Storm Surge (8 page)

“I’m a Knight, not a messenger, Rifter.”

“I’m aware, Knight.”

Tala scowled.

Relas snorted and glowered at her Knight.
~Is there anything you would like us to tell Ferethian?~

He considered, staring at the flood. Perhaps it was his annoyance with the Guardians or his shortened temper from being in pain, but he said, “Actually, yes. There is. There should be a tall man with Ferethian. Please inform him that if he touches my boots again, I will beat him senseless with them.”

Both Knight and Yadesh blinked at him.
~A tall man. There are many tall men. How will I know which one?~

The anger flowed out of him when he considered how his Guardians would react to Honey’s arrival without her tack—or him. “There are no men as tall as him there that I know of. When he sees Honey, he’ll worry, as will those with him.”

“Because you’re supposed to be with her?”

Kalen scowled. How much did he dare tell the woman? He settled on an obscure warning on her reception; the Kelshites would have to endure his Guardians’s reactions. “Because you are with her, and you are a Knight. Now go. Ride fast and well. You’re running out of time.”

~Stay safe, Kalen of the Rift.~

“Ride swift and well.”

Honey made a low, sad sound, but after a final pet and another command, his mare wheeled and charged westward, following the path of destruction. With a startled snort, Relas scrambled to follow after his mare.

He was pleased when the Yadesh struggled to catch up with his Honey.

~~*~~

Kalen waited until Honey was out of sight along with the Yadesh and her Knight. Waiting for five minutes tore at his patience, and he counted the seconds. The First’s unease intensified as the time crawled by.

The dark flood showed no sign of abating. If anything, its intensity and viscosity grew as it devoured more of the forest. Careful to breathe out of his mouth, Kalen stepped closer to the black river.

The thick fluid steamed, and where it touched the banks of the riverbed it had forged, it smoked. The grass turned black on the banks, melting away into a syrupy ooze to join the flow. Dirt boiled away, exposing rocks beneath, which in turn bubbled and liquefied.

“Hellfires.”

Whatever the fluid was, it devastated everything in its path, adding to its bulk before moving on. He shuddered, careful to keep away from the disintegrating shoreline. To his relief, it didn’t seem sentient, ignoring him as though he weren’t there. After considering how little time it took for the liquid to eat through rock, he didn’t want to know what would happen if it touched him.

All he could do was hope Honey and Relas were fast enough to avoid the black waters. Had he made a mistake in sending his mare with the Knight? It was too late to change his mind. He wouldn’t, though—he couldn’t. While the Kelshites weren’t his people, he couldn’t let an entire village be wiped out without at least trying to do something about it. He sighed.

Without the Knight, Yadesh, or his mare, he needed a plan. Wandering around Kelsh wouldn’t do him any good. He considered heading west back to the Rift where he belonged. The walk would be long, but he could leave Kelsh and Danar to squabble. It wasn’t
his
responsibility to mediate between them—not yet.

He’d already spent half of his life trying to put an end to their feud. If he were wise, he’d let them destroy each other. Unfortunately, if he did that, a lot of innocent people would die—a price he wasn’t willing to pay.

As he considered the problem, the pain in his head intensified. The names that had eluded him rattled about in his skull, refusing to give him any peace. If he returned to the Rift, he could probably dodge his Guardians for at least a month before they managed to track him down.

If, of course, he could keep out of trouble—and find someone to deal with his hand. His fingers twitched from the incessant, throbbing ache.

“Your Majesty?”

His surprise and alarm spurred Kalen into spinning around to face the woman. It wasn’t until after he had moved that he realized he recognized her. A wave of nausea and dizziness slammed into him, and his knees buckled. He fell hard, landing on his back with his legs folded beneath him. The canopy above spun around him in gut-wrenching circles.

~Move!~
the First shrieked in his head. The pain of the mindvoice blinded him.

Something cold and wet engulfed his hand before he could obey. It slithered around his wrist. Numbness spread where it touched. Jerking away freed him, but not before ice stabbed at his arm.

“Your Majesty!” Alarm turned the woman’s voice shrill.

~Witch,~
the First growled.

With that one word, Kalen was able to dredge the woman’s name from his hazy memories. “Crysallis.”

Forgetting wasn’t possible, and the reality of it disappointed him. Without the burden of his past and of the names he wanted to leave behind, disappearing would’ve been possible.

Crysallis stood over him, her hands braced on her hips as she stared down at him. “What have you done to yourself this time?” Her wrinkled and somehow ageless face twisted into a disapproving scowl. Her gaze drifted to his side, and she sighed. “Now you’ve done it.” She knelt gracefully, reaching out to take hold of his wrist.

The pressure of her fingers against his arm hurt so much Kalen couldn’t breathe, let alone scream.

“Did you break it again?”

“That hurts,” he rasped.

“Maybe you’ll learn this time. It’ll hurt more tomorrow, Your Majesty. You should be more careful.”

Kalen scowled at her repeated use of his title. Yanking his arm free from her hold, he held his hand up and stared at it.

Stains marred his skin, as though he had dipped his entire hand in ink. Streaks of black went up his arm. Where the marks faded, his skin was red and irritated. The last of the discoloration faded just beneath his elbow. “It’s black,” he whispered, unable to comprehend what had happened to dye his hand and arm.

“You can see?” Crysallis’s eyes widened. Capturing his arm with both of her hands, she kneaded at his forearm with her thumbs. “Does this hurt?”

The spot she rubbed remained numb. He shook his head and regretted it as stabs of pain ran down his neck and spine. “It’s numb.”

“Numb?” the witch sounded startled. She inched her way down his arm. When she reached his wrist, he flinched.

“That hurts.”

Crysallis lightened the pressure on his wrist and touched several more places on his palm and fingers while he dutifully reported when she inflicted pain on him. “I’m going to have to splint your hand before you really damage it. I don’t think any bones are broken yet, but I can’t promise how long that’ll last for.”

“Wonderful,” he muttered, stretching his fingers.

“What happened? You’ve got some new bruises.” Before he could stop her, Crysallis trailed her fingertips near his right ear.

Kalen lurched upright with a wince. He rubbed at the back of his head, which was tender to the touch. “Can we not talk about that?”

“Your Majesty,” Crysallis rebuked, glaring at him. “That is not wise.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Of course you don’t. You’re going to insist on being stubborn until I annoy you into telling me what happened. You’ll tell me as you always do, but it may be wise if you tell me without such an argument.” She gestured to the black flood behind him. “There are more pressing matters.”

“What
is
that?” He gingerly turned to face the flood. A trail of scorched grass led to the bubbling shore.

“It’s a swarm.” Crysallis sighed, shaking her head. Her expression was troubled.

“A swarm of
what
?”

“Skreed.”

“That’s not how skreed were described to me,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Those were adult skreed, Your Majesty. These are the babies.”

Kalen rubbed at his brow as he tried to make sense of what the witch was telling him. How could black ooze be a baby
anything
? “I’ll take your word for it.”

“So what happened?”

Scowling at the woman, he tried to think of the best way to tell her the truth without damaging his already thrashed pride. He sighed and said, “I fell.”

“You fell.”

“I fell,” he confirmed, ignoring the question in her statement.

“You fell from what? How?” Crysallis stared at him, her eyes narrowing. When he didn’t reply, she asked, “Where is Honey? Was she not supposed to be with you?”

“I sent her to Ferethian.”

“And why are you not with her heading to Ferethian?”

“I sent her ahead with a Kelshite Knight. The woman had been ordered to go to Morinvale. I would’ve slowed them both down.” Kalen pointed at the flood before shrugging. “I thought their haste was more important.”

“You met a Knight. You sent
Honey
with a
Knight
? After…?”

Kalen balled his hand into a fist. “Yes, I did. It seems there is a village or town in the swarm’s path. I would’ve slowed them down at best.” At worst, he would’ve fallen again.

With a long and heavy sigh, Crysallis slumped down next to him. “They won’t make it, not in time.”

While the witch’s declaration didn’t surprise him, Kalen winced at her emotionless tone. He could trust Honey to keep herself safe, leaving him to worry about the Knight and her Yadesh. “I was hoping that would not be the case.”

“At least your Honey is wiser than you are. She will avoid the swarm. Horses do not like the taint.”

“Taint?”

Crysallis grabbed his hand, running the tips of her fingers over his blackened skin. “These marks are called taint. In the past, men afflicted as you have been would be in a great deal of pain.”

“Men? And what of the women?”

“It is far less of a burden for women, Your Majesty, so do not be alarmed. Of course, most would die from the amount of taint staining your arm. I am unable to purify it. But if you haven’t died yet, I do not think you will.”

“Why am I always alarmed at your knowledge, Crysallis?”

“Because you are wise.”

Kalen snorted. “I don’t feel very wise right now. What
are
you doing here, anyway?”

“I promised that I would return you within three days, Your Majesty.”

He considered the witch’s words, finally nodding to acknowledge what she had said. In a way, he was relieved none of his Guardians had chased after him. But why the witch on foot?

They weren’t bound, not like he was tied to his Guardians. How had she found him? Instead of asking, Kalen sighed and got to his feet, grimacing as his head spun. When he managed to stay upright, he straightened and drew several long, deep breaths. “Let’s go, then.”

When Crysallis rose to her feet, he noticed how she kept close enough to him where she could catch him if he fell. He pretended not to notice.

Breton struggled with his desire to turn Perin around and ride back towards the ruined camp; the mercenary company crawled, slow enough that he could’ve dismounted and walked without falling too far behind. Each step took him farther from where he wanted to be, chasing after his wayward Rift King.

He wasn’t the only one falling prey to nervous energy and unease. Maiten rode his gelding in a tight circle, muttering curses in several languages.

Trying to ignore his friend’s antics, Breton settled in the saddle and watched the winding line of horses and men curving through the forest. “You’ve known Delaven’s dam a long time, haven’t you?”

Maiten scowled. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“And I’d rather be going after Kalen right now. Talk.” When Perin put his ears back, Breton forced himself to ease his white-knuckled grip on the reins. “All things considered, I think it’s important to know what I’m facing with him.”

“His Majesty will throw me into the deeps if he finds out I told you.”

“He isn’t going to find out, not from me,” Breton swore in a quiet voice.

Maiten sighed. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“No, I’m not. Who is Delaven’s dam?”

Maiten broke away from the line, halting out of earshot of the mercenaries before waving his hand in a beckoning gesture. Breton joined him, brows arched at his friend’s caution. “Is this necessary?”

“Yes, it is. I shouldn’t be telling you this. He’ll kill us both.” Maiten shuddered.

“He’s not Arik.”

“And bless the ancestors that he isn’t. Fine, fine. But so help me, Breton, if you say a word of this…”

“I swear on my honor I will not speak of it to anyone, unless Kalen tells me to,” he replied.

Maiten sighed again, warily looking around for any who might be listening. “It began about a week after His Majesty killed Arik.”

Worry battled with his curiosity, and Breton waited in silence for his friend to continue. As the moments slipped into minutes, he fretted over whether or not Maiten would finish telling him about the young Mithrian’s dam. It gave him too much time to think on the past—and the several unpleasant, fitful weeks where all he could do was sit and wait to find out what would become of his foal.

Maiten alone held the answers; if the Rift King remembered what had happened in the days following Arik’s death, he never spoke of them.

Finally, Maiten whispered, “She was a Wanderer, Mithrian-born. Her caravan was waylaid by Danarites on the fringe of the Rift. She, along with several other women, were taken by the Danarites.”

Breton’s eyes widened. “They attacked a caravan of
Wanderers
? What were they thinking?”

“They thought they could get away with it. They tried their luck hiding in the Upper Reaches so other Wanderer groups wouldn’t find out what they had done.” Shaking his head, Maiten made a low, displeased sound. “I may as well tell you all of it, if I’m going to tell this part of it. Hellfires, Breton. If I had known then what I know now, I would’ve killed Arik myself.”

While Breton winced at the vehemence of Maiten’s tone, he couldn’t disagree. What would have changed if he had killed Arik instead, or if Maiten had? What would have happened if someone other than the foal he had tried to raise as his own had killed the Rift King?

Would either of them have been able to survive as long as Kalen had? There were days when he no longer recognized the colt he’d brought down into the Rift. Violence trailed after all of the Rift Kings, but Kalen had embraced it like none other before him. When Maiten had been chosen to accompany the new Rift King, Breton had thought he’d never see his friend again.

“What happened?” he whispered.

“He ran Tavener and Horasian as hard as he could without killing them, all the way into the Upper Reaches. I think he was more concerned for the horses than he was for me.” Maiten’s laugh was strained. “I don’t know what drove him, but he didn’t stop until we reached the top a week later.”

“You made it to the top in a
week?
”

“Don’t sound so shocked, we did it getting here, didn’t we?”

Breton scowled and remained silent. They
had
done the ride in a week and a day. He’d done it riding injured. But how had Kalen managed? While Tavener had claimed him, stallions weren’t easy to control. Perin and Horasian hadn’t fought either one of them much, at least not in the way Tavener had tried to establish his dominance over the new Rift King.

Breton still wasn’t sure of the exact circumstances of his foal losing his arm, and he wasn’t brave enough to ask. He, like all of the others, had accepted it as the price of being the Rift King, questioning it no further. “Go on,” he said when Maiten didn’t speak for several minutes.

“His Majesty found the Danarites. By the time we arrived, they had killed all but one of the women. It took one look for him to lose control. Just one. He ascended and tore them to shreds. He was brutal and merciless.” Maiten’s hands balled into fists. “When only the woman remained, Tavener went to him and he changed back—without his arm. The price of his power.” The red-haired Guardian bowed his head with a shudder.

Breton swallowed. “What do you mean by ascended, Maiten? Like in Morinvale?”

With a bitter laugh, his friend shook his head. “Him in Morinvale? That was nothing.
Nothing.
In full, old friend. He ascended in full. Arik never had, not like Kalen, and I don’t think he ever could. He was the true and proper Rift King within his first month, and I swore not to speak of it. He asked me not to. He understood our traditions and didn’t want to break them. Where Arik was a black, terrible thing, Kalen…” Maiten swallowed, staring down at his gelding’s neck. “I sometimes wish you could have seen him, Breton. He was so beautiful. Vicious, dangerous, and terrifying, but beautiful.”

Breton remembered Morinvale and the Rift King’s golden arm. Instead of flesh, his scaled hide had been tufted with fur, partnered with curved talons better fit for a hawk than a man. “And Delaven’s dam?”

“She adored him and the thing he had become to save her. I can’t blame her. Do you remember Arik’s ascension, such as it was?”

A shudder tore through Breton. “I remember.”

Arik’s transformation had never been complete, resulting in a twisted, bent creature with a black, oozing hide. In a way, the former Rift King had resembled a skreed, but with a more human body and a man’s face.

“Sometimes it frightens me when all I can remember of it was how wonderful he was even as he ripped the Danarites to shreds. That’s when he lost his arm. There was no pain with its loss. It was just gone when he once again became human. He was a sun in glory, gold and white.”

Breton straightened at his memory of the white, gold, and blue creature the skreed had desired, the one it had named Eldest. Had it meant Kalen when ascended? Was that possible? The possibility chilled him. The mark the skreed had branded into him still ached sometimes, ensuring he couldn’t forget about when he had first met one within the Rift. Shivering, he turned the conversation away from what his foal had become to the Mithrian woman by asking, “How did she become an
Akakashani
?”

“I’m not really sure. When they talked, it was in Kelshite, and they spoke too quickly for me to understand. She told him what happened, that the Danarites had claimed them to become their mates.” Maiten’s expression and tone darkened. “They killed them afterwards, when they didn’t prove to be with child. They were saving her for last.”

Breton sucked in a breath. There wasn’t a word in the Rifter language for what the Danarites had done to the women, so he said in Kelshite, “They raped them.”

“That’s the word His Majesty used. He didn’t tell me what it meant.”

How could Breton explain the concept of rape to someone who admired, respected, and loved women? He wasn’t sure how, so he shook his head in denial. He froze, his eyes widening when he realized that his foal had purposefully kept Maiten away from places where rape was an open secret, including Kelsh. While rape existed in Mithrias, it was a secret shame for both men
and
women, and not discussed in casual conversation. “He spoke to you in the month you two were gone? Why didn’t you say something?”

“He spoke very little to me. Hellfires, Breton. I wasn’t going to try my luck with him like that. He was as likely to kill me as not. I was the only Guardian with him. I had no hope of containing him if he lashed out. When he spoke to me, I did what he asked of me and was grateful he didn’t turn on me. But I guess I wasn’t at much risk, was I? He was never as violent as Arik. He did only what was necessary.” Maiten sighed. “He didn’t want me there for my conversation and wit, I presume. I don’t know why he picked me. Most of the time, he spoke to her. He didn’t really need me at all.”

“That is not how I imagined it went,” Breton admitted after thinking over his friend’s words. In his nightmares, the Rift King remained on the edge of violence, controlled only by his Guardian’s interference. “He didn’t speak much after you two returned either.”

“I don’t know how much he remembers of it. By the time he returned to Blind Mare Run, he was subdued. There were quite a few attempts on his life in the Lower Reaches. And of course he wouldn’t let me discourage the thrice-blasted fools.” Maiten scowled and he shook his head. “No more, though. I’m done watching him try to protect himself. No one ever needed to be protected from him. He’s always been the victim, and we’ve done nothing but watch.”

“I understand. But perhaps we need to think about how best to do that so he doesn’t get too angry with us again,” Breton replied in as soothing a tone as he could. If they hadn’t smothered him, Kalen wouldn’t be separated from them. Guilt tightened his throat and chest. “We’ll do better this time.”

“It’s strange, Breton,” Maiten admitted in a quiet voice.

“What’s strange?”

“He’s changed everything. Right from the beginning, he was changing things. He was an outsider who became our King, who defied the odds, and who refused to die. He changed his new
Akakashani
from someone afraid to someone determined to repay her debt to him in any way possible. When she left, she said she would go to Mithrias, where she had been born. He gave me to her and ordered me to visit at least every other year, more often if my duties allowed. And so he created a Mithrian
Akakashani.
If Delaven’s here, she knows. She must. She’s cunning. Hellfires, Breton, she probably goaded him into making a run for it, knowing he’d pick Silvereye’s company. People are pawns in every game she plays—and all for His Majesty. She doesn’t report half of what she should to him.”

Breton stared at his friend, sighed, and said, “You never ramble this much. What are you really trying to tell me?”

“If Delaven is here, it’s because she means for him to be here. And, blast her to the deeps, she probably knows I would be in the thick of it.” Maiten laughed, shaking his head, his expression softening to one of admiration. “That woman never ceases to amaze me.”

“You like her.”

Maiten snorted. “Of course I like her, just as I like all of her sons and daughters.”

Like wasn’t a strong enough word for the strength of pride in his friend’s voice, but Breton pretended he didn’t hear it. “You know them? I hadn’t thought you’d met Delaven before.”

Fidgeting in the saddle, Maiten twisted his reins in his hands before sighing and shaking his head. “I haven’t met him or his siblings, not directly. Their dam thought it wise. Kept telling me if they met me, they’d come running to the Rift and leave her before they were true men and women.” When his friend smiled, it surprised Breton. “I don’t mind. It makes sense. I’m never sure if I’ll make it back to her, and she knows it. She complains bitterly that they’ve all inherited my urge to roam.”

“They’re your foals,” Breton whispered. “All of them, aren’t they?”

“Look at me, Breton. The moment I decided I would accept the mantle of Guardian, I believed I lost the right to have any foal call me Father.” Maiten leaned forward, patting his gelding’s arched neck. “You amazed me when you brought a child into the Rift, you know. Of all of us, I never thought you would be the one who would try to break our tradition. But you were right. Being a Guardian doesn’t mean I can’t raise foals of my own. When they are old enough to leave their dam’s care, it’ll be my turn with them. But I’m not going to take her foals away from her when they might not be able to return to her. That was something we decided together.”

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“Of course I have. I’d court mate with her if I could,” his friend admitted in a soft, sad voice.

“Why can’t you?”

Maiten snorted. “Can you imagine His Majesty’s reaction if I asked for a pair of serpents? He’d either demand I bring her to the Rift or exile me to Mithrias to be a proper mate. I’m a Guardian above all—his Guardian. And she, above all, is his
Akakashani
. We have our duties.”

“But would she accept a serpent?” When his friend blushed, Breton laughed, reached over, and slapped the other Guardian’s shoulder. “The Rift will be bereft of your skills, friend.”