Storm Without End (Requiem for the Rift King Book 1) (30 page)

His friend leaned over him and let out a low laugh. “Good eye, Breton. That’s no horse track.”

“What do you think?”

~I’m not sure. After Garint, I’m hesitant to reach out and see who it is. I am unaccustomed to worrying about whether my own kind is friend or foe, and we’ve trouble enough already.~

“You’ll be a wise ancestor when your days are done,” Maiten said. “What do you think, Verishi?”

“You’re asking me?” The girl stared at them with wide eyes.

“You led us here,” Breton said. “Why wouldn’t we ask you?”

“I-I can ask the Goddess,” the girl murmured, her dark skin tinting red. A lock of her blonde hair fell into her eyes.

Breton grinned at her. “I’ll be most curious to see what she has to say.” He got to his feet and stretched, wincing as his joints popped and creaked. “I feel old.”

“You are old, friend.”

Breton glared at Maiten. “Not
that
old.”

“Greetings to you!” a man’s voice called out behind them in thickly-accented trade tongue. Breton whirled around, his fingers curling over the hilt of his sword. A figure with dark hair streaked with gray stepped out from the trees leading a horse. While one eye was a deep blue, the other was a startling pale, silvery gray. Three men and two women flanked him leading mounts of their own, with their hands on their swords. Breton cocked his head to the side and stared at the glittering clasp at the man’s throat. A stylized eye was set with rubies for the iris.

“Be welcome,” Breton said, lifting his gaze to meet the man’s eyes. “Maiten, you’re better at Mithrian than me,” he muttered in the Rift tongue. “You talk to them.”

“We are searching for a small black horse and someone,” Maiten said in Mithrian, speaking slow enough that Breton could understand what the other Guardian said. “Might you have seen them?”

“I’ve seen no black horses,” the man replied, following Maiten’s lead and speaking slow enough for him to follow. “But I’ve seen many people. Whom do you seek?”

“Small fellow, short temper, about this tall. Dark hair cut short, wears two braids tipped in beads. He’s got a soft jaw, high cheeks. Not as tanned as you, but close,” Maiten replied.

“Haven’t seen anyone like that, I’m afraid. You speak Mithrian well, if slow.”

“My friend is not so talented with the language, I’m afraid,” Maiten replied. “Are you friend of Kelsh or Danar, mercenary?”

The man stiffened before his mouth twisted up in a rueful grin. “It seems you’re well informed, stranger.”

“We of the Rift do try to know what we can,” Maiten replied.

The man’s eyes widened. Breton kept his expression neutral despite his surge of satisfaction at the reaction. The gray eyes darted between him, Maiten, and the horses before settling on the Yadesh. “I could ask what two Rift men, their horses, and a Yadesh are doing together. Ah, is that a Danarite child with you?”

Verishi collided with the back of Breton’s legs and clung to him when the mercenary’s stare didn’t shift from her. He reached back and pulled her to his side. “We found her near a razed town,” he said, his Mithrian heavily accented compared to Maiten’s.

“War is a storm without end, and it cares not for those in its path,” the man said. “I am sorry that I could not help you find your companion and his horse. A question, if I may. Who do you serve, Rifters? Kelsh? Danar? You’ve representatives of both peoples with you.”

“The Rift is neutral,” Maiten asked.

“I’ve heard this before,” the man replied. “Before we continue any further, let me introduce myself. I am Captain Silvereye of the Crimson Eye. As you surmised, we are of Mithrias. Who are you, men of the Rift?”

“I am Maiten and this is Breton. The Yadesh is named Dorit, and the girl is Verishi.”

“May your sword remain as sharp as your wits,” Captain Silvereye replied.
 

“I admit, Captain Silvereye, your appearance is rather unsettling. What are your intentions?” Breton glanced at Maiten’s sword hand. The red-head’s fingers, like his, remained curled around the hilt of his sword.

“Nothing untoward, of that I promise. Allow me to show my good will. At ease.” Those with Captain Silvereye relaxed and lowered their hands from their weapons. Breton drew a deep breath and let it out before relaxing his stance.

“A question, if I may,” Maiten began. Breton met his friend’s eyes. “What exactly is a mercenary company doing out here in the middle of the woods?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

“We told you. We’re searching for someone.”

“This is something I’ve heard before. From others. I think, perhaps, you might like to meet each other. You look weary from travel. Please, join me at my camp, and we will talk there.”

~I do not believe he means to give you an option,~
Dorit warned.

Breton nodded. Even without the Yadesh’s words, the Mithrian spoke in the same tone Kalen did when expecting obedience. Verishi clutched at his hand.

“Breton? What do you think?” Maiten asked in the Rift tongue.

“Tell him if he has sided with those of Danar, I will sever his head from his shoulders and dangle it from Perin’s saddle as a trophy.”

Maiten spoke in brisk Mithrian and Captain Silvereye’s brows rose.

“I understand. I can extend my sworn word that we do not fight for Danar
or
for Kelsh. You need not know any more of our hire than that. I like my head where it is, and I do not desire to test the rumors of your folks’ prowess in battle this day,” the man replied in Kelshite. “Please, then, come with us.”

Once again, Maiten glanced at Breton. This time, he nodded his agreement. Stooping down, he picked Verishi up and placed her astride Dorit. He sighed and hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.

~~*~~

Heat spread through Kalen’s chest and his awareness of the First’s presence within him flared to life. The emptiness of loss evaporated like fog blown away on a crisp wind, and the surge of Ferethian’s and Honey’s presences crashed into him. The mare wasn’t far, but she wasn’t close. Ferethian’s existence smothered him in warmth. His stallion neighed.
Something
was pleased, but Kalen couldn’t tell if it was his horse, or the First.

That feeling crumbled away under the anger igniting within him.

He turned to the forest and gestured with his hand. Pain shot up his arm, through his shoulder, and sent tingles through his entire body. Stepping down off of the porch, he turned to his sire.

“It’s empty.” Kalen kept his voice soft and even. In the gloom of the early evening, Lord Delrose paled to a ghostly white. “Someone—many someones—have come and have gone.”

Sodden plaster fell away from the cast and his hand burned as he bent his fingers.

The First said nothing, but its presence writhed deep in his chest.

His sire stepped across the clearing and brushed past him. With a breath drawn as a hiss, the man staggered to a halt and stared at him. Kalen clenched his teeth together and stared at the tracks that vanished into the forest.

“Mother!” Welis’s wail shattered the quiet. Kalen stiffened at the sound of his brother’s voice.

~Hunt.~
The First’s voice was the snarl of a wolf, the hiss of the scouring sand, and the rasp of hooded serpent swaying and set to strike.

“Lord Delrose!” A man’s voice bellowed from the trees and a figure hurried towards them. Kalen’s muscles tensed, and he set his stance. When he didn’t recognize the face or the voice, he lunged forward.

“Wait, Kalen!”

Kalen jumped and kicked his leg around and caught the stranger in the ribcage. The man staggered, twisting away from him with a wordless cry. A guttural word emerged from the man’s throat and a tingle passed through Kalen’s body. His muscles stiffened.
 

The First’s rage shattered the sensation, but not before he fell hard on his arm. The wood of the cast broke with a snap. Fire burned through his bones and his head throbbed with each beat of his heart. Lurching upright, Kalen crouched and hissed. Ferethian screamed and charged forward, skidding to a halt at his side to rear and strike at the air with his hooves.

“I’m not an enemy,” the man gasped out, scooting away with his hands outstretched.

“Kalen, enough!” his sire bellowed. “He’s the man who owns this cottage.”

Sucking in quick gulps of air through his clenched teeth, Kalen got to his feet and narrowed his eyes, first at the brown-haired man that lay before him, then at his sire on the cottage’s porch.

“Erissa and the girls are gone,” his sire said.

The man on the ground started to curse. “I saw the tracks of horses and a large group, but I hadn’t thought they’d been here. I’m sorry I startled you, youngling.”

Kalen forced his muscles to relax. “Ferethian.” The stallion swung his head around to stare at him. “Stand.”

“That’s the Rifter tongue,” the man said. A puzzled frown twisted the Kelshite’s lips and long lines furrowed across his brow.

“That is because I am a Rifter,” Kalen replied in as emotionless of a voice as he could manage.

Aden emerged from the cottage, and his brother’s face was ashen. “There’s no one here. Most everything has been taken.”

“Hellfires,” Kalen muttered, straightening. “They left a trail that should be easy enough to follow.”

“That’s a lot of horses,” Bevin said, gesturing at the tracks leading off into the trees. “How do you propose we deal with them?”

“With a sword.”

His brother let out a bitter laugh. “What do you think you can do with but one arm and a broken hand?”

“Bevin!” his sire snapped.

Bevin glared at him and Kalen met the blue eyes of his sibling until the younger man looked away.

“Lord Delrose said you could fix this,” Kalen said, adopting a neutral expression and tone. He thrust his arm out to the man. “Is he a man of his word?”

“I’m a mage, not a healer,” the man said before flashing a wide grin at him. “I don’t work for free.”

Ferethian bared his teeth and smashed a hoof into the loamy ground. Kalen met the man’s eyes and forced a faint smile. “And what, please tell, is your price?”

“I’ll pay the fee, Norrian,” his sire said.

“Very well. Hold still, boy. This isn’t anything more than an invisible cast that’ll let you use your hand. Don’t forget that. There’s limits, lots of them, but unless you do something stupid or foolish, it’ll hold for a few weeks. That said, it won’t heal, not in the slightest, and if it should wear off before you have a real Healer deal with you, you’ll be in far worse shape than you are now,” the mage replied, seizing Kalen’s arm at the elbow. The First’s rage flared before settling down as a chill in the back of Kalen’s head.

Cold spread from where Norrian touched his arm, and Kalen’s teeth chattered together. Ferethian pawed at the ground and let out a warning snort. The sensation inched down his arm, wrapped around his hand, and the pain numbed to nothing. His heartbeat drummed in his ears and throbbed in his fingertips before fading.

Kalen kept still and watched the man’s face pale. Norrian lifted his left hand to wipe sweat from his brow.

“That should hold,” the Kelshite said. “You can get out of that cast. Or, that is, what’s left of it.”

Clenching his hand into a fist was all it took for the ruined plaster to fall away. The wood that made up the frame of the cast broke under his grip. He shook his arm. The sodden mess slipped off his arm, and he threw it onto the ground. “My thanks, Kelshite.”

“I am pleased to serve, Rifter. What is going on here, Bresalan? This is not a happy gathering I’ve returned to.”

“I’d like to know the answer to that as well,” his sire growled. “We went to get that horse—”

“Ferethian,” Kalen corrected.

“—out of a quagmire and returned to this.”

Kalen stared at ground, the moonlight offering just enough of its light to make out the tracks of the horses. “I am going to look around.” He glanced out of the corner of his eye. Lord Delrose stood a little taller. Pointing at his sire, he cleared his throat to get Ferethian’s attention. “Guard, Ferethian.”

His stallion put both ears back with bared teeth. With a loud snort and stiff-legged stride, Ferethian stomped over to his sire and stood at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the porch. Kalen frowned. The once long, silky tail was half its length and clamped between his horse’s legs.

“Stay and guard,” he said in the Rift tongue before he turned and followed the trail deep within the forest. He ignored Lord Delrose’s protests as he hid among the shadows.

~Hunt!~
The First’s cry rang in Kalen’s ears and through his skull, and he was powerless to deny its wish.
 

~~*~~

A river cut through the forest, its surface glassy beneath the night sky. The tracks of horses vanished down the shore and into the water. The mud of the other bank was undisturbed. A small cliff of dark clay hung over where the river cut underneath the forest floor. Kalen let out a low, long growl that echoed the First’s silent grumbles in his head.

“Curse them all,” he muttered. He slid a foot into the water and the strength of the current tugged at his leg. The weight of the mud caking his trousers eased as it washed away in the flow. He glanced upriver, and the clay banks rose with curtains of thick moss grazing the water’s surface.

Hissing at the chill, Kalen plunged into the waters and waded downriver. The current tugged at his clothes and his teeth chattered. Not even the First’s anger managed to warm him.

He almost missed where the bank crumbled under the hooves of horses. Spluttering, he clawed up the bank and grabbed for the roots emerging from the abused shore. Old, tall trees dotted the forest. The tracks vanished into a field of tall grasses rustling in the evening wind.

Dropping down to his knees, Kalen parted the grasses with his hand and followed the obscured trail. The moon lit his way and he moved slow and quiet. He adopted a shuffling crawl, and the wind masked the sound of his movement. The murmur of voices froze him in place, and he held his breath before letting it out in a long and silent exhale. Kalen crept closer until the grasses parted for the light undergrowth of the forest once more.