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

by Brennan C. Adams

  The female pressed her attack with determination, barely giving him enough time to compose his defense, but her skill wasn’t enough to save her. When she overstepped with a blow aimed at his stomach, Keltheryl deflected it and buried his dagger in her eyes, one after the other. She dropped her sword to claw at her face, and he circled to her back before ending her suffering.

  No time to celebrate. Keltheryl joined Kylorian in his fight.

  The other man had performed adequately, finishing the job Keltheryl had begun with the one Overseer. The man breathed, but with his heels’ tendons sliced clean through, he wouldn’t rise anytime soon. The second Overseer continued to plague Kylorian, allowing his prey no openings. Even with Kylorian’s impressive display of skill, the fight’s culmination was already clearly determined.

  Keltheryl blocked a strike coming for Kylorian’s head, yanking the man behind him. The Overseer’s eyes widened at Keltheryl’s interference, and his eyes darted around the cavern, taking in his fallen comrades. His shoulders squared.

  “What the hell, Keltheryl?!” Kylorian demanded.

  “Need you to track the Enforcer who fled. I can more quickly finish this. I’ll catch up.”

  “But…”

  “Do it, Ky!”

  The other man muttered angry curses, but he did as he was told. The Overseer attempted to attack Kylorian as he left, but Keltheryl deflected the man’s throwing knife.

  “Your fight’s with me.”

  The Overseer uncertainly circled him. “Why should I fight you when you’ve easily defeated those stronger than I?” he asked.

  “You shouldn’t,” Keltheryl answered, “but I’ve never known one of your kind to surrender without a fight.”

  “Because surrender means death. What else can we Kiraak expect from those we hunt, torture, and kill?”

  The man had fallen far into Corruption’s embrace and subsequent lies. He probably believed all he deserved was a good death on a better man’s sword, the time until then spent distracted from pain by whatever revels the Dark Lord provided. The Overseer didn’t understand how forgiving humanity could be when given a chance. Could. Vengefulness was also in their nature.

  Should Keltheryl reveal Raimie’s ability? And why not? Giving the man an option other than execution would soothe his conscience if he must kill him.

  “My friend can take Corruption from you. He can make you human again. Those you’ve hurt in the past might be more inclined to forgive you if they know Daevetch holds no control on you.”

  The Overseer considered, muscles locked by the private war raging in his head. “I’d like to be the first Kiraak you’ve known to surrender,” he announced. “To stop my body from attacking you, however, you’ll need to render me unconscious. You haven’t killed my Enforcer, and her command to eliminate my Dark Lord’s enemies remains firmly embedded.”

  “Are you sure?” Keltheryl asked. “Raimie tells me the process of clearing Daevetch from the body is rather unpleasant.”

  The Overseer harshly laughed. “It can’t be any worse than what Doldimar did to make me Kiraak.”

  “Very well.”

  Keltheryl shot Ele at the Overseer’s eyes, inducing sleep. The way the man collapsed, it was rather miraculous he avoided landing on his sword. Time to deal with the last Overseer.

  “What about you?” Keltheryl asked, standing over the incapacitated Kiraak.

  “Kill me,” the man gritted. “I assume this ‘process’ won’t heal me. I can’t live a cripple.”

  Keltheryl could share the stories of Aramar and countless others he’d met who’d persevered through their infirmities and lived full lives, but if the man’s mind was made up… He ensured death was quick.

  Reinforcing the Ele holding his prisoner in slumber, Keltheryl chased after Kylorian. One Enforcer remained.

  Chapter Ten

  Diary,

  I’ve had the time of my life today, but Kinlith is furious with me. All in all, an even trade.

  I’ve kept my promise. Every soul-crushing lesson, every mind-numbing field trip. I’ve endured them all, but once in a while, I need a break from the burden of ‘crown prince’. And that’s where Nebailie comes in.

  My brother has also inherited the family’s sense of mischief, and he uses that mischief to torment all who scorn him, the number of whom is disproportionately high.

  Today, we focused our attentions upon our tutor. A woman has visited him many times in the last few weeks, and it’s clear Kinlith fancies her. When she came to our classroom today, our tutor was out on an errand. While she waited for him, we plied her with tales of Kinlith’s ‘virtues’, her discomfort growing with each one, and by the time he returned, she was distraught. As icing on the cake, we dropped a spider down the back of her dress while he attempted to explain, and she fled, shrieking.

  I’ve never seen Kinlith’s face so red before, nor have I had the pleasure of leading him on such a merry chase.

  I’ll have to beg forgiveness from both Kinlith and his lady friend come the morn, but it was worth it. Nebailie and I laughed so hard I believe he may have forgotten, for a time, how much of an outcast he is.

  Poor Kinlith will have to endure many more days of torture if it means my brother will smile.

  Focusing in this place was impossible. Every step Raimie took, he struggled to break from the drag of Daevetch’s touch. The dark energy had been heavily utilized here, and the effects of that use whispered temptation to him. It would be so easy to draw from Daevetch, destroy the Kiraak and Conscripted, and never let the power go. Perhaps he’d take just a little, enough to quiet his screaming need…

  “Are we lost?” Hadrion asked.

  Raimie started. He’d completely forgotten about the teenager and their target. The struggle to merely place one foot before the other took precedence over every other goal. For all he knew, they could have circled the barracks’ entirety by now.

  “Hang on,” he mumbled.

  He squinted at the sun and the trebuchets peeking over the cliffs’ summit. Hadrion was right. They were lost.

  Dim, can I dull what I feel here? Raimie asked. It’s distracting.

  “I honestly don’t know. Most of mine enjoy places like this. They never try to block it out.”

  Dim looked positively vibrant, his nondescript visage glowing with health. Bright, on the other hand, had wilted, a sickly aura hanging over him.

  “Have you tried accessing my whole?” he asked.

  The splinter made a good suggestion. If anything could combat this miasma of dark energy, it would be Ele. Raimie drew the light into his body, making his skin faintly glow, and Daevetch’s lure faded a minuscule amount. The microscopic diminishment was better than nothing.

  “Sir, is something the matter?” Oswin asked. “You’re acting strangely, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Kiraak are leaving the barracks.”

  Godsdamnit! Of course they were! His people had probably finished their descent into the crater, leaving a skeleton crew to guard their siege machines. Without the threat of plummeting boulders hanging over their heads, those assigned to defend the Birthing Grounds would emerge to complete their job.

  Raimie dragged Hadrion into concealing shadows where Oswin had already retreated.

  “Are we lost?” the spy whispered so only his charge could hear.

  Raimie nodded, worriedly watching the Kiraak sprinting by their hiding spot. “I can’t focus,” he breathed. “Daevetch is thickly spread here. It demands my attention.”

  “Will it prove a problem?”

  “It already has, has it not?” Raimie shook his head. “I think I can control it, but maybe you should lead for now.”

  “What makes you think I know where to go?” Oswin hissed.

  “You’re the spymaster of my Hand, for Alouin’s sake! I figured you could-”

  “Is that Little?” Hadrion asked.

  He pointed at a clump of Conscripted pushing against the Kiraak, and yes, the small man prodding
them along looked familiar.

  “Oswin, can you-?”

  The spy, however, was already moving to intercept. Hooking his elbow around Little’s neck, he ruffled the smaller man’s hair. They exchanged words, and the group diverted to where Raimie and Hadrion hid.

  Not nearly enough space lay in their hiding spot for the men Little had corralled, forcing most to form an awkwardly obvious barrier at its mouth. Thank Alouin for the Kiraak’s all-consuming obsession with violence, otherwise, they might break from their rush to battle in order to investigate.

  “Who are these people, Little?” Raimie asked, eyes darting to the mass of unfamiliar faces around him. How many of these were guaranteed to be friendly?

  “Defectors from Doldimar’s army, sir, and they’d like to prove their newfound loyalty by providing an escort to the center.”

  Before Raimie could decide whether he should trust people who’d change allegiance so quickly, one of those men came forward.

  “Is this your King, Private?”

  “Captain, I present to you Raimie, rightful claimant to the Audish throne by both birth and foretelling,” Little answered.

  “Are you aware he’s glowing?” the captain asked.

  Little scoffed, but Raimie was the one who answered. “That would be the Ele energy I’m holding. Is that a problem… captain, is it? You have a name to go with the rank?”

  “It’s simply captain, and I don’t know if we’ve a problem. At the moment, I’d say no, but that could change. I hardly know you.”

  “Fair enough,” Raimie conceded. “As long as you’re aware I don’t trust you either, we should get along famously.”

  “Fantastic!” Oswin exclaimed. “We’re all aware of our generous unease of one another. Can we move on toward our objective, or will we stand around posturing much longer?”

  “We’re going, spymaster.” Little rolled his eyes. “We’ll lead the way since you seem to have lost yours. Amazing feat given how clear my instructions were.”

  “There were mitigating circumstances,” Oswin grumbled, firmly avoiding looking at Raimie.

  “Whatever you say. Come with me.”

  They moved from shadows, and the defectors surrounded the three out-of-place men in their midst.

  “You didn’t tell me your King was a primeancer, Private,” the captain whispered.

  “It didn’t seem relevant at the time. I was more concerned with returning to Tiro. What’s the matter?” Little replied.

  “The only primeancers I’ve ever known have been crazy bastards.”

  “Yeah but they’ve belonged specifically to Daevetch,” Little protested. “Raimie commands Ele and Daevetch.”

  “Both?!”

  “I can hear you two, you know,” Raimie mildly interjected.

  They shut up, and he gladly kept what little focus he could on his surroundings, on the deadly, screaming flood of Kiraak yet to slow, and on the turns they took.

  A fence soon broke the monotony of slapped together barracks. Beyond the barrier, an average house was the only structure to occupy the yard contained within. Despite Little’s warning, the house’s normality took Raimie off guard. He’d expected a place dedicated to the torturous process of forcibly transforming humans to Kiraak would look more imposing, more sinister.

  As Little had said, lumps littered the yard, piles of flesh and cloth. Making quick work of the lock on the gate, Raimie flung it wide. Immediately, the lumps struggled to stand and flee through the gate.

  “Wait!” Raimie shouted. “We’re here to free you, but you need to stay put for a while longer. You may have seen the flying boulders earlier? They were the work of my people, and my people are currently fighting those who’ve held you captive. This yard is the safest place you can be right now!”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” a gaunt woman declared.

  She shoved past Raimie, stumbling into the barracks’ perimeter. Oswin stopped him from pursuing.

  “You warned her, sir. It’s her choice to ignore that warning.”

  A short trickle of captives followed the first woman, but the majority heeded Raimie’s words and laid back down.

  “Little, you and your friends stay here,” Raimie instructed. “Watch for Kiraak and keep them away, although I don’t think they’ll stay bloodthirsty much longer. They should become docile once Keltheryl eliminates the Enforcers, and when that happens, I want you to join the army in herding them into their barracks. I’ll get to them as quickly as I can.”

  “Whatever you say, sir.” Little tossed a loose salute.

  He began barking orders at his group of deserters, and Raimie chuckled at the sight of those weathered men flinching from the small man’s gruffness.

  “Oswin, can you keep a watch for me?” he murmured. “I don’t trust these ‘deserters’.”

  “I think that would be wise.”

  “What, no quips about forcing the bodyguard to leave his charge’s side?” Raimie laughed.

  “If I can’t keep a threat from that house, then I either don’t deserve to be your bodyguard or the threat is more than I can handle,” Oswin replied.

  “It was a…” Rubbing his eyes, Raimie sighed. “Come on, Hadrion. Let’s see what this house of horrors holds for us.”

  They passed several clumps of captives while marching toward the building. The state of the people languishing in the yard dismayed Raimie. They were thin as a rail, bones straining to escape the skin which contained them.

  Raimie had learned from Tiro’s citizens that low-level Kiraak were the last of Doldimar’s military machine to receive rations. Starvation couldn’t kill the wretched creatures, so why would the Dark Lord waste resources on them? But why would he refuse them to those yet to become Kiraak? Was it simply cruelty for cruelty’s sake?

  Begging hands reached for him, and he roughly pushed through them. He was aware he could do nothing for these people yet, but that knowledge didn’t stop their pleading cries from tearing at his heart. With gritted teeth, he waded on.

  A large perimeter absent the pathetic humans ringed the house. Uneasily crossing to the front door, they stepped inside.

  Immediately, Raimie stiffened, and Hadrion gagged. Someone had made changes since Little’s visit. The peaceful foyer was gone, furniture and decorations replaced by stacked bodies. Each one bore a mortal wound, but breathing echoed in the tiny room.

  In the exact center, a man waited in a chair, hugging his guts in his lap to keep them from spilling further.

  “You are Raimie?” he gasped.

  “I am,” Raimie somehow managed to answer evenly.

  “We’ve a message from our Dark Lord. Will you hear it?”

  “Do I have a choice?” Raimie asked.

  The man chuckled, his insides quivering disturbingly with each shake.

  “You’re perceptive. I’ll give you that.” He took a deep breath.

  “Raimie of the ancient line of Audish kings,” intoned a host of voices, the words echoing strangely as each person in the room pronounced them differently, “welcome to Auden. Please accept my gift to you. I hope you’ll enjoy the task I’ve left.

  “These are the men and women you failed to properly dispatch during your battle facing that incompetent fool, Teron. I thought you’d like to finish what you started.

  “Consider this the first of many such gifts. Maybe in time, you’ll understand what I’ve done for you here. I hope eventually you’ll learn how useless Ele is and drop both it and E in favor of joining my side of the War.

  “With some measure of respect, I, Doldimar, Dark Lord of Auden, greet you.”

  Horror. All he knew was horror. Horror the Dark Lord had kept these Kiraak, these people, in misery simply to deliver a message. Horror Doldimar knew his name, his abilities. Horror the bastard could think there was a chance in hell he’d join him.

  “What does he expect you to do?” Hadrion whispered.

  “Deliver Mercy,” Raimie replied, hefting Silverblade.

&
nbsp; Starting with the man in the chair, he moved around the room’s boundary. At first, Hadrion merely watched, but he helped with the task soon enough.

  Many of the Kiraak thanked them before they separated their heads from their shoulders, tears of relief streaking dirty faces. By the time they’d finished, blood caked every inch of their skin. Raimie’s uniform was completely ruined, and he itched to tear it off. Unfortunately, decorum wouldn’t allow that, so the soaked fabric remained pasted to his body, making his skin crawl.

  “I didn’t think the first Kiraak I killed would be helpless and begging for death,” Hadrion muttered.

  “This is war,” Raimie replied. “It’s not glorious. It’s people thrown into battle, often times for a cause they’ll never understand, and forced to fight for survival. It’s despicable acts like this, designed to test your enemy’s resolve and instill doubt. Are you sure you’re ready to participate?”

  “I already have, haven’t I?” Hadrion answered, lip trembling.

  “Fair enough.” Raimie clapped the teenager’s shoulder. “If it helps, death was the kindest gift we could have bequeathed these people. If I’d made them human once more, not only would they have endured terrible pain during the process but they’d have perished from their wounds anyway.”

  What had he done to this teenager? Raimie had known Hadrion’s past, known Riadur had rescued him from the Birthing Grounds when he was a child. He’d assumed that history was why the teenager had insisted on tagging along. When Keltheryl had suggested Hadrion should come with them, Raimie had acquiesced, if only because he’d hoped the teenager would gain some closure during the experience. He hadn’t meant to bestow a new nightmare on the boy. Maybe he’d made a terrible mistake. Maybe Hadrion had been too young to appreciate the full weight of what he’d asked for…

  “I know.” Hadrion nodded. “Doesn’t mean I don't wish for a better solution.”

  Or maybe the teenager was more grown-up than Raimie gave him credit for. Sheathing Silverblade, he winced at the thought of how much blood he’d need the scour from it later.

  “Let me know when you’re ready.”

  Hadrion sat cross-legged in the midst of corpses. “You go on,” he said. “I’ll catch up in a bit.”