Rise of Legends (The Kin of Kings Book 2) (41 page)

“You look like a strong fighter. We would like your assistance in this war.”

“In last war, Krepps die before humans because humans not brave.”

“Those were people of Tenred. They weren’t fighting to defend their families and themselves like we are. We have no choice but to fight and be brave.”

“What about human greed?” Rickik asked.

Basen didn’t quite know what to make of his question. “Some men are greedy, yes, like Tauwin Takary, who has killed thousands of our people just so he can control Kyrro.”

“Thousands?” Rickik seemed impressed. “What is his weapon?”

“Well, he hasn’t killed thousands by his own hand. He only killed our king, an old man who had no weapon to defend himself. The rest of the deaths came after Tauwin ordered his army to attack. But he does have a bastial steel sword.”

Rickik looked halfway between disgusted and confused. He asked Zoke something in Kreppen. Then Zoke called for Cleve to show his weapon. Cleve unsheathed his sword for display, the beautiful spectrum of bright colors shining as it caught the sunlight.

Rickik licked his teeth as he stared. “I want that. I fight. I get sword for dead Tauwin.”

Overhearing this request, Cleve came forward to join their conversation. “How many Krepps will you bring with you?”

“Three hundred, more maybe. But only I get sword.”

“The rest will follow you?” Cleve asked.

“Not without trade from humans.”

“What do they want?”

Rickik scratched his ass through his leather pants as he appeared to think, showing an utter lack of care for his rude gesture. “A better home.” He pointed his claw at the village behind them. “Like this, but no Elves and no humans.”

“If that’s all they want,” Basen said, “then why don’t all of you build it?”

Rickik spat on Basen’s boot, then walked away.

“What in god’s world? He acts like I just insulted his mother.”

“Krepps only know how to build huts and walls,” Zoke said. “He feels shame at what he cannot do, so you insulted him.”

Before Rickik could get too far, Basen cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

Zoke grunted and grabbed Basen’s hand to stop him from saying more. Rickik turned with a threatening glower, then spat again. His glob of saliva flew surprisingly far, as if it were a ball he’d thrown. He seemed to be aiming for Basen, though it landed short.

“Never apologize,” Zoke explained as Rickik turned his back on them again. “Krepps will think you are weak and pathetic. Now you have lost Rickik’s respect.”

“So how do I get it back?”

“Prove you are strong.” Zoke looked down at Basen’s belt. “Are you good with that sword?”

“Yes.”

“Rickik, this human will duel!” Zoke shouted.

Not only Rickik turned but every Krepp and Elf within earshot.

“Uh, Zoke—”

“I accept,” Rickik shouted. He said something to another Krepp, who then ran off.

“Isn’t there something else I can do besides dueling him?” Basen asked. The Krepp was about twice his size and strength.

“Not anymore. He’s accepted your proposition to duel.”

“
Your
proposition to duel.”

Cleve put himself in front of Basen and looked even more serious than usual. “Krepps spit and throw dirt with their feet. Protect your eyes with your arm when you think it’s coming. You’ll have to predict it, because they’re quick at gathering saliva and grabbing dirt.”

The Krepp who Rickik sent off returned with a huge sword, too heavy to be handled by any man. By then, a small crowd had gathered within the village. They followed Rickik as he walked through the gate and straight toward Basen.

His stupid mouth had nearly ruined their chances at getting hundreds of Krepps to join them, and now he had to make it right, no matter how terrified he was. He did his best to show he was unafraid by putting a mean look on his face. “What are the rules?” he asked Zoke while warming up his tired muscles with a few good swings.

“No rules,” Zoke said to Basen’s dismay. “No stopping until a winner is clear.”

“Are you saying he might kill me?”

“Not on purpose, but some do die during duels.”

Hot fear swarmed all over Basen’s body.

“You don’t have to do this,” Alabell said.

Zoke warned, “Rickik is the best sword fighter of all Krepps in the village. You must show courage and skill for him to respect you.”

“I do have to do this, Alabell,” Basen told her. “We need allies, and it’ll be my fault if they don’t join us. Zoke, tell me how I can be courageous yet lose the duel without injury?” It was all Basen could hope for.

“Impossible to lose without injury yet show courage.”

“Great.”

“Fight me, human,” Rickik demanded.

Courage,
Basen reminded himself and charged the Krepp. But Rickik raised his enormous sword above his head and slammed it down as if it were as light as a stick.

“God’s mercy,” Basen muttered without thinking as he slid to a stop and then fell backward to avoid being sliced in half.

Rickik and the dozens of Krepps watching burst into laughter, a deep clucking sound as if their tongues were rolled back into their throats. Even some of the Elves watching chuckled.

Now it was going to be even harder to show bravery. Basen readied his weapon and motioned for Rickik to come toward him. Rickik’s face hardened, then a crooked grin formed. He rushed at Basen with tremendous speed.

Too frightened to think, Basen could only rely on his reflexes, but all they told him was to run. He repressed the urge, dodging Rickik’s powerful swings and then hacking at the Krepp’s leg when the opportunity arose. Horror struck Basen as his blade came into contact with Rickik’s thigh yet seemed to do nothing. The Krepp’s skin was as hard as bark, refusing to break open or bleed. Basen barely ducked under a swing that would’ve taken off his head.

“You have to use more strength,” Cleve yelled.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Rickik stepped toward Basen and swung his sword from his hip. Unable to duck under, jump over, or move out of its long reach, Basen was forced to do the last thing he wanted. He used his weapon to block the attack, batting down Rickik’s sword. But the Krepp was too strong. His weapon followed through Basen’s attempt at blocking, its blunt end slamming into Basen’s legs and taking his feet out from under him.

He rolled onto his back to see Rickik offering no mercy. The Krepp was about to run his sword through Basen’s chest. He rolled out of the way as Rickik drove his blade into the ground. Basen regained his footing, but Rickik gave him no time to get his sword up. Basen backed up as quickly as he could to get out of reach of Rickik’s deadly flurry. This seemed to anger the Krepp, for his lipless mouth stretched open to show his sharp teeth gritted together.

Basen finally got his weapon up just in time to guide Rickik’s swing into the ground, but the Krepp spat in his face before Basen could counterattack. It splattered against his forehead, some burning his eyes.

He reeled back as Rickik’s blurry shape came after him. This was going to be it. In desperation, Basen grabbed his wand. If the bastard was going to fight dirty, then he would retaliate.

Basen gathered the energy for a small fireball and shot it forward, then shielded himself from the explosion, though it still sent him rolling backward. The sweet sound of Rickik screaming reached Basen’s ears as he got up and wiped the remnants of saliva out of his eyes.

He saw not a burning Krepp but a startled one as Rickik was now on one knee, his chest bright red. He glared at Basen, clearly fearful of being shot again.

“You’re a…them?” Rickik asked.

“A mage,” Zoke corrected.

Rickik shot an angry look at Zoke. “You said they no skill sword.”

“They don’t usually.”

Basen was amazed at how little pain Rickik seemed to be in as he strode toward them. “What are you, human?”

He didn’t know quite how to answer. “I’ve been trained to use both wand and sword.”

“Why only you but no more humans?” The crowd gathered closer.

“There is at least one other,” Basen said, thinking of Abith. “He has a bastial steel sword, like Tauwin, and he, too, must die for us to win this war.” Basen dreaded seeing his old instructor again, but it was inevitable. He hoped Peter’s death had been swift and merciful. Abith had never been cruel during their lessons. Instead, he was usually somewhat distant, as if there were more important matters he was concerned about than teaching rich young men how to manipulate energy. It seemed that Basen had only met Abith’s true self in battle, and Basen had gotten the feeling that Abith had been craving such a challenge all his life and relished every moment of it.

“You fight by range,” Rickik complained. “Bow does not duel sword. Mage does not duel sword.”

“You spat in my eye,” Basen retorted. “I’d say we’re even.”

Rickik asked Zoke something in Kreppen and looked surprise at the response. Rickik spat and then turned back toward Basen.

“Not even. Duel again, no fire.”

“Fine.” Basen would be ready for his opponent’s strength and spit this time.

“No!” Annah ran between them. “This is no way to decide whether you want to fight with us. We are strong, as we proved in the last war. You can have your bastial steel sword and your own village when this is over.”

Cleve came forward. “Annah, you can’t promise—”

“I can. If you and your Krepps help us win this war, you’ll have what you want. We don’t have time for duels. The Academy could’ve already been attacked. Our allies need us.”

Rickik finally put away his sword. “I gather Krepps. I give answer tomorrow.” With nothing else to add, he walked off. Basen gladly put his sword back in its sheath.

“Thank you,” he told Annah, then whispered, “Did you use psyche?”

“I did. He wasn’t about to let this end without dismembering you.”

“Had I known that before I started dueling, I probably wouldn’t have dueled in the first place.”

Zoke shook his head at Annah. “Tell no one you used psyche on any Krepp. They despise psyche.”

She swallowed in fear. “All right.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Even if the Krepps joined them, Basen’s party agreed they should still attempt to recruit as many Elves as they could. Zoke led them through the village on the way to Fatholl, the leader of the Elves. Basen constantly tried to feel for the heavy bastial energy that let him know a portal could be made, but he felt nothing. Dread began building. There might not be a place to make a portal here.

All around him, Elves and Krepps were either building or farming. Basen lost complete concentration when they passed by an enormous field where horses nibbled on grass and trotted around freely. Cleve was the only one of their party who didn’t seem awestruck. It reminded Basen that Cleve had been on the boat with these Elves when they came from Greenedge.

“How well do you know how to ride?” Basen asked him.

“Very well.”

As they continued through the village, Basen began to worry again. If they had to walk all the way back to Tenred from here, it would take weeks, and it already had been weeks since they’d separated from Jackrie. They couldn’t spare more time away from the Academy.

“Is there anywhere in this village where bastial energy has been gathered many times?” he asked Zoke.

The Krepp squinted in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

Basen tried to explain the concept as best he could, but soon Zoke interrupted him.

“Ask Fatholl when we get to the center of the village. He’ll know.”

It wasn’t long before they arrived. The Elven buildings put human homes to shame, but Fatholl’s living quarters were by far the most ornate. To get there, they had to climb hundreds of stone steps built beside a river flowing peacefully down the hills. It led them to a shimmering lake of beautiful blue water that made Basen lick his dry lips in thirst. A waterfall taller than the Redfield pillar crashed down into the long lake. Stone pillars signaling the entrance of Fatholl’s quarters stood at the other side. When they got there, the roar of the waterfall was more like the purr of a kitten.

Their party followed Zoke between the pillars, where a roof kept out the hot sun. Soon the pillars were replaced by solid stone. A door with Elven writing across its face was already open, and Zoke did not pause as he walked through.

An Elf who Basen assumed to be Fatholl stood perfectly still as he gazed at the wall behind him, where colorful paintings of Elven families softened the harsh stone. He turned and smiled.

“Cleve. I thought we would meet again sooner. What took you so long?”

“Reela and I tried coming earlier, but we couldn’t find the village.” Cleve didn’t seem excited to be standing before this Elf. “We need your help now.”

“With what?”

As Cleve described Tauwin’s attempt to take over Kyrro, Fatholl straightened his back and took on a look of determination and purpose. He seemed rather arrogant to Basen as he regarded them with judgment in his gray eyes. His matching gray hair was long and straight, almost glittering. It was difficult to tell if his creamy skin was without wrinkle simply because he was an Elf or because he was young. His smile faded more and more as Cleve came to his request for the Elves to fight with them.