Storm Surge (24 page)

Two pairs of red-rimmed eyes stared at him. Letting his anger show wasn’t wise, but he couldn’t resist stabbing the blade back into the ground.

Kalen turned his attention to the Mithrians, men and women he was supposed to command. The absurdity of the idea made him want to laugh. Instead, he smothered his grin with a scowl. “Don’t you have better things to be doing?”

Most of the mercenaries fled, and those who stayed busied themselves a discreet distance away.

Captain Silvereye numbered among them.

“As for you two culls. Would one of you please explain what you think you’re doing?” Kalen prodded his foal in the ribs. “Which one are you, anyway? I can’t tell under all that filth you decided to roll in.”

A groan answered him.

“That’s Ceres, Father,” Varest said, emerging from behind Maiten.

“Well? Will one of you kindly explain what’s going on here? Ceres, I thought you were supposed to be the responsible one.” Kalen glared down at Breton. “And of all of the people here, I thought you would have known better, Breton.”

Another groan answered him.

“Stop crying, I didn’t hit either one of you that hard.”

Varest huffed. “You might not hit very hard, Father, but you’re frighteningly accurate. I think I heard something crack.”

With a wince, Kalen nudged Ceres with his toe. “Did you break anything?”

“Breton broke my nose,” was the muffled reply, spoken between pained groans. “Broke his.”

Rubbing at his temple didn’t ward away Kalen’s growing headache. “Anything else?”

Ceres rolled over, hissing in pain. “Maybe a rib.”

“And you, Breton?”

“I’ll live.”

Kalen snorted, nudging his senior Guardian with his foot. “Did you break anything other than your nose?”

“Maybe.”

Kalen tapped his toe, deliberating how to deal with the pair and struggling to hide his relief that neither seemed terribly injured. “Maiten.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Take them to Parice with strict instructions that they’re to be sent back here to me as soon as they’re fit for a workout.”

All of his Guardians winced.

“Varest, stay. The rest of you, deal with these culls.” Kalen yanked Gorishitorik out of the ground. “Now, Maiten. Preferably before we all freeze to death.”

Maiten and Moritta helped both of the fallen Guardians get to their feet, herding them through the camp. Once they disappeared into the haze of falling snow, Kalen turned to Varest. “I swear, you lot are going to drive me insane.” He held out his sword and sighed. “Would you please?”

“Of course, Father.” Claiming the blade, his foal started rubbing the mud and filth off the metal with his cloak. “That was nicely done. Quick. I don’t think I could have done it nearly as well.”

“I didn’t want to hit either one of them.”

Varest nodded. “I know, I know. Let’s just be glad neither one of them thought to use their swords.”

With a grimace at the thought of what would have happened if either one had gone for their sword, Kalen considered the problem. What had driven the two Guardians to senseless brawling? “We wouldn’t have been breaking up a fight. I would have been dealing with bodies. I am very grateful.”

The thought of losing either one of them sickened him.

“Looks like they were snow crazed to me,” Captain Silvereye said, stepping forward. “I should have assigned someone to watch over them. I was more worried this would happen to you rather than to them.”

“Hellfires, I’m too tired for this. Curse them both thrice.”

Varest clapped him on the shoulder. “It could be worse, Father.”

Stomping his feet to keep them warm, Kalen considered the disturbed ground and the accumulating snow. “This is your first time seeing snow, isn’t it?” Necessity forced him into using the Kelshite word for the weather.

“Yes,” his foal replied, handing Gorishitorik back.

Kalen sheathed the blade. Once he finished dealing with his Guardians, he’d have to sit down and clean it properly, but at least most of the filth had been wiped away. “Come, let me show you something fun.”

“Fun? It’s cold out here. How can anything in this mess be fun?”

“Trust me.”

“Have I ever told you how much it frightens me when you say that? It’s an invitation for disaster. Last time—”

“Varest.”

“What?”

Kalen struggled not to grin. “Complete that statement only if you want to share your brother’s punishment.”

“See? Terrifying.”

“Oh, be quiet and look at this,” he muttered, kneeling where the snow had already accumulated on the ground. He cupped his bared fingers into it and grabbed a handful. “It’s wet and heavy.”

“It doesn’t look wet to me,” his foal replied, tone full of doubt.

“It’s melting on your face, isn’t it?”

Varest wrinkled his nose. “I noticed. Why?”

“It’s water.”

With wide eyes, Varest crouched down. “It’s
what
?”

“It’s water.”

“Bite your tongue!”

“It is. Take a bite and eat it. Go on.” To prove his sincerity, Kalen ate some of the snow in his hand. “It’s cold, but it’s water, I promise. Try it.”

Still looking skeptical, Varest followed his lead. He gaped at the whitened ground. “It is water!”

“It can be dangerous, too.” Kalen scowled, twisting to glare in the direction of the healers’ tents.

“Because it’s cold?”

“That’s part of it.” Kalen grabbed another handful of snow. Rolling it into a ball with one hand was tricky, but he managed. Watching his foal, he tossed the snowball in the air and caught it.

“What’s that?” Varest narrowed his eyes.

Kalen smothered his grin until the moment the snowball left his hand on a collision course with Varest’s face. “Snowball.”

His Guardian spluttered. “Father, you wretch!”

“Now you know something Maiten, Breton, and Ceres do not.” Kalen’s grin widened. “Why don’t we educate them?”

Breton’s teeth chattered, and the parts of him that didn’t throb was unpleasantly numb. Every breath burned in his throat, and with his every step, stabbing pain lanced through his fingers and toes. He was aware of someone beside him, shoving him along whenever he slowed.

One by one, his thoughts gathered to form a single coherent thought. “Maiten? You’re back?”

His red-headed friend stumbled to a halt. “What? You’re just noticing? Did you hit your head? Hellfires, Breton. What were you thinking?”

Breton gaped at his fellow Guardian, unable to come up with an answer. The cold seeped into his head and numbed him.

“We really should get them to Parice,” a woman’s voice murmured in Mithrian. Breton shook his head and squinted, but couldn’t force his eyes to focus.

“Agreed. Come on, old friend. Your beating can wait.” Maiten tugged on his arm. “Moritta, can you handle Ceres?”

The woman was Moritta? Breton twisted to gawk at the mercenary, but Maiten jerked on his arm.

“Easily.”

The nagging sense of having forgotten something important distracted Breton, and he tripped. Without Maiten’s help, he would have fallen.

“Parice!” Maiten bellowed.

A single shove from his friend sent Breton tumbling through a tent flap. Heat blasted his face. Before he could recoil, Maiten herded him forward.

“I see the rabble has arrived,” the healer grumbled, standing with his arms crossed over his chest.

Breton blinked, shaking his head to clear it.

“They seem to be rather confused,” Maiten replied.

“Sit, the Mithrian healer ordered. “Moritta, get someone to bring two mugs of tea and hot stones.”

“On it,” the woman replied, ducking out of the tent.

Breton sank down on the nearest stool, staring up at Maiten. “What are you doing here?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Breton saw Parice frown. “You’re right, he is confused. Breton, he’s right where he’s supposed to be, unlike you. I seem to recall giving you very specific orders to stay in your tent. That doesn’t mean go rolling around in the mud. In this weather, you’re both lucky you didn’t freeze to death. Get out of those coats and anything wet. Maiten, help the other one.”

“Ceres,” Maiten supplied.

“I don’t care. What’s an appropriate word for these two fools?”

Maiten chuckled. “The captain was calling them culls.”

“Very well. So far as I’m concerned, this one is Elder Cull and that one is Younger Cull. Maybe once their senses have returned, they’ll be worth naming.”

Breton decided it was wiser to ignore the healer’s outburst and remain silent, struggling to remove the heavy furs as ordered. To his horror, he needed help to peel out of his cloak and coat.

When his worry proved too strong to put aside, he asked, “But Maiten, why are you here?”

His friend sighed. “Parice, he must have hit his head or something. Are you serious? Who do you think put an end to your idiocy?”

Breton blinked, furrowing his brow as he considered. After arguing with Ceres, he couldn’t recall much of anything. “I don’t remember.”

Maiten threw his hands up in the air. “Unbelievable. Your foal kicked you and just about took your head with Gorishitorik. He’s livid. Parice, he’s given orders that once these two sand-blasted deeps dwellers are able, they’re to see him. Captain Blackhand is going to run them through their paces, and he’s not in the mood to take no for an answer.”

Relief warred with his apprehension, and his new worries won the battle. “Kalen did?”

“Did you really think I would return without him, Breton? He’s fine. We made it back to camp just as the storm hit. Hellfires, he’s better off than you are right now. What possessed you, breaking each other’s noses like that?”

“They’re a pair of cold-addled idiots as I’ve ever seen,” Parice said, shaking his head. “Since it’s Captain’s orders, and they likely deserve it, once they’re in new clothes and I have a moment to look them over, it should be all right to send them out. I’ll want a moment with your witch, however. Could you fetch her, Maiten?”

With an exaggerated bow, his friend ducked out of the tent.

“As for you two,” Parice said, his expression souring to one of annoyance. “I’ll fix your noses. I hope your ribs are broken, so you have a reminder of why you’re to do as you’re told. And stop looking at me like I’ve grown another head. When it comes to your health, Guardians, I outrank
both
of the captains.”

Breton winced.

“I apologize,” Ceres mumbled.

Parice grunted and went to work.

No matter how hard Breton thought on it, he had no memory of why he’d started fighting with Ceres—or how he’d broken his nose.

~~*~~

An hour later, determined never to stir the wrath of a healer ever again, Breton fled from Parice’s presence. While his nose no longer throbbed, his ribs still ached with each step. Ceres followed in his wake. White blanketed everything, coming up over the tops of his boots as he trudged through it. Whatever magic Crysallis had used on him kept the chill from reaching him.

Maiten clucked his tongue. “I wish I had known Crysallis could stop the cold earlier.”

While Breton agreed with his friend, he didn’t say a word, not while the witch could still hear him.

“I didn’t, not really,” the woman said, emerging from the ten behind them. “I simply changed how you perceived it. It’ll wear off soon enough, trust me.” With a polite nod, the witch disappeared into the falling snow.

“How angry is Father?” Ceres asked.

“I was worried he was going to take your heads for a minute there. Groveling might save you. He really expected better from both of you.” Maiten dusted the snow off his shoulders. “He’ll forgive you, eventually. Breton, you really need to sort things out with him and fast.”

Breton sighed, but nodded. There were a lot of things he needed to do, and apologizing to his foal topped the list.

Kicking up clouds of white, Ceres hurried to keep up with Maiten. “How is he, really?”

Maiten shook his head. “He could be better. He’s tired, grumpy, a little murderous, but his eyesight’s coming back. That said, you owe Crysallis a lot of thanks, Breton. She kept him together long enough for us to get to him. There’s something going on, I saw Crysallis talking to Varest and Derac after we found Kalen, but they didn’t tell me anything.”

Breton’s worry surged. “What do you think?”

“I think you need to pretend like he’s twelve again,” his friend murmured. “Once he’s no longer quite as furious with you.”

“Like he’s twelve? I thought the idea wasn’t to coddle him anymore,” he snapped.

“No wonder you two ended up brawling. Your temper’s shorter than Kalen’s right now, old friend. Settle down. He doesn’t need to be coddled. He needs someone to force him to start talking, and that’s your job. Swallow your pride and do it. Even if you have to get on your knees and beg forgiveness, do it.” With narrowed eyes and a stiff stance, Maiten glared at him.

Breton sighed, lifting his hands in surrender. “I’ll talk to him. Do you at least know what the problem’s about?”

“I’d bet my horse’s tail it’s about the deeps dwellers who broke his hand. I’ve never seen him panic like that before, Breton, and he did it several times. Crysallis had seemed resigned to it.”

“Panic? Father panicked?” Ceres’s tone rose in alarm.

Staggering to a halt, Breton stared at Maiten, and while he opened his mouth to speak, he couldn’t force a single sound out.

“I expect we’re going to have trouble with him if he ever breaks his hand again. I think the splint triggered it. I wasn’t going to ask when it looked like he was having a hard enough time staying calm. I’m glad Verishi was with us, though. For someone who refuses Queens, nothing makes him quite as happy as a foal crawling on his lap for attention.”

“He’s got us,” Ceres replied, lifting his chin.

“You’re a bit big to go crawling on his lap,” Maiten replied with a grin. “And you’ll never be as adorable or as sweet as Verishi.”

“It isn’t a competition,” Breton said, nudging Ceres with his elbow. “We’ll both apologize to him and hope he’s in a forgiving mood. He’s less likely to kill you, so you can go first.”

“Why were you two trying to kill each other, anyway?”

Ceres shrugged and Breton did the same.

“Please tell me you remember what you were fighting about. Please.”

“Father,” was Ceres’s curt reply.

Maiten sighed. “Why am I not surprised? He’s going to be upset with you. You frightened him, and he’s on edge enough. He thought he’d be dealing with bodies for a bit there.”

“I see.” Fear wasn’t something Breton was used to considering when it came to his foal. Letting Maiten take the lead, he tried not to think too hard about how Arik would’ve reacted.

He shivered from more than the cold. Kalen would never be like Arik. He was a sunny day, bright, vibrant, and warm. Arik had always been as dark as the night and far colder than the snow falling around them.

But Kalen was the Rift King, so Breton’s fear remained.

Maiten slapped his shoulder. “It’ll be fine.”

Breton pretended not to notice the doubt in his friend’s voice.

With a grim smile, Ceres said, “We’ve surv—”

A burst of white erupted in Ceres’s face. Breton recoiled, his hand dropping to where his sword should’ve been. Something cold and wet smacked into his jaw before a shower of snow blinded him.

Maiten laughed. “You little runt! What are you doing?”

Brushing the snow out of his eyes, Breton cleared his vision in time to witness a white ball slap Maiten’s face.

“You’re about to learn why you shouldn’t cross me,” the Rift King announced, his tone as cold as Arik’s. “You versus us.”

From out of the falling snow, more mercenaries than Breton wanted to count stepped forward. The Rift King tossed a white ball in his lone hand. “The rules are simple, Guardians. I am your quarry. They’ll try to stop you from catching me. Your only weapons are these.” With a serpent-swift strike, the Rift King threw the ball.

Breton lifted his arm. Snow thumped against his elbow, bursting out in a white cloud to cover him. Torn between annoyance and relief, he asked, “A festival game?”

“Let’s find out if you’re as skilled as they are, seeing as you lack their discipline.”

Pivoting on a heel, the Rift King disappeared into the crowd and the snow.

~~*~~

Kalen dived behind his impromptu army of bemused mercenaries to kneel between Varest and Captain Silvereye. “Oh this is going to be fun.”

“How old are you again, Father?”

“Quiet, foal. Did you see their expressions? They looked like I was going to eat them, even Maiten.” Kalen snorted, making a snowball. With a smirk, he whirled around and rubbed the snow in Varest’s face. “Take this upstart colt to his fellows,” he ordered.

Several mercenaries pounced on the Guardian, herding him away. Kalen waved a farewell to his departing foal. “Someone has to teach them how to make snowballs.”

“Wha—hey!”

Turning his attention to the Shadow Captain beside him, Kalen asked, “Ready for a war?”

Captain Silvereye snorted. “Your presence outside of the Rift will be the real cause of war, Kalen.”

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Kalen watched and waited for the return of the three mercenaries delivering Varest to the other Guardians. “We have a tradition in the Rift, you know.”

“Go on,” Silvereye stood, backing away from the front lines of those gathering snowballs in preparation for the inevitable chaos caused by adults flinging snow at one another. “This is going to get rough, so you may want to stay back a bit.”

“I was counting on that.” Despite wanting to watch the initial volley, Kalen followed the Mithrian. “Think they’ll hold out?”

“Yours or mine?”

Kalen snorted. “Yours, of course. As if my Guardians would be defeated so easily.”

“They’re going to be destroyed, I hope you know. They’re outnumbered twenty-to-one, easily, worse odds if word spreads—and it will.” Silvereye laughed. “This lot will love this. Your Guardians won’t, I promise you. Come on. Let’s clear out so the children can play.”

“Don’t count them out so easily,” Kalen warned, following Captain Silvereye in an arc around the camp. Out of necessity, they crossed through the barrier shielding the camp from the wind. The storm howled and raged, caking Kalen in snow and ice in the short time it took them to circle around the mock battle between the Guardians and the mercenaries.

“Why do you think they stand a chance? Twenty-to-one is terrible odds,” Silvereye replied once they were back within the shelter of the mages’ shield.

“Fifteen years ago, I played my first game. Outsiders aren’t invited to the festivals, and I wasn’t considered a Rifter until I became their thrice-cursed king. I’d been the Rift King for less than two months.”