Storm Surge (28 page)

“I must prove I’m capable of handling myself,” she replied with an equally scornful huff.

Her words forced a laugh out of Kalen. He should have taken the time to think his words through, but he decided the risk was worth observing her reaction. “Wrong. You were sent so that you could be captured or killed, so Kelsh could declare an open war on Danar and have grounds to request aid from the Rift in retaliation for the murder of Kelsh’s Heir.” Kalen waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “After having given the Rift King right to you, he would have right to call on the Rift.”

Captain Silvereye cleared his throat, but Kalen chose to ignore his co-captain. Smiling grimly, he asked, “Do you know what the mercenaries hired by your father have done?”

“My father would never—”

Kalen slapped his opened palm against the table’s rough surface. “Don’t turn yourself into a liar or allow yourself to remain an ignorant and blind fool,” he snapped. “Answer the question.”

“I don’t know.”

“They murdered men and boys unfit for sacrifice by the Danarites. They captured women and girls to be slaves. The rest were slaughtered over Danarite altars. Do you know what happened to them?”

The Knight shuddered, and she shook her head so hard her hair whipped against her face.

“They became shells for the skreed. They became the black waters that devoured the village you tried to save,” he concluded. He clenched his teeth and shook his head. “Satrin and Dorit bore witness.”

~Captain Blackhand, in his effort to rescue those who were going to be sacrificed, was captured by the Danarites and rescued from Morinvale following a skirmish with the Wolf Blades. I witnessed his recovery, but he was the one who saw, first hand, the treachery of your king.~

“He is your king, too.”

~He is no longer my king. Kelsh is no longer my kingdom, nor is it my home. I am a Yadesh, and I will not be partner to the murder of children!~

“Blessed Lady of Light,” Tala whispered.

“So, Princess Tala of Kelsh, why did your father really send you to Morinvale?”

“You’re insane. My father is the king of Kelsh. He would never—”

“Garint was tasked with murdering Lord Delrose. His king ordered him to work with a Danarite Blood Priest. This is a fact, Princess Tala. A fact, I’ll remind you, that has left this Yadesh scarred by the sword wielded by his Knight.”

The woman swallowed and said, “Father said I needed to learn how to rule. Morinvale is remote. It’s a good, safe place to learn.”

“It is remote, this is true,” Kalen conceded. “It’s a ruin now, one that your corpse would be occupying, had we not been the ones to find you first.”

Tala lifted her chin, and her lip trembled. “You don’t know that.”

Kalen lifted his hand in an accepting gesture. “You’re right. They might’ve kept you alive in the hopes of luring out the Rift King, to whom you belong should he decide to claim you.”

Red splotches blossomed on her cheeks. “How do you know that?”

Kalen snorted. “Did you not think it strange you’ve had no offers of marriage, Princess Tala?”

The woman’s eyes widened, and she choked out, “How do you know that?”

Everyone stared at him, and Kalen wondered just how far he would have to go to convince the Kelshite she had been betrayed just as Satrin had been. Too far, likely. Until he convinced her, or at least forced her to think for herself, he didn’t dare stop pushing her. “Your father has been making attempts to sell you to the Rift for over fifteen years, Princess. Every kingdom knows of it.”

His sire sighed. “Don’t you think you’ve gone far enough, Captain Blackhand?”

“Not remotely. It is time for this filly to learn. You challenged how a cripple could protect you. Very well. Take up your sword, Princess Tala of Kelsh. Allow me to show you.”

~Kalen!~
Satrin squealed in his head.

Ignoring the Yadesh, he glared at the woman. “Unless, of course, you don’t know how to fight.”

“I’ll fight you,” she snarled.

“Very well.” Kalen gripped Gorishitorik’s hilt. Before he could draw the blade, Breton’s hand covered his.

Captain Silvereye cleared his throat. “Why don’t we resolve this with wooden swords, Captain Blackhand? We’re trying to protect her, not kill her. Let’s not do King Aelthor’s work for him.”

~~*~~

Kalen glared at the sword in his hand before turning his gaze on an all-too-amused Captain Silvereye. Of his Guardians, only Maiten and Moritta had come to watch the spectacle, and both were watching the princess as though she were a serpent ready to take a bite out of him. “This is not a sword. It’s a stick. It’s a stick, I might mention, that you’ve wrapped a tunic around.”

At least someone had made sure his stick had a sturdy guard, which was also wrapped in rags to pad it. The weapon, if he could call the monstrosity that, was as graceful as a club.

Princess Tala of Kelsh held a proper wooden practice sword, one fashioned to mimic a short blade suitable for her height, which was somewhere around half a foot more than his.

Her smug smile was partnered with a gleam in her eye. “If you’re so capable,
sir
, a stick wrapped in a tunic should be more than sufficient.” She sniffled, and Kalen had no doubts she faked it to annoy him.

Drawing several deep breaths didn’t help him cool his rising temper. The First’s annoyance, icy cold in the back of his head, heightened his irritation. “What are the rules, Silvereye?”

“Disarm and pin,” the Shadow Captain replied, and his grin was as smug as the princess’s.

“Doesn’t that give me an unfair advantage?” Tala asked. “I’m taller than the
captain
.”

Ignoring her condescending tone tested Kalen’s patience, but he shrugged instead of snapping. Her words were true enough. His eyes were level with her shoulders, which gave her an advantage—if she knew how to use it. At least he didn’t have to stare up quite so far to meet her gaze.

“Let’s be honest, Your Highness,” Captain Silvereye murmured, his tone sickeningly sweet. “You want to protest, not because he’s short, but because he’s short an arm.”

Kalen’s cheek twitched, and he considered if he had the strength to break his stick over his co-captain’s head. Kelsh’s Heir paled, and her smile faded away. “Disarm and pin, then.”

Silvereye reached over and clapped Kalen’s shoulder, leaning forward to whisper in his ear, “Try not to kill her, please. I don’t think she’s held a sword for more than a few minutes in her life. She’s got archer callouses, so try not to damage her hands.”

“Bow callouses? Interesting. Maybe she’s not entirely useless then,” he whispered back.

“Don’t let her surprise you.”

Kalen snorted. “She chose to cross swords with me.”

Silvereye laughed. “No wasted chivalry with you, I see.”

Chivalry was for those who didn’t have to be worried about being stabbed in the back all of the time, but Kalen wouldn’t admit that, so he shrugged and repeated, “She chose to cross swords with me.”

“Captain Blackhand, Princess Tala, take your places,” the Shadow Captain ordered.

Kalen turned his body to present as small of a target as possible to the woman, securing his grip on the stick. If she decided to wail on him, he doubted the makeshift guard would hold, but he’d deal with his stick’s lack of durability as needed.

The way Princess Tala stood, stiff and open, supported Silvereye’s assumption that the woman lacked formal training with a sword. He sighed.

There was little he hated more than having to fight against someone with no skill or experience. In practice, it always resulted in someone getting hurt. As a general rule, it was him. The princess held her weapon in a white-knuckled grip. Lifting the wooden blade, she slashed the edge at him.

Kalen forced a neutral expression, batting the blow aside with a flick of his wrist. The impact dropped his weapon down. In the time it took her to lift her blade, he reset his stance and waited.

Over and over she hacked at him, hitting as hard as she could, as though hoping to knock his stick out of his hand through brute strength alone. Kalen’s arm ached from enduring the blows, knocking them away with as little effort as he could.

Sweat dripped from the woman’s brow, and her breath came in ragged gasps.

If he didn’t want to hurt her, he needed to wait until her strikes softened. If he stepped into her attack too early, the way she smashed her sword around as a club could break something if she did manage to land a blow.

It wasn’t until the woman staggered from exertion that her attacks lost most of their ferocity. Instead of knocking aside the hit, he stepped into the attack, letting her weapon crack against the guard. Twisting his wrist, he thrust upward and to the side. With a strangled cry, Princess Tala lost hold of her sword. Spinning on a heel, he whipped out his other leg and caught the back of her knee with his boot. Her leg buckled, and she fell in the mud with a splat, landing on her side.

Catching her at an angle, he drove his knee into her back between her shoulders, forcing her onto her stomach. With his other foot, he applied pressure to her wrist to keep her immobile. Letting go of his sword, he seized her neck, squeezing hard enough to warn her against moving.

“Cease fight,” Silvereye barked.

Kalen hopped off of her, picking up his discarded stick as he rose.

When Captain Silvereye offered his hand to the fallen princess, she climbed to her hands and knees, staggering upright without acknowledging the Mithrian’s offer. Mud splotched her red face. “You were toying with me,” she hissed.

Kalen blinked, tilting his head to the side as he thought about how he had handled her. Unable to comprehend what she meant, he asked, “What do you mean?”

“You just stood there. You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?”

Puzzled, he shook his head. “No.”

“He wasn’t,” Lord Delrose said, emerging from the circle of watching mercenaries. Kalen flinched as his sire patted his left shoulder. “He waited until he could pin you without hurting himself or you. Considering how hard you were hitting him, a single strike could have broken bones. Do you not have any respect for yourself or others? Do you even know how to pull a blow? I don’t think so, judging from your performance. Captain Blackhand doesn’t pull his hits. That padded stick would’ve helped you, but he’s trained to kill people, not duel them. Well fought, Captain.”

Kalen narrowed his eyes, but when he was unable to discern anything other than sincerity from his sire, he nodded his acceptance of the compliment.

Tala’s rage faded to uncertainty. “You weren’t mocking me?”

Kalen clenched his teeth, drew a deep breath, and met the woman’s gaze. “Princess, when you live by the sword, you die by it. Mercy is just another word for suicide.” Tossing his stick to Captain Silvereye, he pivoted on a heel and walked away, ignoring her calling after him.

Breton rubbed at his temples in the futile hope of driving away his growing headache. All of his doubts conspired against him, warning him he should have gone with Maiten and Moritta when his foal had accepted Princess Tala’s challenge.

He’d kept clear of the crowd to keep the Rift King from feeling smothered. By not hovering, he held hope that Kalen would recognize Breton’s trust. Judging from Maiten’s tense expression, Breton wondered if he had made a mistake.

“What did Kalen do?” he asked when Maiten kept pacing without saying a word.

Maiten halted. “He completely and utterly destroyed Kelsh’s Princess in front of most of the company.” His friend smirked. “Word through the camp says she deserved it, too. I like that. They’re throwing their support behind him.”

“There has to be something more to it than that for you to be so agitated. What aren’t you telling me? I understand why he would teach her a lesson. Did he take it too far?” Breton’s worry came out in his voice, much to his dismay.

“No,” the dry voice of the Rift King was muffled through the tent’s flap. A moment later, his foal stuck his head inside. “Her Royal Highness has no idea what the world is like. She’d invite a true black hand into her home without ever believing someone would want her dead.” After hesitating, he asked, “Do you two mind if I hide in here?”

Breton felt Maiten’s stare settle on him. When he didn’t speak, Maiten said, “By all means, little foal. What could possibly send the Rift King into hiding? What’s bothering you?”

“Women,” was the snarled answer, and with a tired groan, the Rift King unbuckled Gorishitorik and tossed it on one of the two cots.

Breton choked in his effort not to laugh at his foal, and he wasn’t the only one struggling. The noise Maiten made was a mix of a snort and a giggle.

“What happened?” Breton asked in the same soothing tone he used on a startled horse.

“Her Royal Highness might be useless with a sword, but she doesn’t lose a trail easily. Despite my telling her, despite my
sire
telling her, she believes I purposefully humiliated her. She followed me around the camp, hounding me over having accepted her challenge. The woman is a spawn from the deeps, I’m convinced of it.” Muttering what had to be curses, his foal sat down on the cot beside him. Kalen rubbed at his forehead with a palm.

“Did you humiliate her on purpose?” Breton leaned back, watching his foal fidget from agitation.

“Of course not. Why would I waste the time? I’m convinced Silvereye plans on working me to death. I won’t need you Guardians, just give him a week and he’ll finish me off. He started listing the things I need to do, and I don’t know how I’ll manage it all.” Shaking his head, the Rift King sighed.

“You’ll have Moritta and Lyeth to help you, remember,” Maiten said soothingly. “I can’t imagine you’re expected to do it all. We can help as well.”

“I’ll have to find out more from Silvereye. Running a mercenary company isn’t like dealing with the Rift, not at all,” was the Rift King’s tired reply.

“You’ll be fine, foal,” Breton said. “What about Her Royal Highness?”

“I didn’t want Parice after me if I broke something. I have enough bruises already, and I’m certain he’s going to scold me for each and every last one of them. The thrice-cursed woman doesn’t need a sword. Give her a club or a mace and she’ll be the most dangerous thing in this camp. Silvereye should have given
her
the stick. To think he was worried about her. What about me? At least I know how to pull blows, curse it all. What do they think I am?”

Breton winced.

When Maiten sat on the cot beside his foal, Breton doubted it’d hold their weight, so he stood, pulled over the tent’s lone stool, and sat in front of the Rift King.

Maiten sighed. “They think you’re a caged monster who was set free.”

Bowing his head, the Rift King also sighed. “As always.”

In the silence that followed his foal’s weary acceptance of the truth, Breton gathered his courage. The past choked off his voice. As always, it was impossible to tell if his foal harbored anger over their fight before the swarm.

There was only one way to find out. “You were never a monster, my foal,” he said, wondering if his words were a lie even as he spoke them. The creature Kalen had become in Morinvale hadn’t struck out at any innocents. The creature the Rift King had become, according to Maiten, only killed those deserving death.

But Breton couldn’t deny that for a moment, his foal hadn’t been fully human. But inhuman didn’t make the Rift King a monster, either. There were worse people in the world and that gave Breton the confidence he needed to repeat himself and give his words the ring of truth as he stated, “You were never a monster.”

There were men out in the world willing to break bones for knowledge, for power, and for the joy of doing another harm. There were men in the world who sacrificed others for their Gods and Goddesses. There were those who would sell each other as merchandise.

In comparison, the Rift King was pure in spirit and heart.

“He’s right. You fought her as you should have; cautiously, waiting for the best chance to strike. You didn’t want to hurt her, and it showed. She didn’t care if she hurt you. No one has any right to fault you for how you handled yourself,” Maiten said, his tone full of conviction. “You waited until you could ensure your victory, as you always do. If she wishes to believe something other than the truth, that is her problem.”

The silence stretched on until the Rift King finally bobbed his head in acceptance of Maiten’s words.

Breton swallowed his desire to sigh, wondering what he could possibly do to ease his foal’s burdens. He didn’t have the answers he needed.

Maiten made a thoughtful noise. “Kalen, women is plural, and however unhappy she is over her defeat, she is but one woman.”

The Rift King groaned, leaned forward, and ran his hand through his tangled hair. “I thought I had finally managed to shake her off my trail, thrice-curse her, but I hadn’t. I swear, every last one of them wants a try at me.” With a wordless growl, his foal punched his leg.

“What happened?” Breton asked, careful to keep his voice as soothing as possible.

“I was so focused on trying to get rid of Her Royal Highness that when another woman came at me from behind, I broke her arm. I wasn’t expecting her. I overreacted.”

“You took her down before you realized she was a threat, didn’t you?” Maiten asked.

The Rift King nodded and said nothing.

Breton fought to swallow his sigh and failed. He had warned Captain Silvereye that the mercenaries should use caution when approaching his foal from behind. He allowed his displeasure to enter his tone when he replied, “She should have known better.”

“I had a bloody audience, Breton. I swear, it felt like half of the company was following Her Royal Highness while she was stalking me. If I hadn’t pulled back…”

With a grimace, Breton understood what was bothering his foal, but it was Maiten who said, “You would have been dealing with a corpse. Well, they learned a lesson, then. What did you do?”

When his foal’s face turned red and he coughed, Breton couldn’t smother his grin. “Yes, Kalen, do tell us what happened.”

“I tossed her over my shoulder and took her to Parice. What else do you think I should have done?”

Breton arched a brow. “She let you?”

The Rift King muttered, “She didn’t have a choice; she was unconscious.”

“And you didn’t ask for help carrying her?” With a shake of his head, Breton decided he’d never be able to make complete sense of his Kelsh-born colt.

It was with relief that he realized his Kalen hadn’t changed.

“She wasn’t that tall.”

“Please tell me nothing else happened,” he begged of his foal.

Kalen’s face turned a deep shade of red.

“Oh, ho! What’s this? Breton, look at him, he’s completely scarlet.” Maiten nudged his foal with an elbow.

“Maiten,” Breton rebuked before asking, “Kalen, what happened?”

The Rift King sighed, long and heavy. “Her Royal Highness decided to open her mouth and criticize me for reacting as I did. I told her if she really wanted to fight me again so badly, then she needed to take herself seriously or otherwise stop wasting my time.”

“That’s no reason to be embarrassed,” Maiten said with laughter in his voice.

Breton knew better, wondering what his foal wasn’t telling him. When the Rift King didn’t speak, he asked, “What aren’t you telling us?”

“She demanded an explanation regarding why I dared to judge her and wanted to know if it was because she was a woman,” was the mumbled reply.

Breton rubbed his temples, a hundred different possibilities flashing through his head, each one worse than the last. “And?”

“I lost my temper.”

“Oh, this is going to be good,” Maiten said, grinning. “What did you say?”

The Rift King scowled. “I told her that the real mares I knew had twice as much sense and far better breeding. I may have implied there were those in the Rift who would be more than qualified and happy to teacher her how to be a queen, seeing that Kelsh is incapable of raising anything other than sheltered ladies,” his foal blurted.

Dissolving into helpless gales of mirth, Maiten fell onto the cot behind the Rift King. His foal twisted around to glare at the red-haired Guardian. “It isn’t that funny!”

Breton snorted in his effort to smother his own chuckles, shook his head, and covered his mouth with his hand.

“Now you’ve done it, colt,” Maiten choked out through his laughter. “She’s going to kill you in your sleep.”

Breton cleared his throat, unable to stop from smiling. “Just wait until she finds out you’re the Rift King, Kalen.”

His foal hid his face against Maiten’s side, his dismayed groans muffled.

~~*~~

Some problems Breton would only make worse by snickering, so after ruffling his foal’s hair, he left Maiten to restore the Rift King to a calmer state. Chuckling at the circumstances wouldn’t make the very real problem of the Kelshite princess vanish. Swallowing his mirth, he sought out Lord Delrose.

He found the man with the Kelshite-bred horses. “Lord Delrose.”

Kalen’s sire turned to face him. “Guardian Breton.”

Drawing a deep breath, he said, “I seek your advice.”

The Kelshite jerked in surprise. “Mine?”

“It seems your princess is at odds with my colt.” Breton strode closer to the horses, holding his hand out to a small, stocky pony in the line. The animal lipped at his fingers.

“At odds is a gentle way to put it, Guardian. Not undeserved, but he was quite harsh with her. I tried to warn Princess Tala to watch her temper with him. I tried to tell her that she only had herself to blame. I tried to warn her that her rank wouldn’t sway him. He doesn’t acknowledge the differences between men and women.”

Breton shrugged. “You need to see things from his perspective, Lord Delrose. In his eyes, women are predators, and he is the prey. They’re dangerous, and he knows it. This wouldn’t be the first time that he’s snapped at a mare to bring her back into line when she acted weak. Weakness isn’t a virtue in the Rift; it’s a death sentence. His role has always been to protect what is his.”

“I’m inclined to agree. He snapped at her like…” Lord Delrose trailed off, and when he shrugged, Breton sympathized with the Kelshite’s apparent helplessness.

“He’s like a stallion bringing a mare back into order.” A laugh burst out of him. “She has a very long way to go to meet the standards he is used to in a mare.”

“What do you mean?”

“It always bothers me when I leave the Rift. Observing you Outsiders is tiresome. You men stand tall and gloat over your mares—your women—instead of allowing them to be equal to you in all things. Our mares are the strength of the Rift, and we are proud of them. The way Her Royal Highness bristles, I do not believe she is proud of her role as a mare at all. It’s shameful. That said, unless he takes her as his Queen, I don’t care what she does. Should he, however, she will learn to defend herself and carry herself with both pride and strength. I’ve heard that she used a sword like a club.”

Lord Delrose winced. “It was an embarrassment to all of Kelsh. He utterly defeated her, all without breaking a sweat. It was terrifying and beautiful, Guardian Breton. Who taught him?”

“Arik, his predecessor, taught him how to survive. His Majesty did the rest.”

“He didn’t waste a single movement on her. He deflected her, making it look so easy although I could hear how hard she was swinging that wooden sword of hers. He’s a master with the sword, isn’t he?”

Breton basked in the surge of pride at his foal’s accomplishment. “He’s good.”

“Just good?”

For a moment, he considered telling his foal’s sire the truth, but he settled for a shrug. “He’s alive.”

“Did you hear what happened after the duel?” Lord Delrose asked.

“I heard he broke a woman’s arm.”

“I’m amazed he didn’t kill her. From where I was watching, it looked like she managed to scare a few years off of his life sneaking up behind him as she did. I fully blame Princess Tala for that, as she was barking at him like some unruly dog,” Lord Delrose muttered, his expression dark from scorn.