Bastial Energy (33 page)

Cleve nodded but felt his nerves getting the better of him. While the Elf might be confident, Cleve was not. He trusted himself in a battle, but this was nothing near that. This was lying, deceit—something he was never skilled at.

Time slowed during the last mile between them. Cleve had no weapon but his bagged bow and not enough arrows for each of the guards if their plan went awry.

“Remember not to sound nervous,” Rek said, “or they’ll be more suspicious and harder to manipulate with psyche.”

Cleve’s throat was as dry as the dirt crunching under each step. He could stand in front of hundreds of people and perform stunts with weapons as long as he didn’t have to speak. This was the opposite. He would only be speaking—lying. He took a swig from his leather pouch, swished, swallowed, and took another.

Night seemed to have come quickly, falling upon them like a shadow. By the time the guards were close, their faces were impossible to see,
which means mine is hidden as well,
Cleve realized with a bit of relief.

“Are you looking for Cleve?” he shouted, keeping his voice low so it wouldn’t waiver.

There was no response.

Cleve felt a dry swallow move down his throat and continued. “He’s hiding at the Academy, told us what happened, so we left to tell the King.”

One warrior led the rest of the guards. “Where in the Academy?”

“He probably left by now, but he was in his house,” Cleve answered, lowering his face in a way he hoped was inconspicuous.

“Who are you?” the leading man asked, stepping closer. “Put a light on him.” The hands of a robed mage behind the warrior began to glow.

Rek held his hand forward. “That’s not necessary. We’re no one, just a concerned teacher and student.”

The mage’s hands lowered as the lead guard spoke. “Thank you for the help.” The King’s men continued past without another glance.

This may actually work,
Cleve thought. Confidence lifted his spirit until he noticed Rek nervously peering back at the guards. “You think they’ll come back for us?” Cleve asked.

“Perhaps. If one person becomes suspicious, that’s all it takes to sway the group.”

Finally, they were nearing the shanty houses along the outer edge of Kyrro City. Rek gave one last look to the King’s men, who were now a couple miles back. “It looks as if the group has split. Some are moving back toward us.”

Cleve turned to confirm the bad news. He had remarkable eyesight, but with just the light of the moon it was difficult to be certain what he saw. Staring, he strained his eyes until they began to fatigue. “You’re wrong,” he corrected, his heart sinking. “They’re all coming back. We’d better hurry.”

Rek sighed, and then they doubled their pace.

Farther into Kyrro City, streets formed between rows of houses. Crooked alleyways were also created from thin gaps between the small homes, connecting the streets and giving countless possible routes to the castle. But there was a major problem: Unlike the Academy where the roads were straight, each street here was curved like a finger at rest, making it impossible to see if a guard awaited ahead.

Cleve tugged on Rek’s shirt to get his attention as they crouched in an alley to catch their breath. “Can you sense where the guards are?”

“No, too many minds around us. I can’t tell which belong to Welson Kimard’s men.”

Cleve missed his blunt quarterstaff. He tried to imagine how he would stop a guard if Rek’s psyche failed. The image was messy. With his only weapons being his fists and bow, there would be blood.

The closer to the castle, the more guards patrolled. He and Rek snuck down alleyways to look for unpopulated streets. But the deeper they went, the more footsteps they started hearing behind them.

Dammit! We’ve gopher-holed in, and the tunnel has collapsed behind us,
Cleve thought
.
The castle was still a mile ahead. He was beginning to have doubts, but it was too late to turn back now.

“If one guard sees us, all he has to do is shout and we’ll be swarmed before I can assess the situation,” Rek said. “It’s time to force our way in so we can maintain control and avoid surprises.”

Cleve knew he was right, but it didn’t make the idea of being in the open any easier. “You have enough energy to get us inside?”

“We’ll see, won’t we?” Rek smiled as if excited, then calmly dusted himself off and stepped out from the alley. Cleve followed cautiously, utterly nervous about Rek’s strange reaction to the terrible situation.

Cleve had his arms through the straps of his bow bag so he could wear it like a backpack, freeing his hands, which he figured he would need.

A swarm of thoughts buzzed around his mind.
Hurt them only if necessary. I need a blunt weapon. Will the bag work? No. Look for something. A guard could be around this corner, be ready. Check behind. No one there. Need a weapon. No, not the bow, something blunt. What about that? Yes, that.
There was an elderly woman using a broom to sweep the dirt away from her door. It looked nearly as old as her.

“Rek, get me that broom?” Cleve pointed.

Rek understood, walking straight to her without a moment of thought. “Madam, can I have that broom?”

“No! Get away!” She swatted at Rek’s reaching hand.

Cleve was shocked to see her reaction.
Had Rek forgotten to use psyche or something?

“Relax.” Rek stepped back, holding out both palms defensively. “Calm yourself.”

“Try and take my broom, will you? Get out of here!” The woman swung it wildly as she advanced toward him. “My son bought me this broom!”

“Please lower your voice,” Rek said, ducking under a slow swing to his head. “Keep the broom. We’re leaving.”

“You don’t come back!” She threw the broom at Rek and stormed off into her house.

“Well, there’s your broom.” Rek pointed at it on the ground between them. “I should’ve known that an old woman sweeping the road in the middle of the night had lost her mind.”

Cleve knelt to retrieve it. “You’re sure that’s the reason you failed? You have to understand I’m far less confident now after seeing you flee from an old woman with a broom.” He was completely serious.

Rek frowned at him. “I have no sway over the insane. As long as there’s still a mind behind the armor of the guard, we’ll be fine.”

Cleve felt frustration coming loose within him. Watching Rek fail had caused him to lose all confidence in the Elf. “As long as my hood doesn’t come down, as long as the Fjallejons don’t send a pigeon,” Cleve imitated Rek, letting out his anger. “As long as I remain conscious, as long as the guards aren’t crazy…I’m beginning to think this whole thing is insane. One simple surprise and it’s all over.”

Rek’s mouth tightened. His eyes rose to meet Cleve’s. “My hood hasn’t come down, and it won’t. The Fjallejons clearly didn’t send a pigeon. Remaining conscious is easier than breathing. And Welson Kimard wouldn’t keep someone insane on his staff.” Rek let out a slow breath and calmly put his hand on Cleve’s shoulder. His face loosened, and Cleve could feel himself relaxing.

“If there was a better option, we would’ve taken it,” Rek continued. “I’m sure neither of us would choose the life of a fugitive, and even worse would be joining Tenred to see to the destruction of our home. This is what we need to do, and it’s going to work—there’s someone ahead,” Rek said, interrupting himself and quickly readying his hands. But after a breath, they found it was just a man in common clothing. He walked by holding jugs of water against his body, too preoccupied for even a glance.

“I suppose you’re right,” Cleve said, not sure what else he could do but stay with Rek. Trusting such an important task to someone else had made him uneasy. Too much depended on them getting to the King, and so little control was in his hands.

The street straightened, allowing the sight of maybe fifty houses ahead before they twisted out of view. Cleve saw two people walking their way. From the silhouette of a helmet and sword, the man nearest had to be a guard. His face was difficult but possible to see in the faint light from the windows of the houses,
which means he can see ours as well
.

The guard’s walk slowed, and he seemed to strain his neck forward as if to get a better look at them. Cleve quickly turned to Rek to see what he made of it, his heart going wild with dread.

Rek didn’t look calm anymore. He whispered, “If any guard recognizes me, it’ll be the one in front of us. Did you see his limp? That’s Colin, or Colimp as he came to be known. As a child, I severed two of his toes with a dagger by accident. He wanted nothing more than to scream at me for it every time he saw me during all the years I lived in the castle.”

Cleve turned back to the guard and found he was at least still walking toward them. “Has he recognized your face yet?”

“I’ll tell you once I’m in range,” Rek answered, but then Colimp’s neck snapped back into place and he stopped abruptly.

“He knows it’s you,” Cleve said regretfully, for he knew what was about to happen.

Colimp spun to sprint away from them, shouting something unintelligible. He galloped awkwardly, his sheathed sword banging against his left leg with each hop.

He must be stopped before he can tell anyone
. Cleve was off even before his thought was completed. Running with an enormous bag on his back and a broom in hand was restricting, to say the least, but his speed was still much greater than Colimp’s. His legs tingled with hot Bastial Energy. He heard Rek’s footsteps behind him, but they were too slow to keep up and quickly quieted.

Closer, Colimp’s shouts still were impossible to comprehend. The words were mashed together as if the strain of running had disabled his tongue.

Closer still, Cleve might have been able to throw the broom just as the old lady did, and it would do about the same amount of good. Colimp’s words finally could be understood: “He’s here! Rek is here! Tell the King!” Cleve looked over Colimp’s shoulder to see that another guard in the distance was now running to meet them.

Finally in range, Cleve slapped the bristled end of his broom into Colimp’s ankle, making his feet collide so that he tripped and fell face first into the rough dirt. Cleve hopped on top of Colimp’s back, pulling the broom into his mouth from behind like a gag. Anger was all that came through Colimp’s mouth as he screamed into the wood and tried to pry it off.

Cleve checked for Rek and found he was roughly the same distance behind them as the guard approaching from the front.

They each arrived. The guard drew his sword and started at Rek, but Rek stood his ground, raised a hand, and yelled, “Stop, I’m on your side!

The guard slid to a halt, though he kept the sword aimed at the Elf. “What do you mean?” the guard asked, his face twisted with confusion.

Colimp stopped screaming, and his struggles died down.

Rek’s voice was calm. “The King is afraid of me but needs my help. I’m an ally and would never hurt him. Will you both help me get inside the castle so I can explain that to him? He’ll be so grateful after he speaks with me.” Cleve received a nod from Rek and knew to let the broom out of Colimp’s mouth.

“We’ll help,” Colimp answered, still lying on the dirt. Even with Cleve on top of him, his voice was deep with pride. The other guard nodded in agreement.

Relieved, Cleve helped Colimp to his feet.

“I apologize for that,” Cleve said.

Colimp didn’t even look at him.

The taste of dirt was in the back of Cleve’s throat, but his pity for Colimp was heavier on his mind. Colimp was old for a guard, and he had taken a tumble at full speed at Cleve’s doing. Furrows of concern were etched into the old man’s forehead, and dirt was caked into them.

The four of them walked toward the castle, with the exception of Colimp who—like Rek said—had a limp. The two guards walked beside each other ahead of Cleve and Rek.

“Colin, what are the King’s orders regarding Cleve and me?” Rek asked.

“We are to bring in Cleve and kill the Elf without question.” The words sent a jolt through Cleve, but the guards didn’t waver.

“The King thinks of me as an enemy when I’m not,” Rek answered quickly. “He’ll be very pleased with you both after I speak with him.”

Cleve waited for them to reply, but neither said anything. They kept their faces forward.

Rek slowed, giving a polite tug on Cleve’s wrist. They stopped and Rek whispered, “Don’t bring up the limp. Colimp still very much resents me, but he’s doing what he thinks is right. That may change if emotions sway his thoughts.”

“Understood.”

The next person to approach them turned out to be a mage of the King’s Guard. It looked like Rek had ahold of him well before he was close enough to act on his own free will.

“These men are helping me get within the castle so I can see the King,” Rek told the mage. “Please join us.”

They continued on like that, with each guard who spotted them joining them without so much as a curious squint.

It’s frightening how seamless the transition is between a free thinking mind and one that Rek has control over.
There were no signs of his psyche, no smell, no feeling, nothing.
Could I be just another body in this equation, used by the Elf to bring him within reach of the King? For all I know, he could have me sever Welson’s head and take the throne for himself.
The thought created a sour feeling in Cleve’s stomach.