Storm Surge (32 page)

Chuckling a bit, Breton nodded his agreement. “He’s something special, isn’t he?”

The Rift King’s bow landed on the plate with a clatter. Breton chuckled. “Seems like the plate can.” It surprised him, considering the plate was far smaller than the short, lightweight bow. Several moments later, a bundle of arrows arrived. They had special notches to make it easier for the Rift King to use his teeth when firing his bow.

Maiten smiled. “Your foal definitely is something special. All right, if you’re certain you can handle this on your own, I’ll rest and relieve you in a few hours.” Rising to his feet, Maiten groaned and stretched. “I’m jealous of him, really.”

Before Maiten could leave, Anrille stepped inside, her arm still in a sling. Her gaze focused on the Rift King, and her scowl gave her an old, withered look. “I’m supposed to report.”

Maiten stiffened. “You know, Breton, I think I’ll help with those papers after all. A little less sleep won’t kill me.”

“Have a seat, Anrille,” Breton said in Mithrian, pointing the parchment in his hand at the stool farthest away from his slumbering foal. “I’m Breton, and that’s Maiten. You can report to us, and we’ll handle the rest.”

“You know, your Mithrian has gotten a lot better,” Maiten said in Rifter.

“I know who you are, Guardian,” Anrille replied, sinking down on the stool. “I have a question.”

Breton watched her, allowing himself to frown. After letting the silence stretch on, he nodded and said, “Ask your question.”

“Why didn’t he kill me?”

After exchanging a long look with Maiten, who sat with the tension of a serpent poised to strike, Breton glanced at his foal. The Rift King showed no sign of waking.

“Should he have killed you?” he asked, his tone cold.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Why?”

“I would have killed him, had he not stopped me.”

Maiten’s hand dropped to his sword. Breton set aside his missives, meeting the woman’s gaze without rising from the cot. “And why is that?”

“I was ordered to.”

“You were ordered to,” Maiten echoed, drawing an inch of steel.

“Yes.”

“You’re either lying, insane, or have a really good reason to tell us this,” Breton hissed through clenched teeth. “I should take your head for even thinking about hurting him.”

Anrille remained seated, her posture relaxed. “I’m aware.”

“You prey on others.” With a click, Maiten slid his sword back in its sheath, though he didn’t let go of the hilt. “What are your intentions? Who ordered you? Why?”

Breton trembled from a mixture of rage and anxiety.

“I will tell you, but under one condition,” she whispered.

“What is your condition?” Breton wanted to wrap his hands around her throat and shake the information out of her, but he forced himself to sit still.

“You must protect me.” Anrille glanced over her shoulder at the tent’s flap. “In exchange, I will tell you everything I know.”

“So why are you telling us now?” Maiten was also shaking.

“He lived. I scratched him, and he lived.” After a short pause, Anrille’s gaze settled on his foal.

“You did
what
?” Breton rose, balling his hands into fists. “You scratched him with what?”

“Vellest.”

A snort burst out of him and the tension flowed out of his muscles. “How’d you scratch him?”

With a flick of her wrist, Anrille revealed a leather bracelet lined with sheathes. With another flick, she snatched a dart between her fingers. “With these. I hit him on his shoulder near his neck.”

“Confirm it, Maiten,” Breton ordered without looking away from the woman. With slow, exaggerated movements, she returned the dart to its sheath. “You’re a black hand, aren’t you?”

Maiten shifted his weight, his gaze fixed on the Mithrian. “I might wake him.”

“Are you a foal? Just do it; you’ll be fine.”

Muttering curses, his friend sat on the edge of the Rift King’s cot, pulling away the blanket. His foal didn’t stir when Maiten shifted him to look at his shoulder and neck. “There’s definitely a scratch. It’s a small one, but she pierced him for certain.”

Breton frowned, narrowing his eyes as he fought against his initial desire to skewer the Mithrian. “It is in your better interest to start talking, Anrille. If I don’t lose my temper, he will.”

While he meant the Rift King, his fellow Guardian grunted his agreement.

“I am one of twenty black hands,” she said, lifting her head.

Breton sucked in a breath. “You belong to the Danarites.”

“Yes and no. I will belong to you, if you will give me your vow of protection. Give it to me, and I will tell you all I know.” Anrille kept her chin up, although she refused to meet his gaze.

“I give my vow,” Maiten said before Breton could stop him.

“I was ordered to prove whether or not the Rift King was present in the camp. Should I find him, I was to test him. Should I prove his presence, I was ordered to capture him,” she reported in an even tone. “As the Rift King cannot be killed by mere poison, it is how I am to confirm his identity.”

“So you used vellest,” Breton murmured.

“The Canyon Serpent can’t be killed by such venom.”

“Canyon Serpent?” Maiten snorted. “That’s a new one.”

“There was enough to kill three men on my dart.”

“You have more vellest?” Breton asked, glancing at his foal.

Instead of answering, Anrille reached into a belt pouch and pulled out a small bag, tossing it to him.

“Well, I guess you can wake him then, Breton. This changes things.” Maiten drummed his fingers against the hilt of his sword. “What do you want to do?”

“Anrille, with our vow for your protection, would you submit to a truthseer?”

“Yes.”

“Maiten, would you go find Captain Silvereye and Satrin, please?”

“Satrin?” Anrille asked.

“A Yadesh. He will keep your secret and tell us the truth of your words.”

“Very well.”

Maiten hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“I can protect him while you are gone,” Breton replied.

“I’ll bring my colt as well,” his friend said, easing his way by Anrille. “Touch either one of them, Anrille, and you will live to regret it.”

“You have my sworn oath; I will bring no harm to them,” was the woman’s calm reply.

Snarling curses, Maiten left Breton to guard his foal from an assassin.

A hand on Kalen’s shoulder drew him from his sleep. Confusion froze him as he tried to sort through reality and the remnants of his dream.

“Hey, little foal, time to wake up,” Breton whispered in his ear.

Kalen cracked open his eye, deliberating if he had the energy to scowl at his Guardian. The First grumbled something incoherent.

“What is it, Breton?” he mumbled. The scent of freshly brewed tea roused him, and as he sat up, Breton handed him a steaming mug.

“Anrille has something to say to you.”

The weight of exhaustion numbed him, and when he took a sip of the tea, the tingle of vellest coursed through him. His eyes widened in surprise, and he jerked to stare at Breton, who grimaced and shrugged.

Maiten, Delaven, and Breton hovered near his cot, while a scowling Captain Silvereye glared at Anrille, who was seated on the far side of the tent. The tense stances, and the fact that Maiten stood with his hand on his sword’s hilt, drove away the last of Kalen’s lethargy.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

“It seems Anrille was trying to do more than scare the life out of you,” Maiten snarled. Kalen gawked at his Guardian, unable to remember the last time he had heard the man so angry.

“I know.” Kalen handed the mug to Breton before rubbing at his neck. “I felt her do it. Since she didn’t do any harm, I decided to ignore it.”

As one, all of his Guardians sighed.

“Kalen,” Breton rumbled, thrusting the mug back at him.

“Breton,” he replied, taking another sip of the poison-laced tea. “Why are you giving me this?”

“Because you need to be awake instead of falling over your own feet,” Breton replied, his tone and expression miserable.

“This is what you used, Anrille?” Kalen asked, swallowing down the rest of the tea. “It always ruins the taste,” he complained under his breath.

With another sigh, Breton took the mug from him.

When the woman didn’t say a word, he turned to his Guardians. “So, how did you all find out about it?” he asked stretching his legs.

“I told them, sir.”

“And why would you do something like that?” Kalen scratched his brow. “That’s counterproductive, isn’t it?”

“I was hired to kill or capture the leader of the Rifters. After I was dismissed, I returned to my hire and reported that I had successfully poisoned you, sir. They chose to believe I had killed you as I had not returned with you as my captive,” she replied, her expression neutral.

~Truth,~
Satrin announced, and Kalen sensed the Yadesh’s presence nearby.

“Interesting. And they believed you?”

“I spoke the truth, sir. I, as ordered, used three measures of vellest. I struck you true. I don’t miss my mark.”

~Truth,~
the Yadesh confirmed.

“That explains how you got behind me without my noticing. You’re a black hand.”

Anrille nodded. “I was ordered to destabilize the leadership and serve them as a spy, sir.”

~Truth.~

Despite the dose of vellest, Kalen wanted to roll over, cover up with the blanket, and go back to sleep. “Why are you telling me this? Captain Silvereye looks ready to strangle you.”

“They will kill me anyway,” she replied, her body as relaxed as was her tone. “I would rather die serving you than them.”

~Truth.~

“Don’t kill her Silvereye. Sit down before you do something we’ll regret,” Kalen said, turning his attention to his co-captain, who sat without saying a word. “All right, Anrille. I think you need to tell me the whole story.”

After nodding, she said, “I was hired four years ago by a Danarite representative to infiltrate the Crimson Eye. I was to notify them of march orders. When we came to Kelsh, I was to relay information. When you were recovered, I began limiting the reports. They are aware that there are some high-ranking Rifters among the company. I was ordered to confirm whether or not you were the Canyon Serpent. If so, I was to capture you and hand you over to the Danarite Priests alive.”

“That’s a new one,” Kalen said, unable to keep his amusement out of his voice. “Who came up with it?”

“A Danarite after you eluded their efforts to kidnap you in the Rift.”

“After they
what
?” he blurted, twisting around to face Breton. “Breton? What is she talking about?”

His Guardian cleared his throat and refused to meet his gaze.

“
Breton.
”

“There may have been one or two incursions into the Rift,” his Guardian muttered. “They were dealt with.”

“What do you mean by ‘dealt with’?” Kalen asked suspiciously.

Breton scowled.

“Breton.”

After a long silence, his Guardian replied, “Three made it to Blind Mare Run. They offended Ferethian, and the horses took care of it. The others faced Artin and Voren.”

“How many others?”

“A handful or so.”

Kalen heard the evasion in Breton’s tone, so he turned to Maiten. “A straight answer, Maiten. Now.”

“A hundred,” Maiten replied.

“That’s quite the handful. Were any of you hurt?” Kalen demanded.

Maiten’s gaze shifted to Breton, and when his Guardian realized his error, he jerked towards Captain Silvereye. Clenching his teeth, Kalen faced Breton. “You were injured, Breton?”

“Thanks, Maiten,” his Guardian muttered.

“Anytime, old friend.”

“Breton!” Kalen snapped.

“He’s fine, Kalen. He’ll show you his pretty little mark after we’re done here.”

“No, he won’t,” Breton protested.

“Yes, actually, he will. Is the person who did it dead?” Kalen demanded, hoping the answer was no.

“It wasn’t a person. It was a skreed,” Maiten announced.

Kalen stiffened, and he felt the blood drain out of his face. The First roused, its interest warming its normal chill in Kalen’s head. “There are skreed in the Rift?” It was impossible for him to keep the alarm out of his voice.

The thought of the skreed’s taint on Breton made him tremble. “Breton, what did it do to you? Were you tainted?” Kalen’s panic surged.

“You faced the Averanmor and lived?” Anrille made a choked noise, her eyes wide.

“Skreed,” Breton corrected in a cold voice. “And there was only one. It left. I am fine, Kalen. Really, I am.”

Maiten nodded. “Breton was injured, but it healed well. We’ll show you later, I promise.”

While Kalen wanted to argue, he forced himself to nod, turning his attention to Anrille. “Averanmor?”

“The Danarites call their pets the Averanmor,” she whispered. “They come, bringing more. They mean to come and take the Captain—Captains, now. They know of you now, Captain Blackhand.”

Kalen whistled. “They really want to start a war, don’t they? Are they aware of what will happen if they take either one of us as hostage?”

Anrille’s smile chilled him. “They did not ask, sir. They can see the truth. They don’t know when I withhold the truth.”

“Sneaky. What’s the price for your information?”

“Your protection, sir. I no longer wish to serve them as a black hand. I will not wage war on children.”

~Truth.~

“I hope you’re not calling
me
a child,” Kalen muttered.

“Of course not, sir.”

Maiten chuckled. “Only Breton and I can get away with that.”

Narrowing his eyes, he glared at his Guardian, who grinned back at him. “Insubordinate.”

“You’ll survive.”

“I’m not sure this is the time for such levity,” Captain Silvereye snapped.

“The entirety of Mithrias will seek your death, Anrille,” Delaven warned, and there was nothing young about his newest Guardian’s expression or tone.

~Truth.~

“That is a problem. I am uncertain of how I can protect you. My knowledge on the contracts surrounding black hands is limited, but one simply doesn’t retire,” Kalen said. “I can’t guarantee your safety.”

“You misunderstand me, sir. I will die. That is the way of the black hands. They will find me and kill me. Someone from this company might be the one to do it as things stand. Your protection would rein in only those among the Crimson Eye. There is something I would like to do. I would like the protection to choose my own death,” Anrille whispered.

Kalen rubbed at his brow. “I follow. Okay. Silvereye, make it happen.”

“Are you sure about this?” his co-captain asked.

“If I wasn’t sure about it, I wouldn’t be asking you to make it happen.”

Captain Silvereye grumbled but nodded. At a snap of his fingers, Delaven headed out of the tent. “Fine. I don’t like it, but fine.”

“Thank you. So, the Wolf Blades are close, correct?”

“They are positioned several miles from here, sir. I reported as soon as you ordered me to find volunteers. Once they were satisfied with my report, I came here.”

“Well, there are two ways I know of to potentially circumvent the Mithrian law regarding rogue black hands. First, you become a Guardian.”

At his side, Breton stiffened. “Are you—”

“Quiet,” Kalen snapped.

Both of his Guardians flinched at his command.

“What does it mean to be a Guardian?” Anrille asked.

“Your life, your death, your honor, your loyalty, and everything that you are, you were, and ever will be all will belong to me. You live for the Rift, and you live for the Rift King. Because yes, Anrille, I
am
the Canyon Serpent, as you named me.” Kalen straightened, narrowing his eyes as he stared at the woman.

She met his gaze without flinching.

“You will protect me; you will protect those I order you to. In turn, you are mine. Mine to guard, to protect, to nurture. Alternatively, I steal you from the Mithrians, and you become my
Akakashani.
My spy, my black hand, to use as I need to battle those who oppose the Rift.”

“You would make me a slave.” There was no judgment in Anrille’s tone, but rather a statement of fact.

Kalen shrugged, gesturing to Maiten and Breton. “They will tell you I am a cruel and terrible slave master for them.”

~Lie,~
Satrin announced, his tone amused.

Anrille jumped, her eyes widening in alarm. “What was that? How?”

“That was Satrin, the Yadesh,” he explained. “Our truthseer.”

“You lied?”

Maiten reached over, and before Kalen could duck away, his Guardian ruffled his hair. “He is hardly cruel or terrible. He’s not a very good slaver, either. He is, however, sour-tempered, arrogant, self-sacrificing, and prone to working too hard for his own good.”

~Truth.~

“He’s also a murderer,” his Guardian added with a wince. “You are very fortunate you did not die today. That is what happens to those who try to take his life. They die. All of them, eventually. If it is not his hand that causes it, it is ours. That is the way of our people. Those who fail die.”

~Truth.~

“Mercenary is simply another word for hired murderer,” Anrille replied with a shrug. “I’m paid to kill people. That’s what a black hand is. Your name is honest, then. I can respect that.”

“You won’t earn much coin as a Rifter. While I’m pretty sure Silvereye pays, the average Rifter only uses coin when doing my business, and I provide it for them. We don’t have a currency of our own. We barter and trade,” Kalen warned.

“I understand. Earning pay is a fruitless endeavor now anyway,” the woman admitted. “I would serve as your spy. That is what I know.”

“That’s probably fortunate, as if you became a Guardian, you’d find yourself in an uncomfortable position—as would I. You will know things about me I suspect you’d rather not, and I’d be very aware of when you died.” Kalen ran his hand through his hair. “Fine. You’ll be my spy, my black hand. You would not approach me without having something in mind. What is it you want to do?”

~If I may add something?~
Satrin asked uncertainly.

“Of course, Satrin.”

~You won’t live long, Anrille. Once the Danarites learn of your betrayal, they will kill you.~

“I know that. I’m not asking to live a long life. I’m asking to have a chance to even the scales. I want to choose for myself who I kill and why. I want to choose my death. I would like to strike at the Wolf Blades and their Danarite masters. That would be sufficient. Captain Silvereye would have put me to the death for what I had done. But you’re different.”

Kalen considered her words before nodding. “You were testing me.”

“I wanted to see what your worth was, Rift King.”

~Truth.~

“And your answer?”

“The Danarites have amassed a force in Elenrune, preparing to take the White City. They mean to seize Kelsh, merge forces, and take on the majority of the Six Kingdoms. They want the Rift gone, and the Crimson Eye is a threat to their plans. I offer to mislead them and buy you and the company time.”