by Kel Kade
“Oh, right, yeah. I’m s’posed to use this,” Benni said, drawing a small wooden box from his pocket. Within the box was a tiny glass sphere filled with what looked like pitch-black smoke.
Count Jebai’s eyes widened. “Where did you get that?”
Benni rolled the sphere between his fingers. “They said it’d help me get through the wards.”
“More than that,” said Count Jebai. “In that sphere exists pure destructive magic. The darker, the more powerful the spell. I have only ever seen one, and it was merely grey.”
Benni said, “I guess the mage who made it must be pretty powerful, then.”
“Impossible. It had to have been created by multiple battle mages wielding nocent power. They are illegal to make and to own without a permit. It will destroy any spell or enchantment within a given radius. How did you get it? That sphere is probably worth half my fortune.”
Benni gripped the marble in his palm and studied it again. Every so often, the swirling smoke arranged itself into complex designs. He met the count’s eyes. “Is it worth your lives?”
Knowing time was limited, he hobbled awkwardly toward the stone door, every step tweaking his back and shooting pain up his leg. Without hesitation, he smashed the black orb onto the floor. Snaps and pops filled the air around him, and the surface of the door seemed to ripple as the runes cracked and melted. He pulled on the handle, opening the door with ease. Empty shackles lay across the floor, and the people within hid their eyes from the meager light that infiltrated the room.
“A’right,” he said. “You can come out.”
Chapter 17
Tam grinned as he executed a celebratory bow. While his back was turned, Brandt regained his feet and swiped Tam’s legs out from under him. Tam struck the dirt with a whomp and coughed as he struggled to recapture his breath. Dazed, he blinked away dust as a dark figure eclipsed the overhead sun.
“Well?” Rezkin said.
“Um”—Tam wheezed—“Rule 14?”
“Which states?”
“Do not revel in success,” Tam muttered. He groaned as he rolled to his knees.”
“And?”
Tam hesitated. “8, 9, 24, and … 123?”
“Also Rule 87,” Rezkin added.
Tam pushed to his feet and shook his head. “I don’t think I know that one.”
“Never assume victory,” Rezkin said. “Unless you have confirmed that your opponent is dead, you should not assume you have won.”
Tam scoffed. “It’s not like I’m going to kill Brandt.”
Rezkin looked at him pointedly. “Then you should not assume he is finished and turn your back on him.”
“Right,” Brandt said with a smirk as he slapped Tam on the back a little too hard. “I could have been faking getting my hide handed to me.”
Brandt retrieved his shirt and then swaggered out of the courtyard with a cheeky grin for the women who were passing by the gate. Tam scowled at the retreating figure, but to Rezkin it looked like a pout on his friend’s innocent face. When he looked upon Tam, he saw a young man filled with hope and eagerness for adventure. Despite the trials he had experienced over the past few months, Tam did not carry the weight of a mind burdened by darkness. Although their feet trod the same ground, Tam did not live in Rezkin’s world.
Tam finally accepted defeat and said, “I guess I should add Rule 258 to the list.”
Rezkin looked at Tam quizzically. He had been teaching Tam for some time now, but he had never thought of himself as the master.
“I don’t get it,” Tam said. “How can you remember all these rules all the time and expect to actually follow them? There are so many.”
“I have lived the Rules my entire life, Tam. You are only just learning. In time, many of them will become second nature to you. I do not expect that you will ever be consistent in all of them.”
“But you said we must follow all the rules to survive.”
“That is true for me, Tam. The Rules will benefit anyone who chooses to follow them, but I have come to understand that they are specifically designed to improve the chances of surviving the kinds of … activities … in which I participate,” Rezkin explained. “You are not training as I did. The consequences of failure during my training were extreme.”
“Why don’t you train me the same way you learned?” Tam asked. He almost appeared offended that he might be receiving an inferior education.
Rezkin stared at Tam. The answer was one that had been haunting him of late, a reality that even he had been trying to avoid. A weight settled in his chest just behind his sternum. Tam began to shift awkwardly under Rezkin’s lingering gaze.
“I am not training you to be like me, Tam,” he said almost regretfully.
“But why not? You’re amazing! You can beat anyone.”
“I have said it before. I am not infallible. One day I will not prevail, and on that day, I will likely die. I am reminded daily that I do not belong in this world. I do not belong in your world. If you train to be like me, then you will not belong either. You have many who care for you, and you have much to offer just as you are.” Rezkin did not care for the look on Tam’s face. In that expression of disbelief was insufferable pity.
“People care about you, too, Rez,” Tam said weakly. “You are our friend, and you are the king! But, if you really think you don’t belong, you can always change. You can learn to be … well, whatever you want.”
Rezkin surveyed the length of the walls and peered into the shadows. He envisioned escape routes, tactical positions, and hiding places both for him and potential assailants. He saw defensive and offensive strengths and weaknesses, and he estimated the time and energy it would take to execute a variety of maneuvers. He did all of this within a few breaths, and Tam still looked at him expectantly. Rezkin knew Tam saw none of this. Tam saw a mighty, magical kingdom with an unbeatable monarch.
Rezkin’s voice was firm as he said, “I serve a purpose, as do you. I have been trained to serve my purpose efficiently and effectively. I would be ill suited for any other. Even if I could change, I would not. Society needs all sorts of people. Some of them are more specialized than others. I am one of those people.”
“Specialized?” Tam said with disbelief. “I don’t know what kind of specialized you think you are. You seem to be good at everything. You could become anything, anyone.”
Rezkin smiled. It was a genuine smile, but it lacked humor. Tam did not realize how astute his observation was. “Thank you, Tam, for your confidence. Frisha will be looking for you soon. I believe the two of you have a standing reservation. What is it you do, anyway?”
“Don’t worry, Rez. You know it’s nothing like that. Mostly we just talk, usually about Cheswick and our friends. She talks about her parents, and I tell stories about my brothers’ crazy antics. She knows most of them already, but she likes hearing them, and I like telling them.”
“Does that help you in some way?”
Tam grinned. “Yeah, it helps to relive old times—you know, when things were normal. We get to laughing, and it feels better—for a while, anyway. Sometimes we just sit and don’t say anything at all.” He looked away and rubbed the back of his neck. “Have you, ah, thought about talking to him? Your trainer? Since you decided not to kill him and all—he’s the closest thing you’ve got to family, right?”
Rezkin gripped Tam’s shoulder and caught his gaze. “Make no mistake, Tam. Farson is dangerous, and I have not decided to spare his life. Think of it as a temporary stay of execution.”
“But you don’t know that he’s done anything wrong,” Tam exclaimed. “You said he’s the only person left who really knows you, Rez. That has to count for something.”
Did it? Rezkin had not only neglected to kill the man, despite his orders, but they were now living under the same roof—albeit a very large roof. Farson claimed to have followed him to the island to save his niece, but Rezkin wondered if he had an ulterior motive.
“Perhaps it does
,” he said, unable to extract any semblance of order from his swirling thoughts. When it came to Farson, he was plagued with an unfamiliar feeling—doubt. He said, “It does not change the fact that someone with far more knowledge of the circumstances decided that he needed to be killed. In addition, I do not believe he would hesitate to kill me if he thought he had a chance at succeeding. Although I am inexperienced in such matters, I do not believe those to be the ideal circumstances for developing a familial relationship.”
Tam’s lips slowly slid into a mischievous grin. “I think I have to disagree. I’m pretty sure my brothers and I have been competing for the chance to kill each other all our lives.” Then more seriously, he said, “I’m sorry, Rez. I know it’s pretty messed up, but I still think you should at least talk to the guy. I don’t see that it could hurt—ah, unless one of you kills the other, that is.” His face drained of color. “Maybe it isn't such a good idea. If you get killed, I think we’re all lost.”
Frisha paced the courtyard as she waited for Tam. She knew he was practicing with Rezkin, and that bothered her even more. No one practiced with Rezkin. He was either teaching them or pummeling them. She knew it now. Rezkin was dangerous, and everyone was afraid of him—even the strikers. They would never show it, of course. They were strikers after all, but their deference toward him was about far more than the piece of paper they all seemed to worship. She had not seen the document, herself, but she knew it contained information that others seemed to think made Rezkin king. She wondered, now, if Uncle Marcum had known it. She was sure it was the same note that had changed her uncle’s tone on that day two months ago.
Nobody on the island questioned Rezkin, although he had not really given them a choice. She wondered what he would do to someone who truly resisted his authority. So far, the only person on the island who had done so was Striker Farson, and he and Rezkin had history. That was not quite fair, though. She had not seen Rezkin threaten anyone. The only other people that she had seen reject his authority were the strikers at the tournament. Rezkin killed them all. He killed them, all five of them, right in front of everyone—thousands of people—and no one had stopped him. The strikers had been trying to arrest him on behalf of the mad king, though, so it was not as if they were innocent.
He had killed the Sandman, too—chopped him into pieces. And everyone had cheered. She carried guilt for the part she had played in that slaughter. She had not known Rezkin was Dark Tidings, and she had scolded him for not punishing the man for poor Parker Farmer’s murder. Was it her fault? Would Rezkin have gone so far if she had not berated him for his failure to bring the Sandman to justice?
It had not been the first time she had seen him kill. She had witnessed it before when he had saved Reaylin from the bandit. Even then, she had known something was not right. He had been cold and empty when he executed that man, but she had managed to convince herself it was her imagination. But she had told herself that Rezkin had been defending them and was caught up in the moment. Tam had even tried to warn her on the ship when he told her that Rezkin had killed people for the king. He had called Rezkin an executioner. It was apparent, now, that executioner might have been an understatement. Rezkin was not just an innocent man carrying out the king’s justice. He was not the kind of man that felt burdened by a guilty profession. She had not seen a single sign of remorse from him, and that made her question everything she thought she knew about him.
“You are not supposed to be alone,” said a gruff voice from behind her.
Frisha spun, and her heart leapt again when her gaze landed on its owner. “Striker Farson”—she gulped—“you should not be here.”
“You are probably right,” he replied with a mirthless smile. He was sitting on a stone bench, reclining against the wall with one foot propped on the seat. “Perhaps he will kill me for it.”
Frisha shuddered at the thought.
“Does that bother you?” Farson asked.
“What? That he might kill you?” she asked uncertainly. “It is none of my business.”
“But?”
Frisha glanced away. “But I don’t condone killing people—unless it’s really necessary. I mean, if they’re guilty …”
Farson laughed. It was a hearty laugh that made her cringe. “Yet you would bind yourself to him.” He laughed again, and Frisha’s face heated. “Foolish girl. You have no idea what he is, what he is capable of, what he is willing to do. No, a girl like you does not even have nightmares about the things he has done.”
Frisha’s eyes began to sting, and she realized she had forgotten to blink. “What do you mean? What do you know?”
“Whatever you think he is, I assure you, he is not. There is no benefit for you in being with him,” Farson said.
“You don’t know anything about us,” she said, but her protest sounded weak even to her own ears.
“I know everything about him. Why do you want him? Do you want to be queen?” he asked mockingly.
“Of course not! I didn’t even know anything about this True King business when we started courting. But, even if I had, it would be a benefit enough, don’t you think?”
“Do you really think he will make you queen? Queen of what? Cael? Ashai? He will never be king. There will be no kingdom left. He and Caydean will see to that.”
Frisha lifted her chin. “He will defeat Caydean. He will make Ashai great again.”
“No”—Farson shook his head—“he will not. He is destruction. Without the shackles to bind him, he is free to rain darkness down on us all. Mark my words—chaos will rule all that he touches.”
“You are horrible!” she said. Frisha was swept away by anger, even though she was not confident that what Farson said was untrue. “Rezkin has killed people, yes, but as far as I know, they were all guilty of something. He is good and noble, and he is the smartest person I’ve ever met. If there’s anyone capable of building a kingdom, it is he.”
The striker was suddenly standing right in front of her. She had only ever seen Rezkin move so quickly. She said, “H-how did you do that?”
A sardonic smile played at his lips. “An occupational necessity. I had to get faster—to survive him.” His gaze was calculating. Finally, he tilted his head back and said, “Perhaps you do perceive some benefits to being with him.” He smirked. “You may even have convinced yourself that you love him. But why do you suppose he wants you?”
Frisha tried to appear confident, but her voice wavered as she answered. “H-he loves me.”
The striker shook his head slowly. “Rezkin does not love you. He does not know the meaning of love. He feels nothing … for anyone … ever.” His voice was laced with sadness, but Frisha was unconvinced.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Has he told you that he loves you?” Farson asked.
She shifted uncomfortably. “Well, no, not exactly.”
“But the romance must be overwhelming …”
Frisha’s face flushed, but she said nothing.
Farson chuckled. “The boy can recite the prose of a hundred love-struck poets, sing ballads of star-crossed lovers, and create works of art so delicate they were surely wrought of the soul. Yet he has done nothing to gain your favor?”
Flustered, she said, “It’s the little things …”
“Right, the little things.”
Frisha huffed. “If he doesn’t love me, then why would he ask me to marry him?”
He chuckled and said, “I honestly have no idea, but he no doubt has a reason. Perhaps it was a matter of convenience. Whatever his plan, it is beyond me at the moment, but I am sure your well-being has nothing to do with it.” He gazed knowingly into her eyes. “He could have played you in so many ways. If you are pertinent to his plan, then he will lie. If not, he might be truthful. Why don’t you ask him?”
“Ask him what?”
“Ask Rezkin if he loves you.”
“What good would that do?” Frisha said. “Just now, you said that if he doesn’t love m
e he would lie, so what would it prove?”
Farson shrugged. “Perhaps nothing. It is worth a try.”
Frisha narrowed her eyes and snapped, “Why are you so determined to turn me against him?”
The striker growled, “This is not about him! He is what he is, and that cannot be changed. This is about you. I am trying to protect you, girl, and not just because I respect your uncle. I see an innocent young woman in the clutches of a demon.”
“He is not a demon!”
“He may have been born with a soul, but it was surely destroyed long ago. There is nothing left inside him to love you. If you stay with him, you will drown in his darkness.”
“You are wrong”—she balled her fists and took a step toward the offensive striker—“You think you know him, but you are wrong.”
Just then, Striker Shezar strode through the gate, and Frisha was relieved. At first, she had been startled but curious about Farson’s presence. She had wanted to question the man about Rezkin’s upbringing. She had known that Rezkin had been looking for him but had no idea their relationship was so volatile. As she spoke with him, Farson’s unrelenting hatred and contempt had begun to scare her.
“Lady Frisha, is this man bothering you? Are you well?” Shezar asked, his voice carrying no hint of concern.
Frisha crossed her arms and said, “I don’t care for his words, but he hasn’t harmed me, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Let us hope he has no such intentions,” Shezar said as he came to stand beside them. “Do not listen to him, Lady Frisha. He knows not of what he speaks.”
“Of course. It is already forgotten,” she said. She tried for more confidence than she felt, but she was not going to let this stranger get to her. She was already plagued by enough doubts. “There’s Tam, now” she said as she spied her friend approaching the gate. “Excuse me.”
Frisha hurried to intercept Tam before he, too, got drawn into the drama. Whatever curiosities she had about Rezkin’s past would not be satisfied by speaking with Farson. She hoped that not everyone at the mysterious fort where he grew up had been so terrible.
