Kingdom of Yute: Tor's Betrayal

by Madison Hayes

  The Slurians were a race of mutes.

  In addition to his unusual hair, stunningly blue eyes dominated a pinched little face that rarely smiled. The lad appeared to carry a world of weight on his narrow shoulders.

  Between the two of them—Tor and Burro—they devised their own hand signing to communicate. I don’t know why Tor did it. Most like, he was bored and had to be doing something. I don’t know why he didn’t teach Burro standard signing but it may have been so they could communicate privately, so the nobguards wouldn’t be able to listen in on their conversations. I—my name—was a tight fist that burst out into five splayed fingers. Tor’s name was an upraised, clenched fist.

  And that, too—that upraised fist—came to be known as the sign of The Glove and the cause for which we fought. And, later on, more grist for the mill of my frustration.

  * * * * *

  It wasn’t long after Burro joined us that we had our first big recruitment success. Our meeting with the Night Strikers, a large eastside street gang, was, potentially, a big step for us. Although they referred to themselves as rebels, they weren’t much better than common thieves, and weren’t much worse than us.

  Danny, their leader, had been recently captured. His younger brother struggled to hold onto leadership but he hadn’t the brains or the charisma of Danny. When the Strikers asked to meet with us, Ayden thought they might ask to join us, as we’d gained a lot of legitimacy in the last several months.

  I’d forgotten about Yar, one of the Strikers. I’d known he was interested in me. He’d let me know in various ways, none of which were appreciated. I probably winced when he came in through the door, his eyes scanning to find me as he cut across the room in my direction. Tor must have caught my expression because he was suddenly beside me. His arm slipped behind me and his hand gripped my waist firmly.

  Yar stopped before me in an abrupt halt, looked at the hand on my waist, then at the man who was attached to it. “Shit, Spark. Who’s this—yer father?” he asked, casting aspersions at Tor’s age.

  I felt Tor’s hand slide up my rib cage and settle, fingers spread, over my left breast. “Guess again,” he told Yar without smiling.

  For a few heartbeats Yar held his gaze, as men will do when they don’t want to appear weak. Quietly, Tor stared back and allowed the man his measure of dignity. And when Yar finally turned away, I took in a breath that filled out Tor’s wide palm. After Yar took a seat, Ayden started the meeting.

  Ayden wasn’t surprised they came without Chanes, Danny’s brother, but he was definitely taken aback when the Night Strikers suggested we join their crumbling unit. There was a long silence and nobody seemed to know what to do with it. In the middle of the awkward pause, Tor moved forward and left me standing against the wall. “You lost one of your men recently,” he stated.

  Several of them looked at the ground while two answered at once. “Danny.”

  “Your captain,” he said, honoring their leader. “Is he still alive?”

  Several of them nodded.

  “Do you know where he is and how much it would cost to buy him out?”

  A dozen young men stared at him gape-mouthed. Yar snorted. “More than what we could ever hope to scrape up.”

  Tor and Ayden exchanged looks. “Nine gold,” Ayden told him bravely, as though that wasn’t the whole of what we’d saved in the last several months.

  “Bring Chanes with you tomorrow,” Tor told them. “He can negotiate his brother’s release. In return, the Strikers will come under my command. Danny will be my captain.”

  That said, the meeting began to break up. A few of the Strikers shuffled out while several hung around to talk with Ayden or flirt with our girls. I noted several pairs of eyes follow Tor with curiosity. In one shrewd act of generosity, he’d rescued the Night Strikers from dissolution and reinstated their leader as well as elevated Danny’s failing brother. The two brothers as well as the Strikers now owed him a firm allegiance which wouldn’t soon be forgotten.

  I was leaning against a wall in a shadowed corner when Tor made his way over to me. With his hand on my waist, he leaned over to run his lips across my temple and nuzzle into my ear.

  Thinking he was only there to put Yar off, I pushed him away with a laugh. “I don’t dislike all of the Strikers,” I pointed out, and pretended to fix my interest on one of the men at his back. “In fact, there’s one or two I’m quite interested in.”

  He closed on me again, leaving me no option but to stare either at his chest or up at his face. I chose his face—and observed that his expression completely lacked humor. “Well, don’t get your hopes up, Spark,” he said. “Because after this, none of them will be showing an interest in you.” With those words, he pulled a long, slow kiss out of my mouth that ended abruptly. A little too abruptly for my taste. Then, with a mean little smile, he pushed away from me and stepped off to do parting words.

  Remaining in the shadows, I watched him. I was probably smiling, but it must have been a frustrated smile. It was the first he’d kissed me since that time we were inside the walls, and I was glad to have it. Only I thought it a bit unfair. That he would stake his claim on me every night when he rolled his bedding out beside mine. That he would claim me there in the cellar, with a kiss, in front of all the new young men, denying me the chance at anyone else—while at the same time withholding his own favors.

  I watched him as he stood, arms folded across his chest, exchanging words with one of the Strikers. Warm, flickering firelight glowed on his thick forearms, glinting on the swelling muscles of his upper arms and all I could think about were those arms folding me into his body. My gaze drifted upward, to his face, and I found his eyes lit with a fierce fire as they slanted across the room to meet mine.

  * * * * *

  Tor was a natural leader. Quiet, confident, decisive. And canny. It wasn’t only that he made fast decisions, he made the right decisions quickly. He had a way of cutting through the noisy crap of argument and leading the discussion forward to focus on the real issue-at-hand. There were more of us now that the Strikers had joined us and more potential for argument. But Tor didn’t always have to be right. He let other men be right too and somehow it seemed like a gift, to have Tor acknowledge the value of your input. Because of that fact, it was easy to agree with him, and he generally got what he wanted out of any argument.

  Like the next meeting. It was risky, venturing into that part of the city, to meet with a rebel sympathizer—supposed rebel sympathizer. It would have to be a small group, Tor insisted, just Ayden, Jet, Tor and myself. The nob with whom we were meeting couldn’t risk being linked to streetslag rebels like us. But Tor was convinced, and convincing—this was the way to go. According to him, the man we were meeting was willing to represent us and present our complaints to the House of Rules. And wasn’t that what we wanted? It would be a lengthy process, Tor admitted, but you had to start at the beginning in order to arrive at the end.

  Ayden didn’t think so. He thought we should start at the end. Get rid of all the nobheads and all the rules.

  But I took up for Tor. As a woman I suppose I favored a peaceful solution, one that would minimize bloodshed. I certainly didn’t fancy murder. I imagine it would be hard to kill a child, nobhead or otherwise. To be honest, we didn’t hate the nobheads so much as the nobguards. I didn’t mind the idea of carving up the guard, but after that there’d be the nobility to deal with. I thought they should be given an opportunity to be…noble.

  “Yer an optimist, Spark,” Ayden told me. “That’s no’ a bad thing. You always think tha best of everyone. But. Tha problem with an optimist is—he doesn’t know when ta bail. An optimist will stay with a sinking ship, certain that things will work out—while everyone else is pushing off in lifeboats. But things don’t always work out, Spark. Be ready ta bail when tha time comes.”

  I nodded, thinking about the night’s meeting ahead. But I knew Ayden wasn’t really talking about the meeting, or politics. Neither was he talking abo
ut ships. He was talking about Tor.

  “Ayden doesn’t trust you,” I muttered to Tor as we made our way through the dark streets, Jet following with Ayden.

  Tor nodded without looking at me. “Ayden’s in love with you.”

  I almost stopped in the middle of the street. “He’s kin.”

  Tor slowed to turn. “How close?”

  I probably looked disgusted at the prospect. Ayden was like a brother to me.

  Tor just shrugged. “I’m not saying he wants to lay you, but I’ve no doubt he’d make love to you…if you weren’t related. He can’t stand to see you with me.”

  When I stopped to frown at him, he took my arm and pushed me along before the others could catch us up.

  * * * * *

  Our meeting with the sympathetic nob was our first opportunity to lay out our grievances. First and foremost among our complaints were the restrictions placed on steel. While nobs were permitted to carry long steel—swords—rabble like us were allowed nothing more than knives, never to exceed eight inches in length. In addition, shields were outlawed. Of course, if a man really wanted sword or shield, they were available on the black market and easily obtainable in Skythia, just to the south. It was dangerous to be caught with either, however.

  Worse than this, were the shipping confinements. We lived on a peninsula for Mithra’s sake! Almost everyone’s livelihood depended on the sea, was dependant on shipping or fishing. Yet no man, or woman, was allowed to own a boat. Instead, we were required to ship all our goods on nob vessels. Even the fishermen could not own their boats but must rent their craft from the nobs. Each of these boats carried a bronze seal attached to the bow—and heaven help you if you were discovered in a boat without one.

  Foreign craft, other than those on diplomatic missions, were simply not permitted to dock in our harbors. Thus, we were denied products from abroad that foreign merchants might have sold to us more reasonably.

  On top of that there was the issue of horses, a ruling that was purely discriminatory and meant only to remind us of our place…which was far below the Yute nobility.

  The meeting went well enough. Nyronal seemed a reasonable man, for a nob. Listened to each of our points, made notes. Shook his head at one item. “Let’s leave that out for now,” he suggested when it came to long steel. “Let’s gain the nobles’ trust before you ask for the metal that you might use against them.”

  Ayden scowled but Tor nodded.

  We hadn’t any more than left the upscale inn located close to the gate on the east highwall, when we were set upon. We were badly outnumbered. Where did all the damn nobguard come from, anyhow? And how could there be so many of them? I pulled my steel, but Tor backed me into a wall and shielded me for most of the fight. By the time I worked myself out from behind his back, the conflict was mostly over.

  Each of my three companions was engaged in several fights at once. Tor alone put five men out of commission. He was something to watch. Those arms, protected beneath the wrapped linen, were always in the right place at the right time, deflecting a blade, turning what should have been a deadly thrust into a glancing blow. I watched him take a length of steel in his gloved hands, rip it from its owner’s fist, and club two men senseless in one stroke. Tor was beautiful in battle.

  I would rather fight a big man than a small man. A small man is deadly—has to be. But a strong man will often leave you with your life, having done the minimum to disable you, then move on to the next opponent. A small man will make sure you’re dead—he can’t afford your resurrection. Tor fought like a big man. He was a wonder to watch.

  And I would have enjoyed the fight, if Ayden hadn’t been lying dead at my feet.

  Chapter Five

  Tor

  I hung back and kept Spark in front of me, unsure of how she’d react to Ayden’s death, certain she hadn’t begun yet. She reminded me of a colt that had lost its mother. Each step high, uncertain, as though she herself wasn’t sure any particular step would be completed. Ready to bolt under the smallest provocation. But she followed Jet back to the inn and through the cellar door at the back of the building. I delayed in the hedgerow a few moments then followed them in, stepped through the door and moved to one side, as I put my back against the wall. She had her hands out in front of her and was backing away from Jerra, nodding her head to assure her friend she was all right. She was fine she insisted in a cracking voice. She was fine.

  She continued backward as her eyes flicked around her, behind her, to clear her path. She didn’t want to touch anyone, I realized. I watched her settle across the room, her back to the wall, her eyes fixed on the ground. Her friends did their best to get a conversation going but it was hard work. She shook her head when Sinda approached her with a bowl of soup.

  Her chest rose and fell as though she’d jogged a league. Her eyes were bright and she blinked several times as her gaze cut to the door beside me. I don’t think she saw me standing there in the shadows. Slowly, she straightened and picked her way casually around the perimeter of the room, obviously forcing herself to smile at those she stepped around or over, not actually making eye contact but smiling in their general direction. She ran the last few feet and yanked open the door. My eyes connected with Jet’s just before I followed her out into the night.

  For a long time she ran and I loped along behind her, feet sloshing in muddy puddles, watching her through the sheer curtain of rain separating us. It was a cold, soggy night and there were few people on the streets.

  When she reached the outskirts of the city, she stopped running but continued to push herself along, her hand pressed tightly against her side. As I closed the distance between us, I could hear her sobs as she gasped for air, or release from sorrow, or release from pain—I wasn’t certain which was the case. I let her continue, aware of her desire to be alone with a sorrow she couldn’t share.

  The rain drenched her. The night was cold, but I guessed she could feel none of it yet. I followed her out of the city and dropped back. When she stopped before one of the many small bridges that cross the Little Muddy, I held back in the shadow of a hut until she disappeared, then I stepped out, navigated the road, and crossed the bridge.

  I couldn’t see her. For a long, breathless moment I blanked. In short, I panicked.

  I stopped at the end of the bridge, did a three-sixty, peered through the harsh, drifting curtains of rain—heart pounding, ears straining—and slowly crossed back over the bridge. Dropping down the slope, I found her hunched beneath the bridge, hugging herself as she rocked on her heels. Her wet hair hung like ropes in front of her face as she stared at the river, seemingly unaware of my presence. I checked her face. It was wet but only from the rain. Crouching beside her, I opened my cape and drew her against me.

  * * * * *

  Spark

  “I’m sorry about Ayden,” Tor said, forcing me to nod.

  I didn’t want to acknowledge his presence. Didn’t want his presence. Ayden had never trusted him. I wanted to be alone. Alone with Ayden and the memory of Ayden. But his arm went around me and his cape sheltered me and, hard as I tried, I wasn’t alone anymore. I wasn’t cold anymore, either. The warmth of his body, the warmth of his presence seeped through my wet clothes, into my skin, into my soul. I leaned against him and closed my eyes.

  “Come on,” he said, nudging me. I had slumped against him and was close to being asleep. I didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to do anything, anywhere, anyhow. But he pulled me to my feet and coaxed me up the slope and back onto the road.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry,” I kept saying.

  “I know,” he said without arguing. He stopped to wrap me in his cape, then picked me up and carried me back to the cellar.

  I suppose several days passed. I must have fallen asleep. I wanted to be asleep. Asleep in a world where Ayden still laughed and cursed and fought and argued. Everything was a clouded blur. I remember an argument. Evidently, I’d done something wrong. What it was didn’t inte
rest me much. Whatever it was, Tor and Thane stood together to face down the Strikers and a few others on the matter.

  Thane angry and adamant.

  Tor silent and entirely unyielding.

  Afterward, he talked to me gently. I remember nodding helpfully although I had no idea what he was going on about. Words and conversation seemed so complicated, so hard to follow. His face was troubled as his gaze rested on me. The next thing I remember was my hand in his. I was wrapped in his cloak as he led me out of the cellar.

  * * * * *

  I woke up to searing pain and a frightening amount of blood.

  Tor was on top of me, his mouth damp against my ear, his breath misting my hair. One of his arms was a vertical line under my shoulder, bearing his weight but the other was firm against the small of my back, pulling me up hard to meet the pressure he exerted inside me. Pain cycled between my legs at an increasing frequency. I cried for him to stop and he did.

  There were a few seconds of silence that probably accompanied his release. Then his voice, hard as quartz. “You belong to me now, Spark.”

  I was…in a bed…was my guess. Although I’d never slept in a bed or even seen one for that matter. My face was wet.

  * * * * *

  Tor

  She hadn’t spoken since Ayden’s death. She hadn’t eaten. She hadn’t cried. She’d probably have gotten over it on her own, in her own time, given the time. But time was something I couldn’t give her. A couple of the Strikers wanted her out. Said she was a liability, the state she was in—seemingly unaware and uncaring of her surroundings. I couldn’t blame them. They weren’t nasty about it, just matter-of-fact.

  Jet sided with the Strikers. I think he was worried about her safety as much as the group’s security and saw this as a way of protecting her. Thane was furious. Took it personally for her. I told them we’d give her two more days, then she was out.