The Star Of Saree

by A. J. STRICKLER

  “Though I am excommunicated, I still try to see to my flock. The Church cannot stop me from helping people in need. I came upon poor Halina and the others arguing with the soldiers about searching her home. I tried to intervene, but it was useless. The soldiers would not relent.

  “Eugen took me inside and explained what was happening, and about the children. I tried to get them to flee with me, but Tempest would not go.” He nodded to the girl.

  “Well, you don’t seem opposed to killing soldiers, holy man,” Endra said.

  “In defense of innocents, yes, and as I have said, I’m no longer a priest. I would die before I let anyone harm a child.”

  “Is that a fact?” Endra said, her hand sliding to the dagger in her belt. Kian put his hand on her shoulder; he could feel her trembling. If not for the others, the priest would be dead.

  “You haven’t always been a priest, have you?” Ashlyn asked.

  “No, I was a soldier once, and a poor one at best. To please my father, I joined the army for a time, but what was asked of me in service to the crown, I could not do.”

  Kian pushed himself from the wall and walked outside without a word. Endra frowned at him and followed.

  The cold air felt good on his face. Glancing up, he saw the moon trying its best to break through the clouds.

  Endra’s hand slipped onto his shoulder. “What is it?”

  “That is the first priest I have ever heard speak like that.”

  Endra scoffed. “You don’t believe that drivel coming out of his mouth. He’s just trying to save his neck. I will take him out back and kill him when we go back inside.”

  “Tempest would be very upset if you did that, she believes him.”

  “She is little more than a girl and doesn’t know the Church like we do.”

  “She is young, but I found her to be a good judge of character, and she knows about the Church, Endra. She was tied to a stake when I found her.” Kian rubbed his thumb on Silence’s hilt. He knew what the dark blade wanted him to do. This time he would refuse it. “We can’t let him go in case you are right. The priest could be lying, so we will take him with us.”

  “You want to drag that dog along with us?”

  “For now. If we find he played us false, you can kill him.”

  Endra sighed. “If you want a pet priest, so be it. But if he looks at me wrong, I’ll have his head no matter what you or Tempest say, and don’t expect him to be treated well.” She gave him a gentle push and went back inside.

  “I would have expected nothing else,” Kian whispered to the cold wind.

  * * *

  In the morning, they pulled a wagon from Halina’s barn and loaded it full of provisions from the house and as many blankets as they could find. It was getting colder, and the sky threatened snow as they left the farm.

  Vladimir said it would take nearly two weeks to get to the rebel camp with the wagon, and that was if there was no heavy snow. The cold weather would make the trip seem even longer, but there was little choice. They needed to make the journey while the weather still allowed it.

  Kian and Vladimir rode out ahead every day to keep watch for soldiers patrolling the countryside. His rebellious companions told him there would be little activity until the spring thaw. Kian didn’t care what they thought. He had no intention of getting caught unaware. He continued to scout ahead every day. There was no reason to be carless.

  He suffered two bouts of the pain on the journey south. Both times he had been out alone, and he was glad of it. The spasms in his chest and the knifing ache behind his eyes were agonizing. If the others were around, he could not have hidden the affliction.

  Each time the pain subsided, he felt weak and dizzy afterwards. He wished Rhys was with them; the healer would have known what to do. It was unfortunate for him that his friend was in Bandara, although he was glad the soft-hearted physician was not present to witness the death of a second sister. Telling Endra would do nothing but worry her, and she had enough on her mind these days without dealing with more of his abnormalities. No, it was best to stay silent for now. Perhaps whatever troubled him would abate on its own.

  By the time they reached the large wood where Vladimir and Katrina said Constantine’s camp was located, everyone was cold, wet, and hungry. Kian believed only the blood kept the children from being sick. They weren’t ill, but the smallest ones squalled daily and showed their displeasure for Trimenia’s winter.

  The wagon had to be abandoned not far after they entered the thick brush of the southern wood. The children were loaded onto the horses and wrapped in blankets before they moved any deeper into the frigid forest.

  Huge spruce trees heavily laden with snow shook their branches free as the horses passed through. Leafless oaks and thorn-covered black locust trees stood silently by while the firs dumped their icy burdens on top of the riders. Many times they had to climb down from their mounts and lead the animals where the tangled undergrowth was too heavy for the horses to pass. Kian couldn’t imagine how dense the wood must be in the spring and summer months when the forest thrived. From a military viewpoint, the impenetrable thickets would keep a large number of soldiers from getting close without warning.

  It wasn’t long before his keen ears picked up the sound of people. He relayed what he heard to the others, and Vladimir veered their course in the direction of the noise. The heavy thickets and brush gave way to a massive area where only trees stood. The ground had been cleared of smaller vegetation and brush, and even the snow on the ground was only visible in patches; the boots of over a thousand rebels had walked it clear.

  They saw no sentries posted along the perimeter. Katrina said it was near dinner, and the site’s guards had probably entered the camp to eat. It was clear to Kian this was no professional army.

  Large tents were strung from trees and several small cabins had been erected. They were crude, but would keep the cold winter winds at bay. Small fires burned throughout the camp, warming the surrounding air. Armed men in mismatched armor moved through the encampment tending to a hundred different tasks. Women and children toiled right alongside the men. Braving the elements and the threat of a hangman’s noose rather than the baron’s overenthusiastic tax collectors.

  Vladimir and Katrina received a hero’s welcome, though he and the others did not. The Trimenians took one look at the warriors their leaders had brought with them and turned up their noses. Only Vladimir’s word and the hood of his cloak got them into the encampment.

  Pepca froze at the gate; Julian had to lead her by the hand into the camp. The young man’s wound was near healed, likely due to the same magic that allowed his transformation. The shock on the young princess’s face at the number of rebels in the wood was clear. Pepca’s thoughts were a mystery to him, but the compassion in her eyes was there for any to see. Vladimir had told them before entering the camp that it was best to keep Pepca’s identity a secret for now. The rebels would not take kindly to King Petru’s daughter taking refuge among them. Many still blamed the king for the state of affairs in Trimenia.

  Katrina took everyone to find them places to lodge and get something to eat, which quieted Cromwell’s incessant grumbling. The redheaded fighter hadn’t spoken to Kian since they left Halina’s. Both Vladimir and Grigore had tried talking to her about what happened back at the farm, but apparently their words hadn’t vindicated him of Eugen’s death, at least not to Katrina.

  While Vladimir went to speak with Constantine, Kian walked among the people of the camp. Despite the harsh cold and the blistering wind, the rebels scampered to and fro tending to an array of duties. Minding the fires, cutting wood, and preparing food seemed to be the main activities. There were also men repairing weapons, fletching arrows, and hammering dents from old suits of armor. The people’s work was diligent, but Kian had seen armies. The Quintarans, the Masarian War Dogs, Havalon’s Abberdonians, the Knights of Ascona, the Phoenix Queen’s Bandarans, even the pope’s mighty papal army. He was no soldier, bu
t he had fought many of them and these rebels were no army. They were just people who had tired of oppression and persecution. In the end, they would die because another’s greed had destroyed their simple lives. If things were different, he would ride with them in the spring and help them kill Serban, but his fight wasn’t here in Trimenia. It was in Tyro, and one day, he would finish it.

  It was not long until Vladimir collected him to go see Constantine. Walking into the largest of the primitive structures, Kian pulled his hood back. There was no sense hiding what he was from the leader of the rebellion. If he wasn’t accepted, he would rather know now.

  The cabin had two rooms, one much large than the other. A huge wooden table sat in it center of the bigger space, with three men looking over a crude map of the area surrounding Brova.

  “You men are dismissed. We will continue this later,” the leader of the rebellion commanded. Two men in rusty chainmail walked out, eyeing him as they passed. When they had left, Vladimir gestured to him. “Constantine Miklos, this is Kian Cardan.”

  The man looked into his golden eyes without expression and extended his hand. Kian took it and considered the famed general of the rebellion, who wasn’t what Kian expected. His short hair dark hair was curly and he sported the same beard as many of his countrymen did. He was short, thin, and younger than one would imagine, not yet forty to be sure. He wore dark trousers and a wool shirt, and carried no weapon that Kian could see.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Kian. It seems we owe you a great debt, according to Vladimir,” Constantine said.

  “You owe me nothing,” Kian replied.

  “On the contrary, freeing Vladimir and the others was more important than I can convey, and a debt not easily paid. You and your people are welcome to stay with us through the winter if you wish. It should be relatively safe. The baron won’t attempt anything till spring, and then most likely not till after princess Danika is wed.”

  Kian inclined his head. “I thank you, and we will pull our weight till winter breaks. Just tell us what needs done. None of the people with me will shirk a task.”

  “Good. There is always work to be done.”

  Kian made to leave

  “Wait, Kian, let me speak with you for a time. I want you to know what we are doing here.”

  The swordsman knew what was coming. “Vladimir and Katrina have already spoken to me about the rebellion you are leading. I know about your fight against Serban’s tyranny, and I hope you are victorious, but it’s not my fight.”

  Constantine gave him a warm smile; the look sat well on the young man’s face. It reminded Kian of the merchants that hawked their wares in the great market of Bandara. “Let’s talk anyway. It will be easier knowing I’m not trying to convince you to help us.”

  Kian shrugged. “Very well.”

  “Vladimir, see to whatever Kian’s people need and tell them I won’t keep him long.”

  “As you wish.” The shapechanger pulled his hood up and stepped outside.

  Constantine offered him one of the makeshift chairs sitting near the table. Kian sat down, wishing he was somewhere else.

  The rebel general poured him a mug of warm beer from a wooden pitcher at the end of the table. “Now where should I begin?”

  It was near dark when he left the cabin. The cold bit at his face when he stepped outside. When Constantine had finished, Kian understood why he led the rebels. The man was a zealous patriot and a talented speaker. Constantine was full of high-minded ideas and philosophical notions. He wanted to bring justice to his country. When he and the rebels won, Constantine believed a new day would dawn on Trimenia.

  Kian’s years with K’xarr had taught him something about the ambitions of men like the rebel leader. Kingdoms weren’t won with moving speeches and a head full of dreams. The edge of a sword was what a country was balanced on. Blood and steel was what tipped the scales of power. A leader had to be willing to spill one and use the other, no matter what the cost. Men with good intentions died just as easy as those with poor ones, and fate cared little who the victor was. Constantine did understand the righteousness of his cause would not keep Serban from butchering them all in the spring.

  During the conversation, Kian had also learned why Serban wanted Vladimir and Julian dead. In their wolf forms, the shapechangers could kill the undead baron. It was why he was so hesitant to deal with them himself.

  Constantine told him that it was those two men who would bring an end to Serban, and bring peace back to Trimenia. He left out details of what the rebel’s plans entailed, but that didn’t surprise Kian. They had just met, after all.

  He joined the others in the cabin that had been provided for them. His chest hurt and a headache threatened, though neither was severe. The lodge was made up of only two rooms. It would be crowded, but it would keep the cold wind off them.

  A fire burned in the crude fireplace in the corner, and a haunch of a deer was roasting on it when he came in. Endra and Ashlyn had stripped out of their armor and changed into wool shirts and fur-lined pants that the rebels had provided. Cromwell sat near the fire with his eye on the roasting meat.

  Tempest and the girls were in the backroom giggling at the babies. Endra moved to him and kissed him passionately on the mouth. “What did you learn about our host?”

  “A great deal. I will tell you while we eat.”

  “If that ever happens,” Cromwell said, looking at Ashlyn turning the spit.

  “If you want to eat it raw just say so, I would be more than happy to throw your portion on the floor now and you can gnaw at it like a hound.”

  Endra slapped the Toran on the shoulder. “Be patient. Would you rather I do the cooking?”

  The Toran glanced up at Endra and shook his head.

  “I would not care to be poisoned so soon after we arrived.”

  “I know I am not the best cook, but my food is not that bad,” Endra mumbled.

  “I have seen hogs turn their snouts up at your cooking, Shieldmaiden. The last dish I ate that you prepared would have left a bad taste in a rat’s mouth,” Cromwell teased.

  Endra kicked Cromwell in the shin and Ashlyn snorted, trying to hold in her amusement. All three broke in to a cascade of laughter.

  Kian shook his head, then looked around the room. “Where is the priest?”

  The merriment quickly died at his question. “Not in here. Some of the rebels knew him and welcomed the bastard with open arms. Since we were guests, I thought it best not to claim him as our prisoner. I told you we should have killed him back at the farm.” Endra scowled.

  “We will watch him in any case. He can’t be trusted, at least not yet,” Kian offered.

  “Not ever,” Endra said, running her hands through her thick hair. “Even if what he says is true, one less priest in the world would not make me sad.”

  Kian could not argue, for he felt little different than the others. He had never run across a holy man that truly believed in the words the Holy Tome set forth. This young priest seemed different, though, and he found himself interested in what the man’s fate would be.

  They ate and bedded down for the night, exhausted from their journey. Endra was curled in his arms, and even with the Toran’s snoring, he felt content. It would be a fine way to live, he thought as his eyes slowly closed.

  In the week that they had been in the camp, the weather had helped to cover his lineage. It was so cold, no one asked why he kept his hood up all the time. A few of the Trimenian’s standoffishness demeanor had faded, and they had come around to greet the newcomers. None had noticed his inhuman visage, or if they had, they hadn’t remarked on it.

  Cromwell had been at relentlessly hounding him about returning to Brova to avenge Morgana. He owed the giant warrior much. Kian knew he had little choice but to agree to aid his friend. If their positions were reversed, he knew Cromwell would not have to be asked twice.

  They would leave in a day or two. Kian had at least convinced him to keep their fight limited to th
e archbishop and any soldiers they came across, though Cromwell had agreed reluctantly. He wasn’t worried about Cromwell keeping his promise. If the Toran gave his word, he would not break it. In truth, it was he who was more likely to carry things too far. It was a habit he wished he could break.

  The day was overcast and a light snow fell. He and Cromwell had joined several men chopping wood for the camp. They hadn’t been at it for more than an hour when a great shout went up. With practiced speed, the rebels grabbed their weapons and begin to form a line through the heavy wood on the north side of camp.

  Endra and Ashlyn came running, tossing Kian and Cromwell their equipment. Quickly, the warriors donned their armor and joined the rebels on the line. The steam from a thousand mouths filled the air as the Trimenian renegades gripped their weapons and made ready to meet whatever force was coming through the trees.

  Kian saw riders breaking through the brush, their horses slowed by the thickets and ground foliage. Their colors came into to view; a black flag with a skeletal warrior on the back of a desiccated horse. Below it flew a white flag.

  It was K’xarr and the Sons. Constantine held up his hand when he saw the white flag, keeping the rebel archers from releasing their arrows. “What do you want?” the rebel leader called out.

  K’xarr rode forward alone. “Damn but you’re a hard bunch to find.”

  Vladimir whispered in Constantine’s ear and the commander nodded. “I will repeat myself but once more. What do you want here, Captain Strom?”

  He could see K’xarr fighting down a grin. Kian knew it was because Constantine had known his name.

  “Well, we are looking for a job.”

  “I wonder what going on in there,” Endra said, kicking at the melting snow near the fire. They all stared at Constantine’s makeshift headquarters, waiting for K’xarr to emerge.

  Cromwell snorted. “Who knows, but K’xarr is up to something. He would not leave Serban to join this rabble on a whim. There is no gold in helping these dirt diggers.”