by Kel Kade
“What about this man? Why him?” Dark Tidings asked, as though reading Yail’s thoughts.
Cormack shrugged. “You were familiar with him, having had a past, albeit brief, interaction. I gambled that he might be able to get closer to you before you struck him down. Also, he was a tournament official, so it was easier to get past some of the guards with him during our escape. He and a few of his friends are former soldiers, so they would be useful to you. Basically, he was the best I could do in a short time.”
Yail again looked at Cormack, this time with scorn and betrayal in his eyes. He could not believe the pleasant man who had preached so passionately about serving the True King was naught but a self-serving deceiver. Aside from that, the man’s logic was flawed. Yail had not worked the fifth tier competition or the melee, and he would have remembered any amount of interaction with the infamous dark warrior.
“Why did you really bring them all here?” asked the dark wraith.
Cormack sighed. “A peace offering. You have no reason to kill me, and you have something I want.”
“I need no reason to kill you,” Dark Tidings retorted, and he heard another gasp from the warehouse.
Kai narrowed his eyes as he carefully studied the stranger’s sun-darkened face behind the jungle of hair. Suddenly his eyes widened in recognition.
“Farson!” Kai exclaimed in dismay.
In this man, Kai saw a ghost from the past, a colleague he had admired in his youth, a man long thought dead. A small measure of reality came crashing down on the striker. Until that moment, he had managed to reserve a reasonable doubt in the back of his mind about Rezkin’s assertions of his past, his claim to have been raised and trained by so many strikers and then to have killed them all. It struck him, for the first time, that Farson’s very existence and presence on that dock was proof that Rezkin’s claims were probably true. Kai’s inner turmoil was interrupted by the dark wraith himself.
“You would bargain in blood for peace with me?”
Farson grumbled through gritted teeth, “Obviously not, you being the antithesis of peace. A trade, then. You seem to place some value in these refugees, although I have not yet divined your true motives. You desire those with strength. A good number of these that I brought are fighters, talented, or skilled craftsmen. Just release her, and you can have them all.”
Yail wanted to rail at the man for bargaining to sell him and his fellow refugees to a man that Cormack, or Farson, or whoever he was, obviously thought to be a murderous demon.
“What is she to you?” Dark Tidings asked.
Farson shifted, unwilling to answer.
“You know I will find out one way or another,” Dark Tidings stated blandly.
With a heavy sigh, Cormack said, “She is my niece, the last of my kin.”
Rezkin was not sure why, but he was angered that Farson held such a low opinion of him. He persistently endured an endless struggle to follow the Rules the strikers had taught to him, and he continued to maintain mastery of the Skills, yet his trainer hated him for it.
Dark Tidings took a step forward, his eerie voice erupting in a hiss. “Except now I have you … and them … and your niece. Why should I give you anything?”
Sadness flashed in the striker’s eyes for only a moment, and then it was replaced with resolve. He pulled himself to attention, and his eyes lost their light, the spark replaced by the emptiness of duty. “Release her, and I will serve you.”
Rezkin had had enough. “I do not want your service, Farson. You may go or you may stay. I care not so long as you do not get in my way.”
He knew he should kill the striker. It was obvious Farson would never support him, which meant he was an enemy. It was folly to leave an enemy at his back. But, for some reason, he could not bring himself to end Farson without provocation. When he thought of killing the man, it felt as though he were killing all his trainers again, and his chest tightened painfully.
Farson gaped in surprise. Death was letting him slip away again. “My niece …”
Rezkin snapped, “I did not take her, Farson. She came of her own free will, and she has ever since been attempting hide her presence from me—very poorly, I might add. If she wishes to leave, then she may leave, but you will not take her against her will.” He thumbed the hilt of his sword, a message of warning. “It was my belief that you likely sent the woman here for your own devices. It is a belief I am not prepared to discount. Was it a clever ploy to gain access to the island, to me?”
Farson fisted his hands and struggled to remain steady knowing any advancement or hostile actions could lead to a swift death. “I would never intentionally place her in danger, and I cannot fathom anywhere more dangerous than with you.”
Dark Tidings tilted his head and replied, “Really, Farson? You think I would place any stock in such touching sentiments?”
Farson’s inscrutable gaze reminded Rezkin of the countless hours spent both learning to read his opponent and conveying, in his own eyes, only the messages he wanted delivered. After years of training with the striker, Rezkin was certain only that he could never know the mind or heart of Striker Farson in truth. It seemed the striker felt the same way about him.
“No, I would never expect you to understand what it means to care about someone,” Farson spat.
“Oh, I understand,” Rezkin retorted. “She is a young, attractive female who is highly intelligent and possesses an unusual combination of elemental mage affinities. She is a valuable resource that anyone would be distressed to lose.”
“She is not a resource!” Farson snapped. “She is my niece, and I will die protecting her because she is family and I care about her.”
“An outworlder sentiment that does not suit you, Farson.”
“I am an outworlder!” Farson barked. “We are all outworlders, except you! You are the one that cannot relate because you do not belong among us! You belong in the darkness, slipping between shadows or bathing in blood on the battlefield. You were never meant to be here,” he said, pointing at the ground.
His meaning was clear, though. Rezkin was never meant to walk among the outworlders. He was never meant to be known. He was supposed to always remain in the shadows.
“Mage Threll!” Dark Tidings said, his disturbing voice reverberating around the docks and through the massive warehouse.
Nanessy peeked around a pillar. She had accompanied Lady Frisha to the warehouse to see the new arrivals. She was supposed to be protecting the lady and other important residents on the second level, but Lady Frisha had insisted on coming down to the docks. Knowing the king would be furious if anything happened to his future wife, the elemental mage felt obliged to follow. The two women had grown acquainted on the journey to Cael, and Nanessy had been disappointed to find that she actually liked the younger woman. She wanted to hate Frisha, mostly out of jealousy. The mage begrudgingly admitted to herself, though, that she admired the young woman’s courage and determination.
Taking a deep breath, Nanessy glided forward with her head held high. She was a mage, after all, and mages were respected for their talent and education. Nanessy had always been an overachiever, which was why, despite her youth, she had been selected to officiate at the King’s Tournament. After an embarrassed glance toward her uncle, she gave her full attention to the king. She bowed and then stood with a confidence she truly did not feel at that moment.
Her reaction to the shadowy leader was a mystery to her. Since their first encounter, she had been drawn to both Dark Tidings and Lord Rezkin. Her blood rushed in their presence, and she had developed an almost unhealthy obsession with both of them. She did not, however, understand why she had the reaction. She knew the cause had to be important and that it was real, not a simple emotional or physical attraction. She had experienced the sensation for the man in both his personas, even though she had not known they were the same person. She felt the effects strongly in that very moment as she stood before him. She knew her face was flushing and not from the
embarrassment of being found in Rezkin’s presence by her uncle, who had strictly forbidden it, or from being caught away from her assigned station by the king himself.
Dark Tidings spoke to her in his eerie, unfamiliar voice. “Mage Threll, you are not at your post. Do you make a habit of defying orders?”
Nanessy tipped her head in an apologetic bow and replied, “No, Sire. I sought only to protect the Lady Frisha.”
Dark Tidings’s intimidating visage turned toward Frisha, and he drawled, “Yes, she is also not where she is supposed to be.” Frisha lifted her chin stubbornly, and he abruptly changed the subject. “Your kinsman has arrived, Mage Threll. You will assist him in finding suitable quarters in the palace. You may both leave on the next ship, if you wish, or you may stay and be productive members of our community. But, if either of you causes me problems, you will both be executed. Do you understand?”
Nanessy’s mouth went dry as she met Dark Tidings’s bottomless black gaze, and a shudder passed through her.
The wraith tilted his head to the side. “You may reject his claim of kinship and secure your own safety if you wish. He will be held in the cells until the next ship departs.”
Rezkin had given her an out. In her mind, she never thought of him as king. He was always just Rezkin, and he had never been so harsh with her in her imaginings. She was an intelligent woman, though, and she understood his misgivings. Her uncle hated Rezkin and had likened the man to a demon on more than one occasion. Uncle Farson had never told her why he hated Rezkin, but she could see the deep-seated fear behind her uncle’s warrior gaze. It was not a look she was comfortable seeing in the eyes of any striker, much less her uncle. There was a very real chance that Uncle Farson would strive to cause problems for Rezkin, maybe even kill him. Rezkin was offering her a chance to save herself by rejecting any association with her uncle.
Nanessy’s mother, now deceased, was Farson’s younger sister. Her uncle had visited them periodically until she was about nine-years-old. Then, one day, the family received notice of Farson’s death in service to the king. Nanessy’s father died a few years later, just after Nanessy moved to the Mage Academy. Now, seemingly back from the dead, Farson was the only family she had left. He was the only reminder of her past, the past she shared with her mother and father. Farson had come here for her. After their rooftop encounter with the frightening dark warrior in Skutton, her uncle had told her that Rezkin would kill him if he ever saw him again. Nanessy had been grown and alone for a long time, though, and had not thought that Farson would follow her to this place. She had not thought that Farson would face what was perhaps his only fear for her.
“No, of course, he is kin,” she said quietly. With a glance to her uncle, she said, “I will find accommodations for him near my own quarters.” Farson looked both relieved and saddened. Turning back to the frightening mask, she said, “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Rezkin looked to Farson and asked, “Do you understand the potential consequences of your actions?”
The striker drew his gaze away from his sweet niece and snapped, “I am not an idiot.”
“I did not think you were,” Dark Tidings replied, his meaning clear. “You are dismissed.”
Nanessy took Farson’s hand and led him into the warehouse. Rezkin put the striker from his mind, for the time being, to focus on the other tasks.
“LeukSergeant, you arrived in ill company,” he said.
Yail appeared angry and mystified. “So I see. I apologize, Your Majesty. I had no idea he was such a man.”
“No, I am sure you did not,” Dark Tidings said as he stared up at the ship and the waiting faces.
The leuksergeant cleared his throat and ventured, “You seem to be familiar with him, though. I hope you understand that we were deceived, and neither I nor any of my family mean you any ill will.”
Dark Tidings’s black gaze beheld the retired soldier. “I do not hold you accountable for Striker Farson’s behavior or actions. He is a Master of Deception.”
Yail’s eyes widened. “Striker? Then he is one of Caydean’s?
“I think not,” he replied.
Farson had appeared lost, without purpose. Truly, Rezkin could relate. But the striker was allowing his emotions to guide his actions. He was breaking the Rules, and it was likely to be his downfall.
Rezkin dismissed Yail and directed the others to begin unloading the ship, and, with merely a thought, he silently instructed the shielreyah to allow the second ship to pass the corveua. Rezkin examined each person as he or she disembarked to make sure there were no more surprises. Farson had been ambitious in presenting himself up front, but the striker had a clear objective and knew it could not be accomplished through subterfuge. Others might not be so transparent.
Kai approached his king and quietly beseeched him, “Sire, about Farson …”
“We will not discuss this now,” Rezkin said.
“But we should kill him now,” Kai quietly pressed. “He is an openly hostile threat. By your own testimony, he wants you dead for good reason. At the very least, he will sow dissent and undermine your rule. We cannot allow this man to roam free.”
“And you, Shezar? Do you concur?” Rezkin asked when he noted the second striker had wandered within hearing distance.
Shezar appeared troubled as he studied the ground at his feet. He finally looked up and said, “I do not know Farson, and I know little of your history with him. I must admit that he is extremely hostile toward you. He is definitely a threat. You do not believe he serves Caydean, though, so I must believe there is a chance he could work toward the advancement of our cause. I do not relish the thought of watching more of my brethren die. The strikers are strong because we are united in our purpose. We are dedicated to our king and to each other. He may behave himself if he is reminded of this honor, especially now that his niece’s life is at stake.”
Shezar shook his head and sighed as he continued. “He is Master of Deception, though. Farson’s feelings for his niece, if she really is his niece, seem genuine, but who can say? Maintaining compliance through coercion is dishonorable and rarely effective in the long term. Still, I would not be so hasty to dismiss our brother outright.”
A frustrated Kai grumbled, “It must be done now, before he has had time to sink his talons into someone or poison the well, so to speak.”
Rezkin’s gaze travelled over each man’s face, their respective convictions clear. Finally, he said, “I value your assessment, Kai, and I agree with you. It would be prudent to terminate the infestation before it spreads. A rule guided by fear is not a good foundation for a new kingdom, though.”
“It is not fear, Rezkin. It is common sense. The man has spoken openly against you on at least two occasions.”
“True, but he has never acted on those threats. He did not even fight in the initial battle at the northern fortress,” Rezkin said as his thoughts roamed back to the bloody carnage that saw everyone he had ever known dead … mostly by his own hand.
“Only because he is waiting for an opening,” Kai retorted. “He waits for you to show weakness.”
“Perhaps, or maybe he does not actually wish to kill me,” Rezkin mused. With the tiny flutter of hope in his chest, he realized he sincerely wished the sentiment were true. He raised a hand to hold off Kai’s continued grumbling and said, “This discussion is over. We will wait, but we will keep a very close eye on him.”
Kai saluted and then stormed off, barking angrily at the men and women unloading supplies from the ships. Rezkin became uncomfortable when he realized Shezar was staring at him with an odd expression.
“What is it, Shezar?”
The striker’s dark brown eyes appeared thoughtful and perhaps a little surprised. “Striker Farson has given you every reason to doubt him, and you would be perfectly justified in demanding his head; yet, you stay your hand in hopes that he will prove himself to be a better man than, I think, he believes himself to be. It may not be the most responsible course of
action, but I believe it to be the honorable one.” He bowed deeply and said, “I am reminded that it is an honor to serve you, King Rezkin.”
Rezkin shook his head. “There was no room for honor in my training.”
Shezar’s smile fell. “Perhaps not, but there was in ours.”
He turned to leave, but Rezkin stopped him.
“What did you mean that Farson would be a better man than he believes himself to be?”
Shezar’s brow furrowed as he considered how to answer his liege’s question without its resulting in the removal of his head. To any other king, his next words would cause high offense. Rezkin was no such king, however, and Shezar was inclined toward honesty in this matter. Rezkin was confident and even ruthless, but he was also practical, with no apparent ego. Shezar was fairly confident that Rezkin would not waste a valuable resource like a striker for an offensive truth.
“It is clear that he thinks very poorly of you, but not due to any lack of skill or dedication on your part. He believes you are a threat … to everyone. He may even have good reason to think so.”
Shezar knew he was testing his limits with the observation, but Rezkin showed no sign that he had taken offense. Then again, he could rarely read Rezkin when he was not wearing the inhuman mask. He thought the mask a bit redundant since Rezkin barely seemed human without it.
When Rezkin did not protest, Shezar continued, “Farson was one of your trainers, for a long time it would seem. I believe he may blame himself for what you are … or, at least, what he perceives you to be. No matter his terrible opinion of you, he must think worse of himself.”
A moment passed before Rezkin said, “Thank you for your assessment. I will consider your words. For now, I want you and Kai to keep an eye on him.” As the striker bowed and turned away, he added, “Shezar, Farson was chosen to be one of my trainers for a reason. Do not underestimate him.”
Shezar tilted his head and then disappeared into the shadows of the warehouse. Rezkin still could not understand why Farson hated him so much, aside from the fact that he had been ordered to kill the man. If Shezar was correct, though, then Farson believed something was wrong with Rezkin’s training. He could not believe that nearly two dozen masters had spent almost twenty years forging him into a weapon, most likely at the king’s behest, and it had all been wrong. No, the most logical explanation was that he was failing in some way. Since there were only two Rules he did not completely comprehend, his error must lie with those. Perhaps he had acquired his friends incorrectly.
