Immortal Defiance

by Laura Maybrooke

  Inebriated and incited to uncontrollable anger by each other’s provoking, the mismatched group of friends had gotten it into their heads to find the traitor Delbin Surinquel themselves.

  It angered anyone who heard it to learn of a countryman’s disloyalty toward the army’s leader. Dulcea had feared the inevitable backlash; it was why she had not wanted the matter publicized. Delbin’s involvement in her disappearance was soon public knowledge, and outrage washed over the camp and traveled all the way to East Ford.

  Dulcea did not know what had gone wrong at Amorra. Mandriss refused to talk about it, despite the prying of her powers. The lock on his mind was powerful, and to break him by force would have been to destroy him. The people at West Ford did not care. They were vocal about their demands and saw nothing wrong about destroying a traitor for the truth. He would have his head cut off regardless, they said.

  Dulcea wanted to disappear. It was too much. She wanted the matter solved, but not at any cost to her conscience. She was glad to escape the rolling seas of outrage outside each day for a couple hours to the mundane, boring tasks of camp command.

  “You are ever so busy these days. I’m guessing it’s intentional.” Krath took a seat opposite of her, at the back of the Audience Tent. He crossed his arms.

  Dulcea looked up startled from the letter she had been writing, not having sensed his presence. It was not yet evening nor was this her private tent, and her last audience had already ended. There was nothing to stop her generals from stepping right in. Krath’s presence in the tent was not a thing she looked forward to explaining. The silence enchantment on the Audience Tent did not prevent interruption; any conversation they might have faced disruption here.

  Her heart beat faster. “I need you to exit and come again. Tell the guards it’s time for your audience.”

  The vampire nodded and vanished. A minute later there were noises at the entrance to the tent, and a guard drew the curtain door aside, peeking inside.

  “Pardon me for the interruption, Lady Lightbringer, but this man claims he’s here for an audience. I do not have him on my list,” the soldier said. “Should I send him away until tomorrow?”

  “No, it is all right. No apology necessary,” Dulcea said. “You must not have the final list. I was expecting him already. Please, send him in.”

  “Very well, my lady. Will you be needing a scribe?”

  In most cases, a scribe accompanied her for reasons of both practicality and impartiality, but also for her safety. If a matter was of such a delicate nature that sharing it with others would have ruined the caller’s reputation, Dulcea saw to the matter alone. To prevent danger to herself in such scenarios, a charm prevented anyone from bringing weapons inside the tent.

  “Not this time. I already sent Melkirk resting.” The guard already knew of that, of course.

  The guard bowed to her and let Krath past him into the tent, shutting the curtain door behind him.

  He smirked. “I think I should write my name on your list for all the days to come.”

  Dulcea scoffed. “We have fifteen minutes at most. Let us not waste it on trivialities.”

  Audiences were strict, regulated meetings. An attendee was to say their piece in a quarter of an hour and then be on their way. Most hearings lasted less than five minutes. It would have aroused suspicion had Krath not come out in fifteen since entering the Audience Tent.

  “I came to see if my lady might be available for a forest walk later tonight.”

  “A walk? What do you mean?” She frowned. “No one can see us together.”

  “One of your little copses here by the campgrounds is not my ideal of a walk in the woods,” Krath said. “I should like to take you elsewhere for a while.”

  “That sounds nice, but I am not sure how. I cannot just disappear for a few hours.”

  He grinned. “No? Isn’t that what you do when you retire to bed each night?”

  Dulcea thrummed her fingers on the table. “Well… where would you take me?”

  “Let that be my secret for now.” A corner of his mouth tugged upward.

  Dulcea promised him to consider it; it was the most she could do. The rest of their fifteen minutes they spent in congenial discussion until it was time for Krath to depart. She remained in the Audience Tent for another fifteen minutes, finishing up her private notes from preceding audiences. Dulcea was about to leave when Myoden marched into the tent, his fine features distorted in displeasure.

  He gritted his teeth. “Tell me… Is Lord Krath even his real name, or was that all a complete lie?”

  “E-excuse me?” Dulcea crossed her arms in a confused, alarmed manner.

  “I came looking for you about a half an hour ago,” the warrior high priest said. “The guards outside informed me you were still with a visitor. So, I waited nearby. About ten minutes later, he walks out of the Audience Tent. I followed him for a few minutes, but then he somehow eluded me, and I could find him no more.”

  She snorted. “You lost him in the crowd.”

  “As I meant to imply.” He gave a curt nod. “My issue is that I asked around, and no one appears to have seen him. It is almost like I was following a ghost or an invisible man. Even the man whom I saw bump into him just before I lost his trail could remember no one by his description.”

  Dulcea sighed, staring at the tent wall above Myoden’s head.

  The priest’s expression tightened. “After a while I returned here and inquired about the matter from the soldiers outside. The guard told me he called himself Alaion. I heard his name was not on the list, but you recognized him and asked the guard to let him in. I am told you were alone for a good quarter of an hour. Alone, without Melkirk in attendance!”

  She shrugged. “What of it? Melkirk is not to attend when the matter requires it so, you know that. As for my last visitor’s identity, both could be true. I suppose it did not occur to you that Lord Krath of Alaion might be his full name?”

  “No, it did not occur to me.” Myoden narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying it is?”

  Dulcea raised her chin. “No, I am not. I am not aware what is, but I would never claim it impossible. You also know that sometimes people give us a false name when requesting an audience. This is because the meeting leaves a record.”

  “Do you realize how this will look? The implications of it…”

  “I have done nothing wrong.” She squared her shoulders. “There can be no consequences for that. I can see how that might be misconstrued if it was the first time a private meeting ever happened, but that is not the case. You would only embarrass yourself.”

  “You are right. This alone would not concern me, nor would it make any of the other generals worry. I could disregard it, had I not had the shock of finding him in your tent.”

  Dulcea fisted her hands. “Do not mention him to me with that tone. I am not in any danger.”

  The warrior priest scowled, shut his mouth, and turned away.

  An atmosphere of cautious displeasure hung over all their interactions for the next few days. Dulcea knew her impolite manner had offended him, but she could not worry about Myoden’s feelings on top of her own. Krath’s tantalizing offer for a walk in the woods tempted her, and the more that Myoden pressed her for details, the more exasperated she became.

  The situation with Amorra and the strange interference from both her generals, and, of late, even Amparo Darksun kept Dulcea grounded at camp for some evenings. Toward the fourth evening after Krath had asked her for a walk, Myoden cornered her once more in the Audience Tent. He made no effort at small talk, addressing instead the one issue she was loath to discuss with him.

  “I will ask you a question, and I want an honest answer,” he said. “Who is Lord Krath?”

  Dulcea crossed her arms. “… A friend.” It was, a little unexpectedly, the truth.

  “How old is this friendship of yours, and why was I not aware of it? Have you had his background researched? Remember what happened with Delbin. Both of u
s thought we knew him—and yet his betrayal took us by surprise. It is my duty as your second-in-command to know with whom you associate; to differentiate between the honest and the disreputable.”

  “You talk as though he was a spy for the Saruseans.”

  “That is what I suspect. Nothing about him seems genuine to me.”

  Dulcea let out a short laugh, unable to help herself.

  “That is ridiculous. Lord Krath is not some Sarusean spy.”

  “That man wants something, and I would rather it be information,” Myoden said. “I have done the research you did not. You attach to him the title of a noble lord, but neither that name nor that of Krath of Alaion are familiar to any at the camp.”

  “You asked one hundred and seventy thousand people this?” Dulcea raised her eyebrows.

  “I do not think I have earned this derision. I am only looking out for your welfare.”

  She sighed. “You are right, Myoden. I apologize. It was immature of me.”

  “Yes, it was.” He frowned, collecting his thoughts. “Alaion is a small village on an island a few miles off the coast of Usvameer. I found an old knight who grew up there. He does not recall anyone by the name of Lord Krath.”

  “Perhaps he twisted the truth for anonymity’s sake.” She shrugged. “Or perhaps Lord Krath came to his title through other means, such as marriage.”

  He gave her a hard, scandalized stare. “You think he’s married?”

  Dulcea swallowed. “He mentioned a wife to me, but she is… long dead.”

  “A dead wife. How convenient.” Myoden rolled his eyes. “So very opportunist like.”

  Dulcea harrumphed, about to contradict him when the high priest continued.

  “Regardless of how he came to his title, the problem is that no one here knows him. He shares allegiance with no known entity. I have talked to the Usvameerians, and they are not familiar with any a castle lord by that name.”

  Dulcea seethed. How far had Myoden spread his suspicion without her knowledge? She gritted her teeth and raised her chin, her green eyes flashing with unveiled displeasure.

  “Perhaps the man just prefers his solitude and does not wish to make a show of himself.”

  “Perhaps…” Myoden tapped a finger to his cheek. “Or perhaps it is because he has an agenda that is not fit for the public to know. You must consider the facts, my lady. He is not an enlisted soldier; someone would recognize him if he was. He does not well fit the expected image of a noble visitor, either. Where are his guards? His squires? Lady Galenna does not recognize him—making it impossible that he ever should have visited with a horse and a carriage. How does he move then? On foot? Alone? A noble lord like him? That’s ludicrous, not to mention perilous if true. The nearest castles, all of them miles away from the edges of this camp, are Belamar, Therigard, and Garidoorn, and he is the lord of none of them.”

  “It sounds suspicious, I suppose, but it does not incriminate him.”

  “Does not incriminate him?” He sounded stunned. “Are we even… having the same conversation here? You know, the one where I tell you what a shady character he is, and you agree with me.”

  “I was not aware this was the conversation we were having.”

  “You should much prefer it to the other one I had in mind,” Myoden said. “Do you know what your guards told me, that time I met him in your tent? I asked them why they had not warned me I was interrupting a private meeting, and they said they were not aware of you having company. I could not believe it! Your guards did not know. How is that possible? Did you learn nothing from that despicable mess with Delbin? Did you smuggle him into your tent? Or did he slip past the guards, either because they were not paying attention, or because he wished no one to know you and he were meeting in secret? I do not know which option displeases me the least.”

  “There is no way for me to be the victor in this, is there?” Her shoulders sagged.

  “No, I imagine not. I expect Darksun will also have some choice words for you about this.”

  Dulcea recognized well enough what her choices were. She could declare Krath a Sarusean spy and admit she was under his power. That, or refute it and acknowledge she had made a friend out of a man whose very existence was a threat to her safety. Neither option pleased her. The former was a blatant lie and the latter not something she wished anyone to know.

  She gave the priest no answer. She could not.

  The next couple of hours Dulcea spent expecting Amparo’s call, despairing over the inevitability of it, but the hours grew long, and she heard nothing from him. The faintest glimmer of hope sprang to life inside her heart.

  Despite the grueling afternoon, she and Krath somehow enjoyed their first uninterrupted evening in ten nights. A full day later, Amparo was yet to make any mention of Krath, and Dulcea could not help feeling optimistic about somehow having misunderstood Myoden’s words.

  Her only conversation with Amparo that day was almost trivial, and not at all like she had imagined. It emboldened her and raised her spirits. Even the situation with Amorra could not dampen her mood right then. Myoden had a head healer’s duty that night, and Nemnyan was busy with visiting smiths from their other camp by the mountains.

  She had earned an hour to herself, wherever it was the road took her.

  ---

  “You may open your eyes now.” The words came as an intimate whisper against her ear.

  Krath turned her around but made no effort otherwise to put any distance between them.

  Dulcea opened her eyes and took an instinctive step away from him. His titillating proximity and the fading presence of the Netherworld were both a disturbance on her senses. It was forty-five days since she had first stepped into the shadow realm where the Lady of the Dead reigned. It was the fifth time she had braved it, and the next-to-last time she would ever do it under his charm. There was no doubt how much easier mind control made it, but each exercise of his power left her feeling cold and vulnerable.

  The evening was dark, owing to the nearing new moon and the lack of any town or army camp lights in the distance. This did not bother Dulcea. She trusted him, and here in the dark, undisturbed by artificial light, her elven night vision allowed her to see her surroundings in adequate detail. The surrounding forest was beautiful. Tall, immense trees dotted the landscape, their tops too high to see from down below. A night bird sang on a nearby branch, cooing into the dark evening, while some small, harmless critter scurried around on the ground. The moss growing on the massive tree trunks had a faint, silvery hue to it.

  Dulcea took a deep breath, swamped with emotion, and clamped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, my… It is the Silverwoods!”

  She had not been back since before Dranmore. The moment felt both nostalgic and a little terrifying.

  Krath started down a southbound game trail, and Dulcea followed him. He did not offer her his arm but steadied his pace to accommodate hers. They walked in silence for a while, sometimes straying too close to one another for her comfort. The brush of her shoulder against his arm or the touch of his cool hand on her back to direct her in the dark both unnerved and excited her.

  “I wanted to show you what you stand to both gain and lose.”

  Dulcea swallowed, understanding. “My home. The chance to return to this, should I lose.”

  He inclined his head in agreement but did not discuss it. Dulcea was content to allow him his silence: enjoying the rarity of a peaceful moment. Krath moved with silent grace, his gait agile and light for such a tall man. Her head came up to his chin—she knew it from having embraced him but a short while before. Dulcea wondered if she should have felt intimidated just by having to gaze up at him. She was petite and fine next to his towering build, but whatever the sensation she felt, it was not fear.

  “The future of your homeland is already at the mercy of the demon,” Krath said after a while, his voice sounding almost too calm. “Destruction is second nature to him.”

  “Ah. I see,” Dulcea said, reali
zing. “This is a warning, not a friendly reminder. You think this land is already pegged for devastation, and only by ceasing my campaign against him I may help to stop it.”

  “It is what it is.” The vampire shrugged. “The choice is yours. I do not mean to force your hand.”

  Dulcea glanced at him from the corner of her eye, her steady step not faltering in the dark.

  “Tell me,” she said in a calculative tone, feeling rather bold, “do you admire my courage?”

  “Absolutely.” His gaze did not stray from the path before him. “I think you are a remarkable lady, but there is a difference between foolhardiness and healthy courage, even though it might not always be clear what it is. You consider it somehow valiant to confront the demon; I think it foolish. You would have me agree, but I will not argue this matter with you.”

  “You are very pessimistic.” She gave him an arch smile.

  He smirked. “And you, my lady, are too optimistic.”

  She made no objection, and they walked in silence for a while again, comfortable despite of it.

  “I do not think myself much changed in essentials because of the war; something that not everyone can see.” Dulcea sighed. “I have always been inquisitive and adventurous. These are not products of the recent years, but a part of how I see myself. What about you, my lord?”

  “Yes. What about me?” He raised his brows. “I am what I have always been. The scholar can thirst for both blood and knowledge. What I am I cannot change, but only fools complain about irreversible fates. We all have our own injustices to carry, and some things you just need to learn to accept.”