knife lifted from his face for a final time, and Little returned to the present. The Eselan grunted.
“No flinching.” He sounded surprised.
“Can I go?” Little asked.
Speaking was difficult with the rivers of blood seeping over his mouth and off his chin. Every movement of his lips lanced his open wounds with fire as they cracked even more widely.
“No! That was impressive! I’m not killing him, so shut up, you!” the Eselan hissed.
Odd that he continued to speak to something not there but Little dismissed the peculiarity to latch onto the fact that mattered. The Eselan meant to let him depart alive.
“I’ll leave you with your playthings, then,” Little said as he climbed to his feet.
“What?” the Eselan asked, rapidly blinking at him. “Oh, fine, but before you go, I wonder if I might ask a favor.”
Little stopped short. The man had ruined his face, and now, he wanted something else? “What is it?”
“When you discover who Kheled masquerades as, give him a message from me, please. Tell him Arivor received his letter and says hello.”
A simple enough request. No harm in indulging it. Maybe Kheled, under whichever guise he hid, would gather more from the message than he.
Little tiredly nodded. He left via the front door. No need to hide his presence now. The woman at the gate laughed when she saw his face.
“I see you completed your work with regaling success.”
More than she knew, but he didn’t tell her that. Little knew where in the Birthing Grounds the Kiraak were made, a location of prime importance to his King’s revolt. If his looks were the price for that knowledge, so be it.
It seemed as if this place had a regular day and night cycle much like every other town or military camp. Soldiers bunked inside barracks now that the sun had fallen. Little spied not a single person out and about.
“Private, where do you think you’re going?”
Or maybe the lingering pain distracted him enough he didn’t notice the people outside. Gliding before him, the Conscripted squad’s captain sucked in a breath.
“I told you to stay away from the center!” he exclaimed while searching through his pockets. “I see you’ve met our Dark Lord.”
“That was Doldimar?!” Little squeaked both from surprise and pain. “He’s insane!”
The captain quirked an eyebrow. “This is news?” He handed Little a tiny, capped bottle. “Salve for when the bleeding stops. It’ll keep infection from setting in while you travel. I’d tell you to see a healer, but I'd guess from your hurried pace you need to quickly return to Tiro.”
“Thanks. I’m sure I’ll- Tiro?!” Little almost dropped the salve.
“Sure.” The captain grinned. “You work for Ky, right?”
“Who?” Little asked, genuinely curious.
“Cut the bull, Private. I knew you were a spy from the moment you slunk into our column. Thought it was strange when you didn’t reach out to me once I gave you an opening, so, I wasn’t sure who your master was until I saw your face just now. Only those of us who work for Kylorian are crazy enough to endure such a thing.”
“I don’t work for this ‘Kylorian’,” Little replied. “You’ve mistaken me.”
The captain frowned. “Then who do you serve? You’re a spy, aren’t you?”
“Let me leave without a fuss, Captain, and maybe I won’t report you,” Little replied.
“You are! If you were solely Doldimar’s creature you’d have run for the nearest Overseer long before now,” the captain asserted.
“Maybe I’m returning the favor you paid me.”
The captain shook his head. “No, even someone as new as you has loyalty driven in deep if they’re here for the Dark Lord’s cause. Fear of him would have had you reporting my treacherous confession at the soonest opportunity, regardless of the danger I might represent.”
Little didn’t reply. He’d run out of protests but couldn’t exactly agree with the captain. What if this was a trap? The best course of action was to remain silent.
“Look,” the captain fumed, “I may have found myself leading one of Doldimar’s best Conscripted squads, but I didn’t start here. I came from Tiro. Kylorian, Riadur’s eldest son, recruited me soon after my hometown’s Harvest drove me to their refuge. He sent me and my cohort, Ibilfer, to this place so we could assist him with evacuating towns before the Kiraak could commence their Harvest.”
Little crossed his arms. The other man hadn’t presented proper evidence of his supposed status. The enemy could have gleaned all the information he shared through intelligence work. Even Overseer Raelinov knew this Kylorian’s name, a person Little had never heard of before today.
“For Alouin’s sake!” the captain exclaimed. “Ibilfer and I sent the warning to Ren about Lindow’s upcoming Harvest. It was late getting to her, I know, but we did the best we could!”
Now Ren’s forewarned information on Lindow was something of which the enemy probably wasn’t aware. Little couldn’t be sure. The captain seemed genuine to him, but his confrontation with the Eselan, with Doldimar, had left him shaken.
The Eselan had read dangerous and bloodthirsty one moment then confused and compassionate the next. It was the first time Little had been powerless to properly read someone, and the temporary loss of his greatest abili
ty made him insecure and hollow. Could he trust the captain?
He’d have to take a chance at some point.
“I’ve come from Tiro as well, but I don’t serve your master,” Little said. “I’ve never met a Kylorian, but me and mine only recently reached Auden’s borders. It’s probable I missed him in our arrival’s chaos.”
“You’re from the Matvai Homeland?” the captain asked. “Are the clans joining the resistance?”
“Clans? No, we’re from Ada’ir. It’s across the sea,” Little further explained at the other man’s confused expression.
“Across the sea…” the captain trailed off. “We haven’t heard from those kingdoms in years. They’ve no stake in our fight, not since Doldimar closed the border to trade. Unless-”
“I’d love to further clarify, but I need to return to my King before these cuts fester. I’ll only have them sutured after I’ve delivered my findings.”
The captain, however, was too caught up in his realization to listen to Little. “You said King. Could it be true? Will that old, ridiculous foretelling actually be fulfilled?”
“Captain! I need to leave the Birthing Grounds!” Little almost shouted the words.
The other man vigorously shook his head, one hand to his scalp. “Those of us blessed to avoid Daevetch’s attention have a secret escape route. I’ll take you to it.”
He strode off in a daze, and Little reluctantly followed through the barracks. Soon enough, the captain spoke again.
“So, the Audish royal family’s heir has returned. What’s he like? Is he a monster as everyone assumes he’ll be?”
“Hardly.” Little contained his chuckle with difficulty. If talking was agony, how would laughter feel? “Raimie’s everything you commoners would want in a king: smart, honorable, honest, fair. He has flaws, certainly, but he’s generally aware of them and works to improve them. He’s a bit too modest for me, perhaps a bit too self-deprecating, but those are my only complaints.”
Little waited for the captain’s response, grateful for a time where his face could stay immobile. He cautiously explored the wounds. Blood had congealed in thick lines around each cut and into a thin veneer everywhere else.
“Hang on a moment,” he mumbled, and he veered from the captain’s chosen track.
Dipping his cleanest cloth in an open water barrel sitting beside the closest barrack, he gently rubbed his face. Fabric brushed the slashes across his lips and cheeks, and he hissed. Once he'd wiped the blood away, Little opened the salve, smeared viscous paste over split skin.
“Thank you,” he told the captain, returning the bottle.
“Keep it,” the other man insisted. “You’ll need it before you reach Tiro.”
Little tucked the bottle away. “Again, thank you.”
The captain retook the lead, and they wandered into a cave carved into the cliffs.
“The foretelling says your King is destined to overthrow Doldimar, and while seer magic may have its strengths, it would reassure me to know this Raimie has some semblance of a plan to accomplish that goal,” the captain continued as if the interruption had never occurred.
“His army already destroyed Teron’s Kiraak a few months ago, and Raimie recently captured Da’kul,” Little informed the other man. “I’m not sure what the next phase of the plan is, but my compatriots and I have been dispatched to several high-value targets to observe and evaluate. I gather Raimie will make his decision based off of what we report.”
“I’d wondered if the rumors concerning the loss of several hundred squads were true,” the captain mused. “How strong is his army if he’s made such progress already?”
Little winced. “Middle’s better at the numbers,” he complained, “and there hasn’t been a head count since the battle which nearly destroyed out. If I were to guess, however, I’d say around thirty-five hundred, not counting whatever soldiers Tiro might lend to assist.”
“Alouin above, that’s-”
“More than your resistance has ever had?”
The captain nodded. “Tell your King he should next attack the Birthing Grounds. Doldimar’s arranged to leave for the capital in the next few days. A better time for the assault won’t soon come.”
“But the cliff face!” Little protested. “How are we supposed to counter it?”
“Taking the Birthing Grounds might be a long, costly slog, but your losses would be worth it,” the captain said, grim-faced. “Cut off Doldimar’s supply of Kiraak, and you’ll break his army.”
“But Doldimar makes the Kiraak! This place has nothing to do with his ability to change humans into deathless monsters.”
“Really?” the captain asked. “You think people volunteer for the change? Doldimar needs infrastructure to keep his Harvested populace contained until he can finish processing them. Infrastructure which will take him time to rebuild elsewhere.”
“By which time, Raimie may have taken the throne,” Little mused.
“Indeed.”
They stepped into a narrow crevasse with a single ladder leading to the ceiling far above.
“Your way out. There’s a hatch through the stone at the top, don’t worry.”
Little clasped the captain’s shoulder. “Thank you. For everything. I’ll pass your suggestion along to Raimie and ensure he knows there’s a friendly here.”
“Don’t.” The captain backed away. “I’ve done terrible things for the Dark Lord in order to maintain my cover. At this point, I’m not sure who I’ve served more: the bastard who oppresses Auden or the people trying to overthrow him. Tales of my deeds are sure to have reached Tiro. I don’t deserve to return.
“When your King’s army comes, I won’t fight. I’ll stay with my men in the barracks, but if someone attacks us, as is bound to happen, we’ll defend ourselves. To the last if need be. If we’re left alone, I’ll remand myself and my squad to your King for his judgment. Although if he’s as just as you say, he’ll immediately execute us.”
“He’s also not one to waste resources…” Little began, but he trailed off at the captain’s stern stare. “I’ll do as you ask.”
He gripped a rung, dreading the long climb to the surface.
“Can you…” the captain started, but he quickly stopped.
Little glared over his shoulder at the man.
“Tell Ky I said I’m sorry. I couldn’t keep Ibilfer safe.”
“Will do, Captain. Stay safe now.”
The other man chuckled. “Safe travels, Private.”
Chapter Seven
The role of king is harsh and unforgiving. Impossible even. Your subjects will always find fault with your actions.
-Kinlith, Scholar and Tutor to the future King of Auden
Eledis waited for Raimie at the site where he typically descended from the beams above to join the mortals below. The kid’s insistence on sleeping in such a dangerous location, the ‘only place I can truly be alone’, was nothing but a child grasping at something he hadn’t realized was lost forever.
But that’s what Raimie was: a child. At nineteen years old, he’d begun to display adult affectations and decisions, but those hadn’t yet outweighed the immaturity of his other behaviors. Of course, when one lived as long as Eledis had, most people under the age of forty seemed like children. The circle of his disdain encompassed more than just Raimie.
Considering that, Eledis supposed the kid had done well since their arrival to Auden.
He’d earned his soldiers’ trust, an accomplishment usually much harder than it sounded, but for some reason, Raimie’s open-faced honesty and insistence on self-sacrifice had fiercely bound the men and women to him. He’d killed an Enforcer; a task Eledis was quickly learning most considered impossible. He’d convinced Riadur, a man who hated him, to not only leave him alive but allow his army to camp within the man’s city.
That particular accomplishment had produced the sharpest sting for Eledis. Following the beach battle, he’d conferred with Riadur concerning the possibility o
f quietly removing Raimie from the picture. He hadn’t wanted to kill the kid, only nudge Raimie out of the way in order to obtain a more firmly guiding hand on this expedition’s path. Whatever Raimie had said to Riadur had convinced Tiro’s leader to retract his support of Eledis’ coup.
After defusing Eledis’ small rebellion, Raimie had subsequently taken a fortress Riadur and his eldest son had attempted to capture for years. Eledis had yet to meet Kylorian, but if his small list of successes was anything by which to judge, the boy would prove to be of little consequence. Raimie, on the other hand, had proven he’d a mind for tactics with Da’kul’s capture. He’d shown a glimmer of talent for it with the beach battle, but Da’kul firmly sealed it as fact.
Even understanding what had driven Raimie to suggest they stand firm on the beach, Eledis believed they should have fled before Teron’s army descended on them. Raimie’s plan may have led to the culling of a large chunk of Doldimar’s soldiers, but they’d taken significant losses despite their victory. Considering the soldiers they’d brought from Ada’ir were the only ones upon whom they could rely, his desire to minimize their losses by bolting had been entirely reasonable, a fact Raimie hadn’t fully comprehended as of yet. After all, they’d nowhere else from which to recruit. What would happen when the last of their soldiers’ lives were spent?
As far as Raimie’s popularity among the troops went, Eledis had only recently realized he might have cause for concern regarding its affect on his plans. He’d assumed from the beginning that the child would remain too awkward and socially inept to become anything more than a figurehead, one he could dispose of when the time was right. As it was, Raimie had blossomed in the last year, and the army Eledis and Marcuset had spent a lifetime mobilizing idolized him to the point they already called him King. If this went on…
He’d deal with the problem when it became necessary to do so.
Overall, Eledis was stuck oscillating between pride and disappointment with regards to Raimie’s progress.
A body landed in an explosion of white beside him, and he yelped. The blinding light evaporated, and Raimie mischievously grinned at him. Whatever indecision Eledis may have fought hardened into disapproval, and he frowned.
A King's Caution (The Eternal War Book 2) Page 11
