by Kel Kade
Malcius looked back to the map. “What are you saying?”
Kai huffed. “What he is saying is that Caydean kicked the hornets’ nest and then left Ashai completely open to attack.”
“But why would he do that?” Brandt exclaimed.
Tam muttered, “He’s taunting them.”
“What was that?” Kai asked.
Tam looked up from the map and was startled to see everyone staring at him. “I, ah, said he’s taunting them.” His face heated under their gazes, so he turned his attention to the map. “He’s trying to get them to attack. I mean, I’m no expert in warfare, but it doesn’t look like there are enough troops there,”—he pointed to the figures amassed near each of the Ashaiian capital cities—“to fight off an attack. I’d guess those soldiers are only there to keep the people in line. And I don’t think these here are enough to actually win against the dukes’ forces,” he said, pointing to the small clumps near the three remaining dukes’ estates. It seems like he’s got the whole army stuck in the hills, and I don’t think they’re going to do any good out there. I’ve never been to the hill country, but I’ve read about it, and it sounds like a rough hike. I’m pretty sure that if an attack came, the army couldn’t get from the hill country to anywhere in time to help. Not even to Kaibain.”
“That is absurd,” Malcius protested. “Caydean has been preparing for war for months, maybe years. What about the muster? He has probably doubled the size of the army by now. Why would he put them all where they would be useless?”
Tam stared at Malcius blankly, and then a thought struck him. “To get them out of the cities.”
“What?” Malcius breathed in dismay.
“It’s like in my book. Here,” Tam said, as he pulled the text from where it had been tucked into the back of his belt. The leather cover was worn, and the book flexed as he flipped through the pages. He stopped about halfway through and pointed to the title of one of the stories while holding it up for the others to see.
“It’s like in ‘The Harrowing of House Lorack.’ You see, the Shadow Knight was given two major tasks to complete in a very short time. He was supposed to cause the fall of House Lorack and take down a rogue general whose troops had been marauding over the peninsula for months. Well, he wasn’t really a general, only a major, but he called himself a general. Anyway, a lot of men were loyal to him, so he was constantly surrounded by his people. They kept moving all the time, and the Rez—or Shadow Knight—was having trouble getting to the man.”
“What does this have to do with Caydean and Ashai?” Malcius asked impatiently. “We do not have time for stories.”
“Ah sorry, Lord Malcius,” Tam mumbled, shoving the book back into his belt.
“Go on, Tam,” Rezkin said as he casually leaned back against the wall.
Tam’s gaze darted between his king and Lord Malcius. Rezkin did not appear to be in any hurry, which seemed to frustrate Malcius even more. Before Palis died, Malcius had been level-headed and fairly gracious, as far as lords went. He had even taken the time to speak with Tam, and his words had been a great help. Malcius no longer seemed to care about anything but getting vengeance for Palis’s death.
Tam looked back to Rezkin who nodded for him to continue. He knew Rezkin had already read the book and probably knew where he was going with the story, but for some reason, he wanted Tam to tell it anyway.
“Right, well, the Rez decided to take care of both problems at once. He went to the taverns in the areas where the general’s men were known to gather and spread stories about the hidden wealth and poor security of House Lorack. Then, he made sure that reports of the marauders attacking villages on Lorack lands got back to Baron Lorack. The baron sent his guard and most of the able-bodied men to deal with the false attacks, so the castle was empty when the general and his men arrived. They swept in and killed everyone, including the baron. After that, it was easy for the Rez to get to the general since he was already waiting in the castle.”
When it was clear that Tam was finished, Shezar said, “There are a few problems with your analogy. For one, Caydean is not the Rez in this scenario. He is the baron—the one that was killed, and Ashai is the castle that was overrun. Since Caydean is the one setting everything in motion, your analogy would lead us to the conclusion that the king wants Ashai to be destroyed.”
“Ah … right,” Tam muttered, his confidence dashed.
Rezkin pushed away from the wall and said, “Although I cannot conceive of Caydean’s motives, I believe that Tam’s assessment is accurate.” Tam brightened, but then reality struck. If he was right, Ashai would be destroyed.
After a moment of silence, Brandt said, “So what is this about Gendishen?”
“We need to secure our sanctuary,” Shezar answered. “Cael technically belongs to Gendishen. If we want to stay here and trade for supplies, we need to work out something with King Privoth.”
“And then we go to Ashai?” Malcius asked.
“No,” Rezkin answered. “Every kingdom is preparing for war against Ashai. Already they are fighting over the pieces. Caydean has complete control, so there is little chance he will do worse to the people than he already has.”
“You are assuming him to be a sane and reasonable man. I think he has already proven otherwise,” Shezar retorted.
Rezkin inclined his head. “Still, Ashai is likely better off in his hands than with half a dozen or more kingdoms picking at its bones. Before we can save Ashai from Caydean, we must save it from everyone else. We must convince the other kingdoms not to attack, even though Caydean has done a masterful job of antagonizing them.”
“An impossible task,” Shezar replied.
“Perhaps, but we must minimize the damage. Since we are here, we will start with Gendishen. It has a sizable navy and a number of trade ships operated by the crown.”
Kai laughed mirthlessly. “So we will not only be demanding they relinquish claim to their land, but we will also be asking them to stand down and not pursue justice for their people who were abducted and slaughtered, an action officially sanctioned by the crown.”
“Yes, that is correct,” Rezkin said.
Malcius buried his head in his hands on the table.
“So what are we going to do?” Tam asked.
“First, you are going to set up a monitoring station in Uthrel. With all the trade ships and navy personnel passing through there, it is the ideal location for reconnaissance.”
“Wait, me?” Tam asked, already shaking his head.
“You are not up to the task?”
“I don’t know,” Tam sputtered. “Why me?”
“You said you wanted to be involved. You have already been there, so you are more familiar with the city than most of our people. You are a commoner with commoner tendencies; therefore, you are less likely to attract attention than one of the strikers or soldiers. You have also made remarkable progress in both weapons and hand-to-hand combat.”
“Whoa, I’m still not very good,” Tam argued.
“Nonsense,” Kai said. “You are far from mastery, but you are more skilled than the average swordsmen. You are certainly better than the regular soldiers.”
Tam was bewildered. “Seriously? But I’ve only been practicing for three months.”
Kai grunted. “You have a brutal teacher. Do not forget he is also the best swordsman in Ashai and possibly anywhere else.”
Rezkin said, “I doubt the best swordsmen entered the tournament, Kai. True masters feel no need to prove themselves.”
“You think I could’ve made it into the tournament?” Tam asked.
Rezkin said, “Not at the time, but with your current skills, you may have done well in the first tier. If you continue to improve at this rate, by year’s end, you might have made it into the second. I believe you have a natural talent for the sword.” With a smirk, he added, “It is a good skill to have for someone already talented in adventuring.”
Light. It was his first and only thought. Lig
ht was all around him and nothing else. He stared into the illumination not really understanding what it was. As the moments passed, he began to see that there was more than just light. He was in a room. People were talking.
“You will save him. Do what you must!”
“Watch your tongue, Count Jebai.”
“My apologies, Lord Fierdon. I meant no offense, but he saved our lives.”
“Many men and women were involved in saving your lives. He was only one. Why is this so important to you? I have never known you to care as much for a commoner, much less a thief.”
“I … I do not know. I suppose he reminds me of my son.”
“Malcius?”
“No, Palis. Caydean questioned me about them. He thinks I know where they are, but I do not.” The man’s voice grew angry as he said, “I know not where my sons and daughter are, Lord Fierdon, and I fear I am going mad with worry. Have you heard anything?”
“Not much. Rumor has it that they were last seen escaping the tournament in the company of the champion Dark Tidings.”
“That is the one they are calling the True King?”
“So they say.”
“Who is he?”
“No one with whom I have spoken seems to have any idea.”
“I suppose I should be grateful, then, that they were not captured. Marcum had to have known something was happening. I thought it odd that he would place our family’s children in the hands of a complete stranger, at least to me, but I trusted in his judgment.”
“You knew your children were with Dark Tidings?”
“I know nothing about any Dark Tidings. Marcum spoke for the man who was to escort them—a Lord Rezkin. Do you know of him?”
“No, the name does not sound familiar.”
“Are you certain? Marcum spoke highly of him. He said Lord Rezkin was of the highest standing and that if anyone could keep my children safe, it would be he.”
“If he is in high standing, then it is not in this kingdom. I have never heard of him. Perhaps General Marcum was working with the rebels or a foreign faction.”
“Marcum would never. He is a king’s man.”
“Obviously no longer. The general somehow managed to escape, and with his departure, hundreds of soldiers abandoned their posts. I expect more to do so when he reveals his location. By royal decree, any deserters who are captured are to be hanged, drawn, and quartered in the nearest public square, and their remains are to be left on display until the ravens have picked them clean.”
“And my children? If they are captured, what of them?”
“Same as was expected for you, I suppose. Now that you have escaped, it is probably safe to say that Caydean will use them to force your surrender.”
“What of your father? What are his intentions?”
“The duchy is under siege. I was sent to retrieve Hespion, but he chose his own way home.”
“And now you serve this Raven? You were once heir to Atressian. Have you stooped so low as to serve a notorious criminal?”
“Do not forget, Count Jebai, that it was that criminal who saved your life … and mine. He has declared support for the True King—the one who, we may hope, harbors your children.”
“Why would he support the True King?”
“I have not met the Raven and cannot speak to his intentions, but Guildmaster Adsden says the Raven is a farsighted and cunning man. To help claim a kingdom, to put a man on the throne—I imagine that would gain him great favor with the new king.”
“With his resources and the turmoil already infesting the kingdom, he could join with the rebels and claim the throne for himself.”
“It would not be a legitimate claim, which, it is said, the True King bears.”
“Truly?”
“Two strikers swore fealty to him right there in the arena.”
“You do not think he is Prince Thresson?”
“No, not possible. I sparred with Thresson many times. He was good with a blade, but not that good, and he lacked conviction. To him, it was a game, an art. From what I hear, Dark Tidings did not have that problem.”
“You speak of Thresson as if he is dead.”
“I have no reason to believe otherwise. Given present circumstances, it is a reasonable assumption.”
“Are you awake?”
The female voice was loud beside Benni’s head. He winced.
“He’s awake,” the voice announced, and he recognized it as belonging to Attica.
He closed his eyes and inhaled but abruptly stopped as his body erupted in pain. When he opened them again, Lord Fierdon was staring down at him.
“I-I’m alive?” Benni rasped. His mouth was dry, and his head was beginning to throb.
“I have no healing ability,” Lord Fierdon said, “but I do have an affinity for water. I stopped your body from leaking, but the damage remains. I cannot replace the blood you lost. We sent for a healer, but we must be careful. We risk discovery by doing so.”
“Why would you do that for me?”
“You have the Raven’s favor … and ours.”
Choking back his emotions, Benni asked, “How many escaped?”
“We got most of the prisoners but lost more of ours than we had anticipated. A few were captured, but the slips made sure they could not give us away.”
A knock sounded at the door, and Benni managed to turn his head enough to see a young man in healer’s robes being forcefully shoved through the doorway.
“What are you doing?” Adsden snapped.
“What, boss? He didn’t wanna come,” said a rough man Benni did not recognize.
The healer straightened and tugged at his robes. He said, “You might as well release me. I do not treat criminals.”
Adsden performed a courteous bow and said, “I apologize for the rough treatment, Healer Yerwey. We had orders to contact only you if it became necessary.”
“How did I make the list? Everyone who knows me knows that I don’t treat criminals.”
“Healer Yerwey,” Fierdon said. “Do you know me?”
The healer’s eyes widened. “Ah, y-yes, Lord Fierdon. We, uh, studied your … condition … at the academy.” Yerwey glanced around the room at the others, and his gaze paused again. “You’re Count Jebai, are you not?”
“Yes,” said the older man, “and I would appreciate it if you would see to this young man, here, who saved my life.”
Chapter 18
Rezkin stood before the throne room that had previously been blockaded. After his meeting, he had somehow ended up here instead of his destination. Every corridor he took led him back to this point. He had even tried backtracking several times, and still he arrived here. He glanced over to the window and wondered if he would somehow fall back to this spot if he jumped out of it.
Before this moment, crates had been stacked in front of the doors that now stood clear. The stone monstrosities had opened of their own accord the first time he had reached this location, and he was hesitant to try closing them. He wondered if this was how the others had gone missing. Had they started down a passageway and found themselves in an infinite loop? Were they still somewhere wandering and dying of thirst and starvation?
“Shielreyah,” he said, his voice echoing through the empty corridor.
The phantoms did not respond for the first time since he had awakened them. He focused past his throbbing headache and willed them to appear. Still they did not answer his call. Rezkin did not want to enter the throne room. He had seen it from the threshold once during his initial exploration of the palace but had not entered. He had immediately ordered the room sealed and guarded so no one else would wander into it. But now it stood open, and the crates were gone.
He reached for Kingslayer and realized he did not have his swords. He patted his arms, legs, and torso and found that he was completely unarmed. Aside from when he was bathing and the occasional unarmed combat training exercise, he could not remember the last time he was without some sort of weapon. It was
no matter, though. He was the weapon. All the others were only tools. At least he had the stone that hung from the lace around his neck.
He still did not want to enter that room. What he wanted apparently meant nothing, though. The power of the citadel desired his presence, and it seemed that it would not permit him to avoid the task any longer. He put one foot across the threshold and then followed with the rest of his body. When nothing assailed him, he took several more steps toward the room’s center. A short pedestal, barely wide enough for a man to stand on, occupied the space. While the rest of the room was dark, the pedestal was illuminated like a beacon. As Rezkin walked toward it, crystals on the floor lit with his every step and then darkened again once he had passed. He took a deep breath. As he stepped onto the pedestal, he looked around the room. An errant thought crossed his mind that this was not a throne room so much as it was a mausoleum.
Around the pedestal were seventeen chairs carved from stone and backed with assemblages of crystals, each prism as thick as his arm and twice as tall as he. The crystals glowed as though topaz lightning was trapped within them. The chairs did not touch the ground, and their occupants did not seem to mind that they hovered in the air. Seventeen elven warriors stared at him. These were not the wispy specters to whom he had grown accustomed. These were mummified corpses, bodies of the eihelvanan, each dressed in the full regalia of a Knight of Rheina. Their skin was leathery, devoid of any moisture and stretched tight across their skeletons. Straw-like hair arranged in intricate braids clung to their scalps, and their mouths gaped as though to consume wandering souls. Within the eye sockets glowed topaz orbs, and he sensed that a hostile presence watched from within them.
One of the mummies raised a crooked finger and said, “You must be tested.”
A second, that he thought might once have been Manaua, said, “You did not come for them.”
Another said, “But now a sixth has been claimed.”
“And you came for her,” said another.
“A sixth? What sixth?” Rezkin said.
“You already know.”
He said, “How can I know? You have not told me.”
