Kingdom of Yute: Tor's Betrayal

by Madison Hayes

  Chapter Eight

  Tor

  Six months after I lost Spark, I took my seat in the House of Rules, my chair right next to my brother’s. Although I ranked high in the nobility, I was a very junior member and, despite my resolve, I knew it would be years—if ever—before I’d see any real change in the Noble Government. As a result of the time I’d spent on the other side, many of my peers regarded me with suspicion, this regardless of the fact that I’d turned in two of the rebels.

  During the next year I continued to support The Glove, both in the House of Rules as well as on the other side of the walls. It was rare Burro didn’t find me when I went to the other side and he always lifted my purse. He was a cunning little thief.

  The real problem in a dictatorship such as ours is the number of men who must be employed to maintain it. In the course of preserving our way of life, the nobguard had grown to an unmanageable force. The House of Rules watched the streetslag with jealous suspicion, completely overlooking the real power, the real threat that was stationed right beneath their noses. The nobguard.

  Under the command of a charismatic, ambitious general of only three years, they struck in the night. We had just a moment’s warning from the old caretaker before they hit.

  But life is like that, I’ve discovered. Despite the best plans and schemes of nob and rebel, despite steps bitterly fought for and sweated over, despite all forward progress, whether accomplished with hard determination or haphazard stumbling—in the end, all of it meant nothing. You had to laugh, really, at all the petty plots reduced to naught. In one stroke the rebel dream was reduced to nil, and the nob world robbed of everything.

  But the nobguard army couldn’t take anything from me that I hadn’t already lost. I’d lost everything when I lost Spark.

  We cut our way across the garden—Whit, Neels and I—pushing Cherindra toward the wall at the back of the yard. It had been a while since I’d had long steel in my hand, but a lifetime of training is not easily forgotten.

  The yard was crawling with nobguard as we started across, then littered with uniformed bodies as we reached the shed. I saw my brother go down, nobguard steel in his back, but not before he’d cut a wide circle of death around him. Neels was pure, evil genius with a sword.

  Whit and Cherindra were on the shed roof and I was reaching for the eave’s edge when I felt the heavy weight of cold steel drag at my shoulder. Then Whit was on the ground again, beside me as his steel caught the next blow—so late that the blue sparks singed my eyelashes.

  I still thank Mithra for the shed against the wall and for the time I’d spent on the streets with The Glove. The night was moonless but I felt my way through narrow pavements to the old stone hut no longer used by the rebels. We’d outgrown it when the Strikers had joined us.

  My wife was pregnant by then. My main concern was for her and Whit as we fought our way across the garden and over the wall. Cherindra was only just beginning to show and I prayed her condition was not common knowledge, otherwise her life would be worth no more than my own.

  Not if the new powers thought she was carrying a Gunnar.

  We fell into the cellar, gasping for breath, gasping for life. I staggered toward the stone bench and dropped onto it, facing the door. Whit followed me and cut open my vest, or what was left of it, at the shoulder. Cursing, he ripped a piece of cloth out of the vest and pressed it into my shoulder. I felt like my life was running out of me in a thick red stream.

  “Watch the door,” Whit ordered Cherindra, but it was too late. I heard her squeal of alarm.

  Burro stood just inside the opening. Drawing his steel, Whit wheeled on the boy.

  “No,” I coughed, reaching for his sword arm without any strength. “No.”

  I watched Burro, watched his hands as he stood talking to himself. Watched his fist as it bunched into a knot and exploded out in a spray of five fingers.

  Spark.

  He looked at me and I nodded, then he turned and slipped back out through the door. Cherindra and Whit looked to me for direction. “He’s gone for help,” I told them.

  I kept my gaze fixed on the door. My eyes kept closing. Each time they did, I forced them open again. I must have done that a thousand times as the room grew colder, grayer, as though color fled the cellar along with my life. Even my blood, sticky on my hands, was black. I watched the door through an ever-narrowing circle, as darkness closed in on the dim tunnel of my vision. I focused through the narrow beam on that selfish, ungiving door as though it were my life. My eyes closed again and when I opened them, a man stood in the doorway.

  Thane, I thought vaguely. Jet perhaps?

  Terror seized me and I feared the room would fill with darkness before I would see her in the doorway.

  For an instant, a gray rectangle of dawn light silhouetted a small, slender form. Then she was crossing the room like a wavery, uncertain dream. I focused on her face, on her eyes, and wondered why they were gray instead of blue.

  “Spark,” I said, just before I let the blackness take me.

  * * * * *

  Spark

  “You still love him,” Cherindra told me.

  She stood before the table in my small office. Her hair was a glossy black sheet against her perfect olive skin. I returned her angry gaze and shook my head.

  “You had your people out looking for us.”

  “The boy—Burro—has always been close to him.”

  “But the boy brought you to us.”

  I shrugged while holding Cherindra’s black gaze. “We thought it wise to have our own nob highborn. The army might choose to rule through a puppet. We wanted a puppet of our own, just in case.”

  Cherindra laughed. “After all you’ve fought for? All The Glove has fought for? I don’t believe you’d settle for anything less than full, unconditional freedom.”

  “Just keeping our options open,” I said coldly.

  “Come see him. He’s asking for you.” Her hands smacked down on my table as she leaned over me. “He’s only down the hall,” she hissed. “What’s wrong with you? He’s ill and fevered and looks for you every time he opens his eyes. Can you not forgive him for wedding me?”

  The door exploded inward and Burro blasted into the room. His face was squinched into glaring anger as his hands worked and his intense blue eyes looked set to catch on fire. I saw a spray of fingers that meant my name and a fist for Tor. He caught at my hand and yanked me from my chair, down the hall, through a door, to face the gray man on the bed.

  I shook off Burro’s hand as I looked down on Tor’s pale face. I wasn’t afraid of him. It didn’t matter what Tor Harnesson said at this point. I was a block of gritty glacial ice no amount of hurt, no amount of love could shift. Tor’s lips moved and I found myself on my knees beside him as I lowered my ear to his lips.

  The words were faint. “Cherindra,” was the first word I heard. “Get her out of the city.”

  I won’t tell you I wasn’t disappointed. Despite all my glacial grittiness, I had apparently been hoping for some sort of lie.

  “You can’t be moved,” I told him brusquely.

  He shook his head, but only a fraction. “Send Whit with her. Please, Spark. She’s pregnant. If the army thinks she’s carrying a Gunnar…”

  I nodded. His concern was for his wife and unborn child.

  “Spark—”

  “I’ll do it,” I said quickly, seeing what each word cost him. I stood.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  I wiped angrily at gritty tears as I shook my head without belief. Love might be gone, but the hurt still lingered. And I did not understand.

  Chapter Nine

  Tor

  Spark was a natural leader. Smart, quiet, she tended to collect opinions before making decisions. The Order of the Glove had grown considerably in my absence and their ranks exploded after the hated nobguard took control. Immediately, the new military regime set into place a dictatorial government that made the nobhead rule seem gener
ous in comparison. Under nobguard rule, the common folk of Inverham had truly lost any hope for self-realization.

  Spark had several captains reporting to her. Although she was always busy, she had a way of giving a person her whole attention when listening. Focusing on you, alone. Or at least, that was the case with everyone but me. I often thought that she and Cherindra would have made good friends, had circumstances been different.

  She’d gotten Cherindra and Whit off the peninsula. They were on one of the many, many islands that dot the western coast of the Yute Peninsula. It was unlikely they would be discovered by the army, and that knowledge was a great relief to me. I was grateful to her for that favor.

  Our new headquarters was a large, open home, so ancient that the wooden floors were polished smooth by miles of travel over years of time. Upstairs were several small rooms, one of which I had evidently occupied for several weeks. I don’t know. Much of the time following the nobguard attack is lost to me. Downstairs we all shared a large common room with many windows and a wide, comfortable fireplace. Although her office was upstairs, the room Spark slept in opened onto the common room. In the back of the house was a big stone kitchen.

  Slowly, my shoulder mended. It was unfortunate it was so damn close to my heart, otherwise, it might have healed more quickly. But when the shoulder wasn’t stiff and sore, there was always the vise that clamped around my heart in an ever-tightening grip.

  It was hard watching them together. Thane and Spark. Watching the door to her room close, knowing Thane was with her. Trying to get a breath into my lungs. Knowing Thane was on her, spreading her legs beneath him.

  But Thane was a good man. I couldn’t fault him for loving her, no matter how much I wished to.

  She’d had a child by him. Had it been that long? Had I let her go that long ago? The boy was the image of his mother, blue eyes, hair full of shocking gold wrinkles. Big for his age, but then Thane was tall. Strong little bugger and smart as a whip. Thane seemed fond of him, but the boy toddled around after Burro most of the time, signing him all the while with a fat little fist. It was no wonder the boy couldn’t say more than a dozen words—everyone catered to the lad and his signing.

  His mother was busy and we’d often find ourselves thrown together, little Ayden and I. He was good enough company, considering I had none other. Strangely enough, Jet and Thane—the two men I put in prison—were the only members of the Glove who would have anything to do with me. Other than Burro and the boy. The toddler would park his little tail beside me and we’d scowl together while I made arrows, Ayden with a stick in his hand, mimicking my every move. Of an evening, he’d crawl into my arms, give me a keen grin, and fall asleep there as if he owned me.

  “He’s a fine boy,” I told Thane one day. “Bright. Quick to laugh.” Together we were repairing the courtyard gate. I crouched to support the gate’s weight in my hands while Thane installed new hardware. The boy had gamboled up to join us just as we were finishing.

  Thane grunted without looking at me. “How’s the shoulder?”

  “Better,” I told him as I smiled across at the boy holding my knee. “He makes you proud.”

  Thane nodded as he pushed a pin through the gate and capped it. “I would be proud. If he were mine.” He met my gaze and held it for two instants before he started to gather his tools together.

  My eyes burned at the edges as I stared down at the small hand latched to my knee. She sure knew how to break a man’s heart. How could she love the son so thoroughly and hate the father just as equally?

  When I could breathe again, I went to find her. She wouldn’t look at me. She never looked at me anymore. But I would have her attention. It was important.

  “It’s about young Ayden,” I started. Her eyes cut to mine in angry warning, but I continued. “Perhaps he should join Cherindra and Whit on the—”

  “Don’t even think it, Gunnar.” Her voice was like a knife.

  “Spark.”

  “Don’t you dare think it. And don’t you let anyone else think it.” Getting to her feet, she leaned across the table. “Do you understand me, Gunnar. The child is Thane’s son.”

  I was angry some myself. With my hands on the table I leaned my face close to hers and was satisfied to watch her eyes widen as she drew back an inch. “I understand, Spark. The lad is Thane’s son. And he’ll be safe as long as that’s what everyone believes.

  “Am I right, Spark?”

  She nodded coldly.

  We understood each other.

  * * * * *

  For several weeks they’d been planning a raid. There was a small nobguard arsenal against the south highwall and they planned an early hit on market day, when the streets would be crowded.

  Had anyone asked my opinion, I would have advised against it. Swords would be of little use in rebel hands. Without training, a man might as well have a club or mace in his fist. But my opinion wasn’t solicited. Perhaps the raid was mere strategy—a coup against the hated nobguard meant to pull support to our cause.

  I wanted to be with them, though I didn’t ask to take part in the attack. To be honest, I’d planned to join them, with or without their leave. There wasn’t any one of them who could have stopped me if I had wanted to go.

  Bar one.

  She left me with the boy. Ayden was my guard. And the most effective one she could have chosen as I couldn’t leave him on his own. So I could do nothing that day but worry the whole time she was gone, sure their party would be outnumbered, certain something would go wrong, knowing I should be with them as I was the only one amongst them who could cut a sword with any efficiency.

  But I knew Burro would bring me a message if things went badly. So I kept the fire built up in her office and stood, leaning over the window most of the day, pessimistically waiting for the sight of Burro rushing up the road. The room was silent except for the occasional spit and crackle in the fireplace. Ayden played at my feet, quietly stacking wooden blocks with amazing industry. He seemed surprised each time his tower toppled. He had my sympathy.

  I set him to building bridges.

  The sky was the color of steel and large flakes of snow moved slowly to the ground. It was cold, I thought. Her office was cold. You might wonder why I’d never tried to explain to her. The way things were, the way they’d turned out. Why I had wed Cherindra.

  I hadn’t told her and it wasn’t only because I couldn’t get her ear.

  I’m sure that pride and youth had a lot to do with it. I wanted her to trust me, believe in me, without reservation or doubt. But, even more than that, I couldn’t bear to hear her tell me again, how I’d killed her cousin. Even though I didn’t truly think she believed it, I couldn’t hear it from her lips. I’ve never considered myself a coward. Yet, there are some words that cut more deeply than a knife’s thrust. All I could do was tell her I loved her, and hope that one day she’d catch on.

  At last I saw Burro working his way up the street. And behind him, a cloaked figure leading a donkey that was pulling a haycart slowly forward.

  “Let’s go meet Mama,” I told Ayden as I scooped him up.

  I was there to open the gate and watch the cart trundle into the courtyard. When the donkey halted, I put the boy in his mother’s arms and started to unload the steel—swords, shields, lances and long knives. According to plan, others of the raiding party trickled back to our offices, singly or in pairs.

  There was a bit of a slope to the cobbled yard and, at one point, the cart rocked backward.

  I heard Spark scream.

  She was screaming my name.

  Evidently she’d put the child on his feet. One glance revealed the toddler had fallen between the wheels of the cart. The front wheel pinched at him, about to crush him. Spark had wedged herself against the weight of the cart, using her small strength to stop the front wheel from rolling over our son.

  “No!” I shouted, as Jet grabbed the donkey’s halter. If the cart were to jerk forward, the boy would then be crushed bene
ath the back wheels.

  I stooped to yank a cobblestone from the ground and kicked it hard behind the back wheel, then joined Spark at the side of the cart. With one hand either side of her, I braced my legs and shoved the cart forward a few inches. I looked backward to tell Burro—but he was already kicking the cobblestone tight into the space I’d created behind the rear wheel.

  A few inches and a few seconds, then the boy was in his mother’s arms again. She stood between my braced arms, hugging Ayden, hiding her face in the child’s wrinkling gold hair. I leaned over my little family, captured between my arms, and put my lips in Ayden’s hair, found her fingers in his hair, brushed my lips against those fingers and felt my eyes burn when she didn’t immediately withdraw them.

  “Spark,” I whispered, “I love you.”

  The boy, unhurt and unaware of any threat, reached up and pulled my head down to join his and his mother’s.

  And that was as close as I have ever come to crying in my lifetime.

  I don’t know why I thought it would make any difference.

  That evening, she took the boy off to bed earlier than usual, right after the lastmeal, and I watched her closed door as we sorted through the day’s haul. I put two lances aside for replacement shafts.

  As the night wore on, I found myself increasingly tense. I don’t know what I had expected. Or why I thought that night would be any different than any other, but as the hour got later, I found my stomach knotted into so many lumps I thought I’d be sick.

  Burro came to crouch beside me, but I ignored him as I sat with my back against the wall, rolling the lances between my hands.

  Just as she’d avoided looking at me for the remainder of the day, I’d avoided thinking about her. Didn’t dare think about her. Not that way. Not rolling toward me with the pink morning light in her hair and a warm, sleepy smile on her face, her small, slim body stretched out next to me, mine for the taking.

  Not spread out beneath me, her sweet, soft little mound caught between my body and cock, pressing into my groin and robbing me of breath. Her tight, hot sheath flirting coyly with my cock, one moment fighting my advance, the next moment opening to receive all of me, coaxing my release out of my scrotum and through my shaft in a long, hot, searing stream. Her vagina clamping down on me like she’d never let go.