Storm Without End (Requiem for the Rift King Book 1) (32 page)

“Ferethian,” Maiten gasped.

~How did you know?~

“We were following Ferethian. Her Goddess Selestrune guided us to that mud pit. That’s where Captain Silvereye found us,” Breton replied.

~Yes, he wanted to verify the truth of where the remainder of the Delrose family was at. He’d meant to capture them all at one time, but it didn’t work to his plan. I wish it had.~

“Why?”

~The Rift King is not one who appreciates being controlled, but they’ve a healer here. He is stubborn, and seems to lack a sense of self-preservation. It would’ve saved us all a lot of problems.~

Varest muttered a few curses. “When we found Father, he was closer to death than I care to think about, Breton. Lord Delrose’s healer woman worked nothing short of a miracle.”

“We heard,” Maiten said in a dry tone. “We ran into Garint, Satrin. I’m sorry, we couldn’t stop him. He’s in league with a Danarite priest, and they had a skreed with them.”

~That traitor,~
Satrin snapped. Rage infused the Yadesh’s words and its heat burned through Breton. He hissed out a breath, and the Yadesh withdrew.
~My apologies.~

“You’re forgiven. We both have our reasons to hate that one,” Maiten said. “We’ve the sigil and brooch, and Gorishitorik is stashed on Perin. Garint thought to taunt us with Kalen’s sign.”

“I thought I saw Honey among your horses, too. I’m relieved. Father will be content to see them both,” Ceres said.

“Let’s worry about finding him, first,” Breton growled. “Satrin, you see the truth of things, do you not? What do you feel about this company and the Delrose women?”

~It is safer for them here, and it will free more of Silvereye’s men to bring the menfolk around. It would free me to speak to Lord Delrose and ensure it goes smoothly. I have been standing guard as well. Kalen’s angry enough as it is.~

“I expect he’s more than angry,” Breton said and let out a sigh. “I’m shocked he hasn’t murdered his sire yet.”

~A few threats but no serious intent to follow through with them,~
the Yadesh replied.
~When I left, the Rift King had gone to hunt those who’d taken his dam and sister. I followed one set of tracks and found Captain Silvereye. He never made it here. I have not returned since.~

Breton frowned. “Kalen is quite skilled at following horses, Satrin. He wouldn’t have gotten lost if you were able to follow the trail.”

~There was a second set of tracks. It could’ve been ours when we first went to the cottage.~

The laugh that worked its way out of Breton’s chest sounded hollow to even his ears. “That’s the luck of the Rift for you.”

“I’d say I’m certain he will show up, but this
is
Father we’re talking about,” Varest said. “What do you think we should do?”

Breton tugged at the material of the blanket. With a groan, Maiten flopped on the ground next to him. “I don’t know how much more I can take,” his friend admitted. “The horses are tired and so are we. Breton, you still haven’t recovered, either.”

“Shut it, Maiten.”

“What do you mean? What happened to you, Breton?” Ceres knelt next to him, and Breton let out a low huff.

“Look at his left shoulder.”

“No,” Breton growled, clapping his hand to his shirt before Ceres could reach out.

“There are three of us and one of you, Breton,” Maiten said.

“Don’t you even think of it.”

~They are thinking about it,~
Dorit said.
~It’s quite pretty now that it is healing. It’s not nearly so black anymore.~

“You’re not helping, Dorit.”

“Just show it to them and stop being a child about it,” Maiten said.

Breton sat up and muttered curses under his breath, but unbuttoned his shirt and showed Kalen’s sons the mark.

“What in the name of the ancestors caused
that
?” Ceres asked.

Breton buttoned his shirt back up and elbowed Maiten in the ribs. The other Guardian grunted. “Skreed.”

“What in the deeps is a skreed?”

“They’re the nightmare of the Silent One given flesh,” Verishi said, emerging from her cocoon of blankets. Her blue eyes focused on him for a moment before her gaze settled on Ceres. “They are the sign of their sin against
Her
. They’re tainted by their sin against
Her
.”

Breton shivered. “Verishi joined us after fleeing a Lord Priest of Danar. She is one of their handmaidens. Land’s End is gone. Burned, and everyone there was killed by the Danarites and their skreed. We’ve met three of them now.”

“If they’re that dangerous, how did you survive?” Varest asked.

“I’m not sure,” Maiten said.

Breton rubbed at his eyes, but it didn’t spare him from the memory of the creature’s presence slithering through his skull. “We survived. Does the how of it even matter? We will do as Captain Silvereye asks and protect the Delrose family. Kalen may not have any love for his sire, but there’s a reason he calls none of our women Mother.”

He felt Satrin’s agreement, though the Yadesh said nothing.

Chapter Fifteen

Fingers dug into the nape of Kalen’s neck and thrust him forward. The rough-hewn wood of the palisade tore through his tunic and scored his left side. He sucked his breath in through his teeth and kept silent. Keeping his head bowed, he stared through his hair at the rows of tents stretching out to either side of him as far as he could see. It wasn’t a skirmish group, like he had anticipated, like he had hoped.

It was an army.

Kalen tried to slow his stride, but the mercenary holding him shoved him forward. They passed the first row of tents, then the second, where it opened up into a corral. Like the smaller camp, instead of horses, the fenced area was full of cages. Children and young men were packed into them, bound to the bars, and had filthy rags shoved into their mouths. Wide-eyed faces stared at him while they struggled to escape.

A red-robed figure stood in the center of the corral with arms crossed over his chest. Like Helithor, the robes were trimmed in golden embroidery that reflected in the sunlight. Kalen stumbled, and the grip on his throat tightened and cut off his breath.

“More?” the Lord Priest asked in Danarite, a frown twisting his mouth.

“This is the last of them,” the man holding Kalen replied, his words heavily accented.

“How many escaped?”

Kalen bit his lip to keep from smiling.

“At least thirty. This is the one responsible, Lord Priest Tsordin.”

“Bring him.”

Kalen widened his eyes and hoped he looked afraid. It wasn’t far from the truth; his heart hammered in his chest and his every instinct warned him to run. Even the First retreated, its presence fading to a faint chill in the middle of his skull. The mercenary dragged him forward and halted within an arm’s length of the Danarite.

The Lord Priest stooped down and grabbed Kalen’s chin and turned his head from side to side. He tensed and struggled against the urge to jerk away. “Most curious. A crippled child, and you believe
he
is the one who set our sacrifices free? I find this most unlikely, Tortik. What really happened? Did a cage get left unlocked? Do not lie to me, for
She
is listening and watching. Bind and gag the others and throw them in the cages.”

The other mercenaries, dragging their young victims, hurried to obey. Those holding girls and young women shoved them through the maze of tents and disappeared.

“I believe he is. He’s been silent the entire time.”

The Lord Priest barked out a laugh. The Danarite’s finger stabbed at the scrape on Kalen’s side, and the man’s nail dug into his flesh. Kalen flinched and struggled, choking back the urge to cry out at the heat and pain spreading through his midsection. “A mute cripple is unlikely to be the one responsible.”

With a faint smile, the Danarite lifted his hand to his mouth and licked Kalen’s blood from the tips of his fingers. “Ah! A fourth source. Hold him over there.”

Kalen stumbled and was thrown against the corral fence. Tortik stood at his side with a scowl in place. Ducking his head, he stared at the man out of the corner of his eye. The garb was well worn and stained with rust along the shoulder and the hems.

Mercenaries. Kalen forced himself to draw slow and even breaths. The Lord Priest’s mouth moved, but no sound emerged. Stalking between the cages, he stabbed at those within with a stiletto. Each strike was quick and precise, drawing just enough blood for the man to taste. A shudder ran down Kalen’s spine as he watched.

Too many of those within were young—too young. Most were five or six, maybe seven years at the oldest. There were a few young men packed into the cages, and they towered over the children with their backs pressed against the metal tops.

“Useless, the lot of them. Get the wagons and be done with them. Take that one and retrieve the other hosts. Take them to the shrine.”

Tortik bowed. “As you desire.”

“Oh, and Tortik?”

“Yes?”

“If any of them escape this time, you will take their place on the altar. Am I understood?”

Tortik’s fingers dug into Kalen’s throat and cut off his breath. He writhed in the man’s grip. At Tsordin’s glare, the mercenary loosened his hold. “I understand.”

“Good. Tell Carthcrak that I will join him tonight. I wish to lay claim to one of the sources.”

Tortik bowed again. “Anything else you desire?”

“Actually, yes.” The Lord Priest pointed at Kalen. “Force him to watch. I want him ripe for the prayers at sunset.” A long pause followed, and Kalen held his breath. “What are you doing? Don’t just stand there like a fool. Do it!”

The mercenary drew a sharp breath but obeyed. Kalen jerked and tried to pull away, but Tortik pulled him into a tight embrace, one arm clamped over his chest and the other around his stomach with an iron grip on his wrist. Kalen was lifted off of his feet.

“Dispose of them,” the Danarite ordered before striding out of the corral. “Do remember what I said, Tortik.”

Stepping out from the shadows of the tents, brown-clad men stepped forward and drew their swords. Those within the cages writhed and struggled against their bonds. Kalen drew a sharp breath and kicked at Tortik’s legs. The mercenary grunted but the man’s grip didn’t loosen.

When kicking didn’t free him, Kalen ducked his head down and bit through the man’s sleeve. Tortik didn’t react despite tasting the man’s blood on his tongue.

“Close your eyes,” the mercenary hissed in thickly accented Kelshite. A chill ran through Kalen from his head down through his feet. He stopped struggling to stare at the men and women entering the corral and approaching the cages. Their swords were drawn and their expressions were blank.

One of the women wept as she lifted her blade.

Tortik covered his eyes. A single, hot tear dripped onto Kalen’s brow.

The muffled screams of the children were silenced.

~~*~~

Kalen had to stand on his toes just to keep his arm from falling out of its socket. Pain radiated from his shoulder. Not even flexing his hand was enough to ease the tingling in his palm and the tips of his fingers. It was cunning, Kalen had to acknowledge that much. With his elbow tied to the elbow of his unwilling partner, neither one of them could do much of anything, let alone escape. His weight served as a shackle for the Kelshite boy.

“Stuck with a mute and cowards,” the young man grumbled just loud enough for Kalen to hear.

It was hard not to laugh. ‘Mute’ was a label he didn’t mind; it was better than cripple or child, and it gave him an edge. If their captors didn’t know he could speak, he could use that to his advantage.

Someone who couldn’t talk wasn’t a risk. Someone who looked like a child wasn’t a risk.

He tried not to think about the fates of the men, women, and girls. In the hours after he was captured, he hadn’t seen any Kelshites other than boys and young men, and of them, few still lived.

Kalen ducked his head and stared through a curtain of his hair at the clearing in the heart of the camp of tents. Four white altars stained with brown were arranged within a circle of stones. A sundial fashioned in the shape of a sunburst stood proud in the center. Gold, silver, and jewels glinted in the light of the setting sun.

Men in pink robes knelt on the ground, their arms outstretched toward the horizon. They kissed the ground, and if they noticed the mud that covered them, Kalen couldn’t find a sign of it. Their prayers were little more than a murmur on the wind. A old man in indigo robes knelt by the sundial. Those in the pink robes cast glances at the gray-haired Danarite as if waiting for something.

Kalen sighed. Even if he could escape from the Kelshite he was bound to, the ranks of mercenaries gathered were so thick that he couldn’t get a good count of them all. The mercenaries stood still and quiet, resembling statues rather than men.

If he was going to escape, he’d have to wait for when the enemy wasn’t so alert or so numerous.

“Rise,” a voice rumbled from behind Kalen. A red-robed Lord Priest, a man shorter than Tsordin, but with the same dark skin and slate-hard eyes, stepped over the circle of stones and bowed low to the setting sun. “The time is upon us. Selestrune has given to us
Her
blessings and the hosts and sacrifices.”

The pink-robed Danarites didn’t move until the figure clad in indigo stood. “May Selestrune’s blessing guard us through the Silent One’s night.”

“May Selestrune’s blessing guard us through the Silent One’s night,” the pink-robed Danarites echoed as they too stood.

The Lord Priest clapped his hands together and bowed to the other Danarites. “Her blessings are upon you.”

They kept their heads bowed and walked with their hands clasped reverently in front of them as they stepped out of the circle. The man in indigo robes hesitated as he passed Kalen. Long lines furrowed the man’s brows and a frown tugged at the corner of wrinkled lips.

Tears that didn’t fall glistened in the man’s sunset-lit eyes.

The other Danarites smiled.

Kalen frowned. Who were the hosts, who were the sacrifices? The stains on the altar taunted him; there was enough blood on the white stone that he had no doubts some of them would come to a very bad end—and soon—if he couldn’t find a way to escape and help the other captives escape.