Bastial Sentinels (The Rhythm of Rivalry: Book 5)

by Narro, B. T.

  All traces of the battle’s carnage were gone…at least when examining the city itself. But as Jek studied the faces of Hillwak’s citizens, he realized the obvious truth. What happened during the Bastial Steel War will affect some people for their whole life.

  He wondered what this new war would be called and what it would do to Greenedge.

  No man in their party wore anything that identified his allegiance to the Takary Army. All but two of the guards were in chainmail, a common armor among hired help. The others wore boiled leather tunics.

  Around the palace, Jek dressed in the same green robes worn by all of the Sartious mages in the Takary Army, though his collar and cuffs were sown with thread dyed gold to demonstrate his superior rank. But Owin Lage had given him unassuming clothing he’d gladly donned before leaving the mansion.

  He’d never minded the lustrous green robe. It gave him pride and purpose, and Lisanda seemed to enjoy the way he looked in it. But now that he’d arrived in Hillwak, the feeling of the fine cloth against his skin would’ve turned his pride to shame, his purposeful feeling to apprehension.

  Micah told Jek that most arrests for blasphemy came from Hillwak. At times, Danvell had been concerned for his cousin’s safety.

  “Why didn’t Danvell just make his cousin give up the governorship and allow them to choose their own man for the task like they used to?” Jek asked.

  “Because that would be showing the people that defiance against their leader got them what they wanted,” Micah answered. “A mother doesn’t enjoy disregarding her son’s pleas. But if she’s already told him he can’t have something, giving in to the child’s demands teaches him a poor lesson. Instead, she must scold or ignore him for his continuous defiance, which Danvell and Sabin have done over the years.”

  “And has Hillwak improved?”

  “No.”

  Let’s hope they haven’t heard about Fatholl, Jek thought.

  The stares they received seemed to be out of curiosity. “They probably think we’re nobles,” Micah suggested.

  The sun was low in the sky, falling below the clouds and painting them red. They didn’t have long to find a suitable inn for the nine of them.

  “Why don’t we stay with Sabin Takary?” Jek asked. He didn’t know how the man lived, whether it was in a mansion, a small castle, or even a palace. He would’ve wagered all his money, though, that it wasn’t in a house too small for guests. Jek hadn’t been the King’s Mage for long, and he’d known nothing of nobility or royalty before, but he’d learned a lot since he’d taken the job.

  Lisanda slowly had been teaching him what she’d claimed every noble already knew, but only indirectly—when she’d refer to a name or a place that he hadn’t heard before or never cared to remember. It wasn’t long before she was incapable of being shocked by his ignorance. Often after she shared her knowledge, she’d tell him, “You really need to learn this before we get married.” She always delivered this line halfheartedly and with a smile, though he knew she longed to discover what his thoughts were on the subject.

  His opinion was that nobody should marry too quickly. He couldn’t blame Lisanda for wanting to rush things. It wasn’t long after she was old enough to know about boys that she’d learned about princes and marriage. She’d explained that she’d had to understand such things at a young age because not a year went by without her parents bringing her to at least half a dozen weddings or betrothal ceremonies.

  It scared him to think about how fast his feelings had developed for Lisanda. She’d become an integral part of his life in just a matter of months. At the moment, he felt he could marry her, but that didn’t mean he was ready to be with her for the rest of his life, did it?

  Even Danvell had made comments about it. “People talk, Jek. It doesn’t reflect well on the King when his daughter is sharing a bed with a man not her husband.” He’d smile and clasp Jek’s shoulder. “You’re lucky I trust you.”

  The worst was when Danvell questioned him directly. “Why haven’t you proposed yet? You’ve told me you care more about Lisanda than the cure to your darkness. Is this still true, or have you changed your mind?”

  No matter what Jek answered, he’d always come away feeling more nervous about marriage.

  It was hard to conceive that Danvell was dead, that Lisanda no longer had a father. Jek’s new king was twenty-two, only five years older than he was. The loss was a dull ache in Jek’s chest, always worsening whenever he thought of Danvell, sometimes giving him the sensation of a stone lodged in his ribs, hampering his breathing.

  “Jek, did you hear me?” Micah asked.

  “No, sorry.” He roused himself from his thoughts.

  “I asked if you’re worried something’s going to happen,” Micah said. “Since you inquired about staying with Sabin Takary.”

  “Somewhat,” Jek admitted.

  “While our titles give us some rank, we don’t have the stature to visit Sabin unannounced and ask for lodging. Even royalty would need a good reason to show up and ask for nine meals and beds without prior agreement.”

  “But we do have a good reason. We need to get to Raymess as soon as we can, and we need food.”

  “Yes, our reason is just. With some convincing, Sabin probably would let us stay in his guarded mansion, but there’s no need. No one’s going to try anything against seven men clad in armor. They’d have to be mad.”

  “Or psychic,” Jek muttered before he could hold it in.

  “Fatholl let us leave the palace. I’m sure he wants something else from us besides our lives.”

  Chapter 11:

  JEK

  They needed nine beds, nine dinners and breakfasts, and nine bags of food substantial enough to last them the three more days it would take to reach Lake Mercy.

  They needed an inn that was well-equipped.

  “That one looks big enough,” Jek said, pointing. “And it has a stable.”

  Micah grunted and turned his horse. In the last hour, he’d become weary and reticent. None of them had slept for long last night. And the night before that, in the Lage mansion, Micah hadn’t slept at all. He said he’d been up with Vala, but he didn’t seem interested in elaborating. Jek figured they were mourning Danvell, sharing their concerns about Fatholl, and discussing how to find Raymess.

  The inn was three stories tall. A man with a wide chin and a dagger on his belt stood in front of the door. His arms folded at the sight of them.

  “We wish to stay the night,” Micah said.

  “How many?”

  “Nine, doesn’t matter if we’re sharing rooms.”

  “Wait here.” The man entered the inn and shut the door behind him.

  Soon he returned followed by an old man wearing a wool hat and a leather vest. He had suspicious eyes, tired and unforgiving.

  “Who are you?” He glanced between Jek and Micah.

  They gave their names.

  “I’ve heard of both of you,” the innkeeper said. “You’re the King’s most trusted adviser, and you’re the King’s Mage.” By his tone, he clearly wasn’t pleased. “What are you doing in Hillwak? Should we expect a battle?”

  “We’re just passing through on business.” Micah made an effort to show a friendly smile. “We’ll be leaving after breakfast, if you’ll have us.”

  The old innkeeper’s mouth cracked open at the corner, showing a hint of a smile. “Of course. Come with me.” Judging by how suddenly his tone had become friendly, Jek figured Micah had used psyche.

  The innkeeper brought them to the stable behind the inn, where they paid the stable master and left their horses with him. Then they followed the innkeeper inside his establishment.

  “You all look as hungry as you do tired,” he said before Jek even had a chance to look around. “We have an excellent chef making braised pork tonight. I’m sure you’ll smell it soon. Watch the steps.”

  He led them up two steps and into an expansive common room. Wooden dinner tables with benches instead of cha
irs were spread around a small stage in the center. On the opposite side, a stairway twisted up to the second and third floors. The inn wasn’t crowded, but only a few of the many tables were empty.

  A little girl squealed with laughter, drawing Jek’s eyes. She looked barely old enough to speak, and she had a brother of the same age. The siblings were seated on their parents’ laps, the girl on her mother’s and the boy on his father’s.

  Jek’s mind was at ease as he glanced around and found friends and families paying them little attention. A mousy man came on the stage and set down a stool and a lute case. He pulled out his instrument and stretched his fingers. Then he plucked a few notes with his neck craned, listening closely to make sure the lute was in tune. The enticing aroma of the pork flooded Jek’s senses, making his stomach growl.

  “It’s not every day we have braised pork,” the innkeeper said. “I recommend a plate for each of you.”

  “Thank you,” Micah said. “We’d very much enjoy that.”

  “Good. Let me show you to your room so you can set down your bags.” He led them up the stairs. “I’d prefer if your guards left their armor and weapons in their rooms. It would make my guests feel more comfortable.”

  “I understand,” Micah said.

  All of Jek’s worries had been left at the door. He was glad Micah felt the same way. Perhaps they actually could relax for an evening.

  The innkeeper put Jek and Micah in a second-floor room with two beds. The guards shared rooms as well. The men seemed happier without their armor and swords, all smiling as they took an entire table for themselves and waited for their food.

  That left little room for Jek and Micah, so they sat at a small table for two in the corner. The bard had begun to play and sing. He had a soothing voice and didn’t sing so loud as to demand attention. Jek recognized the song immediately. It had become popular in just the last year, though Jek had learned the words when he was a child.

  The bard was at the middle of the song—a surprising bridge that turned the love story toward a sad ending. Jek thought it was an odd choice of song, as everyone in the common room was in high spirits, many with their hands clasped around mugs of ale. Jek decided to join them in ignoring the lyrics, listening only to the swaying melody, light and hopeful.

  Servers wearing wide and seemingly genuine smiles brought in plates of steaming meat. Applause broke out, drowning out the song. But the bard simply grinned and continued.

  Glimpsing all the happy faces, Jek smiled, too, until he sensed someone glaring at him. The stranger wore a cloak, its hood putting his face in shadow. The moment their gazes locked, the man looked over at a woman seated beside him. She turned to glance over her shoulder at Jek. Without even feigning a smile, she held him with her gaze for a heartbeat before turning back to her companion. The way her stare had burrowed into him reminded him of the Elven woman who’d killed Danvell. The hooded man’s eyes kept drifting back and forth between Jek and the woman. The lack of subtlety made him nervous.

  A server came between their tables with two plates of food and set them down for Jek and Micah.

  “Thank you,” Micah said.

  She curtsied and returned to the kitchen.

  “Did you notice the woman and hooded man seated a few tables to your left?” Jek whispered.

  “Yes.” Micah began to eat without looking up. “They’ve been glancing over here.”

  “So let’s go over there and ask why,” Jek said, shifting as he readied to stand.

  “What?” With wide eyes, Micah looked at Jek as if he’d suggested they remove their pants and dance on the stage. “No.” He used his whole face to gesture for Jek to stay in his seat. “Just give it some time to see what we can figure out. Remember that we aren’t exactly welcome here.”

  Jek tried to ignore the urge to confront the man, focusing instead on his delicious meal and the singer. He soon found it impossible to relax. If he wasn’t going to get up, he felt he at least should talk to Micah about Fatholl or Lake Mercy.

  On second thought, he was in no mood. The hours of worry had exhausted him.

  After Micah stifled a burp with his hand and pushed his empty plate aside, he discreetly turned toward the hooded man and woman, watching silently.

  “Can you use psyche?” Jek wondered.

  “I am. Give me a moment.”

  Jek knew patience was one of his biggest weaknesses. There were some people who could ignore a dubious hooded man who kept glancing over, but Jek had hardly enjoyed his meal because of it. Lisanda had compared him to a dog, ready to bark at anyone who looked at him the wrong way. Micah was the opposite, like a leopard using the cover of night to stalk his prey. Even the way he glanced over was inconspicuous, making it look like he was intently listening to the lute player’s song.

  “Damn,” Micah muttered. “Both of them are psychics.”

  Jek stood out of reflex, unsure what he had planned.

  “Sit down,” Micah demanded, furious desperation in his eyes. Once Jek obeyed, Micah whispered, “I’m not sensing any aggression. But they certainly know I’m a psychic now.”

  Jek couldn’t keep his gaze from darting to them again and again. The psychics were plainly looking back now, without a care of being noticed.

  “Is there any way for you to tell if they’re Elves?” Jek asked.

  “Not from psyche, though I believe they are. I’ve never encountered two Humans together with psyche as strong as those two. She probably has her ears pinned back and hidden by her hair. And whatever his hair doesn’t conceal, his hood is doing the rest.”

  “What are the chances two psychic Elves aren’t part of Fatholl’s army?” Jek asked rhetorically. “Probably none.”

  “But there is a chance they don’t know who we are,” Micah answered, “and an even better chance they wouldn’t hurt us if they did. Let’s just ignore them.”

  Jek was dumbfounded. “How can you say that?”

  Micah’s eyes rolled on their way to Jek’s face. “What would you have us do instead? Attack them in the middle of this inn?”

  That would be better than ignoring them, Jek wanted to say, though he held his tongue and took a few breaths to think.

  “Let’s at least go over there and see what they want,” he suggested.

  “And then what?”

  Jek hadn’t thought the rest through. “It depends on what they say.”

  “It’s better if we don’t. They’ll probably just tell us they needed a place to eat and sleep.”

  “But you can tell if they’re lying.”

  “Yes, but they can do the same to me. They’ll ask who we are if they don’t know already. I don’t see how any good can come from the conversation. It could lead to aggression, and fighting two Elves in the middle of an inn in Hillwak would be foolhardy. Whatever they’re doing for Fatholl, our going over to their table isn’t going to stop it. Don’t you see that?”

  “I do.” It was just so hard to let them sit there, though. Jek felt the need to leave the common room in order to control himself. He stood. “I’m going to request a bath and then settle into our room for the night.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  Like every other night, his darkness came and killed him in his sleep, this time slicing open his stomach with an ax. He awoke with his heart racing. Micah was sitting up in bed beside him, his dark hair hanging over his forehead and ears, his eyes black in the moonlight.

  “Did this happen to you last night when we were sleeping on the grass?” he asked.

  “Yes. You slept through it.”

  “I was so tired, I’m not surprised.” Micah fell silent. “I’ve never seen it before. It’s…terrible. I’m sorry I haven’t found a cure yet.”

  “It’s fine. Go back to sleep. I need to clean my wounds.”

  Micah looked as if he wanted to say something encouraging but couldn’t think of anything. So he lay back onto the mattress and shut his eyes.

  Jek had put out clean towels, water,
and bandages by his bed before going to sleep. He dabbed his wounds so that his blood wouldn’t run down to his underwear, gathered everything, and walked to the door. Upon opening it, he heard voices from the common room downstairs. Still behind the door, he sighed despairingly. He wasn’t about to put on his shirt and pants just to walk through the common room, only to remove them again once he was in the bathing quarters. It wasn’t worth the trouble. He just hoped none of the voices belonged to women.

  Taking care to be quiet, he came out of his room and peered over the railing. Shocked, he found the sounds were coming from some of his guards. They were…walking out of the inn? They had on their armor, and their bags were in hand. They were leaving!

  Jek set down the water and towels as quickly as he could, leaving them in the middle of the hall as he ran down the stairs. He stopped at the bottom and started back up to get Micah. But he changed his mind after only two stairs, turning and running to the front door of the inn. He wanted to stop the guards before they retrieved their horses.

  As he ran outside, he halted once again, completely shocked. All seven guards were leaving, not just a few.

  “What are you doing?” Jek called to them. It was twilight, and he could just barely see the grimace on their faces. The air was cold, causing him to shiver and wrap his arms around his bare chest. The wound on his stomach stung as the breeze hit it.

  “Go back inside,” one man said calmly, “before you freeze.”

  “But where are you going?”

  They looked at each other. The first man who’d spoken took a step toward him. “Do you even know my name?”

  “I don’t,” Jek admitted, suddenly struck with guilt.

  “Do you know any of our names?”

  Jek shook his head.

  “I’m Henry, and we’re leaving now. I don’t recommend you try to stop us. None of us want to hurt you, but we will if we must.”

  “You were just going to sneak out during the night and make us wonder what happened?” Jek asked incredulously. “Where are you even going? It’s a crime to abandon your task. And those horses belong to the Goldram Army! Leaving with them would be theft!”