Legends of Ahn (King's Dark Tidings Book 3)

by Kel Kade

  “May I assist you with something, Your Majesty?” Wesson anxiously asked.

  Rezkin blinked. He realized he had been staring at Wesson for several minutes, minutes in which he had been completely lost. It was confirmed. He would need to talk with the mage.

  “Yes, Journeyman, there is. We will discuss it in my chambers later,” Rezkin said as he drew his eyes away to survey the dining hall.

  Frisha was seated to his left. The young woman was polite but reserved, and she never met his gaze or started a conversation with him. She seemed to have forgiven Wesson for his part in Rezkin’s deception. While her smiles and conversation were sincere and friendly toward the mage, she never once graced Rezkin with the same warmth. Rezkin had not set out to deceive her, but he had concealed many important facts about himself. He was frustrated with her coolness toward him, though, since he had told her he was keeping secrets from her for her own good. Worse was the fact that Frisha had discovered only a single new facet of his existence, and already she was having trouble accepting him. How would she react if she knew all that he truly was?

  Rezkin did not focus on Frisha for long. Many were present who posed far greater risk. He chided himself for the errant thought. He should not disregard the very real threat his friends posed. History was filled with examples of great men who had fallen under a brother’s traitorous blow or a lover’s poison. In fact, he was more likely to die at the hands of one he trusted than a stranger. Still, those who were closest to him were unlikely to strike during such a tumultuous time. They would wait until they felt safe and comfortable with their new lives.

  He looked past Wesson and Frisha to the remainder of his guests. Everyone but Rezkin seemed to care who sat where, and proper seating arrangements were particularly difficult considering the hodgepodge of nobles, mages, foreigners, and displaced Ashaiians that were present. Any who cared finally agreed to a rotating schedule for those who were to have the honor of sitting at the king’s table. At first, the placement of Wesson, a mere journeyman mage, at the king’s right hand caused such a ruckus that the young journeyman was ready to flee to the kitchens for his supper. One word from Rezkin had put an end to the dissent.

  Wesson and Frisha were to be seated at his sides, no matter what, and Tam, too, if he was present. Rezkin knew the protocols, and he knew proper dining and court etiquette, but he simply did not care. This was his kingdom, and his head hurt, and he did not want virtual strangers flanking him. He wanted the people he trusted most at his sides, both because it was easier to protect them and because it reduced the likelihood of being attacked or poisoned. One of the strikers was always at his back during meal times, which was more concerning than comforting; and occasionally, when Rezkin was overcome by one of the mental episodes, as he had taken to calling them, the shielreyah would pop in on the diners and send everyone into a tizzy. Rezkin never provided an explanation for the phantoms’ appearances.

  Shielreyah Elry suddenly appeared at Rezkin’s side, and he thought at first that he had inadvertently summoned the phantom again. Frisha jumped at the abrupt appearance of the specter beside her, dropping her spoon in her dish with a loud clink, and the schlik of drawn swords reverberated around the open hall.

  Ignoring the titters and grumblings of the diners and the ever so eloquent Kai, Shielreyah Elry announced, “Spirétua, Stargazer has returned. A second ship follows.”

  Rezkin excused himself from the table, although excuses were hardly necessary when everyone was eager to know what was happening. The prospect of news and supplies was excitement enough, but the gabblers were quick to conjecture about the nature of the second ship. Passing through the winding corridors, Rezkin slipped into the rear passage that led directly from the palace to the dockside warehouse with Kai, Wesson, and several guards on his heels.

  Rezkin began barking orders. “Drascon, to the seawall. Alert the lookouts and organize any resistance. Activate the alarm runes if necessary.”

  Drascon took off at a sprint, his weapons and light armor jingling in concert with the thud of his boots. Rezkin made a mental note to include Introductory Stealth Skills in the minimum training regimen, especially for the officers. He had been taught that silence was a virtue, and in this, he was a true believer.

  As he and his guards descended the grand stairs to the warehouse, they could hear footfalls approaching from behind. Although the refugees were few, most of them were skilled fighters or mages. Their standing orders were to take up arms and report to the citadel upon arrival of any ships. The incomplete form of a shielreyah appeared as a blue wisp several paces ahead of Rezkin.

  “Spirétua, Stargazer has entered the causeway. The second ship is stalled beyond the corveua.”

  The specter disappeared as Rezkin stepped through the space it had just occupied.

  “Thank you, Shielreyah Manaua,” Rezkin replied into the emptiness. “Inform the guard that they are to take up tactical positions.”

  The specter puffed into existence for only a momentary bow and said, “Yes, Spirétua. As you wish.”

  “You know you do not have to speak to them aloud,” Wesson huffed as he trotted beside Rezkin, his shorter legs unable to keep stride with the taller warrior’s own.

  “It is for the benefit of the others,” Rezkin explained. “You will take up position in the rear, Journeyman. Prepare yourself for battle.”

  “Battle, Sire?” Wesson sputtered. “What battle? I am not prepared for battle!”

  “We do not yet know the intent of the other ship. For all we know, Stargazer could have been hijacked. You are a battle mage, Wesson. You will act as such.”

  “You said I would not have to kill!” the mage protested.

  “And you do not. I stand by my word. Our numbers are not so great that those with useful skills may sit idly while the others fight for survival. You will participate in any battles where you are needed. How you participate is up to you. Whether you kill our enemies, subdue them, or guard and protect our own is your prerogative.”

  “Well, of course I will,” Wesson huffed in indignation. “I would not just sit by and watch people die.”

  “Then what is your problem, Journeyman?” Rezkin said as he came to a stop on the dock.

  Wesson shrugged uncomfortably and said, “Nothing, I suppose. I guess I was just hoping it would not come to violence. At least, not here. Not for a while, anyway.”

  “I understand,” Rezkin said, attempting to appear consoling and empathetic.

  With Wesson’s extensive knowledge and maturity, it was easy to forget how young and guarded the journeyman battle mage was. Although Wesson was less than a year younger than Rezkin, it sometimes seemed like decades lay between them.

  “You have come to see this place as one of safety, a refuge,” Rezkin said. “You must remember, though, Journeyman, that we are at war. Enemies may come from all sides at any time. They may even come from within.”

  The mage glanced around to see Kai directing the guards to their stations on the docks and within the warehouse. “No, I understand. Sorry. I just hate the violence and destruction,” he said with a haunted look.

  Rezkin nodded and then donned his black mask, determined to present his most imposing visage to potential enemies. He spied the journeyman mage out of the corner of his eye as he waited for the ship’s arrival. Not for the first time, Rezkin wondered about the young mage’s past. Wesson was largely a mystery. Nobody on the island had heard of the journeyman prior to meeting him, not even the other mages. Rezkin did not think the young man withheld anything out of deceit, but Wesson rarely shared openly or expounded on the details of his past without prompting.

  Rezkin wished he had more information on many of the people who now resided on the island, but he presently had no access to such intelligence without asking them directly. Even if he could contact his spy network in Ashai, he would not request information on Wesson. Unlike the strikers, the thieves’ loyalties were held loosely through fear. Any lack of knowledge on Rez
kin’s part could be seen as a vulnerability to be exploited. It was common knowledge among the refugees that Wesson held the king’s confidence, and Rezkin did not wish for others to discover that he actually knew very little about the mage. He was better off if people believed he knew far more than he did.

  Jimson and Tam were both standing next to the railing on the deck of Stargazer as it pulled alongside the dock. Nothing about the ship appeared amiss, and neither man looked the worse for wear. In fact, both men were smiling. Tam’s gaze darted around everywhere, making it obvious he was just glad to have returned. Jimson, however, was singularly focused. Rezkin followed the captain’s gaze and found Reaylin at the other end. The young woman was holding her ground with the rest of the able-bodied fighters, but she had strategically placed herself behind a pillar that stood in Rezkin’s direct line of sight. Although Rezkin was irritated that the young woman had disobeyed his command to stay within the citadel, she was ideally placed to provide both defensive backup and emergency healing should things turn foul on the docks. Rezkin caught the young woman’s gaze to make sure she knew she had been seen and then turned his attention back to the ship.

  Jimson had already given the signal indicating the ship was secure, and as soon as the gangplank hit the stone, Kai was aboard. Jimson and Tam disembarked first. Jimson was dressed splendidly in polished armor with a black tabard bearing a green lightning bolt. Tam wore the same tabard but without the armor, giving him the appearance of a servant of high standing. They were followed by two men Rezkin recognized, one of whom he might have to kill in the next few minutes. Tam bowed low in the manner of servants, while Jimson gave the formal salute and bow of a soldier.

  Rezkin had never assigned anyone an official position within the royal household’s hierarchy, yet his friends and followers had taken it upon themselves to fill their roles properly. He did not think the refugees’ eagerness to serve was out of any sense of dedication to him. These outworlders were conditioned to believe that each person had a role in society, and that role was the only one he or she was suited to fill. Rezkin held no such notions, as he had been trained to fill any number of roles, from a blacksmith or soldier to his present role as king. Still, none of them were real. Rezkin held no delusions that he was truly meant to be king. No one who spent his days upon a throne or behind a council table would need his specific set of talents. He was fairly certain that he was intended to dethrone Caydean, but beyond that, he had no idea what he was supposed to do. He wondered if he was not meant to survive at all.

  The two new arrivals held back several paces behind Jimson and Tam until they had finished their greetings and stepped aside. Jimson motioned the first man forward, and he complied with only a slight hesitation.

  The older man gave a formal salute and said, “Your Majesty, I am …”

  “LeukSergeant Yail Stratus,” Dark Tidings finished.

  Yail’s mouth gaped in surprise. “You know me?”

  Dark Tidings tilted his head and said, “Former Third Tier Champion of the King’s Tournament. You were an official at this year’s event.”

  “Quite so, Your Majesty, although some might refer to it as a catastrophe,” he added with disdain.

  “Indeed,” Dark Tidings intoned, his eerie, enchanted voice seeming to drop several octaves. “You are a citizen of Ashai in good standing, LeukSergeant. What brings you to my kingdom?”

  Yail nodded to Striker Shezar who was standing several paces behind Rezkin and then to Kai, who had closed in on the second man waiting for an introduction. The striker was suspicious and for good reason, Rezkin thought.

  “The strikers believe Ashai is your kingdom, and I am inclined to believe them,” the army veteran replied. With a heavy sigh, he said, “But mostly it is because of my wife, Sire. She is Sandean. We’ve lived in Skutton for the past ten years, since I retired from the army. We were in the stands together when we heard the striker’s announcement that they were rounding up all the foreigners. I gathered my wife and son and a few of our friends, and we fought our way past the soldiers. Master Cormack, here, was very helpful in getting us through the crowd,” Yail said, indicating the man behind him. “He’s a good man to have at your back in a fight.”

  “I am sure,” Dark Tidings drawled.

  Yail paused at what he thought sounded like amusement in the dark wraith’s tone. He turned to see that Master Cormack was holding Dark Tidings’s black gaze without blinking. Finally, Cormack’s eyes shifted to survey his surroundings, but Yail could tell that his focus never truly left the dark wraith.

  At a nod from the king, Yail continued. “We managed to avoid the patrols and made it home for a few supplies and personal possessions. Then, we headed for a small cove where Master Cormack kept his fishing boat. We loaded on as many people as we could. It’s not a big boat, so we were able to slip past the navy patrols in the dark. We didn’t really have a plan, but Master Cormack suggested we make for Channería. We hugged the coastline until we got to Serret. I thought we would seek asylum there, but some priests on the pier warned us against it. They told us that you and your refugees were headed for the Yeltin Isles.

  “Master Cormack convinced us that we should seek you out in Uthrel. He seems to think you have a plan to take back Ashai. He said we could serve the True King and help reclaim our home. I don’t know how they heard about it, but by the time we found a ship big enough to brave the open sea, we had more than a hundred others who wanted to go with us. We weren’t the only ones who made it out of Ashai, and still people are fleeing over the borders into the neighboring kingdoms. Most of them are looking for you.”

  Dark Tidings gave no indication that he was surprised … or even alive, for that matter. He stood as a statue carved in ebony, utterly still, just as he had during the tournament. Yail knew the man, or wraith, or whatever he was, could snap into motion in a breath and probably kill everyone on the docks without breaking a sweat. Or maybe that was just his fear-filled imagination running away with him. Probably not. The dark warrior wore the infamous black sword across his back but now had two other swords at his hips. Something about that tickled the back of Yail’s mind. Yail did not care to meet any of those swords.

  Dark Tidings made no reply, so Yail continued. “Once we got to Uthrel, nobody knew your whereabouts. I started to think we made a mistake when your ship finally came into port for supplies. I don’t know how, but Master Cormack knew it was yours. He arranged things with Captain Jimson to bring the refugees here. We also picked up a few more escapees who managed to make it to Uthrel on their own, as well as a few merchants and other businessmen claiming an eagerness to make deals. We have nearly two hundred people on the second ship awaiting authorization to enter the channel.”

  Dark Tidings abruptly asked, “Have you known Master Cormack for long?”

  Yail paused. Of everything he had said, that did not seem to be a significant detail. “No, Your Majesty. I never met the man until we fled the arena together. We wouldn’t have made it out of Skutton but for him. I would be dead and my wife and son, slaves. We owe him a debt that cannot be paid, and we thank the Maker for our luck in finding you.”

  “It was not luck that brought you to my shores, LeukSergeant,” Dark Tidings said before turning his attention to the second man.

  Captain Jimson noted the change in the king’s focus and said, “This is Master Gillis Cormack, Your Majesty. As you heard, he and LeukSergeant Stratus have been instrumental in bringing refugees to safety.”

  “Cormack? Is that what you are going by now?” Dark Tidings asked with little interest.

  He was studying the man’s eyes and nearly imperceptible ticks. Having sensed something off about the man, Kai had moved in with his hands hovering over his weapons.

  Cormack shrugged and said, “It is as good a name as any.”

  “And yet so many develop an unhealthy fixation with their names,” Dark Tidings said, thinking about all the pompous nobles who flaunted their names as though a name alone
could hold the power of the Maker.

  “I do hope this disguise is not for my benefit,” Dark Tidings remarked while looking the man over.

  Cormack wore plain, unkempt, homespun clothes, his shoulders were stooped, and his beard and hair were grown long and shaggy. Rezkin could never have mistaken the man for anyone but who he was, though.

  Cormack huffed at the absurdity. “It was for their benefit,” he said as he tilted his head at Kai, who was no longer bothering to hide his suspicions. Cormack held his hands steady at his sides and tilted his chin at Shezar. “That one is too young to know me, but Zankai would never have allowed me this close had he known.”

  Their hackles raised, Shezar and Kai both drew their swords. Jimson made to follow their lead, but his hand was stayed by Rezkin’s firm grip. A feminine yelp sounded from farther back in the warehouse, and somehow Rezkin just knew it was Frisha. The woman had apparently disobeyed his orders to stay in the secured wing of the palace so that she could see the excitement on the docks.

  “You did not come here to kill me—not yet, at least.” Dark Tidings said. “Why are you here?”

  Cormack smiled, white teeth gleaming behind a bushy beard. “Someone had to assist your refugees and bring them to you. I doubt they would have found you on their own.”

  The unnatural voice emanating from the masked wraith sounded like a growl as Dark Tidings responded. “I may be convinced that you are dedicated to Ashai. I may even be convinced that you are concerned for the welfare of the refugees. You will never convince me, however, that you believe they are in better hands with me.”

  Cormack’s smile dropped as he bitterly spat. “True, I have probably brought them to a painful death—lambs to the sacrifice.”

  Yail turned with wide eyes to the man he had trusted to lead him and his family to safety, but Cormack did not offer the leuksergeant so much as an apologetic glance.