Sons of Plague: Tales of Kartha Book One

by Kade Derricks

  “What the—”

  Her hand clamped over his mouth and she hissed in his ear, “One word and I’ll scramble your guts, old man. Into the alley.”

  Jorle complied silently, and Olinia walked him to the back.

  “Listen, I don’t have any money, and nothing worth killing for,” he pleaded. “I’m just a washed-up old soldier.”

  He struck her then. The fist came out of nowhere, and she saw shooting stars. Her forearm blocked the second blow, and Olinia slashed wildly with her dagger. She felt the blade make contact and heard the telltale ripping of fabric. Her vision started to clear.

  “By Ghanris, you’re a woman,” Jorle panted. His mouth popped open in surprise.

  Olinia started forward and he swung. She ducked his arm, slipping behind and driving the dagger’s solid hilt into his head with a thunk.

  Jorle took a staggering step. He reached back, felt the back of his head, then slowly spun on one heel and started down. Olinia caught him by the shirtfront and eased him against the alley’s darkened wall.

  Now, how do I get him where I can question him?

  Earlier, she’d learned most of the buildings around the inn were abandoned, including those along the alley. She could see several doors. It took her a few minutes to break into one. She dragged Jorle inside, then gagged and bound him with leather strappings to one of the building’s central beams.

  Quickly, she made her way to the Lion’s Rounds to retrieve her candles. The sun was a bare sliver of red on the horizon by the time she got a few lit and arranged in a circle around Jorle and herself.

  Almost at once, she felt the Shade’s icy presence. Her breath turned to fog. A pair of eyes formed on the wall. They shimmered gold, and then the darkness began to gather and pool around them.

  “You have returned,” she said.

  “I have.” the Shade’s voice was different now, deeper. The whine was still there, but deeper in tone.

  “Why do you still pursue me, then? Were you not sent after Tarn’s killer?” Olinia held her breath, hoping the thing hadn’t somehow seen through her abilities.

  “I am. You are not the one I seek. But I am drawn to you. Why?”

  Olinia let out a long breath. “I don’t know.”

  “I will wait here until I can decide.”

  “Decide?”

  “Decide what to do next.”

  Olinia didn’t know what to say. Something was different tonight. Last night, the Shade had spoken in chopped sentences, sounding like a small child. Now it seemed older, almost as if it had aged during the day.

  “You seem different this evening,” she said.

  “Different? I have grown with the tribute. Two have called me now. I am stronger. I can show you.”

  Beneath the floating eyes, the darkness grew. In response, the outer arc of her candles nearest the Shade shrunk closer.

  Olinia held her breath. For all the good it would do, she clenched her dagger until it hurt.

  What good is steel against shadow?

  Jorle groaned as he started to rouse. “Oww,” he slurred.

  “Who is this?” the Shade asked.

  “A new friend of mine,” Olinia said.

  “Friend,” it responded.

  Olinia held Jorle’s head up. Gently, she slapped his face until his eyes focused.

  “Who are you? Where am I?” he said as he strained to test his bonds.

  “Who I am is unimportant. What I want is information. How do I defeat the Shade?”

  Jorle looked at her in confusion, then at the wavering candles around them.

  “Come on I’ve heard you talking. You said some people held it off for days. How did they do it? Did they escape? How did they beat the Shade?”

  “The Shade? The Shade can’t be beaten. It can’t.” His eyes slid past Olinia and into the glowing eyes and darkness beyond. He curled up his legs, pulling them as tight as he could. He whimpered, “By the Creator, it’s here.”

  Olinia worried about questioning Jorle in the Shade’s presence. It had grown more intelligent since their last encounter. Might it somehow understand that she meant to defeat it? Well unless she wanted to wait until morning there was no help for it. So far, the Shade still didn’t seem certain she was Tarn’s killer, and if it had any concern for her line of conversation with Jorle, it gave no sign.

  Olinia grabbed his chin with one hand. She brought the dagger in front of his eyes. “Look at me, Jorle. You told your friends some people managed to hold it off for days. Did they escape?”

  Jorle’s eyes seemed drawn to the darkness behind Olinia like a lodestone. Slowly, he brought them back to her. He blinked hard and cleared his throat. “You can’t beat it. No one ever has. Some have held it at bay for several days, but I never knew how. None escaped, though. None.”

  “Your friend seems afraid,” the Shade said.

  “It spoke,” Jorle whispered. His face took on a look of sheer horror. His eyes rolled over white, and he let out a little moan. He fainted, and Olinia sighed.

  She sheathed the dagger, disgusted. All that effort to find and question Jorle, and for what? He was just some drunken has-been who’d been bragging to his friends but who knew nothing of any true value. She stared at the Shade’s lifeless eyes. What to do now?

  Ragnall Niall‘s desk was an enormous piece of shining maple, old and smooth, expensive and imposing, meant to impress visitors. It dominated his office like a throne. He hated it. He hated every inch of its pretentiousness, but it had been a gift from Alanda’s parents on the day of their wedding, and he loved his wife and so gritted his teeth at the beast. Years before, her father had commissioned it; Ragnall suspected he’d been quite glad to unload it on his son-in-law.

  Still, even he had to admit the beast was useful at rare times. Times like now, when I’ve a thousand and one things to do. Covered in papers and documents, so many that the maple only peeked through, it didn’t look half bad.

  Rubbing his tired eyes, Ragnall rose from behind the beast. He opened the window in an effort to temper the day’s unseasonal heat. The sea’s gentle breeze carried the smell of honest salt and the sounds of gulls. He stretched his arms and looked out the window, down the steep bluff, and across the harbor to Monport below. The docks were empty, of course, their ships all well out to sea. Not a single sail on the horizon. Gone fishing, no doubt. He wished them well. From the huge deepwater falnish to bluefin tuna and on down to the smallest sardine, the people would need every fish they could get before winter ended.

  He eyed the stacks of papers patiently waiting his attention. Paperwork, bookkeeping, reports...the greatest adversaries ever devised by man. He rubbed at the protesting muscles in his lower back. Life was so much simpler when my enemies carried swords, not pens. Still, no help for it but to dive in.

  He shuffled aside stacks of papers and reports, bringing the most important to the fore and shifting those of lesser consequence to the back. Those few that didn’t warrant even a moment of his attention he’d already filtered out. Like the discarded bones of a long-dead animal, they lay scattered on the floor in loose, crumpled balls. He’d burn them later.

  A knock at the door offered him a brief pardon from his work, and he seized on it. “Please come in,” Ragnall called.

  A young woman, tall and thin with long, golden-blonde hair and serious green eyes, entered his office. She carried an assortment of bound scrolls and reports. More enemies to slay. Eyeing his desk, she hesitated on where to set them.

  “Please, go ahead and put them in that chair, Nuren,” Ragnall said, pointing.

  “My father sends these from LaBrogue.” She held up two scrolls, both bound with a ribbon and sealed with a daub of wax. “He’s spent some time in the northern ports, as well.”

  Most of Jales’ r
eports would find their way to the floor. The young senator’s detailed meanderings often did. Jales hadn’t yet learned to sift between what truly mattered and what should go left unsaid. Perhaps that will come in time. The man was both exhaustive and tireless in his efforts. Someday, when paired with wisdom and experience, the combination would serve him well. Today, though, it just means more work for me.

  “What of your own observations?” Ragnall said.

  “Sir?” Nuren tilted her head.

  “Your observations of the capital. I would hear your thoughts. You meet with many of LaBrogue’s key players in your travels and social circles.”

  Nuren paused before beginning, glancing out the open window and then back. “The people understand the need for the expedition. They are frightened. Word of the huge storms in the north and the failed harvest is now everywhere. They still have faith in the King and the Senate, though.”

  Ragnall nodded. He dipped a quill in a vial of ink and scribbled a note. “And what do you think?”

  “Sir?”

  “What do you think will happen next? How will they handle what’s coming?”

  “I think they underestimate the challenges ahead. They haven’t yet felt hunger’s teeth gnawing in their bellies. I worry what will happen when they do, and I worry for the army.”

  “And for Cagle?” Ragnall looked up to focus on her.

  “Of course,” Nuren said without hesitation. She tilted her chin up an inch and her jaw flexed, determined, daring him to challenge her.

  There is a great deal of pride in her; not the boisterous kind of Jales, but a deep reservoir of strength.

  “Cagle has spoken to me of your plans together,” Ragnall smiled. “He’s already told you of this?”

  “He has,” Nuren said and gave a small nod. Her determination cracked a bare fraction.

  “I have high expectations for my children. Cagle and Olinia both. Much will be demanded of them in the days to come. As Cagle’s wife and the daughter of a senator, much will be demanded of you, as well,” Ragnall said.

  “I will serve the lowlands and Kartha to the best of my ability,” Nuren said. The lift of her chin was back, that hard shell of determination secure once more.

  Ragnall hadn’t intended to put her guard back up. In truth, he wasn’t comfortable with this discussion. Traditionally, interviewing prospective brides fell to the groom’s mother. His heart ached anew at the thought of his wife. For some, the pain of loss lessened with time, but Ragnall found his love for Alanda had only grown. He missed his wife always, and never more so than at times like this. He thought she would have liked Nuren.

  The girl has ambition. She will press Cagle to do what needs to be done, and she’ll stay by his side come what may.

  It wasn’t the political match Ragnall might have preferred. The daughter of one of LaBrogue’s senators would have been a better fit—several were of age. It would give Cagle ties to the capital and inroads there. But Cagle said he loved Nuren, and that was enough.

  Ragnall well remembered the feeling of being young and in love. He’d certainly loved Alanda—a prosperous fisherman’s daughter—without a care for politics. At least until she married me.

  After their vows, his wife had devoted herself to his career. She’d cared for the future of the lowlands as passionately as himself, and she knew that his advancement would protect their homeland. Like two powerful oxen long yoked together, they were an inexhaustible team. Or rather we were.

  “Is there a message you want sent to my father, sir?” Nuren asked. Her tone told him all he needed to know. Questioning her commitment had been a mistake. He’d only wanted to know if she was like Alanda.

  “I am afraid I’ve begun this badly.” Ragnall paused and took a breath. “Will you join me for lunch?”

  “As you wish,” Nuren said coolly.

  Ragnall stood. He closed his office windows and led Nuren down the short hall into the kitchen. Haney, his manservant and friend, waited for them there.

  “Will you prepare a place for Nuren? She’ll be joining me today,” Ragnall said.

  “Of course,” Haney said with a little bow.

  “And I think we’ll eat outside.” Ragnall turned to Nuren. “If that’s all right?”

  “Yes, of course,” Nuren said, slightly more warmly this time.

  Ragnall continued through the house, opening a door onto the veranda. They were on the north side of his estate now, again overlooking both the blue ocean and Monport. A square of smooth paving stones separated the house from the green yard and a row of round terra cotta planters ran along the border, each filled with a variety of long, decorative grasses or flowering plants in reds, purples, and yellows. The whole area was shaded by a thin canvas awning.

  Of everywhere in their home, this had been his wife’s favorite place. Alanda had designed it herself. The Sanctuary, she’d called it.

  In the veranda’s center, beside an iron fire ring stood a plain wooden table with benches for seats, arranged so everyone could look out at the water. Ragnall sat on one side, and Nuren eased down opposite him.

  “This is very nice,” Nuren said with a hint of a smile.

  “Yes, it is. Olinia and Cagle used to play out here. When the wind wasn’t too bad I would bring my work out just to be near them. I would imagine your own home is equally impressive.”

  “We have a view of Mount Cairen. The snow above the tree line shines orange and red in the evenings.”

  “I remember the loveliness of the mountain, though I confess I’ve not had the opportunity to see it for many years now,” Ragnall said.

  Tray in hand, Haney joined them on the veranda. He set a platter of sliced meat, cheese, fruits, and vegetables between them, then a plate and napkin in front of each.

  “Will that be all?”

  “Thank you, Haney, yes. This looks excellent.” Ragnall turned his attention back to Nuren. “The ham was honey-smoked and the white cheese came from LaBrogue itself. I heard they were some of your favorites.”

  “You’ve planned this well,” Nuren said, subtle humor in her tone. She took a portion of each along with a handful of red grapes and a few cucumber slices.

  “Allow me to be somewhat blunt,” Ragnall started. “Before he left, my son asked for my permission to marry you. I have given it. Normally, the duties of meeting the bride—making arrangements—would fall to Cagle’s mother, but...”

  Ragnall stopped to clear his throat. He blinked at the moist tingling in his eyes. “As she is no longer with us, it falls to me, and I am afraid I have no tact for it.”

  Comical, almost. I can manage senators, generals, even the King after a fashion, but I’ve no idea what to say to my future daughter-in-law.

  Nuren’s expression softened. She started to speak, but Ragnall cut her off.

  If I don’t finish now, I never will.

  “I have also given him—and now you—my fondest blessing. Cagle’s mother and I were much like the two of you. We married for love. I know it isn’t fashionable these days. It wasn’t in our day, either. I know that among many of the senators and the wealthiest merchant families, matches are made between the parents and love doesn’t enter into it, but I also know my son genuinely loves you.” Ragnall drank a mouthful of water.

  “In a way, you’ve both been robbed of your innocence. The Fleure stole it when you were forced to defend our homeland. Many times I’ve heard how the two of you worked together, rallying the other students your age, fighting off the invaders. If you can come through all of that, I’m sure you’ll both do very well together.”

  Nuren blinked. A small smile curved the corners of her mouth. “Thank you,” she said.

  “You are most welcome,” Ragnall smiled in return. He genuinely liked the girl, and Cagle was quite smitten. He could see
why. Nuren was beautiful and intelligent, driven too, though less obvious about it than her father. He recalled the determined look she’d given him earlier.

  A deep fire burns in her, one not to be put out easily. She will push Cagle to be his best.

  “Now, on to other important matters,” Ragnall said. “Have you talked about children? I’ve always thought four or five was the proper number.”

  Nuren’s cheeks reddened and she gave a warm laugh.

  The city of Washougle stretched out before Cagle like a vine-ripened melon. It did have a wall of sorts, a sprawling structure of stone and mortar. Still, it wouldn’t be too much trouble to breach. He could see several points where the masonry was loose and crumbling.

  He and his council—Meagera, Vlan, Zethul, Reeve, Felnasen, and joined now by Huir and Sansaba—studied the city.

  The army drew up around them, forming into a patchwork of squares and rectangles. Cagle was proud of their precision. Even the soldiers from Crow’s Bay had come a long way on the march, though to a trained eye they were easy to mark compared to the rest.

  “What do you think, Huir? Easy enough to breach?” Cagle asked.

  “Yes. The gates don’t look strong. We could be inside them by nightfall.” An eager light shone in the man’s eyes.

  “Tonight we rest. Tomorrow...” Cagle paused. He wanted to hear from Olinia first. I won’t throw away the lives of my men unless Washougle holds what we need. “Tomorrow we will see about the city. After what we did to their army at the very least they won’t trouble Crow’s Bay any longer. See to your men. Get them prepared.”