Son of Orlan (The Chronicles of Kin Roland Book 2) (3 page)

KIN understood Clavender wouldn’t
accompany him during his search for Rickson. She couldn’t. Her people never let
her out of their sight, but he went to the grove where the Ror-Rea argued from
dawn to dusk, their glistening rainbow wings darkening to battle black when tempers
flared. Clavender stood among them, resisting their demands.

I can’t help her. She can’t help me. Why am I here?
Another man might second guess his motives or lie to himself. Kin understood
his fantasies. Not all were about Becca or saving the world. He merely wanted
something good to happen. Was it too much to ask for Clavender to catch a
break? An enormous weight drove down on the young woman.
Not so young as
that
. For an immortal being, or nearly immortal, Clavender had smiled
easily. She had moved through life to spread beauty and heal.

Now she was a princess, slave to duty, mired in politics.

Kin spoke to her with his eyes, sensing she enjoyed the game
as far as it lasted. As he smiled and danced his gaze against hers, he thought
of adventures they had together. He thought about Rickson chasing Ogre as a
puppy. When she risked a long glance away from the Ror-Rea lords, he hoped
desperately for her help. Finding Rickson wouldn’t be easy. Finding Orlan’s son
would be impossible.

Her expression was sad. She faced the lord who accosted her.

“Yes, I can touch the wormhole, but I will not.” Clavender
stood tall, chin held high. Her silk tunic barely touched her knees. A slit ran
up the side. Women of the Ror-Rea wore such a garment into battle, but she
carried no weapons.

“You must take us to the Bleeding Ground. They cannot be
allowed to reach the magic, not before we take the high ground,” Hasic the
First High Lord said.

“Must I?”

Each of the High Lords stood and yelled at her.

Kin approached the edge of the clearing and stood
attentively. He adopted the formal posture of a petitioner. Demanding to speak
with Clavender would only get him killed. Expressing his desire to converse
would earn derision and verbal abuse from the lords. When in the presence of
the princess, one presented the attitude of openness and nothing more.
Or
maybe you flirt a little, if you’re a wanted traitor to Earth Fleet not long
for this world
.

On the up side, the ritual required all men and women of the
Ror-Rea to stand aside to allow Clavender access to her petitioners.

Slowly, the High Lords noticed him and quieted.

Hasic moved closer to Clavender, looming over her as he
narrowed his eyes. “You speak to this Huumdan, even when our existence is
threatened.”

Hasic’s breach of protocol was unprecedented, even Kin
understood the insult. No one interfered with royalty. No one flaunted the
ancient etiquette of the Ror-Rea.

“It is the way of our people. Petitioners are not turned
away,” Clavender said.

Is that what I am?
Kin just wanted to talk to a
trusted friend. He knew she needed the interruption. Perhaps that was why he
came here rather than leave to begin his search.

“Kin Roland. Are you going to follow Rickson?” she asked.

“Apparently,” Kin said, “I’m the last to know about the
shepherd’s quest.”

Clavender’s eyes reflected the sky as she smiled. “Boys need
to be heroes.”

Lord Hasic snorted and threw up a hand. “The fate of our
people hangs in the balance. Forget tradition. Forget these people. I’ve had
enough of your pets.”

Clavender’s father, on the verge of being returned his
Kingship by the High Lords, stepped between Hasic and his daughter. “You go too
far, Hasic.”

“The Mazz are the reason these Huumdans are in danger. Help
us fight them. Help us realize vengeance!” Hasic stood face to face with Dax.
“I studied in the grove of your father. He was no warrior, but he was wise. I
ask you, what would he do? Would he honor tradition, or abandon our ways?”

Dax grunted, stepping forward, close to Hasic who was a head
taller than the former king. “Are you an imbecile? Would an intelligent man
pose such an inane question? My father never knew war. He would tell us to make
peace with the Mazz.”

Hasic smiled, revealing sharpened teeth. Kin had learned
this was a custom warriors adopted after war came to the Ror-Rea. As Hasic
backed away, Kin decided the High Lord wasn’t retreating. He had somehow won
the argument, though Dax’s words seemed a scathing rebuke.

“Your father would never have allowed the Mazz into the
Ror-Rea,” Hasic said. “Your father would have banned Clavender to the farthest
reaches of space where she found the plague that is the Mazz race.”

Dax stepped back, his eyes glazing for a moment. He took
another step and stumbled as though struck on the head. “She is my daughter.”

Silence held the clearing. High Lords, men and women, stared
at Dax.

Hasic snorted. “By the rules of High Council, I state my
first observation that Dax, son of Elo, is not fit to be king.”

Kin watched the scene intently, forgetting why he had come.
His initial impression of Dax had been of a ruthless warrior, a man ready to
sacrifice his daughter to settle a score. Now Kin understood the depth of his
predicament.

Hasic presented arguments against Dax, stripping him of
dignity, attacking his character. A majority of the High Lords applauded
Hasic’s logic.

Kin wanted to approach Dax and offer support, but dared not.
He didn’t fully understand the culture of the Ror-Rea. The scene before him
opened his eyes. Dax had surrendered his identity as well as his position of
authority.

“I will not deny that Dax fought bravely against the Mazz,”
Hasic said. “But if he were a true king, he would command his daughter to lead
us into battle. To take the Bleeding Grounds before all is lost.”

The High Lords surrounded Clavender. Kin strode forward,
hand on his holstered pistol, thinking he should have worn the FSPAA.
Technology couldn’t resist so many winged warriors, but at least there would
have been a hell of a show.

Dax reached Clavender first. The High Lords shouted at her
as though neither Dax nor Kin existed. Battle fury caused eyes to glow,
movements to quicken, and drew others to the meeting ground. Winged warriors
descended and surrounded the area with weapons drawn.

“Sibil Clavender, son of Dax, you must take us to the
Bleeding Ground to avenge our ancestors,” Hasic said.

Clavender glared at him majestically, standing tall and
defiant. “Tonight, when the time is right, I will reach out to the wormhole.”

Silence held the scene. The growing crowd murmured. Kin
studied her, confused by her words, but sensing danger.

“Finally,” Hasic said.

“And I will close it again. This time I will seal the spell
with my blood.”

Clavender’s declaration caused Hasic to back away. A moment
later, the High Lords turned on Dax.

Hasic shifted his wings like a fist fighter rolls his
shoulders before a match. “Command her.”

Dax roared and lunged forward, grabbing Hasic, pinning the
lord’s wings beneath strong arms as he strode forward on powerful legs. He
spread his wings, gliding through the air with each stride.

Hasic resisted. They tumbled to the ground, punching,
kicking, and lashing with their wings.

Kin stepped toward them, but Clavender took his arm.

“Do not interfere, Kin. Go find Rickson. I am sorry I cannot
help you.”

As Kin’s battle senses came alive, he opened his awareness
to details large and small, because most men focused too intently on immediate
threats. Part of his mind picked targets and planned restraint methods for
Hasic, while other parts noted the weather, listened to animals beyond the
clearing, and counted foes and rivals.

He saw something in Clavender that alarmed him.

“Don’t do anything foolish,” he said.

“Life is foolish,” she said, peace and sadness in her eyes.
“I delay the inevitable.”

If Kin were a skilled liar, he
would claim to have answers and reassure her. Words failed to rise. Urgency
grew as he considered her promise to seal the wormhole closed with her blood.

KIN’S first encounter with Dax had
left the impression the man cared nothing for his daughter. As he walked away
from the council of Ror-Rea lords, Kin remembered meeting the winged warrior.
Wounded, exhausted, barely one step ahead of Droon, Kin recognized the family
resemblance between Clavender and Dax, hoping he was saved. “Can you help me?”

Dax had gazed on him with curiosity. “What sort of help? Do
you need dry clothing, or do you want help killing the Clingers and the beast
they have captured?”

“I need help saving your daughter,” Kin said.

Dax moved closer, face to face, bending forward menacingly.
His strange smile transformed into a murderous scowl. “Why should I save her,
when she will not open the Ror-Rea and the sky lights? My people come. My
people die to cross the Storm Lands and reach the wormhole because she protects
the Mazz.”

Kin struggled to understand the accented words. His body
trembled from hypothermia. He lifted his head and stared at Dax. “Fine. Let the
Reaper eat her.”

Dax drew back. “Tell me.”

Kin had told the exiled king a Reaper hunted his daughter. A
normal father would’ve been distraught with worry. He would have been afraid,
angry, and desperate to save her.

When confronted, Dax claimed to have abandoned his kingdom
to find Clavender, a fact Kin now understood and had seen demonstrated by Hasic
and the other Ror-Rea lords. Kin had thought the exiled king only wanted his
daughter to bend the wormhole so he could attack the Mazz. But on the verge of
being reinstated as supreme ruler of the Ror-Rea, he stood with Clavender. He
finally supported her decision to close the space anomaly.

Good for you, Dax
.

Kin paused and looked toward the Ror-Rea gathering. Many
winged warriors fought, yet there was singing, swords pounding on shields, and
above it all, the multicolored tube in the sky dimmed. He listened to the
voices, identifying only one. Clavender’s melody sliced through the chaos.

From a tactical perspective, closing the wormhole was a good
idea. The Mazz Imperials used it to transport their massive army. Shutting it
would cut them off from reinforcements. How they managed to master the space
anomaly was a mystery to Kin, but they seemed intent on destroying Clavender’s
people and everyone else who got in their way. At the same time, he had the
distinct impression the Imperials were running scared. Something about the
overkill of their methods and the nuclear blast shields bothered him.

Clavender’s voice reached a dramatic crescendo and broke.

Kin had never heard her voice crack. He held his breath and
waited for something terrible. She resumed her song wearily, like someone who
expects failure.
Like someone who has lost blood
.

The Ror-Rea council promised to be a disaster of epic
proportions. The sooner he rounded up Rickson and the others, the sooner he
could help Clavender. If Hasic kept antagonizing her, Kin would convince Raien
to place her in protective custody.

He checked his gear several times as he moved. The battered
FSPAA offered speed to a diligent and attentive operator. Skill, athleticism,
and coordination mattered. He made good time, reaching the end of the foothills
and the first mountain pass in less than an hour. Though he was no longer part
of Earth Fleet, he followed trooper protocol, stopping to set up an observation
post and scan for danger.

He crawled to the summit of a hill and looked back. In the
distance he saw the Imperial headquarters nearing completion. The Mazz erected
the fortress city with the speed of a field base. Walls bristled with heavy
weapons. Scaffoldings inside the perimeter grew around observation towers fifty
meters tall.

Artillery, rocket, and machine gun arrays pointed across the
landscape, and toward the sky. Kin doubted Earth Fleet would be mounting a
counterattack from space any time soon. The Mazz Imperials were ready if the
Fleet did make a planetary assault.

Kin understood discipline and had used it to survive
Hellsbreach and other campaigns. In his experience, some military units were
more steadfast than others. However, none of the Imperial troopers wavered from
strict operating procedures. The Imperial Mazz army reminded him of elite Earth
Fleet divisions.

Kin didn’t like the idea of full-scale war between Earth
forces and the Mazz.

Rebecca’s Shock Troopers were part of an elite division. He
paused to scan the area and thought about her as his eyes slid over familiar landscape.
It was good to have her back, yet, they hadn’t talked about anything important.
Not the death of her father and brothers at the hands of Reapers or his
decision to join the Hellsbreach campaign. They had barely discussed her
attempt to save him from execution or even Orlan’s part in the half-successful
plot.

Kin was alive. He could have done without the blackness of
the space casket or memories of Rebecca standing formally during his trial.
Tears had streamed over her cheeks, but she never broke rank, never stood at
anything less than attention.

For a long time, he thought she condemned him as the others
had, believing he spared the Reapers on Hellsbreach as part of some
unfathomable treason against the Fleet. For years Kin wandered between resentment
of her judgment and the desire to find her and explain. He dreamed of her night
after night—sometimes in fantasy, sometimes in nightmare—but he spent his time
with Laura and other women.

What was I supposed to do? I was never going to see her
again
.

Kin scouted several areas where Rickson allowed sheep to
graze before Commander Westwood’s armada smashed into the planet and brought
Droon through the wormhole. The young shepherd maintained huts stashed with
basic supplies and sticks carved to resemble Fleet weapons. All but one
remained untouched. Looking back the way he had come and connecting the route
with the hut, Kin estimated Rickson’s probable direction of travel.