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

by Brennan C. Adams

“How much have you had to drink?” he gasped.

  Kheled tried to right himself but ended up knocking glasses to the floor instead. Someone stopped his desperate flailing, and hands dragged him into a sitting position, restraining him from another tumble.

  “Are you all right?” Aramar distantly asked.

  “Peachy,” Kheled groaned. “The tavern spins like a top, I’ve no control of my actions, and I can’t feel my legs. Gods, I haven’t been drunk in ages, so thanks for that at least. What about you?”

  “I’m standing and holding someone else upright after almost a year confined to a chair. At the moment, the best phrase to describe me is ‘on top of the world’.” Aramar’s response floated through the haze.

  “How wonderful for you,” Kheled replied. “Our business is concluded. Depart Tiro and keep away from Raimie. Pray to Alouin your son changes his mind about never wanting to see your face again.”

  The grip which held him erect tightened and released, but Kheled managed to catch himself before his face planted into the tabletop once more.

  Maybe words of thanks were imparted before Aramar left, but if so, Kheled didn’t hear them. The magnetic force which had plagued him throughout the cycles with its insistence on immediately healing his injuries had decided to take its time with the paralysis, but he’d expected the delay. He’d looked forward to testing his newly recovered ability to become inebriated while waiting for the reticent healing wave, but apparently, such an experiment wouldn’t be required. Aramar had seen to it for him.

  Floating in a drunken stupor, he occasionally attempted to move his legs, laughing when they didn’t respond. He also tried to transition to Keltheryl, but the enthusiastic, optimistic, human persona brutally clashed with the maelstrom of fury churning in his gut. Until he could dispel the storm, he hoped he could remember to answer to another name. Rumors would unquestionably swirl among those who knew Keltheryl, the change in his personality would be so vast, but perhaps the others could chalk the transformation up to a fugue acquired while fighting in the Birthing Grounds. Yeah. That could work…

  He desperately dragged cupped hands through an ocean of blood, clawing his way to the surface. Ignoring the bodies of family and friends which clogged the rusty liquid, he focused on the pinpoint of bright red above, but every stroke he pulled, it retreated a step further away. His lungs begged for something, ANYTHING, to fill them, and while he fought the impulse as long as he could, he eventually gave in and began drowning on blood…

  Someone poked his shoulder, and Kheled snorted awake. Another nightmare.

  They’d picked up in frequency since Da’kul. Over the winter, he’d experienced a break from them, and the release from a world of death had come as such a relief. In the last week, however, nights spent flailing in loved ones’ blood had called on him three times. Soon, sleep would gift him nothing but the memory of violence and dearly loved faces slackened by death. Yet another delight to add to his growing assortment of misfortunes.

  “Surry, Keltheryl, sir, but I’m closing,” Sigemond informed him. “Yu all right? Were thraeshing.”

  “What time is it?” Kheled asked, rubbing his face.

  “Urly hours of the murn, sir.”

  Nodding, Kheled yawned. He ruffled his hair into some semblance of order before pushing on the table to stand.

  “Let me get out of your hai-”

  His legs refused to support his weight, and he collapsed to the ground, his chin smashing the table on the way. Groaning, he tried and failed to rise.

  “Damn it, really?”

  How could the paralysis still claim him? Hours had come and gone since the transferal!

  “…Are yu all right, Keltheryl?” Sigemond asked. “Shuld I get someone for yu?”

  “Raimie!” Kheled snapped. “Get Raimie! Please.”

  “Shuld I help you-?”

  “Please, just… go find my friend!”

  Sigemond dashed from the tavern, the door slamming behind him.

  “Creation!” Kheled roared once it was safe to call for the splinter. “Get your ass out here!”

  The splinter popped into existence, an expression of such surliness on his face it tipped Kheled’s anger over. He began to see red.

  “There’s no need for such anger, Eria-”

  “DON’T CALL ME THAT!” Kheled thundered.

  The pronouncement reverberated in the empty tavern, shaking bottles on shelves, and shock compelled the fine film of red over Kheled’s vision to recede. Anger continued to simmer, but he could control it, rather than the other way ‘round.

  “Fine,” Creation agreed. “What’s the problem, Champion?”

  “My legs are the problem,” Kheled answered in the slow tone typically reserved for the dimmest of children. “Am I stuck like this?”

  He couldn’t say the word, couldn’t believe it might be a possible future, but it echoed in his head. Crippled. Would he be paralyzed for life?

  “I told you the whole was abandoning you,” Creation matched Kheled’s tone. “Did you not believe me?”

  “Just answer the damn question,” Kheled snarled.

  “You… you…” Creation growled, tossing his hands in the air. “Yes, that which keeps you alive has become pickier about what it heals.”

  Well, shit. He hadn’t considered the ‘perfect health’ trait might fail on him. It was so constant, and yes, at times, so annoying, he’d long ago taken it for granted.

  Wait. Did that mean… Could he die now? Where was his saber?

  He pulled back from overwhelming eagerness. Even if he could finally move on from this plane of existence, he’d too many responsibilities here. He must ensure Raimie retained the necessary skills to protect himself, and he’d made a promise to Arivor. Kheled wouldn’t allow Daevetch to continue manipulating his old friend just because Ele had retracted its claws from him.

  And… he didn’t want to die. Seizing an easy solution to his curse seemed short-sighted. A better way than death must exist for ending the cycle. He’d search for it until it yielded to him.

  Which meant he must uncover how to heal the paralysis he’d willingly taken from Aramar.

  “Pull from me,” Creation sighed. “I’ll help you bend reality so you can retrieve enough of the whole for your purposes.”

  “We’ve spent way too much time together.” Kheled smirked. “You shouldn’t be able to read my thoughts like that.”

  “Just do it, you arrogant snot.”

  Kheled obliged. He didn’t bother to tease at Ele. He simply took what was rightfully his, infusing his body with it.

  Creation choked and gagged, and the gates held open a moment longer. Then, they abruptly slammed closed, jarring Kheled and cutting off his access, but he’d stolen enough. He hoped.

  Balm the body with Preservation’s power to jumpstart the healing process, or at least, that was the idea. Kheled could claim no experience with this particular Ele application and only had a sample size of one, so he couldn’t be sure it would work. He’d have to hope, trusting in Creation’s eons long experience.

  So wrapped in Ele was he that he’d failed to ensure Creation’s wellbeing. With difficulty, Kheled split his awareness, one part to firmly hold Ele to him and one to monitor his constant shadow. He almost lost what he’d stolen at the sight of the splinter.

  Creation’s form flickered and wavered, his body distorting in weird and wild ways. His features stretched, the edges disappearing, and his fingertips pinched and vanished. The view reminded Kheled of watching the splinter pop from existence but in slow motion

  Come on, buddy, don’t heed the whole’s call yet. Stay here with me.

  He reached for the splinter, and Creation struggled to clasp Kheled’s hand with his own. Kheled marveled at the sensation of physical touch, and then-

  White light blossomed on his legs, but tingling agony accompanied its normally soothing presence as nerves thought long dead jolted to life.

  Kheled screamed, and Creation wailed al
ongside him, flickering and flashing until it hurt to look at him, and then-

  Ele retreated like a wounded dog from them both. Kheled immediately began vigorously rubbing his legs to soothe lingering pins and needles.

  Coughing, Creation gasped, grabbing at his neck in terror. “What is this?” he asked. “Is this breathing? Why do I need to breathe?”

  Kheled shot an annoyed look at Creation which changed to concern at how distressed and confused the splinter appeared. He slid closer, legs too numb to stand.

  “There, there,” he said, patting Creation’s back.

  Which he could feel.

  “What the-?”

  Kheled poked Creation in the face, and the splinter swatted his hand away, rubbing the offended spot with a glare.

  “That… hurt?” Creation said. “What in the name of the whole is wrong with me?”

  Kheled chuckled, a laugh which morphed into a cackle and ended with full-throated, body-consuming mirth.

  “Welcome to the ranks of the living!” he gasped.

  Raimie chose that moment to burst through the tavern’s door, and the laughter Kheled had thought as intense and vigorous as it could get doubled in violence. Tipping over, he hit the floor, clutching his stomach. Gods, it hurt.

  “Alouin, Khel! What’s wrong?” Raimie asked.

  “I’ve joined you fleshy mortals! That’s what’s wrong!” Creation screeched and gasped, hand flying to his neck. “Ouch! Is this pain? How do you people stand it?! And how long must I maintain this air intake?”

  “Um… it never stops?” Raimie replied.

  “How do you lot endure this on a daily basis?” Creation murmured, more to himself than anything else.

  “Wait until you need to eat. Partaking of food is rather pleasant, but the experience which comes a few hours afterward…” Kheled informed him, suppressing a grin.

  Creation’s look of horror was worth it. Worth the cycles of nagging and monitoring. Worth every instance where the splinter had compelled him to murder his best friend.

  “I don’t know how this happened, but hopefully, we can help you fix it,” Raimie said, ruining Kheled’s good mood. “Bright, Dim, do you have any thoughts?”

  “Why would I care to return an enemy to a more powerful state?” Dim asked from where he’d appeared beside Raimie. “Besides, I think it’s hilarious.”

  “Thank you!” Kheled exclaimed, glad something appreciated the irony even if it was that noxious piece of trash.

  Bright merely appeared contemplative while he circled Creation. “The Champion did this?” he asked as he crouched before the splinter-turned-man. “You haven’t stayed distant for too long or directly disobeyed the consensus?”

  “I only assisted with an action upon which the whole might have frowned,” Creation replied, looking at his hands.

  “Then, this may be a silly question, but have you tried accessing or returning to the whole?”

  Creation’s mouth dropped open. Furrowing his brow with concentration, he popped from reality.

  “There,” Bright said as he brushed his hands together. “Problem solved.”

  “How did he-?” Raimie started. “What just happened?”

  “One moment, bearer of our hopes,” Bright affectionately requested of his human before rounding on Kheled. “You!”

  The splinter flung Ele at him, and it washed over Kheled with the barest of stings.

  “I never, ever thought I’d need to say this to you, but STOP ACTING LIKE A CHILD!”

  His voice boomed, and Kheled shrank from him.

  “Yes! The whole has abandoned you. Yes! It comes after millennia of service accompanied by suffering and trauma. Yes! It’s not fair. But in the name of the whole, Erianger, try to look at the big picture!

  “The whole hasn't completely abandoned you yet, else you’d be long dead by now. The process of restoring your body to perfect condition simply takes longer than what you’re accustomed to. Get used to it! Life changes, even one as long as yours!

  “You’ve known for a while something’s unusual about this cycle. I mean, look at your ally! A dual primeancer?! We haven't seen such a phenomenon since Alouin!”

  Bright got right in Kheled’s face, and his voice lowered to a whisper.

  “The eternal war can never end, Erianger. The destruction of one side by the other would mean reality’s total annihilation. Raimie, however, may have the ability to fix the currently massive imbalance started by your stupid experiment. Maybe, maybe, he can free you from your ‘curse’ as well, but fury with Ele won’t solve anything. Drop it! Do we understand one another?”

  Swallowing, Kheled nodded.

  “Good,” Bright said, craning his head toward his human. “Crisis solved. You can now tell him what news you carry.”

  “But you didn’t answer… Ugh!” Raimie exclaimed, making a chopping motion. “Whatever. I should be accustomed to being kept in the dark by now. Guess I’ll follow my reliable routine of pretending I’m not confused as hell.” Finished mumbling to himself, Raimie crouched beside Bright. “Are you all right, Khel? I’ve never seen Sigemond scuttle so quickly before.”

  “I’m fine.” Kheled grimaced. “Although I may need help getting to my feet. We should allow Sigemond to close shop as he attempted to do before my predicament sent him running to find you.”

  Raimie aided his attempt to stand, and when he retracted his support, Kheled wobbled and grabbed for the table. He waved off his friend’s attempts to steady him.

  “I promise, I’m fine. Legs are a little unsteady, is all. Let’s get out of here.”

  Raimie quietly followed him from the tavern, carefully watching for any instability.

  “What did Bright mean about news?” Kheled asked in an attempt to distract his friend.

  “Oh, that,” Raimie muttered. “I spent most of last night browsing reports from the Hand-”

  “Not sleeping?” Kheled asked.

  “I did some of that too!” Raimie protested. “Worries and distractions kept waking me. Anyway, it seems I’ve missed much while capturing the Birthing Grounds. Apparently, Thumb sent a warning about Kaedesa a while back. I wish I’d had that report before she arrived, but what can I do? The past is the past. Of significance for you is that we received a rather succinct report from Pointer last night.”

  “Remind me which of the Hand Pointer is?” Kheled interrupted.

  “I don’t think you’ll know-”

  “I know which of your soldiers are part of your Hand, Raimie, but I don’t know which person belongs to which moniker,” Kheled interrupted once more.

  “Of course, you do.” Raimie sighed. “Pointer’s the slender, tall, dark, and utterly nondescript one.”

  “Ah. The one who’s entangled with the burly spy.” Kheled nodded.

  “The burly-? Thumb? Pointer and Thumb are together?” Raimie gasped.

  “Yes but hush! I don’t think anyone’s supposed to know.” Kheled grinned. “What did Pointer have to say?”

  “Umm…” Raimie shook his head. The revelation of a relationship between two members of his Hand had apparently startled him. “He provided an assessment of Uduli’s defenses, a description of the pits, and an update that he and Thumb have escaped the city and are on their way home.”

  Well, then. Finally, some progress.

  Making a sharp turn, Kheled ducked into an alley. After ensuring no eyes were upon him, he called on Ele and used the energy to spring from perch to perch until he clanged onto a poorly placed balcony, far above the heads of those meandering the streets. Peeking through the door which led onto his narrow roost, he observed the empty room beyond with satisfaction. He was in the process of building an Ele cocoon in his hands when Raimie leaped onto the balcony beside him.

  “What’s with the subterfuge?” he asked.

  Kheled finished with his bubble of white light before he answered. “Making sure Doldimar can’t overhear. He doesn’t enjoy shade melding to eavesdrop, but for this conversation, I mus
t know we’re alone. What did Pointer say about Uduli’s defenses?”

  “Basically, if we attempted to take the city now, it would be a slaughter,” Raimie answered.

  “Is Doldimar in the city?”

  “Depends. Is he a crazy, blonde and blue haired Eselan?” Raimie asked back.

  “I don’t know how Arivor’s current body appears, but he’d be the only non-Corrupted Eselan in his domain. His first task every cycle is to wipe out or convert others of our kind.”

  “Then, yes. Doldimar’s in the city.”

  Kheled looked away, biting the inside of his lip.

  “Why is that relevant, Khel?” Raimie asked.

  Puffing a sigh, Kheled hugged himself while keeping his Ele-wreathed hands visible. “I need you to give the order to attack Uduli,” he requested, looking over Raimie’s head.

  “Why would I do that?!” his friend exclaimed. “I just said such an assault would lead to slaughter!”

  “Ele’s losing to Daevetch, Raimie,” Kheled announced as he forced himself to meet his friend’s eyes. “If you don’t believe me, you can ask your splinters. I’m- my powers are failing me. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll retain the ability to eliminate Daevetch’s Champion.”

  “But that’s- Huh.”

  Raimie pulled Ele to one hand, adding to Kheled’s glow, before briefly manifesting Daevetch in the other. He flung both away, shaking his hands.

  “You’re right,” Raimie murmured. “I’d noticed Ele had become more sluggish to respond, but I’d thought the lethargy was due to the excessive Daevetch I used while in the Birthing Grounds.”

  “Reasonable assumption but no.”

  “Well, shit.”

  Kheled allowed his friend a moment to fully appreciate his revelation’s implications.

  “I’m not like the spies of your Hand,” he said, breaking the silence. “I can’t approach the city by myself. Doldimar will feel me coming a mile out. I need you and your army to play the distracting wasp, attracting the bear’s attention, while I slither up on him and inject my venom.”

  “What about your other goal?” Raimie asked, leaning forward with a conspiratorial whisper. “Breaking the cycle?”

  Kheled sadly chuckled. “I don’t believe the cycle will be a problem much longer,” he said. “Whether it is or not, however, isn’t a question I can afford to ponder any longer. We could take the time to learn how to fix the imbalance between the primal forces, to definitively release me from an endless repetition of pain and death. We could risk the chance that, while undertaking this search, my ability to kill Doldimar fails. Or we can end the threat to Auden now. Let you, your people, and the countless generations to follow lead full, happy lives.”