A King's Caution

by Brennan C. Adams

  “Of course,” Kaedesa sighed.

  After collecting Oswin, Raimie practically sprinted from the Queen’s encampment, neglecting the polite farewells he should have first relayed.

  “Went that badly, did it, sir?” Oswin puffed beside him.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Once among the trebuchets, he ignored Marcuset’s calls, nearly tripping in his haste to descend the stairs into the Birthing Grounds.

  “How soon before I can return to Tiro?” he asked Oswin.

  “Ah… I believe the only task specifically requiring your specialty is to finish with the Kiraak,” the spy answered.

  “Great. I’ll start where I left off yesterday.”

  Raimie converted Kiraak well past the sun’s descent below the horizon. Screams disturbed the Birthing Ground’s otherwise relative quiet, the slow and safe process he typically preferred abandoned in favor of haste.

  When the last Kiraak prisoner slumped into unconsciousness, Raimie flung Corruption away with disgust. To his surprise, Daevetch’s passage from his body burned every vein, every muscle, every inch of skin. He wobbled in place for half a minute before bile ejected from his mouth and he collapsed. Oswin’s worried face intruded into his rapidly narrowing field of vision, mouth soundlessly moving, before everything went black.

  * * *

  “That was extraordinarily stupid,” Nylion commented, leaning over Raimie’s prone figure with hands on hips. “You cleansed, what? Five, six hundred Kiraak? All in the space of twelve hours? Are you aware of how much Daevetch you handled? Consequences exist for using that much magic, even of the primal kind.”

  Raimie gingerly sat up, prodding his stomach. As usual, whatever physical malady he currently suffered in the waking world failed to manifest in this scooped out portion of his mind.

  “Are you done with the lecture?” he asked. “Because I’m ready to unlock a chest.”

  “Took you long enough,” Nylion grumbled. He offered Raimie a hand up. “Why the previous reluctance?”

  Refusing to meet Nylion’s eyes, Raimie rubbed the back of his neck. “I suppose I was afraid,” he admitted. “I’m happy with the way we are, and the memories locked in that chest could change us for the worse. I want to bring justice to those who ripped us apart as much as you, but I don’t know if satisfying that urge will be worth the other memories certain to accompany our tormentors’ names.”

  “What made you change your mind?” Nylion asked.

  “You weren’t happy.” Raimie shrugged. “I’ve put you through enough without denying you this. I’ll learn to deal with the extra baggage.”

  When Nylion didn’t immediately respond, Raimie worried he’d somehow offended his other half. He considered retreating from the mind space to give Nylion time, but his other half spoke before he could pop into dreams.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I can feel how difficult this decision was for you. So, truly. You have my gratitude, heart of my heart.”

  Raimie nodded, hoping his portrayed body couldn’t blush. “How are we doing this?” he mumbled.

  “You are the one who conjured a vampire to guard our memories. I think it only fair you fight it while I pick the chest’s lock.”

  “You can lock pick?” Raimie asked with surprise.

  “I learned it while you did,” Nylion smirked, “but I believe I may be faster. Can you distract a fairy tale monster for the thirty seconds I shall require?”

  “Depends. Can I…?”

  Raimie tried to draw Ele or Daevetch to him. Neither responded, and he cursed.

  “We are in our head, silly. What makes you think either primal force will answer your call?” Nylion laughed.

  Raimie made a face. “No harm in trying. In answer to your question, maybe, but as you said, we’re in our head. If the vampire tears us apart or drains us of blood, would it matter?”

  “I am confident it would hurt like hell, but… fair point.” Nylion gestured toward their goal. “You go first, and I shall follow once you have the monster’s attention.”

  When Raimie was halfway to the vampire, he realized he’d no weapons or armor of any sort. He was clothed in a rough tunic and pair of trousers, an outfit he’d have worn on the farm. Such flimsy cloth would part like butter beneath the monster’s talons, and with no weapons, he’d no way to block its claws.

  Godsdamn it! Was this to be a game of swipe and dodge? He HATED that type of combat. But he might as well get it over with since he couldn’t avoid it.

  “Hey, ugly!” Raimie shouted, waving his arms. “Over here!”

  The vampire leveled eyes on him, but besides that, it made no move. Confused, Raimie slowed to a stop.

  “Will you fight me or not?” he asked.

  “Why should I do that?” the vampire replied, its voice stuffed with gravel. “You’re the master of this mind.”

  Raimie shivered at the human words emerging from its gargoyle-like face.

  “Does that mean I can unlock the chest behind you without interference?” he asked.

  “Unfortunately, such is a choice I cannot allow,” the gravelly voice spoke.

  Raimie waited for more, but the vampire seemed content with his answer.

  “Look, I need to open that box, so either stand aside or fight-”

  The vampire lunged at him, and Raimie tripped backward. Its next swipe landed him on his back, and he rolled sideways to dodge the claws plunging toward his belly. He scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could, but it wasn’t fast enough to avoid the barbs raking across his back. Stumbling, he twisted and faced the row of fangs bearing down on his neck.

  The monster vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving Raimie’s heart threatening to jump from his chest.

  “Godsdamned vampire….” The curse trailed away as the rush wore off. “Took you long enough, Nyl!”

  “Stop complaining! You had the fight well in hand,” Nylion smirked. He patted the chest’s lid. “Shall we?”

  “Give me a moment,” Raimie gasped, whimpering at the pull of each breath against the slashes across his back.

  When his heart resumed its normal rhythm and his breathing slowed, Raimie nodded, and Nylion opened the chest.

  * * *

  Mama’s fever had taken a turn for the worse, and his wasn’t much better. He vaguely recalled the carriage ride from Daira to Allanovian, his relief upon the mountain’s embrace unchanged despite the numerous visits in the past.

  He retained memory fragments of his father conversing with hostile Esela and arguing with the councilwoman who was renowned for her mind magic. Countless were the insane men and women who walked free of their curse from her touch. Perhaps his father had begged for Eselan aid with his fever because earlier, Gistrick had summoned him from his sick bed for an unexplained purpose.

  His Esela weapons tutor was almost always quiet, but the man never carried such a sour look on his face. He and another unknown Zrelnach escorted him on a hike through Allanovian’s many branching tunnels. His father met them outside the Zrelnach’s quarters.

  “I need you to come with me, son.”

  The further they moved along, the more the fever made him stumble. Gistrick and the unknown Zrelnach insisted on helping him, pulling him along by the elbow.

  “Raimie, I do not like this,” Nylion warned. “They plan something sinister.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked his other half, but Nylion didn’t get a chance to respond.

  The grown-ups around him exchanged a glance. Gistrick and the other Zrelnach seized him, one snatching his arms and the other his legs. They lifted him, and in his shock, he failed to struggle. Only once he was airborne did he scream and wiggle and shift as much as he could. WHAT WAS GOING ON?

  They passed through the Zrelnach trial chamber’s doors, stone slamming closed behind them. He was unceremoniously dumped in the middle of a small crowd.

  “Yes, I am fairly sure,” Nylion muttered, concern radiating from him in waves.

  H
e quickly climbed from sand, falling into a ready stance. He bore no weapons, but with his Zrelnach training, he could incapacitate a few before…

  His hopes crumbled to dust.

  A ring of people surrounded him, and most of them were faces he’d dreaded seeing. Gistrick and several other former sparring partners formed one side of the circle. On the other half, Eledis, his father, and the magic genius of a councilwoman dispassionately watched him.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded.

  “Son,” a feminine voice wheezed.

  Looking down, he almost choked at mama’s ravaged state. Her face was flushed and gaunt, and sweat drenched her clothes. A crazy gleam shone in her eyes. He dropped to his knees beside her.

  “Mama, what are you doing? You should be in bed!”

  She shook her head with difficulty. “This is more important, son. You see, our family has a debilitating problem, and it’s long past time we fixed it.”

  “Mama, I know I’m a disappointment sometimes, and it’s my fault you’re sick-”

  “Hush now.” She shakily reached up to stroke his hair. “You’re not the issue. I’ve always been proud of you, son. I pushed you as hard as I did because I wanted you to succeed. And you’re not the reason I’m laid out like this. The blame for my illness lies elsewhere, at the feet of the problem we’re here to solve.”

  “You shouldn’t talk so! Save your energy for fighting fever!” he exclaimed.

  Unsteadily clasping his hands, she half-smiled. “I’m afraid it’s too late for me, my beautiful boy. I’m too far gone, but I can use what little of my life remains to help you.”

  “What are you talking about, mama?” he sobbed. “Save yourself! I don’t need help!”

  Her hands painfully tightened around his. “Ah, but in that you’re wrong, my son. You’re broken, Raimie, and we’re gathered to fix you. It’s time for Nylion to go.”

  NO! Something inside let loose a gut-wrenching howl of betrayal. In shock, he tried to jerk away, to run to his other half, but her grip was iron. He couldn’t escape.

  “Nyl is me!” He desperately tried to explain once more. “You can’t make him go! If you did, you’d rip away a piece of me-!”

  “Raimie, behind you!” Nylion screeched.

  Too late. Hands clamped around his temples, and the councilwoman mumbled under her breath. His eyes widened, breath quickened, as panic ate through logic and reason. They truly meant to do it. They would sunder him in two. Habitually, he reached for Nylion, screaming across their bond.

  Nyl, what do I-?

  Pain stabbed through his head, and his other half flickered.

  “NO!” he shrieked, reaching for Nylion, clinging to his other half like a life line.

  Agony slammed like a mallet on his brain, and try as he might to contest it, his grip loosened. He gritted his teeth, refusing to let go.

  The bond between them, between Nylion and he, he and him, him and he brightly burned in his mind. The councilwoman circled it, a portentous wind come to snuff it out, but she couldn’t. Not alone. And he wouldn’t let her! Their ever-present bond was the one thing for which he’d fight to the death. He’d tear the Eselan woman’s hair from her scalp, rake her flesh, rend chunks of her with his teeth. He would shred her beneath the power of his guard. SHE COULDN’T HAVE IT!

  Beneath him, mama drew a shuddering gasp and grew still. A ghost of her presence joined the councilwoman. Together, they circled the union deep inside which was RaimieandNylion. They advanced, and he scrambled for escape, knowing in his bones he couldn’t resist both of them at once. If he could slip free in the real world, maybe he could save this sacred space in his mind. Before he could use his liberated hands to escape the councilwoman’s grasp, however, his head erupted into a volcano of pain, magma flowing down his neck and to his extremities, and his grip on Nylion faltered.

  What had he-? He’d been fighting for… It had been immensely important.

  His other half rapidly quivered, memories of the two of them liquifying beneath pain’s heat. Nylion desperately reached for him.

  “Do not forget me!” his other half cried before flickering from view.

  He wasn’t sure why he was in such a large, underground room or why so many people gazed at him or why mama wasn’t breathing-

  One more surge burned through him, and unconsciousness greeted him like a friend.

  * * *

  Raimie blinked away tears, numb from the shock of reliving one of the worst moments in his life. Beside him, Nylion snarled. He paced back and forth, hands reaching for an unseen throat.

  “That BITCH!” he roared.

  “Don’t call mama that,” Raimie protested. “We can’t know if one of the others manipulated her-”

  “YOU SHUT UP!” Nylion roared. “What the fuck do you know?! You know NOTHING, you useless little-”

  “It doesn’t matter anyway,” Raimie growled, Nylion’s fury stirring something similar in him. “She’s dead much like the councilwoman. Let’s focus on the ones left alive.”

  Taking a deep breath, Nylion lowered his fists. “You are right, of course, as you always are.”

  The two of them simply stood there for a while, waiting. Raimie knew their torment wasn’t yet at an end. He could feel the churning storm of memories lurking on his mind’s horizon, ready to bore down on them at the slightest faltering of his will. It wouldn’t long wait for him to retreat to safety before bursting. He required a place of absolute solitude and quickly.

  Gingerly, Raimie brushed against the bond between he and his other half. After only the briefest touch, he violently recoiled. He remembered what their bond had been since they were babes, a place of comforting warmth, a union of purpose, a melding so complete that, for all intents and purposes, they were one. A flow of being unending from one to the other, so vitally energetic it was as a merrily, babbling brook of existence. Now…

  Now, it was ash. The riverbed remained, and a dripping trickle haltingly traversed it, but it was a blackened husk of its former self, all cracked earth and parched reeds.

  They’d taken something extraordinary and cherished and proceeded to DEFILE it. Raimie couldn’t comprehend… he couldn’t ABIDE it.

  “Now, what?” he asked, and for a moment, his throat chilled from the ice in his voice.

  Nylion considered. “Since the councilwoman is dead, we cannot exact revenge on the one who enacted the spell, but Gistrick, Eledis, and our father participated, if nominally. How shall we destroy them?”

  “First, we coerce an explanation,” Raimie said. “Then, we can conceive of an appropriate punishment.”

  “What does their explanation matter?” Nylion asked. “They are guilty!”

  “Think of it as practice for being king. Don’t deny the prospect of ruling over a nation appeals to you.” Raimie smirked. “I’ve felt you yearn for it.

  “One of our responsibilities as king will be to listen to guilty people plead their case, much like what we’ll do with Gistrick and the rest. In the future, we can’t mete out punishment on a criminal before we hear their side of the story. In the same way, we should wait to enact our vengeance. We can’t know how deeply each of them betrayed us yet.”

  Nylion considered, and Raimie knew when he’d decided to agree.

  “But we will destroy them, yes?” his other half asked.

  “They’ll receive their just rewards,” Raimie said, his teeth gleaming through his smile. “Don’t worry. I already have some ideas.”

  * * *

  “Somebody help me restrain him,” Oswin’s voice yelled through the black of Raimie’s dreams, and he grudgingly moved toward it. “I’ll hold you all responsible if he hurts himself during the next fit!”

  Raimie opened his eyes, and Oswin’s face filled his view. It was turned to the side, presumably toward whomever he yelled, and judging from the man's position, the spy’s hands and legs must be what kept his own confined.

  “Let me up, Oswin,” Raimie rasped.


  He must have been fiercely screaming if his throat was this raw.

  The spy sprang from him like a jack in the box, and Raimie slowly sat up, rubbing his arms where Daevetch tendrils continued to pulse. He let the remnants spill away, hissing at the clawing sensation their release produced.

  “Are you all right, sir?” Oswin asked in a whisper from where he knelt.

  “I’m fine,” Raimie croaked. “I didn’t know the primal energy I use came with a limit.”

  “Rough way to find out.” Oswin nervously chuckled.

  Raimie grunted in response. He tentatively reached for Ele, and it leaped to his call without the side effects its opposite had recently visited upon him. Something to be grateful for, he supposed.

  “Help me up,” he asked Oswin.

  Scrambling to his feet, the spy pulled Raimie to his.

  “Thank you.”

  He stretched, loosening his muscles as much as he could. The storm in his mind raged. He needed to leave. Immediately.

  “What are you doing, sir?” Oswin asked, anxiety raising his voice an octave.

  “Preparing for my trip to Tiro,” Raimie answered.

  “But, sir! Is that wise after what happened?”

  “I am fine, Oswin, and I’m leaving. Do you plan to assist me or not?”

  The spy hung his head. “Never could stop you when you put your mind to something,” he breathed. “What do you need from me?”

  “Prepare the army to march home. You’re to move out as soon as possible. Leave enough men and supplies to hold the Birthing Grounds. We can’t be sure if or when Doldimar might attempt to recapture this place. Make sure those who stay are equipped to ease the newly turned humans into the rank and file. Recruitment will only be for those who wish it, mind you, but we should bolster our ranks whenever we can.” Raimie paused in his stretching. “While we’re at it, we might as well rename this place. Birthing Grounds? Feh. Who came up with that stupid name?

  “And if Kaedesa asks after me, tell her I’m considering her offer.”

  “Her offer, sir?” Oswin asked.