Storm Surge (21 page)

With a laugh, Varest clasped Moritta’s hand and got to his feet. “Father’s mean.”

“I’m mean? Me? You’re the one who tested your luck. See, even your horse agreed that you crossed the line. Right, Asheval?” Kalen faked a sniffle. Both Asheval and Ferethian pricked their ears forward, pranced in place, and bobbed their heads. “You’re muddy, not hurt.”

“How do you know?” Varest whined.

Kalen tilted his head to the side and arched a brow at his Guardian. “I’d know. I remember that time your brother broke his wrist trying to show off, figuring if he got banged up a little bit falling off the ledge into the river, you’d get my attention? You both got my attention, all right. You’re fine. Get up.”

“Cheat,” his foal muttered.

“Every chance I get,” he replied, nudging Ferethian forward.

“Why were you trying to get his attention? I was under the impression that you all tried to avoid that?” Derac asked.

Muttering curses, Varest mounted before patting his gelding’s neck companionably. “Ceres didn’t think he cared.”

“Oh, I cared,” Kalen said, twisting in the saddle to glare at his foal. “You two scared the liver out of me and every other Guardian in the area. Right, Maiten?”

“Don’t drag me into this. All I did was go in after
you
.”

Kalen snorted. “I would have made it out just fine without your help.”

Straightening in the saddle, Varest stared at him with widening eyes. “Wait, what do you mean by that?”

With a sadistic laugh, Maiten nudged Horasian beside Ferethian. “You didn’t know, Varest? His ever-so-concerned Majesty went in after the pair of you. Frankly spoken, your twin’s very fortunate His Majesty’s so fast or Ceres wouldn’t have made it. Your father didn’t know that Breton had already gotten you out, and he about drowned himself looking for you.”

“Maiten!” Kalen protested, glaring at his older Guardian. “I was saving that little secret.”

“I didn’t know that,” Varest said, his brows furrowing.

Kalen stood in the stirrups, reaching over to pat Varest top of his head. “There, see how you like it, little foal. Someone has to make sure you two don’t kill yourselves during your moments of stupidity. Unfortunately, that person is me. No one drowned, so it’s fine. Just don’t do something like that again.”

“Yes, Father.”

“This sort of thing happens to him all of the time, doesn’t it?” Moritta asked in a worried voice.

Heaving a sigh, Crysallis shook her head. “You have no idea. To be fair to His Majesty, he doesn’t start most of it.”

~~*~~

The First warned Kalen something was amiss. The cold spot in his head flared to a searing heat as the creature demanded his full attention. With his breath hissing through his teeth, he sat straighter. Through the trees ahead, black smoke roiled over the ground. “Stop.”

Ferethian skidded to a halt, head held high and his ears twisted back. The others reined their horses in.

“What’s wrong?” Maiten demanded.

~Ahead. Avoid,~
the First hissed in his head.

“There’s something up ahead,” Kalen dutifully reported, shivering as the First’s presence once again chilled. “I think we better circle around.”

Crysallis twisted to face him, her eyes narrowing. While she didn’t say anything, she didn’t look away until Kalen nodded his acknowledgment of her suspicion.

“That’s where the village used to be,” Maiten replied. “It was just a lake earlier. What’s going on?”

In the darkness, bursts of lights flashed and bobbed. A shudder ran through Kalen. “It’s the skreed, isn’t it?”

“Infantile skreed. They’re feeding,” Crysallis confirmed, her voice trembling. “It’s too soon. Whatever you do, don’t go into the fog. It will be the last thing you do. They’ll leave nothing behind, not even bone.”

Maiten backed his gelding up. “Those are skreed? Those lights are skreed?”

“Yes.”

Whispered voices murmured in Kalen’s ears, too soft for him to make out. He stared into the haze engulfing the lights among the trees. Shapes lurked within the forest, obscured by the tendrils of darkness and shifting shadows. Squinting, Kalen struggled to make out who—or what—was within the mists.

Maiten’s gelding rammed his shoulder into Ferethian, tearing Kalen’s gaze away from the fog.

“Come on, Kalen,” his Guardian hissed.

“What in the deeps is wrong with you, Father?” Varest exclaimed.

Kalen shook his head, blinking blearily at Maiten. “What?”

“You were just staring at the fog,” his Guardian replied, forcing his gelding to herd Ferethian away from the smoke’s edge. “We’re leaving now.”

“I was?”

“For ten minutes,” Maiten confirmed.

“What?” he blurted, his mouth falling open.

“Sorry, but you’re riding with me.” Before Kalen could even protest, Maiten grabbed hold of him, hauling him off of Ferethian. His stallion helped with a well-timed buck, forcing him into his Guardian’s arms.

“That’s a clever trick,” Moritta commented, watching with interest.

Kalen felt his face grow hot from embarrassment. Closing his mouth so he wouldn’t say something he regretted, he ducked his head and grumbled a few curses under his breath.

“Ferethian has more sense than his Rider at times, Moritta,” Maiten said, shifting in the saddle to give Kalen room. “Think about it this way, Your Majesty. You said you were tired. I’m certainly not going to let you fall.”

Kalen flinched. “Hellfires, Maiten. I wasn’t falling.”

“No, you weren’t, but if you kept staring off like that, you would’ve been skreed dinner. You can thank me later. In case you hadn’t noticed, that fog is spreading. Can we please get out of here?”

Kalen hadn’t, which frightened him almost as much as the fact he had no recollection of staring at the fog for a minute or two, let alone ten—or anyone having said a word while he had watched the lights. While he wanted to protest out of pride, he swallowed back the impulse and nodded.

“That would be wise,” Crysallis murmured.

The horses ran, giving the dark smoke with its bobbing lights a wide berth.

With Ceres and Delaven guarding the Delrose herd, Breton paced through the mercenary camp in the predawn gloom as the Mithrians packed their tents. A dark haze obscured the rising sun, and at first, he thought it was the smoke from the swarm. As the sky lightened, clouds obscured the eastern sky.

The thought of Kalen alone in a storm unnerved him almost as much as the Crimson Eye’s quiet determination as they prepared to march. Few spoke, and those who dared did so in whispers. Many watched the sky warily, and Breton numbered among them.

In the Rift, black clouds meant trouble, and lots of it.

He was saddling the Rift horses when Lyeth came for him.

The officer snapped a salute and said, “The captain wants to see you, sir. I’m to finish whatever you need to have done before we march.”

Breton tightened Perin’s cinch, looking over the rest of the horses. “I’m pretty much done here. If you could fetch Ceres and have him herd the horses, that’s all that’s left.”

“Easily done. The captain’s at the front of the line.” Lyeth pointed to the south, though the Mithrian watched the storm front to the east. “I hope you’re up for a fast march. We’re moving the camp to a better place to ride out that storm.”

“How bad do you think it’ll be?” Breton gathered up Perin’s reins and mounted, his gaze fixed on the clouds. They darkened and grew as they crawled across the sky.

“Bad enough to justify moving the camp to prepare for it, so say the healers. You best hurry, Guardian.”

After a nod to Lyeth, Breton touched his heels to Perin’s sides, hurtling through the camp in search of Captain Silvereye. True to the Mithrian’s word, he found the man leading the column of wagons and riders. “Captain Silvereye.”

Without a word, the Mithrian Shadow Captain tossed Breton a heavy fur cloak. “You’re going to need that, Guardian. Wear it on top of everything else. I have someone hunting down a pair of gloves for you Rifters now.”

Breton had no idea what sort of animal had such thick fur, but it was heavy enough in his hands to make him sweat. While it was chillier than he liked, Kelsh’s springtime weather usually met his standards for comfort. Even though it was so close to summer, it was cold enough that he draped the cloak over his shoulders without complaint. “What kind of storm is that?”

“If we’re lucky, a lot of wind and a lot of rain.”

Uncertain of whether or not he wanted to know the answer, Breton asked, “And if we’re not?”

“Snow.” Captain Silvereye sighed and shook his head. “Anyone caught out in this without shelter is going to be miserable at best. You said your witch would bring my co-captain back in three days, but for the sake of everyone out there, they better find us today.”

Breton whirled Perin around to stare north. Without the pull of danger to guide him, he wasn’t certain which direction Kalen was. While he was aware of the new Guardians, he couldn’t pinpoint the Rift King’s presence. It was a comfort, since it meant his foal wasn’t in danger, but he didn’t want to consider how fast that would change when the storm arrived.

While the Rift King had mentioned snow in the past, Breton had never seen it before. “How dangerous is this storm?”

“If it’s rain and wind, it won’t be too bad for us. I have mages who can establish a wind break for the camp, so while we’ll get wet, the wind won’t do too much to us. That’s why we’re moving; too many trees here, and the last thing we need is one falling into the camp. There are some plains not too far away. Two hours at a fast march, if that. We’ll be setting up camp there until the storm blows over. It’s close enough to the forest so we can get firewood, but not so close we’ll be at risk from falling trees.” Captain Silvereye stood in his stirrups, looking over the camp. “Sound the march,” he ordered.

One of the nearby mercenaries blew three notes with a horn. When the Shadow Captain moved out of the way of the column, Breton followed. Only when the lines were moving did Captain Silvereye turn to face him. “My co-captain’s dislike of the cold concerns me, Breton. It could get chilly very, very quickly. Answer honestly; are you Rifters prepared to handle the snow? I’ve been to the Rift all of once, and it was hot when I was there.”

Breton shook his head. “Sir, I’ve heard of the word, but there isn’t even a word for it in our language. Wind we understand. We have at least ten different words for it, kalen being one of them. I have no idea what this snow is you’re talking about or what it’s like.”

The Mithrian’s eyes widened. “More than ten words for wind? You’re serious.”

“Very serious, sir. It’s probably closer to twenty, thinking about it. Kalen is an older word meaning ‘the ceaseless wind.’ So, what is snow?”

“Let’s hope you don’t find out.”

~~*~~

An hour after leaving camp, the wind shifted direction and the temperature plummeted. Breton shivered, twisting in the saddle to watch the storm front bearing down on them. He wasn’t the only one watching the sky.

“I give it four hours until it reaches us,” Captain Silvereye predicted. “Three hours to have the camp prepared isn’t as long as I’d like. Guardian, are your horses trained to harness?”

“To harness? You mean for pulling things?”

“Yes.”

Breton nodded. “It’s been done. We have to clear rockfalls from the trails. Most of our horses have done it a few times. Why?”

“Good. We’ll need as many horses pulling logs and gathering wood as possible. The storm might not be too bad, but I’m not going to take any chances. Late season blizzards are hard to predict. You Rifters can help Lyeth and his team. I’ll assign a guard to Her Highness and the Delrose family to free you up for the meantime.”

“Blizzard? What’s that?”

“A lot of snow, wind, and misery.” Captain Silvereye sighed. “The healers seem to think it’ll snow, and I believe them. It’s getting colder by the minute. We’ll be pulling proper coats out of the supply; I’ve already left instructions for all of you Rifters to be kitted for the weather. Just do as you’re told, and you won’t have anything to worry about.”

“Yes, sir.” Breton turned Perin in a slow circle, staring at the ranks of mercenaries stretched out behind them. The company moved faster than when they had fled from the swarm, which worried him almost as much as the dropping temperature. While the cloak was warm, it did little against the wind-driven chill. “What’s there to worry about with this sort of storm?”

“Freezing to death is the big one. Some folks go snow crazed, but we’ll be taking precautions. We aren’t going to be caught by surprise.” Captain Silvereye frowned. “I’m damned glad Moritta is with your Guardians. She knows what to do in a snowstorm. With a little bit of luck, they’ll have already found His Majesty.”

“You’re worried.” Breton tensed so much that Perin turned his ears back and snorted in displeasure.

“You better believe I’m worried. If I could call her back right now, I would. We try not to lose people to the weather, Guardian. If I had known this was coming, I wouldn’t have allowed any of them to leave the camp.”

Sucking in a breath, Breton whirled Perin around to stare northward, weighing how fast and far he could send Perin after Kalen and the others. Of the Rift horses, his geldings were the largest, and as a consequence, the slowest. The only horse he could think of with a hope of catching the others was Honey, and she couldn’t carry him, not for long. “You’re serious.”

“Deathly serious, Guardian. If that storm is anywhere near as strong as what my healers have warned me about, we’re in for a bad blow, and there’s absolutely nothing we can do to help them. As it is, we’ll be hard pressed preparing ourselves.”

“Hellfires.”

“Moritta is with them. Well, most of them,” the Shadow Captain said in a soft voice. “If anyone can get them out of harm’s way, it’s her. It’s far too late to go chasing after them, so don’t even think about it. That big horse of yours wouldn’t make it far. It’s possible they’ve already found His Majesty, too.”

Breton clenched his teeth, but nodded his acknowledgment. After taking several deep breaths, he replied, “I know.”

It didn’t change the fact that he wanted to go, but he turned Perin and rode alongside Captain Silvereye, muttering all of the Rift King’s favorite curses under his breath.

By the time the Shadow Captain sounded the halt to make camp, Breton was shivering despite the thick furs.

Captain Silvereye remained mounted. “Unlike before, we’ll be changing how the camp is laid out. I prefer to keep tents farther apart, to prevent fires spreading from tent to tent as easily. Because we’re facing what might be a blizzard, we’ll be keeping everyone close together. This makes less space for the mages to cover with the wind breaks. There will be bonfires set up throughout the camp, which is why we’ll need wood, and a lot of it. Between the wind break and the bonfires, we’ll stay warm. We’ll also set up coal braziers in many of the tents—yours included. For now, go find Lyeth, stick with him, and once we’ve established the new camp, you’ll get to work gathering wood. Once you’re done, have someone bring you and the other Rifters to me. There’s a lot we’ll need to cover, especially if it really does start snowing.”

“Yes, sir,” Breton said, turning Perin to search for Lyeth somewhere in the long column of mercenaries.

~~*~~

Several hours later, with a certain amount of disgust at Captain Silvereye’s cunning, Breton discovered that Lyeth and his team were less interested in Perin for pulling logs as they were in Breton’s height and muscle. His horse was claimed by several grinning Mithrians and harnessed while he was given the dubious privilege of ensuring that the trees the mercenaries hacked down fell in the right direction.

The idea of holding onto a rope and pulling on it to make sure the tree fell in his direction instead of onto the mercenaries cutting it down left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. Each time one of the tall trees fell, Breton braced for impact, only to discover that he had been standing in relative safety the entire time.

It didn’t stop him from cringing when the tree creaked and fell towards him, shaking the ground as it crashed down, showering him with leaves and sticks.

“Safe, Breton?” Lyeth called out.

“I can think of safer things I could be doing,” he called back, climbing into the branches to retrieve the rope tied to the trunk. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Laughter answered him. “Would we do that?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. How many of these do we have to bring down?”

“As many as we can until we’re called in, I’m afraid.” Lyeth walked over, wiping sweat off his brow. “Just be glad you weren’t given an ax. Our hands are going to be blistered for a week after this. It gets better; we’ll be cutting these trees apart in camp long after it starts snowing. At least we’ll get rotated off shift and those who set up camp will get their turn at cutting these damned things up. The mages are going to hate us by the time this is over.”

“Why are they going to hate us?” After coiling the rope, Breton handed it over to the dark-haired man who had been recruited to climb the trees and secure the line to the trunk.

“They’re the ones who have to prepare the wood so it burns well. Works better if you aren’t burning fresh-cut wood. Between the wind breaks and treating the wood for burning, they’re going to be even more tired than we are.” Lyeth chuckled. “If we’re lucky, we’ll get called back before it starts snowing. If you think it’s bad now, just wait until you can’t see if a tree is about to land on you.”

Breton was powerless to stop his eyes from widening at the thought. Laughing, the mercenary clapped his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Breton. I’ll make sure you make it back to camp mostly intact.”

“How comforting, Lyeth.”

They brought down five more trees, with only a few branches smacking Breton in the head as they hurried to beat the incoming storm. By the time they reached the camp, the storm front arrived, bringing with it gusts of icy wind. As they reached the perimeter, the air stilled, though it was cold enough that Breton shivered despite his exertion.

“All right, Breton. You’re coming with me,” Lyeth said, handing over his ax to one of the waiting mercenaries. “Did you know you have leaves and twigs sticking out of your hair?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re the reason for it,” Breton replied in his mildest tone.

“Bless the Lady that it was only some branches and not the trunk. You’re tough, I have to admit. Still, Parice should have a look at you to make sure there’s nothing actually wrong with you.”

“I’m fine.”

The mercenary shook his head, leading Breton down a path between the tents barely wide enough for two people to squeeze by each other. “I’ll leave that for the healers to decide.”

Adjusting the fur cloak over his shoulders, Breton trailed behind the Mithrian. His breath emerged in clouds of white, unnerving him almost as much as the roiling clouds overhead. His unease grew, and he was unable to stop himself from staring up at the sky instead of watching where he was going.

He collided with Lyeth, and would’ve knocked the mercenary over if Captain Silvereye hadn’t intervened. “You’re about as nervous as the horses, Breton.”