What did Oswin know? Raimie could continue! So many tasks required his attention. He couldn’t afford to rest…
The unconscious man groaned himself half awake, drunkenly attempting to stand before his legs gave out.
“I see your point,” Raimie conceded, “however, one more item requires my attention before I can retire.”
“As you say, sir,” Oswin grumbled.
In the single day since the battle, the Birthing Grounds had undergone a change. Granted, Raimie hadn’t seen the place before the fight had begun, but he knew from Little’s report that, under Doldimar’s control, very little order had been imposed on those garrisoned here.
Now, some sense of purpose drove most everyone Raimie encountered. He couldn’t know each person’s particular task, but he assumed they followed goals similar to those undertaken when they’d captured Da’kul: clearing the caves of enemies, assessing requisitioned supplies, raising defenses, and in general, preparing for a counter-attack.
Additionally, Raimie had tasked several platoons with guarding the mindless Kiraak yet to experience his ministrations. None of the formerly hostile monsters attempted to leave the barracks into which they’d been herded, but no one wanted to leave such an enormous number of near deathless, former enemies unwatched.
Then, came those whose sense of purpose had been robbed from them. The occasional man or woman aimlessly ambled through streams of soldiers, forcing the more consciously aware to dodge around them. Raimie recognized many of the lost, although they looked strange without black markings obscuring their features.
He’d ordered that the recently reverted humans be allowed full access to the Birthing Grounds. Once they recovered, they were welcome to come and go as they pleased. If so inclined, they could even depart to the wild reaches of Doldimar’s domain. The soldiers under Raimie’s command were to keep a close eye on them, but unless they attempted to do harm, they were allowed the freedom so long denied them.
The problem was, most of them didn’t know what to do with it. They wandered in a daze, refusing to speak or interact, and at times, hostilely rejected the presence of those attempting to help them. Raimie’s people had learned to simply let them be. Their despondency was another issue he’d need to tackle once his brain wasn’t quite so muddled.
Khele- Keltheryl watched Raimie’s approach. He leaned against the out of the way barrack where they’d stored their temporary prisoner. Raimie’s friend had yet to lose his intense, otherworldly look, the one which pierced through his pile of excuses and saw the truth behind his delay.
“Are you ready?” Keltheryl asked.
“Let’s wake him up,” Raimie sighed.
They’d dumped Kylorian in the comfiest pile of rags they could find. A much fluffier mattress had been available for use on the house’s second floor, but after he’d finished with the near-Kiraak in that awful downstairs room, Raimie hadn’t wanted to spend another moment in that building.
The barrack’s interior was near pitch black with shadows, and Raimie drew Ele to combat the darkness. The rush of peace and order calmed his jumbled thoughts, remnants of sanity creeping back like a wounded animal.
He’d used so much Daevetch in the last day, so much, and the temptation to take another sip dragged at his focus even more intensely than when he’d first descended into this pit of suffering and death. The Ele he trapped in his hands only barely held it at bay.
Shadows fled from the summoned light, revealing the two, slack forms slumped on the dirt floor. Kylorian’s chest rose and fell in an even rhythm, his peaceful slumber undisturbed by his brother’s body lying beside him.
They’d wrapped Hadrion in spare cloth, his youthful face robbed of life and the jagged gash across his throat too much to bear. Raimie wasn’t sure how much good waking Kylorian next to the source of his grief would do, but he’d relegated the task of tending the brothers to Keltheryl. His friend must have had an excellent reason for placing them together.
Keltheryl sucked a light strand from Kylorian’s form, and after a moment, the sleeping man mumbled and stirred. They gave him time to wake with hands on hilts, ready to throw light or gloom at the slightest provocation.
“Hello, you two!” Kylorian yawned. “Has the assault begun? I had the most terrible nightmare Hadrion snuck into our group and joined us…”
Raimie tried to keep horror from his face, but he must have failed miserably because Kylorian broke off, holding stock still.
“It wasn’t a dream, was it?” he asked.
Raimie shook his head, unable to form words with the lump in his throat. He could almost hear a groan of straining metal as Kylorian turned his head to look at the bundle beside him. He reached out to touch the cloth, but his hand only hovered, trembling. Slumping, his questing hands limply fell into his lap.
“What will you do with me now?” he asked. “I tried to kill you. You’re fully within your rights to exact punishment. Is that why I’m here, isolated from prying eyes?”
“You’re here on the off chance you decide to make another attempt on my life,” Raimie answered. “If you don’t, I planned to send you home with Hadrion.”
“You’d let me go, knowing I blame you for my brother’s death?” Kylorian sharply glanced at him. “What if I dedicate my life to destroying yours? Is it not foolish to leave a potential enemy alive?”
“I’ll deal with the complication if it comes,” Raimie answered with a shrug, “but I don’t think you’ll make that choice. We agreed Auden’s citizens would choose who rules them, and I refuse to believe they’d select a man who’d murder his competition. You want the throne too badly to endanger your chances at it.”
Kylorian laughed, a jagged edge as sharp as a knife to it. “You don’t know the Audish people or me very well. May I go?”
Raimie stiffly nodded, and Kylorian brushed past him, pausing in the threshold.
“I don’t look forward to informing Ren that two of her brothers have died in as many weeks, but the pleasure of placing the blame for one at your feet should mitigate any discomfort I might feel.”
He left the two in the Ele illuminated barrack, and Raimie buried his face in his hands. He hadn’t considered Ren.
“That didn’t go very well,” Keltheryl commented.
“Went about as well as I expected,” Raimie replied. “What about you? How are you handling… everything?” He vaguely waved a hand.
“Better than him, that’s for sure,” Keltheryl replied with forced joviality. "After all, I only failed in my mission to eliminate the Enforcers. I allowed the woman who killed Hadrion to escape my clutches. Kylorian never had a chance to-"
His friend coughed, and Raimie got the message loud and clear. He wouldn’t pry further.
“I don’t mean to sound cruel, my friend,” Keltheryl protested. “If you need to talk, we can talk.”
“No, thank you,” Raimie said. “I don’t believe that would be wise. I- No, thank you.”
“In that case, if you don’t mind, I plan find a private corner where I can release the shape change for a time,” Keltheryl said. “Can you avoid trouble for a day? I’ll be out of commission until tomorrow evening at the earliest.”
“My plan for the evening involves finding an isolated spot and crashing for the night. Hopefully, trouble can find someone else to torment while I sleep.”
Keltheryl chuckled, his mirth cutting off in a cough as he cleared his throat. “What about the body?” he asked.
“Oswin will see it’s returned to Tiro with Kylorian, isn’t that right?” Raimie called.
“As you say, sir.” The answer drifted through the door. “I’ll see they receive the swiftest transport.”
“In that case, I hope you rest well.” Keltheryl abandoned him with the corpse.
Should Raimie sit? Should he allow the roiling pot of grief and guilt to boil over? Dare he shove a lid atop it, hoping for it to cool on its own? He didn’t want to speak the words, to unburden weakness to an empty barrack
and vacant remains. Better, he thought, to keep them packed in a kernel sized box in his soul’s pit.
But what if future circumstances discovered the clasp to open the box?
Raimie folded to the ground beside Hadrion. “I don’t understand why you did it,” he murmured. “We barely knew one another, only held a few passing conversations and shared a single night on the town, but I could sense the potential for a great friendship between us. Why did you have to ruin it?”
He refused to look at the body, searching for the words he needed to say. Once spoken aloud, perhaps he could find a way, not necessarily to move on, but to redirect to the big picture, to focus on something other than this inexplicable, gaping hole in his heart.
“Your decision was incredibly selfish and stupid. Nyl and I had control of the situation despite what it might have looked like,” Raimie forced the words out. “That’s not what you saw, though, was it? To you, the person foretold to destroy your lifelong enemy was about to willingly throw himself on that foe’s mercy.
“The situation must have seemed like it was your fault, like you’d begun a tragedy which would only lead to suffering and death. I’ve been there. I know exactly how that feels.” Blinking, Raimie swallowed hard. “You only did what you thought was required to fix the situation, and I suppose I can understand the reasoning which led you to such a desperate conclusion, but did you have to leave me with the burden of explaining your death to Ren?”
He broke off. More clamored to be unleashed, but indulging the urge wouldn’t help any more than the words he’d already spoken.
“Goodbye, Hadrion.”
Oswin followed from the barrack without a word, thank Alouin. Raimie wasn’t sure what he’d do if the spymaster tried to offer comfort. Bad enough the other man had observed his moment of weakness. He couldn’t take pity on top of that.
It was a short trip to the caves, and Raimie plunged into the cliff face without hesitation.
“In here, sir.” Oswin gently guided him into a side room. “Will you rest now?”
“Seeing as my body needs it, yes,” Raimie replied, unbuckling Silverblade and leaning it against the wall. “Please make sure nothing and nobody wakes me unless it’s of dire consequence.”
“I will, sir.”
The spy drifted over the threshold and out of view, and Raimie collapsed into bed.
His whirling thoughts, however, wouldn’t allow his brain to slide into slumber. He lay motionless, staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours before giving up on naturally reaching sleep. When he stirred with the intention of returning to his duties, however, Oswin stuck a hand around the corner, tossing something his way.
“From Keltheryl, sir.”
The glass-bottled sleeping tincture was the most beautiful sight he’d beheld all day. Hastily, Raimie unstopped and downed it before settling in once more.
* * *
“You have been avoiding me,” Nylion stated when Raimie snapped into their mind space, the only place where they could talk. “Why?”
“Well, hello to you too,” Raimie replied. “I’ve been a bit busy directing a war effort against a big, bad overlord, or haven’t you noticed? With so many people begging for my time, I haven’t had any leftover to deal with my personal shit.”
“Do not lie to me!” Nylion boomed. “We are one and the same! I know when you skirt the truth!”
“Then you should also know why I’ve avoided you. Why are you so angry?” Raimie snapped. “Ever since we stepped foot in Auden, you’ve been nothing but irritable. Why?”
“Have you forgotten our goal?!” Nylion asked, sweeping a hand toward the empty landscape. “Our memories lie in that barrenness, locked beyond our grasp, and you have done NOTHING to help us access them!”
Raimie rolled his eyes. Indeed, there they were. Far on the horizon: a locked chest and a monster of legend to guard it.
“I’ve learned how to pick a lock,” he protested.
“Then, why have you not followed through with opening our treasure vault of memory?!” Nylion nearly screamed the question.
Raimie walked away from him. He couldn’t handle this argument, not after his recently finished day.
Normally, he’d do whatever he must to ameliorate his other half. He owed Nylion and did everything he could to repay him, but curiously, he turned his back on this interaction, a behavior which wasn’t like him. Not like him at all. In fact, it was the opposite of every natural inclination, but today, a breaking point had been met. He wouldn’t let Nylion bully him into something he didn’t want to do.
No more conflict. No more disappointed friends or broken promises. He’d abandoned them in the waking world. He was here for rest.
Nylion yanked him around. “What is wrong with you?” he demanded. “Have you suddenly grown a spine?”
“I’m tired, Nyl,” Raimie answered. “You, better than most, know the wounds today inflicted. Do you think I have the patience to endure your berating?
He couldn’t tell exactly how Nylion reacted to this explanation because the world chose that moment to blur. His other half’s features briefly turned to fuzzy mush before snapping into focus.
“Someone attempts to wake us,” Nylion grunted. “Lucky you. You will not be permitted the time for an explanation tonight, but I expect one the next time you visit, and that visit had better come soon, heart of my heart!”
“What are you talking-”
* * *
“-about?” Raimie sleepily asked.
“I’m sorry to wake you, sir, but I’ve stumbled into one of those times of dire consequence you mentioned,” Oswin said.
Removing his hand from his charge’s shoulder, the spy gave him space. Raimie swung his legs over the bedside, stretching.
“What’s the problem?” he asked with a yawn. “And how long have I slept?”
“It’s morning, sir. You acquired a full night’s rest for once, which is the good news I suppose,” Oswin grimaced.
“What’s the bad?”
“An unknown army gathered on the ridge overnight, and my scouts aren’t sure it’s friendly.”
Any sleep which might have clung to Raimie vanished, and he was on his feet before he registered the action.
“You’re only waking me now?!” he exclaimed, reaching for Silverblade.
“Marcuset didn’t think it wise to deprive you of sleep until we needed you. He can handle a hostile army by himself,” Oswin explained. “When said army sends an envoy to initiate negotiations is when he wakes the King.”
Raimie paused in his rush out the door. “Negotiations?” Holding his arms to the side, he examined his uniform’s stiff, blood-soaked cloth. He could only imagine how the rest of him appeared. “Godsdamn it! I’m a mess!” he whispered under his breath. “I can’t meet an envoy like this.”
“It’s a good thing I brought you a change of clothes, then.” Oswin gestured to the neatly folded uniform beside Raimie’s bed. “You can sponge the dirt and grime off at your wash basin, but I agree we can’t do much about your face. Those elephant ears!”
“Get out so I can change!” Raimie growled.
With an elaborate bow and a teasing grin, Oswin allowed his charge time to make himself presentable.
Removing his ruined uniform brought more relief than Raimie had expected. Too busy and then exhausted to attempt it since the fight, he’d almost forgotten whose blood stiffened the fabric. The dried, brown remnants which crusted his skin left him trembling, and he hurried to the wash basin, sloshing its contents in his haste to cleanse his body. The water was ice, the nip of spring present even in this enclosed place. He hissed but made himself continue, teeth chattering before he’d finished. Donning his emblem-less uniform once more, he reveled in its warmth before hastily retrieving Silverblade and his various other weapons. Raimie called the spy inside.
“How do I look?” he asked.
Oswin squinted. “Decent,” he replied. “May I?” He vaguely gestured at Raimie’s fac
e.
Upon obtaining permission, the spy used his side knife to shave the stubble sprouting over Raimie’s cheeks, chin, and upper lip. He also trimmed his charge’s hair, although he left the strands around his temples long in an attempt to disguise the inordinately large size of Raimie’s ears. When Oswin stepped back, he made an appreciative noise at the back of his throat.
“That good, huh?” Raimie asked.
“You actually look reputable, sir.”
“Thanks, I think. Let’s go see what the envoy wants.”
Oswin tossed him a hard biscuit on their way from the caves. It was a standard soldier’s breakfast, and Raimie couldn’t help a desire for something cooked over a fire instead.
The simple breakfast reminded his stomach of how long it had been since he’d last partaken of any sustenance, and it growled. Hard and unsatisfying it may be, but at least the biscuit would quiet his hunger pangs.
The cave where he’d slept had been chosen because of its close location to the stair Raimie had popped from stone. If, by some harrowing happenstance, they needed to flee the Birthing Grounds, escape for Oswin’s charge was easily within reach. Typical bodyguard logic.
Raimie stopped at the floating stair’s base.
“I can’t believe it’s still here,” he murmured, hands on hips and head tilted back.
“Did you think I lied to you?” Dim asked beside Raimie. “It will persist as long as you resolve for the whole to maintain it.”
I know, Raimie mumbled in his head, but it’s one thing to hear how long Daevetch can last and another to see it in action.
“I’m getting really sick of people assuming I mislead them simply because my whole’s associated with deception,” Dim grumbled.
Snorting at the splinter’s frustration, Raimie started up the stair. I’d have had the same doubts if Bright had been the one to tell me.
“What?!” Bright exclaimed, and Dim snickered.
I trust both of you to a certain degree, but let’s face it. You’re dogs on a very short leash, one held by forces of nature which only seek to manipulate those of us who live in reality. You insist you’ve a separate purpose from Ele and Daevetch, but I’ve yet to hear it. Without that knowledge, I’ll never fully place my trust in you.
A King's Caution (The Eternal War Book 2) Page 20
