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

by Brennan C. Adams

  “Piece of advice as way of thanks. I’d run to your wife as soon as you can,” Doldimar said before tilting his head back. “Gods, I’m free, and it feels so good.”

  He disappeared. Even knowing Doldimar’s retreat had been the intended result, Raimie fought not to reach into the shadows for the bastard, drag him out, and wring his neck.

  A sob yanked him from daydreams, and Emri nearly bowled him over in his haste to drop beside Eledis.

  “This isn’t right!” he whispered. “A charge isn’t supposed to die before his bodyguard. You weren’t supposed to die before me, my friend.”

  Oh, Uncle Emri… What would it be like to lose your best friend, one you’d protected for three hundred years? Raimie retreated to give the man space. He’d no wish to crowd his uncle’s grief with the pale comparison of his own.

  “Oswin,” he muttered, “where’s my wife?”

  Don’t let dread show. Perhaps he’ll surprise me with an unexpected answer.

  “You know what he will tell you!” Nylion said, anxiety raising his voice’s pitch. “Why do we not already spring to her aid?”

  His other half’s worry spilled into their bond, and Raimie fought to keep his feet still.

  Shut up, Nyl! he shouted, aiming the rebuke at both Nylion’s words and the uncontrolled spread of his panic.

  He couldn’t plunge through the palace without a plan.

  “She refused to leave until everyone had evacuated,” Oswin answered beside him. “She’s in your rooms, Raimie. At least, she was when I came to find you. I knew you couldn't keep away for long. Don’t worry. I left Little with her. He won’t let any harm…”

  Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no oh no…

  Nylion had been right.

  “We need to go now!” Raimie proclaimed, interrupting Oswin. Emri faced him, a picture of grief. “If you’re coming, come now. Otherwise, I’m leaving you behind.”

  “Eledis-” Emri started.

  “Uncle,” Raimie interrupted as calmly as he could, “you kneel beside an empty shell we can’t afford to carry with us. Would Eledis want you to risk your life because you couldn’t leave his body behind?”

  Emri had taken more time than he could spare, and Raimie couldn’t wait for his decision. He sprinted through rubble in the direction of the closest staircase.

  “Do you think he’ll come?” Oswin asked.

  Raimie shrugged. “It’s Emri’s choice.”

  As it was his choice to abandon his uncle in the hopes of saving his wife.

  * * *

  Something was wrong. Besides the Kiraak who rampaged in Uduli’s streets, besides Eledis’ death, besides Auden’s second fall to Doldimar. No, something was deeply, personally wrong.

  Raimie had unconsciously suspected as much while searching the palace, a sixth sense screaming at him to gather his loved ones and flee, and his suspicion had hardened with Doldimar’s parting words. He knew it was true, however, when he collided with Oswin upon turning toward his bedroom. Knew it from the set of the spymaster’s shoulders, the absolute stillness of his rib’s rise and fall, the twitching of his fingers. Knew it from the gurgling rasp Raimie’s oldest friend parted like a bow breaking the waves.

  “Lornilen,” Oswin breathed.

  In the space of a breath, the spymaster was down the hallway, crouching in blood. Blood which belonged inside the body slumped beside a door. His bedroom door.

  A slick hand weakly grasped his, jerking Raimie to a stop. His other hand rested against wood grain. How had he gotten here? He didn’t remember crossing the fifty feet between where he’d stood and where he paused.

  “Don’t.”

  The wet cough dragged Raimie’s reluctant gaze to Little. The youngest of the Hand trapped his leaking intestines against the broad gash which split his stomach. White bone peeked through his shin, and a number of shallow cuts had torn his uniform to ribbons. A steadily swelling puddle of red seeped beneath him.

  “Don’t go in… there, sir,” Little tried again, wheezes interrupting him with every few words. “You can’t do… Not against… him.”

  “Look, Lornilen,” Oswin sobbed, stroking the younger spy’s arm, “your body will match your face. The ladies will love you.”

  “Promise me… you won’t go… Your Majesty. The King… must be safe,” Little wheezed, a rattle juddering his chest.

  “Lornilen, you need to shut up, all right?” Oswin’s voice hitched. “H-help’s coming.”

  Raimie gently laid Little’s grasping hand over Oswin’s desperately clutching one. “Thank you for your service, Little. You’ve accomplished every task I ever set before you,” he said. “Attend your spymaster now.”

  “Yes, please look at me, son!”

  Raimie missed the rest while a door closed behind him. A significant chunk of him wanted to stand vigil with Oswin as Little died, to comfort his friend for the loss of the boy the spy had considered son, but panic cast these wants aside as if they were refuse. A body and pool of blood outside his bedroom did not a rational Raimie make. The overruling need to protect family, hard written into humanity since the first families outlived the lone wolves, propelled him around his overwrought friend and dying subordinate, abandoning them outside.

  His heart was a stone in his chest, weighted down by grief and terror. Little had-no more ceaseless snark and sarcasm-Little had given everything to protect his wife, a sacrifice he’d never forget, but the spy had failed. What would Raimie find in this room?

  At first glance, nothing seemed out of place. Candles and lanterns remained unlit, the only light coming from moonbeams which shone through open balcony doors. A breeze caressed his skin, swaying the curtains to-and-fro. The bed was made, Ren’s obsessive habit every morning, and at its foot, a lump.

  His mind went quiet, skittering doubts and worries halting mid skip. Even Nylion’s constant stream of cautions and observations ceased. He numbly glided over a carpet of broken glass, holding his breath, praying that when he came around the corner, it wouldn’t be her.

  Please, anyone but her. I’ll do ANYTHING.

  Smiling up at him, Ren reached for his hand, and Raimie clung to the bedside to keep from collapsing. She was fine. Everything was all right. Why did she lie on the ground? Was she trying to scare him to death…

  The grin he’d matched to hers tightened before curling in on itself. Black bubbled beneath his wife, and… and…

  Someone had ripped Ren’s abdomen open, scooping her precious cargo from her.

  Raimie’s timeline slipped, only a few snippets strong enough to surface. Kneeling beside Ren’s open wound, hands coated in Ele. Bright shouting that he couldn’t restore her injury, not without dying himself. Spitting obscenities as he tried anyway. Ren shakily taking his hands. Her face. His world stabilized when he focused on that beloved face.

  “Raimie,” she mumbled, “my papa, is he still here?”

  He smoothed her hair back, streaking blood across her face. Delirium had set in. Never a good sign. Gods, where was Kheled when he needed his friend?

  “Let me speak to her!” Nylion moaned. “Please, if you will not restore her, if she must die, please let me say goodbye!”

  She’ll be fine.

  “Raimie! LET ME SPEAK TO HER!”

  I would rather die than live without her. I will soon restore her, Nyl.

  Nylion railed at him, a flood of grief, despair, and frustration attempting to sweep Raimie away, but he stood strong, ignoring his other half. He’d do what he must so the love of his life would live.

  “Shh, love,” he murmured with an anguish-concealing smile. “Your father was never here.”

  He drew Ele once more, but she momentarily stifled his plan. Sleepily blinking, she worked her mouth, trying to speak.

  “But he was! Raimie,” her grip on his hands painfully tightened, “he took Namia!”

  Namia. The name meant for their baby if it was a girl. Her ruined womb. The absence of weight which had steadily swelled over the last five
months.

  A crunch and chewing noise whirled Raimie around, hands of Ele raised in anticipation of an attack. On the balcony, a black-eyed man cradled a bloody, unrecognizable mass of flesh. Red smeared the teeth he flashed at Raimie in greeting.

  “Hello, son-in-law! So nice to meet you! Did you know,” the Enforcer mumbled, swallowing his mouthful, “that some cultures believe consuming the tether between a mother and her child provides a boost to one’s health? Me, I find the entire package scrumptious, and let me tell you, Raimie, your daughter is delicious.”

  Raising the bloody bundle to his lips, he took another bite.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Why did you think it necessary to keep the truth from me? Did you think I couldn’t accept the idea we wouldn’t be saved, that our efforts only helped future generations? Well, I’ve got news for you, bitch. I’M NOT THAT WEAK!

  You shouldn’t have offered hope only to snatch it away at the last minute like I’m a disobedient child. If I’d known the plan from the beginning, maybe I wouldn’t have felt so guilty for hating the man you said would save us all.

  But you don’t read my letters to hear my grievances. You read them for one reason, and so, I’ll answer your questions. Yes, I did as I was bidden. Yes, I argued with the Ministers until I was blue in the face. Yes, Eledis is free and headed for you now.

  I have nothing more to say to you. Join me in Uduli, or don’t. I’ll spend the time until Doldimar comes pretending I don’t care.

  Once again, fire blocked Kheled’s path across rooftops. Upon his arrival to Uduli, taking the hazardous route across the city’s roofs had sounded simpler than slicing his way through the Kiraak mobs in the streets. He’d forgotten the city burned.

  Already, he’d backtracked and skirted several blazing buildings. From this current obstacle, the trek to the nearest ‘crossing’ was lengthy, and the inferno before him was diminished, the home it consumed squat and narrow. In this case, the time saved by jumping the gap would be worth the danger.

  Retreating to a far corner, Kheled readied, pushing down fear. He sprinted toward the fire and at the last minute, leaped in a blinding burst of light.

  The city sprawled below him, Kiraak giving it the appearance of writhing as it died. Several streaks of white light cut between and through the Kiraak, but he’d barely noticed them before other concerns stole his focus.

  To either side of the burning building, cobblestones soared far below, and Kheled closed his eyes for a split second to calm his hammering heart, soothe the animal panic surging against its restraints. The flames’ updraft scorched his nose and throat as he took gulping gasps within it, but the chasm’s far wall quickly approached. So, in spite of smoke’s inevitable tingle on his eyes, Kheled forced them open.

  He’d misjudged the gap, used too much Ele in his haste to cross, and as roof tiles swiftly came to meet him, Kheled realized how far above them he was. Nothing a second, short Ele burst couldn’t fix. At least, that’s what he told himself.

  Halfway through his downward arch, however, Kheled’s connection to his source sputtered and died. Desperately, he grasped for Ele, but it refused his call. And here came the hard, unyielding roof.

  “Shit, shit, shit, shi-!”

  He tried to spread the impact with a roll, but sharp pain from his ankle jolted up his leg. He lost his balance, tipping sideways. Slate roof tiles slid beneath Kheled’s hands as he frantically sought a way to stop his fatal fall. The roof’s decorative railing broke beneath his plummeting body, metal clattering to cobblestones. Kheled made a last-minute grab for the roof’s eaves, caught it, and jerked to a jarring halt. Pain from his shoulder almost made him lose his grip before his other arm swung to assist its injured companion.

  Dangling with stone and swarming Kiraak three stories beneath him, Kheled’s vision swam, and his mouth went dry. His muscles bunched, tossing him onto the rooftop. The blessedly solid roof.

  He lay still for a moment, waiting for the world to stop spinning. Damn acrophobia. Always materializing at the most inconvenient times.

  When his heart ceased threatening to leap from his chest, Kheled sat up and examined his ankle. Swollen and twisted, it had already begun to acquire a purple hue. It would give him nothing better than a halting limp for several weeks, a disability he couldn’t afford. Without Ele’s restoring power to immediately revert him to perfect, he’d… he’d…

  Useless. He couldn’t focus on something he’d no control over, but the shoulder, that Kheled could fix on his own. Even if it meant nearing the roof’s edge again.

  Kheled removed his long dagger from his belt, speculatively weighing it with his good hand. Once he was satisfied, the injured arm claimed possession of the weapon, and he haltingly scooted to the edge. Lying face down, he draped his weighted arm over the roof’s eave and into thin air. With that done, he simply needed to relax.

  Laughter shook his body, flaring pain from his shoulder and over his chest. What an impossible task.

  With a hiss, Kheled concentrated or rather, didn’t. Didn’t listen to the sounds of looting and pillaging. Didn’t imagine Uduli’s death throes. Didn’t worry about Raimie or Ren. Only breathed in and out and relaxed.

  When his muscles loosened enough to allow movement, bone snapped into place, and cool relief spread down his arm. Kheled sprang to his feet, his twisted ankle quickly reminding him of its presence, and he nearly tumbled into the street again.

  Being so fallible and fragile once more was strange. The smallest of injuries took him by surprise. A papercut lasted a week because he constantly split it open with his carelessness, and the days where he’d been stuck in bed due to a fever had felt wasted. Four years of intermittent invincibility had yet to break him of a millennium-built expectation of physical perfection.

  He took a few steps toward his destination, and even that short distance was enough to leave him gasping from the sharp ache.

  “Creation, I hate to be a bother, and I’m not trying to whine,” Kheled whispered, “but can Ele please fix my ankle? Reaching the palace will prove impossible with this limp.”

  “I’d be surprised if the whole didn’t allow Restoration to the physical plane, considering the circumstances,” the splinter answered. “Give it time.”

  Kheled spun on Creation, swallowing the yelp the injury shoved into his mouth. “Do you not see what I do? I don’t have time.”

  White light flashed, pain eased, and Creation lifted an eyebrow. Kheled groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “It would choose precisely that moment, wouldn’t it?” he mumbled. “Do you want an apology, or can we go?”

  “After you,” Creation answered with a hand flutter.

  Without Ele to assist, it was slow going, even over rooftops. Fortunately, the primal force of Order and Life had chosen to flee him not far from the palace.

  Not that he had a plan for surmounting the palace’s wall sans Ele. Maybe he could use his source if he couldn’t manipulate what lay behind it, but when Kheled reached for it, hoping to form an invisibility bubble, a buzzing sting of energy coursed through his body, setting his teeth chattering. A slap of his metaphorical hand.

  It didn’t bite nearly as hard as the view atop the buildings before the palace gate. As far as the eye could see, Kiraak climbed over one another in their haste to scale the wall and extend their bloody massacre to the people inside. Defenders wearily pushed them back with every wave. Surprisingly, no one attempted to storm the gate, leaving the square before it relatively calm but no less disturbing.

  The normally cheerful fountain in the square’s center struggled to pump the red liquid which pooled in its basin, and shops and homes’ plastered walls had taken on a fresh coat of rust colored paint. Bodies and mismatched body parts sprawled so thickly in the square not a single cobblestone could be spotted between them. Some Kiraak crunched over the flesh and bone pavement to torment pitiful survivors. Others tried, with giggles and sobs, to make snow angels in the human prec
ipitation which had preceded Kheled’s arrival.

  From the grouped humans, one Kiraak dragged a screaming, pleading woman by the hair. She forced her captive forward, approaching the wall without fear. As the two came near, the gate’s defenders unleashed a few half-hearted potshots, but the Kiraak halted well outside bow and pistol range. She forced the weeping woman to her knees, withdrew her sword, and proceeded to carve the wailing, breathing prisoner to pieces.

  “Erianger, you can’t,” Creation told him. “It’s her or your ally. Choose.”

  “How am I to get inside the wall as I am, Creation?” Kheled snapped. “If I can’t help Raimie in there, the least I can do is assist out here!”

  He took another step toward the eaves, but Creation once more brought him up short.

  “Shape change and fly over.”

  “And suffer the energy drain?” Kheled asked. “When I’m going on two days without sleep? Are you crazy? That would kill me! I’m not taking the risk without knowing whether I’ll immediately return.”

  He made to climb from the roof, but it was too late. The woman’s screams had stopped, and the Kiraak danced in her blood.

  “Damn it, Creation,” Kheled murmured, slumping.

  This cycle had proceeded with unnerving smoothness until now. It had boasted minimal carnage and destruction as well as a plan to deal with Doldimar, but of course, Kheled’s oldest enemy (friend) had found a flaw within which to slip his army. He could sense a tilt to the man he’d once been, the one who extinguished all that made him Esela, solely living to murder Arivor, but a single hope helped him cling to what he’d become. To find Raimie and Ren and join them in ending this cycle.

  Doldimar was here. Kheled could feel it, a repulsion so profound it reversed polarity and attracted him to the palace. If only he could get inside.