Bastial Frenzy (The Rhythm of Rivalry: Book 4) (11 page)

“You get that from the King?” Evon asked, hovering over the jar for a glimpse.

“I did,” Rek answered.

Bencer grinned. “I suppose the poison-making rule doesn’t apply to Welson Kimard.”

“The color…” Evon reached for it. “May I?”

Rek handed it over. Evon carefully removed the lid and lowered his nose over it. “Did the King tell you what kind of poison this is?”

“No,” Rek said. “Just to coat the arrowhead with it.”

“I don’t know how it’s made.” Evon handed it back. “But I do recognize it from its color and smell. This is karysis poison, very bad stuff.”

“What does it do?” Cleve asked.

“It fills a man’s lungs with foam until he can’t breathe. Even after he dies, there’s so much produced that the entire body is covered in it. But I don’t know if the same will happen to a Slugari.”

“How long does it take to work?”

“I only know it from stories. In some tales the foam kills its victim immediately. In others, it takes days.”

Rek looked at it skeptically. “Do Slugari even have lungs?”

“They do,” Evon said.

They went back to the fire, where Cleve spread his blanket and prepared for sleep. But first, he had a question for the young chemist sitting beside him.

“Did you go to the Academy?”

“I just graduated last year,” Evon answered. “I already miss it. Cherish the time you have there. What year are you?”

“First. But I spend more time outside the Academy’s walls than within.”

“It sounds like you have quite a few stories.”

“I suppose I do, though none of them have a true ending yet.”

Evon laughed. “There are some stories I wish had never ended, friends who shared my classes and roommates who shared my troubles. We go to the Academy expecting to be on our own, but we’re the farthest from alone when we’re within those walls. Everyone’s got an eye on you, and you them, even if you don’t realize it.”

The chemist was right. As much as Cleve had wanted to be alone when the year had begun, it had proved to be impossible. He was thankful for that now.

Chapter 8:

CLEVE

Cleve dreamt of Reela that night. He didn’t remember what happened, but he knew she’d been on his mind because of how he felt when he awoke. No one else but her could cause the familiar flutter in his chest.

But now that flutter had sunk to his stomach, sucked down by nervousness over his impossible task. It helped that Rek was here with him, but not enough to make him comfortable. What could a psychic do against thousands of Krepps with bows?

“We’ll be here when it’s over,” Bencer said. “Will you come back on your way to Kyrro?”

“We will,” Rek said. He and Cleve shook each man’s hand.

Rek’s horse was unusually nervous as he tried to mount, rearing up and grunting.

“Easy, Hope.” Rek petted his mane. “I’m fearful of this task, yet I’m trying to use psyche to calm my horse,” the Elf said, shaking his head. “But my nervousness is too strong, so he feels that instead.”

Again Rek tried to mount Hope, but the horse wouldn’t let him. He tried to shove Rek away with his head, looking as if he was about to gallop away.

Cleve was already on Nulya’s back. The silence as everyone waited for Rek was awkward.

“I know nothing of horses,” Bencer said. “Is there anything I can do to calm him?”

“No,” Rek said. “Just give me a moment to focus.” He closed his eyes and breathed in slowly.

After the horse gave one last grunt, he became tranquil. Rek lowered his hand, and Hope folded his legs to lie down so Rek could get on his back.

They rode northeast, deeper into the surrounding hills. They needed to come to the peak from the north so they could stay out of sight of the scouts along the walls of the Krepp encampment.

“Did you tell Welson about the Takarys coming to Ovira once their war is over?” Rek asked.

“No,” Cleve said. “Did you?”

“No. I think it should be your decision. You’re the one who signed a contract with Danvell Takary to assist with the transition of power.”

Silence followed.

Rek asked, “What was your reason for not mentioning it?”

“I don’t see how knowing would help. Danvell told me he’d send twenty to thirty thousand, many with horses and Bastial steel weapons.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to tell Welson what you know and let him do what he wants with the information?”

“I don’t see the point.”

Rek stared at Cleve inquisitively. “Something is precious to you. Is it this knowledge?”

“Stop using psyche on me.”

“I think the only reason you’re not telling him is because this secret gives you power. You like knowing of his impending doom. You enjoy the choice of being able to tell him at any moment, if you so desire. Do you loathe him?”

“Of course! He had my parents killed.”

“Yes, but as an act of revenge for what your father did.”

Cleve was ready to leap off his horse and attack Rek. “For what he
believes
my father did! But my father didn’t do that.”

The rhythmic clapping of hoofs was the only noise as Cleve wondered if Rek would respond.

Only once Cleve started to feel the anger drain out of him did Rek say, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. The war in Greenedge is probably going to take longer than ours, anyway. You’ll have time to tell him later.”

Unless we don’t make it back from this mission, then the King will never know they’re coming.

“I think we should go back there, Cleve.”

“Welson said not to return until we’re done. Who knows what he’ll do if—”

“I mean go back to Greenedge after this war is over. There’s much work that needs to be done.”

“I’m glad you think that, because I’ve already decided I need to go back. I just hope Reela will come with us.”

“Yes, her and my brother. Though, it might be difficult to convince her considering how infuriated she must be with us.” Rek turned his horse toward the encampment. “We can use these hills as cover and come in along the coastline.”

The ocean was on their left as they turned south. There was a long beach denying the dark waters from reaching anywhere close to the grassy land they rode upon.

“One last question,” Rek said. “What if you found out your father really did kill Welson’s father?”

Cleve was surprised when he didn’t feel anger. It allowed him to truly wonder what sensation it would cause to discover this information to be true.

My father murdered King Westin Kimard.
He tried to convince himself it had happened, just for a moment. But it wasn’t working.

He imagined his mother telling him. “Your father killed him, Cleve.” But it was too unbelievable. He couldn’t allow himself to consider it even for a moment.

“It’s not possible. I don’t know what I would do, what I would feel. I can’t, because I know he wouldn’t do that.” Cleve realized something. “He wouldn’t be my father anymore if he assassinated a king…at least not the father I knew.”

For some reason, after hearing himself say those words, he felt a boulder lodge in his stomach.

The wooden walls surrounding the Krepp encampment were perhaps a foot shorter than the Academy’s ten-foot walls. As Cleve peeked over a cluster of rocks, he saw several Krepps patrolling. He and Rek easily could’ve killed them, but not silently enough.

It became clear that for this to work, they would have to be seen by no one.

The ledge Cleve was to shoot from had a slope smooth enough for their mounts. But as close as he wanted Nulya to be for his escape, he didn’t know what the animals would do once they were up there. One loud whinny could be enough to alert the Krepps. He and Rek decided to leave their horses at the base of the rocky hill. There was nothing to tie them to, so Rek would stay with them. His psyche wouldn’t be needed on the ledge.

There was one Krepp who didn’t seem like he would be moving anytime soon. He stood with his back against the wall, watching to the north. He folded his arms, and his long mouth stretched open for a yawn. As Cleve watched patiently, he noticed that the rest of the Krepps outside the encampment patrolled back and forth in a steady pattern.

Cleve always had suspected this task was impossible, and now that thought had nearly solidified in his mind. He could see into the encampment. It was crowded with Krepps busying themselves with various tasks, like carrying baskets, hammering metal, tending to crops, feeding pigs.

The giants that looked like dark towers from afar were as clear as the afternoon sun in the cloudless sky. They did appear to be made of rock. Their bodies were in the shape of men, except their heads—where horns protruded instead of ears. They were close, and a swarm of Krepps encircled them.

One of the Dajriks bent down and reached for something hidden by a cluster of Krepps. Then he stood upright holding a sword, the biggest Cleve had ever seen. The steel of the weapon didn’t glisten, nor was it even silver in color. The metal was blackened, like overcooked meat. The weapon itself must’ve been more than twice Cleve’s weight, yet the giant waved it with ease.

The Krepps surrounding him frantically created space. Then the Dajrik slammed the weapon down onto a thick wooden plank, splitting it. He lifted the weapon back up to his eyes, inspecting it as if expecting to find cracks.

Cleve went back down to switch places with Rek, tending to the horses so the Elf could take a look.

Rek came back shortly after, and Cleve asked, “Have any ideas how we’re going to do this?”

“One, but I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

The Elf’s tone reminded Cleve of the first time he’d met Rek, when he was sent to kill him. Rek had convinced him their best option was to storm Kyrro’s castle in an attempt to convince Welson that Rek was on their side.

“Is this going to be like—”

“We’re not riding back to the castle to convince the King of anything,” Rek interrupted. “He told me not to come back until at least one of the Krepps’ leaders was dead.”

“Alright, then how are we supposed to kill the one within those walls?”

“We can’t. We’ll die in the process.”

Cleve didn’t understand what Rek was hinting at. “So we wait for the other one to come back? I don’t see how that’ll help.”

“No, once he’s within these walls, there’ll be no hope of shooting him either. But if we ride to him before he gets here, we might find a place we can take a shot.”

“The Krepps marching back,” Cleve realized. “I see.”

The thought of riding out to meet thousands of Krepps in hopes of shooting one Slugari in the middle of them gave Cleve shivers. But Rek was right. They had a far better chance with that plan.

“Come on.” Cleve turned and started toward Nulya. “We’d better hurry, then.”

They rode with haste, no longer worried about the Krepps in the encampment seeing them. No Krepp could outrun a horse. Curiosity made Cleve look to his left as they rode by. Some Krepps guarding the wall scrambled to hop over into the encampment, yelling something in a language Cleve barely heard.

Others drew arrows as if to shoot, only to stop when they realized the absurdity of it. Cleve and Rek were hundreds of yards away, their mounts galloping faster than most known creatures in Ovira.

A couple of Krepps simply stared back, their heads turning to track the strange sight.

Rek shouted to be heard over the hoofbeats. “When they discover one of their leaders was killed, they’ll know it was us. I hope you don’t mind being a target during the next battle.”

“Not in the least.”

The sun was setting too fast. They weren’t going to reach the returning Krepp army before nightfall. They rode to the base of the tallest hill nearby. Rek stayed with the horses as Cleve climbed.

“How far are they?” the Elf shouted.

The gray creatures had gathered around Ovira’s biggest lake to rest. “They’ve stopped at River’s End. It should be another two days before they reach the encampment. They certainly won’t make it this far while we sleep, even if they walk during the night.”

“Then we’ll make camp and rise with the sun. We’ll need plenty of time to survey the land and find a spot to shoot from.”

Cleve took a moment to check before descending the hill. River’s End was the lowest spot in the terrain around it. Hills must be hiding thousands more Krepps that Cleve couldn’t see. A river flowed out from the lake, only some of it visible between the tree-covered mountains that surrounded it.

“We need to get to the river before they cross it,” Cleve shouted down to Rek. “It’s the best place to shoot from.”

“Which river?”

“Come look. Bring the horses.”
We’ll probably have to ride through the night.

When Rek arrived, Cleve pointed toward the river, explaining, “They’ll be slow crossing it, and the trees will give us cover.”

“But the trees will also hinder our escape.” Rek put his hand on his chin. “Still, it might be the best option we’ve got. You can shoot through them?”