Storm Surge (22 page)

“With good reason,” he replied, forcing himself to drop his gaze to the ground. “Sorry, Lyeth.”

Brushing himself off and standing upright, Lyeth chuckled before asking, “It’s retribution for the tree, isn’t it?”

“Tree?” Captain Silvereye’s glare settled on the younger officer.

Careful to keep his expression neutral, Breton picked out a few of the leaves and twigs out of his hair, making a show of dropping them one by one. “Indeed.”

“I like him. Can we keep him, Captain?”

With a long suffering sigh, Captain Silvereye rubbed at his temples. “What have you done this time, Lyeth?”

“A branch clipped him when we were bringing down one of the trees. I was taking him to Parice just in case. He’s fine, so he says, but better safe than very, very sorry when His Majesty finds out, right?” Lyeth grinned, standing on his toes to brush away more of the debris from Breton’s hair.

“I’m giving you as a gift to my new co-captain. Maybe
he
can teach you how not to get into trouble,” the Shadow Captain grumbled. “Go see Parice or one of the other healers. When you’re done, Lyeth, you’re in charge of kitting the Rifters. Maybe that will keep you busy. Both of you come to my tent once that’s done.”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

After heaving a sigh, Captain Silvereye shook his head. “Breton, you may want to know that Her Most Royal Highness was looking for you, demanding that you see to her immediately. I told her that you were occupied doing something important. I thought you’d like to be warned.”

Breton matched the Mithrian’s sigh. “Thank you, Captain.”

“Time for you to get to the healers. It’ll start snowing soon, and while I’m willing to sacrifice Lyeth to the weather, you’re to stay in a tent until you’re properly kitted.” The captain’s tone allowed no argument.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

“Good. I had someone set up a tent for you near one of the bonfires. If that doesn’t keep you warm, I don’t know what will. I’ll show you where it is myself once you’re done getting kitted and seeing Parice. Now, I have things I must attend to, including dealing with Her Highness and attempting to impress upon her and her beast that they’re better off staying with us rather than running off like snow-crazed fools.” Captain Silvereye squeezed by Breton and headed off at a brisk walk.

“We’ll have plenty of snow-crazed fools by the time this storm passes,” Lyeth muttered, shaking his head. “I’ve heard one of her tantrums already. I pity those having to deal with that woman. She’s a living nightmare.”

Breton watched the Shadow Captain depart before turning to Lyeth. “You’re not the first I’ve heard complaining about her. While she seems a little ill-taught and flighty, she doesn’t seem quite so…” With a helpless shrug, he glanced up at the darkening sky again.

His worry surged, forcing the thoughts of the Kelshite princess aside until all he could do was hope that Moritta and the others had found Kalen and shelter from the storm.

Lyeth’s strained laughter recaptured Breton’s attention. “Obnoxious? She’s that and a lot worse. My bet is that, for whatever reason, she was trying to impress you. We’re mercenaries. We’re below her. You? You’re a Rifter. You’re probably a novelty to her, where we’re invaders who should get out of her kingdom. Just wait and you’ll see. She’ll probably stop acting nice once she realizes she can’t order you around.”

“Wonderful.”

“Maybe she just wants to use you to get to your Rift King. Wouldn’t that be something? I’d pay good coin to watch that fight. His Majesty would destroy her, and she deserves it.” The usually cheery Mithrian’s expression darkened. “Think His Majesty would put her in her place if we asked him?”

Breton considered his conversation with the Kelshite princess. “I don’t think you’ll have to ask him. I suspect she’ll open her mouth and say the exact wrong thing.”

If it meant Kalen was in the camp—safe—Breton wouldn’t even make the attempt to stop the Rift King’s temper from igniting. He’d watch his foal tear into the Kelshite princess, grateful he was there to watch the fight, not that it’d be much of one.

Lyeth smile was grim. “Good. I knew there was a reason I liked him.”

~~*~~

Breton managed to dodge Princess Tala of Kelsh by obeying Captain Silvereye’s orders. While Lyeth’s enthusiasm was tiring, the Mithrian proved better company by far compared to the young woman he wanted to avoid. He was already imagining the nightmare she’d provide him, and what would happen when she finally met the Rift King at his worst.

At least he was warm despite the chill of the gusting wind. In addition to the thick cloak, the mercenaries had managed to find a coat that fit him, made of the same dense fur. The gloves were crafted of layered leather with a soft lining inside. He had no idea how he was supposed to ride or handle reins when he could barely move his fingers, but he decided to worry about it if riding proved necessary.

With a low chuckle, Lyeth ducked into the captain’s tent, announcing their arrival in his cheerful voice. Breton followed, careful to avoid becoming ensnared in the flap or the ties, a rather unpleasant and real risk thanks to his height. Last time he had fallen prey to a tent, it had taken two snickering Mithrians to free him from the resulting tangle.

“Has it started snowing yet?” Captain Silvereye asked, looking up from the rough-hewn table taking up most of the tent’s space. A cot was crammed on the far side, along with a handful of stumps serving as makeshift seats. Several stools were situated near the cot, covered with parchments.

“Not quite yet, sir. Won’t be more than a few minutes, if my guess is right.”

“Then I have a few minutes to give you an idea of what we’re in for, Breton. Sit. Once you’re done here, I’ll have Lyeth take you to your tent and send your fellow Guardian to you. It’s really important you follow orders. The cold can be quite dangerous, and I have no desire to explain to the Rift King how I got you killed thanks to the weather. Storms like this can be lethal, which is why we are taking so many precautions. Will it be as bad as we’re prepared for? I hope not. But if it is, we’ll be ready for it.” Captain Silvereye straightened his shoulders, meeting Breton’s gaze steadily.

“I’m listening, sir.”

“Good. While I hope Moritta has found shelter for them all, you need to be prepared in case they were unable to. You also need to understand why, no matter what happens, you can’t go riding off into the storm. There’s nothing you can do for them at this point, and I fully intend to preserve you and Ceres. Late season storms are never enjoyable—we should have been beyond the last of the snow, but it happens sometimes. Maybe we’ll get lucky and it’ll be a cold rain. But when I’m told a bad blow is coming, I listen.”

Without a sign of humor in him, Lyeth sank down onto one of the stumps and sighed.

That worried Breton far more than Captain Silvereye’s words. “I understand,” he replied, hating himself more with each passing moment. Why did he always seem to be in the wrong place, completely unable to help those he cared for the most?

“About ten years ago, we were marching home across Killia. It’s a mountainous place, and it was a late autumn march—something almost as dangerous as trying the march in the winter. I don’t recommend it. We got lucky, in a way. We were near a city when the first storms of the season hit. We were forced to winter in Killia, but we survived. When we were able to leave in the spring, we took one of the less favored passes. We found what was left of a company.”

“What was left of a company?” Breton couldn’t mask the concern in his voice, considering how the mercenaries had been reacting to the very real threat of the remaining Wolf Blades.

“We found their corpses, Breton. The entire company was dead. They had challenged the foothills, and they had lost.”

Breton arched his brows. “The entire company died?”

“Looked that way to me. They got caught on the road unprepared, and from what I could tell, a blizzard swept right over them. Some of them hadn’t finished thawing yet.” After a moment of thought and a puzzled expression, Captain Silvereye said, “You don’t know what thawing is either, do you? I’m not sure how to explain it. When frozen from the cold, bodies don’t rot.”

It took every bit of Breton’s will to keep his tone calm and even as he replied, “And you’re expecting me to leave Kalen out in that without going after him.”

“That’s exactly what I’m expecting of you, Breton. If I need to place a guard on you, I will. I can’t afford to lose you, who to my understanding is the equivalent of the Second-in-Command of the Rift.”

With a twitching cheek, Breton shook his head. “I’m fourth,” he replied bitterly.

“Fourth?”

“His Majesty as selected Lord Delrose to be his successor. Maiten, as the next actual Rifter in the succession order, is the equivalent of your Second. ” It wasn’t the exact truth, but without Lord Delrose’s agreement, it was an honest enough answer. “I would fall fourth in the line.”

Captain Silvereye scowled. “Lord Delrose as the Rift King is a very unpleasant prospect, Guardian. While I do not doubt his intellect, he has no sense of strategy, not like his son. I would far rather see you as the Rift King than him. You, I feel, would be tolerated by the rest of the Six Kingdoms. Lord Delrose? He’d be viewed as nothing more than a traitor.”

“The Rift King is typically anonymous,” Breton grumbled. “I am not eager or pleased at the thought of serving him.”

“So don’t. I nominate you to be the tertiary successor, then. His Majesty and Guardian Maiten are not present to gainsay me.”

Breton drew a deep breath, held it for as long as he could, and sighed. “You remind me of him, Captain Silvereye.”

It didn’t help matters any that he agreed with the Mithrian. He would rather follow in his foal’s steps as the Rift King than bow his head to Lord Delrose, even if it meant his death.

They rode through most of the night, stopping a few hours before dawn to rest the horses. Kalen ached from the cold. At least it numbed his hand and arm, keeping the worst of his pain at bay. Clenching his teeth kept them from chattering, but he couldn’t control his shivering.

At least when he’d been riding with Maiten, half of him had been warm.

“When was the last time you ate something, Father?” Varest crossed his arms, and the shadows cast by Crysallis’s witchlight darkened his foal’s glare.

The thought of food was enough to reawaken his nausea. “Try all you want, Varest, but it’s not happening.”

“Father, you need to eat.”

“It’s futile, Varest. He’s been like this since I’ve been with him.” Shaking her head, the witch continued to piling wood to start a fire. “Even if you managed to get him to eat, it’ll just make him sick. It’ll keep until tomorrow. Your Majesty, you should drink something, though.”

“I drank water earlier,” he replied wearily.

“Not enough. Drink more,” the witch ordered. “Otherwise, your Guardians will force you into doing so.”

Wincing at the thought of Maiten and Varest teaming up, Kalen surrendered with a wordless grumble and a nod.

With a wave of Crysallis’s hand and a few muttered words, the kindling smoked and caught flame. After nursing the fire, one of the larger chunks of wood caught flame. She said, “See, he can be reasonable. It’s all about making certain he knows he’ll do what you want whether or not he likes the idea.”

“I might have something that’ll help,” Moritta said, digging through one of her saddlebags. She pulled out a small metal pot and a pouch. “Perhaps drinking something warm might make it less of an ordeal. It wouldn’t hurt any of us, for that matter. It’s a little chilly tonight.”

“A little?” Snorting his disgust at Kelsh’s weather, Kalen sat as close to the fire as he could. Verishi climbed onto his lap and pressed her cheek to his chest, wrapping her arms around him as she snuggled closer. Once she settled, he draped his arm over her.

In a matter of moments, she relaxed against him, her thin frame sagging as she fell asleep.

“If that’s some sort of tea, he’s not going to share with us,” Maiten warned in an amused tone, soft enough to avoid waking the handmaiden.

“I have more than enough for all of us,” Moritta replied.

Kalen sat straighter and watched with interest as the woman claimed one of the water skins. “I might if you’re nice to me, Maiten.”

Laughing softly, Maiten joined him at the fire. “As I thought, you’re shivering.”

Before Kalen could protest, his Guardian draped a second cloak over his shoulders.

Grimacing at having been caught despite his efforts to hide how chilly he was, Kalen nodded. At least the little girl sprawled over him warmed him some. “Thank you. I hate this kingdom. It’s too cursed cold here.”

With a low groan, Varest flopped down beside him. “If this is what it’s like near summer, I don’t want to be here during the winter.”

After considering which Guardian made the best headrest, Kalen leaned against Varest, careful to avoid disturbing Verishi. “I’d rather not be here at all.”

“Same,” his foal replied before sighing. “I’m starting to think we need to keep you haltered so you stop wandering off. At least next time, wander off with one of us, please. We’d sleep better at night.”

Instead of replying, Kalen huffed. Whether it was the fire’s warmth or the close proximity of three of his Guardians, his anxiety faded away as quickly as it formed. With his horse and so many around him, he was as safe as he could be, despite not being able to use his hand.

~~*~~
 

The wind woke Kalen, its chill piercing through the cloaks piled on top of him. Opening his bleary eyes, he blinked at the smoldering remains of the campfire. While it was mostly dark, the faint glow of predawn penetrated the forest. He didn’t remember sprawling over Varest, but his foal was as sound asleep as Maiten, Crysallis, Verishi and Moritta.

~Wake,~
the First demanded, its disapproval as frigid as the gusts cutting through the forest. An old memory of snow settling over trees drove away all of his other thoughts for a long moment.

“But it’s almost summer,” he mumbled, trying to figure out how to extricate himself from Varest and Verishi without waking them. Maiten would be impossible to escape from without waking; the older Guardian was using Kalen’s right foot as a pillow.

The First struggled with a concept it didn’t quite understand, searching through Kalen’s memories in search of something. Its presence in Kalen’s head warmed as the creature’s frustration grew. Then, its relief was partnered with triumph.
~Storm!~
The word was once again accompanied with the memories of snow and wind as well as fear and apprehension.

The emotions were what drove Kalen into kicking Maiten awake. The red-haired Guardian jerked, his hand reaching for his sword. “What? What is it?”

“There’s a storm coming,” Kalen said, hoping he wasn’t making a mistake in trusting the First.

“A what?” Maiten blinked at him before rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

~He’s right,~
Satrin said, his voice surprised.
~I smell snow.~

“You smell
what
?” Maiten asked.

Kalen shuddered. The searing heat of the Rift didn’t allow for snow, and the white-capped peaks of the mountains skirting the Rift couldn’t be seen without traveling far from the regular trails. Neither Danarite nor Rifter had a word for snow or the biting chill required to let it fall.

~Snow,~
the Yadesh dutifully repeated.
~Did the cold wake you, Kalen?~

“What in the deeps is that?” Maiten sat up, rubbing at his arms. “I don’t know about him, but I’m miserable, and if I’m miserable, he’s feeling worse than I am.”

“Take your cloak back,” Kalen said, nudging Varest awake with his elbow before giving the Danarite handmaiden a gentle shake. Unlike his foal, who complained in deep rumbles punctuated with curses, Verishi woke without a noise, wiggling in her effort to snuggle against him.

She yawned, and in a quiet whine, she murmured, “Cold.”

Shaking his head, Maiten got to his feet. After waking both Crysallis and Derac with a nudge of his toe, he went to the horses, giving them a quick brushing down before saddling them. “Keep it. The last thing I need is for you to get sick again.”

“And the last thing I need is for
you
to get sick,” Kalen countered, worming his way out of the folds of his Guardian’s cloak. “Please.”

Maiten surrendered with a sigh, retrieving the cloak after he finished saddling Ferethian. Once both Varest and Verishi were up and moving, Kalen lurched to his feet. His legs wobbled, but he remained upright, waving away the concerned looks of his Guardians.

Succumbing to the First’s need for haste, Kalen said, “I think we better hurry.”

“I think you’re right,” the Mithrian mercenary agreed. While she was soft spoken, there was a sharp edge to her tone. “Look there.” She pointed east.

Kalen followed her gesture. Despite the dawn gloom and the haze over the forest, he could make out patches of the sky. The rising sun hung below a thick bank of black clouds. “Those don’t look friendly,” he muttered.

Circling Horasian, Maiten reined in, staring at the storm. “It’s moving fast.”

“At that rate, it’ll reach us within the next few hours, if that.” Moritta’s cheek twitched. “I don’t know how far we are from the camp, but I doubt we’ll make it before it reaches us.”

“Maybe not on your Mithrian horses,” Kalen muttered. Straightening in the saddle, he turned to Dorit and Satrin. “Feel up for a run?”

~A run sounds like a good idea,~
Dorit replied, his ears turning back as he stared at the storm front sweeping towards them.
~How long can your horses last?~

“Longer than other horses. What do you think, Maiten?”

His Guardian frowned, making thoughtful noises. “Until we came after you, they were pretty well rested. We didn’t run them too hard yesterday. Two hours if we push hard, but I wouldn’t bet anything more than that.”

“Two hours at what gait exactly?” Moritta also frowned, her brow furrowing.

While he wanted to laugh at the Mithrian’s expression, Kalen forced himself to keep his expression and tone neutral. “Not at a trot, I promise you.”

“I’m not sure it’s wise with your hand as it is, Your Majesty.” Crysallis crossed her arms over her chest, glowering at him.

“I’d rather have a hurting hand than get caught out away from others when that storm hits. Stop whining, Crysallis. We ride. We ride as fast and as hard as the horses will carry us. You don’t have to like it, but you have to do it.” Since he couldn’t grip the reins, or anything at all, Kalen would have to rely on Ferethian to stay mounted.

Fortunately for him, there were few horses in the Rift with as smooth of a gallop as his stallion. Without waiting for approval, he tapped his heels to Ferethian’s sides, letting the tug on his phantom left hand guide him.

~~*~~

The effort of riding without the use of his hand kept Kalen warm. He was relieved that Ferethian couldn’t run full out; Maiten’s Horasian proved to be the slowest of the horses. Had his stallion galloped at his full speed, Kalen doubted he would’ve been able to stay astride, not without being tied to the saddle. By the time he caught a glimpse of smoke coiling towards the darkening sky, all of the horses and Yadesh were lathered. He was fairly certain the lesser beasts from Kelsh or Mithrian would’ve fallen over dead from their reckless pace.

He wasn’t in much better shape, but he was determined to keep up without betraying the exhaustion weighing him down or admitting that the cold bothered him. The throb of broken bones rattled by the beat of his horse’s hooves was second to the burning stabs of the frosty wind on his skin.

He suspected that the horses knew. The few times Kalen had attempted to slow Ferethian, the stallion refused to listen. If anything, his cues spurred the stallion into urging the other horses to run faster with snaps of his teeth.

By the time Kalen could make out the mercenary’s tents situated in a meadow, a thick haze of wood smoke hung in the air, born from bonfires skirting the edge of the camp. At Moritta’s lead, they thundered towards one of the fires as gusts of wind cut across the open grounds. White flakes whipped against Kalen’s face as they skidded to a halt on the fringe of the camp. Startled mercenaries gawked at them.

As the heat of the bonfire thawed him, his fingers and toes tingled before burning pain stabbed through him. Spitting curses under his breath vehemently enough that Ferethian turned his ears back, Kalen kicked his feet from the stirrups and rotated his ankles and stretched his aching knees until he was certain he could stand unaided. While he could have asked Ferethian to kneel, he managed to slide from the saddle, hissing as his weight hit his toes.

Before he could try to figure out how to loosen the cinch band of Ferethian’s saddle, Varest unsaddled the stallion, sparing Kalen from sacrificing what remained of his dignity to ask for help. “Cool off, Ferethian,” he said, unable to mask the relief in his voice.

Ferethian grabbed hold of one of Kalen’s braids and gave it a tug before joining the Yadesh and Rift horses in walking circles around the bonfire. At Moritta’s curt order, several mercenaries came to claim the saddles and bridles from the Guardians.

“What is this?” Maiten asked, staring at the thick white flakes falling from the sky.

While the wind hissed outside of the camp, it didn’t reach the bonfire. Kalen cocked his head to the side, trying to figure out why the gusts didn’t reach them.

“It’s snow, Guardian Maiten,” Moritta said with laughter in her voice. “There’ll be time enough to play in it later. For now, let’s get you all to the healers, especially you, Captain.”

Shifting his weight from foot to foot, Kalen got as close to the bonfire as he could without lighting himself on fire. “When I’m warm, I’ll move. Why isn’t the wind reaching us?”

Without the wind, the fire’s warmth washed over him, thawing his fingers and toes and easing the sting in his cheeks. He closed his eyes and breathed deep. The smoky air bit at his lungs, but he resisted the urge to cough. After inhaling the biting cold of the storm, the smoke was a small price to pay.

“Mages. Captain Silvereye came up with the idea a few years back. It’s really helped, and lets us use bonfires to keep warm. It lowers the risk of storms like this. It’s not perfect, but nothing is. Let’s get you to the healers, sir.”

“Good idea. Time to get your hand healed properly, Kalen,” Maiten said in a firm tone.

Kalen glared at his Guardian for ordering him around, but he nodded. If the healers could free him of the splint, he’d be more than willing to go along quietly. “We need to take care of the horses first.”

“You, you, and you,” Moritta barked, making vague gestures at the watching mercenaries. More than a few Mithrians answered her call, stepping forward. “See to the horses and Yadesh. One of you go tell Captain Silvereye we’ve returned.”