Storm Without End (Requiem for the Rift King Book 1) (41 page)

“I’m certain the entire camp heard, Your Majesty. Your voice is quite deep when you’re angry. I can’t say Breton didn’t deserve it. Once he cools off, he’ll be fine. It’s been the first time in two weeks you’ve been energetic enough to pick a fight with anyone, and I for one am relieved.”

Kalen huffed. “He won’t be satisfied until he proves that I’m as inept as he thinks I am.”

“Let’s talk about this away from the ears of our most curious host,” Maiten replied. The familiar weight of Gorishitorik settled around Kalen’s hips. “There. Can’t forget that, now can we?”

Once again, the sense of uselessness threatened to smother Kalen. Standing woke bone-deep aches. Maiten’s hand was warm on his back, and he swallowed back what was left of his pride, allowing his Guardian to guide him through the relentless darkness.

“How are Ferethian and Honey?” he asked in a whisper.

Maiten grunted. “No matter what your fool of a father says, they’ve only eyes for you. Your sire’s no better. Hellfires, colt, you’re bound to the two most stubborn men alive. If you think your quarrel with Breton is bad, you should have heard His Most Senior Guardianness go after Lord Delrose.”

Kalen frowned at the thought of Breton and his sire fighting. The First stirred within him again, and the creature’s sleepy amusement washed away his frustrations and left him feeling empty, worn, and tired.

“They should both chew rocks,” he muttered before sighing.

Maiten clapped him on the back. “You’re a good foal.”

“I’m not a foal anymore,” Kalen replied, twisting around to scowl at where he thought his Guardian stood. “I outrank you, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“No, you’re not a little foal anymore, but it’s fun watching you put your ears back and snap your teeth,” Maiten replied with laughter in his voice. “I might remember you outrank me later, if it becomes important.”

“There is a special place in the deeps for you, Maiten. I hope you know that.”

When his Guardian pulled him into an embrace, Kalen was too surprised to pull away. In a quiet voice, Maiten said, “It’s good you’re doing better.”

Drawing a deep breath through clenched teeth, Kalen remained silent until he could speak without snapping. No matter how frustrated he was, he didn’t dare lash out against Maiten, not when the red-haired Guardian was his only support. But at the same time, he couldn’t let it go—not entirely. “Don’t you start acting like I’m delicate.”

“If I thought you were fragile and sickly, you’d be in your tent still hunting for your other boot. Breton stashed it out of reach.”

Kalen balled his hand into a fist. “That thrice-blasted fool.”

“You can bite his head off later about it. Come on, let’s go visit the horses. Don’t stay mad at Breton for too long. You’re the only foal he’s got, and he can’t sire any of his own. He’s worried about you.”

Heat washed over Kalen’s face. The truth of it stung worse than a slap. He wanted to believe Breton’s worry was for
him
, but Kalen was too aware of the other reason his Guardians all treated him like he was on the verge of death. Another time, or in the Rift, he wouldn’t have had the courage to speak. “He’s worried about having to take my place,” he said, impressed he was able to keep the weariness out of his voice.

At his side, he heard Maiten draw a sharp breath. “You knew.”

Kalen’s laugh was bitter. “Of course I knew. How could I not? He was Arik’s original choice, after all. I was young, not stupid.”

He hadn’t been blind then, however. Frustration welled up within him again. “It’s only a matter of time before one of you turn on me. I’m a lot of firsts, aren’t I? The first outsider, and now the first one to be blind.”

Maiten’s hand left his back. Moments later, the man ruffled his hair. Kalen ducked his head away.

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” his Guardian said, pushing Kalen forward again. “You were always good at seeing things we wished you wouldn’t.”

“Normally, I’d say I’m not blind,” Kalen replied. He shook his head and let out a low, rueful laugh. If he didn’t laugh, he’d cry. “I’m no fool.”

“You’re no Arik, either. I think Breton has forgotten that. Careful with your steps, we’re heading into the trees. How’d you know it was night, anyway? You couldn’t have timed your escape better.”

Kalen laughed, and it surprised him that he didn’t have to force it out. “Luck of the Rift. I was bored. I never thought the day would come when I would long for my study and extra work.”

“You never were one to laze when you could be doing something.”

A whinny broke the quiet and he felt as much as heard the thud of hooves on the ground. Maiten’s hand pressed against the middle of his back moments before a blow to his chest knocked the breath from his lungs. The warm breath of a horse blew over Kalen’s face and a soft muzzle pressed against his throat.

His breath hitched. Kalen lifted his hand to pat Ferethian’s arched neck. Another horse bumped against him from the side, and he leaned against Honey’s taller shoulder. With a few tentative touches, he realized his mare was saddled, though she wore a halter with reins clipped to it instead of her normal bridle. Maiten must have saddled her before coming to fetch him.

Honey lipped at his ear in her inquisitive yet gentle way.

“See? I told you they missed you,” Maiten said, letting him go. “Move it, you two! Let the man sit before you slobber all over him.”

Honey backed away at Maiten’s demand, but Ferethian pressed closer. Kalen grinned, tangling his fingers in his stallion’s mane.

“I hope you don’t mind a log for your throne, Your Majesty,” Maiten said with a merry laugh. Kalen huffed, masked a grin, and allowed his Guardian to guide him forward.

“Better take Gorishitorik or I’ll gut myself with its hilt,” Kalen replied. With his sight, he would’ve adjusted the weapon without issue. The inability to sit with his weapon gnawed at him. In that, Breton had been right. While Kalen had been limited before without his left arm, his blindness left him helpless.

Maiten took his sword.

Letting go of Ferethian, he fumbled for the log and sat. The felled tree’s bark was rough through his trousers. Once he settled on his makeshift chair, his horses shoved their noses against him.

The frustration and anger that boiled within him flowed away and left him quivering. He leaned against Honey, her warmth lulling him.

“I’ll take you back at sunrise so they’re none the wiser for our little adventure,” Maiten said in a low tone.

“Thank you,” he replied. He heard the crunch of feet over the ground. “Hey, Maiten?”

The footsteps stopped. “What?”

“What haven’t you lot been telling me? Enough with the secrets.”

Kalen almost smiled at the reluctance in Maiten’s shuffled stride. The log shifted and creaked.
 

Maiten groaned and then replied, “Hellfires, I’m tired. What do you want to know?”

“Everything. Start with the mercenaries.”

“There’s not a lot I can tell you about them, Kalen. They’re good. Disciplined. Ready to march. I don’t know what they’re waiting for. Even the recruits aren’t saying a word. All I can tell you is that they like Captain Silvereye and they’re a serious bunch.”

“And the Danarites?”

“It’s a deadlock. They haven’t budged. Morinvale is quiet, too. If I hadn’t seen that army march in, I’d believe the place was empty. Silvereye won’t let anyone scout it, either; says it’s Kelsh’s problem. He’s about as neutral as we are.”

“So he’s doing what his hire says and nothing else,” Kalen murmured. He tried to figure out how all of the pieces fell together, but without being able to write down any notes, he couldn’t make sense of it. Why would Silvereye wait and do nothing? “How many are in the Crimson Eye?”

“Four or five hundred? He’s sly, Your Majesty. He’s worked hard to ensure we don’t know for certain.”

Kalen scratched his forehead before once again stroking his horses. “Of course. Any idea who hired him?”

“Not the Delrose family, that much I know. Your sire—stop glaring at me like that, Your Majesty—well, he wants to march right back to Elenrune, taking you with him. Silvereye isn’t having any of it.”

Maiten’s words didn’t stop Kalen from scowling, but he did jerk his head to face the other direction. One of his horses bumped against his chest. He lifted his hand and felt his mare’s soft muzzle, which was larger than Ferethian’s. Honey lipped at his fingers. “What is Silvereye planning to do with them?”

“Is that concern I hear?”

“One day I’m going to leave some serpents in your boots,” Kalen hissed.

“Please don’t do that. You’d get bitten trying. Anyway, this is just a guess, but I suspect it’s one part kidnapping and one part protection. We’re playing his game and taking turns guarding them. You’ll like this. Those mercenaries are keeping as close an eye on us as we are of them.”

“A shame they’re loyalists, then. I’d see about hiring them,” he replied. “Next. Any word on Crysallis?”

Maiten didn’t reply, and Kalen cocked his head to the side. “What’s going on? You, at a loss for words? I’m shocked, Maiten.”

“Be nice,” the Guardian muttered. Kalen grinned. He could almost imagine the red-haired man’s surly expression matching his clipped tone of voice.

“Well? What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m not even sure I believe what I think I saw,” Maiten admitted.

“Oh?” Maiten fell silent again and this time, Kalen waited it out.

“It was her face,” the older man said. Kalen felt Maiten shudder beside him.

“What about it? Sure, she’s older than she looks, but there’s nothing too strange about that. Look at me. I look like a
child,
as I have for the past fifteen years. I can’t throw stones at her over it.”

“I swear on my horse, I speak the truth. Right before she vanished off somewhere, I saw it happen. It was her face. It rotted off.” Kalen heard the snap of his Guardian’s fingers. “Just like that. Rotted away, right down to the bone. I…”

When Maiten refused to speak further, Kalen couldn’t force himself to break the silence.

~~*~~

Kalen braced his elbow against his knee, leaning forward as he tapped a finger against his brow. While Maiten’s words were too absurd to be anything but the truth, he struggled to believe his Guardian’s admission. How could someone’s face
rot away
? Maiten wasn’t the type to lie, nor was he prone to using some of the more potent mushrooms within the Rift, which often caused hallucinations.

Crysallis was old; she had been old during Arik’s reign of the Rift.

The minutes stretched on, and Kalen considered how to break the silence.

~Witch,~
the First murmured sleepily.

“Maiten?” Kalen asked, partially to reassure himself the Guardian was still beside him.

His Guardian elbowed him in the ribs. “Your Majesty?”

The First didn’t elaborate on its comment, and the chill of its presence faded, leaving Kalen alone once more. It left him with questions he didn’t have the answers to. “What exactly is a witch?”

“What do you mean? A witch is a witch. Nature magic. You know that.”

Kalen snorted, scratching at his brow as he collected his thoughts. “That’s not what I meant. You can summon witchlights, but you’re not a witch. So what’s the difference? Why aren’t you a witch and Crysallis is?”

“I’m not a woman.”

With his sight, Kalen would’ve jabbed his Guardian for the evasive answer. “Parist wasn’t a woman,” he countered before making a frustrated noise. “Wasn’t he a witch?”

“That’s true. He was a witch right up until he jumped off the trails from the Middle Reaches.” Maiten’s tone was subdued. Kalen hadn’t known Parist long; the man had died before Kalen had murdered his predecessor. Arik hadn’t treated the Guardians
or
witches well.

No one had expected the man to suicide, however, not even the Rift King.

“That’s one thing I’ve always wondered about him. Would he still be alive if I had killed Arik sooner?” Kalen pinched the bridge of his nose to ward away the headache forming behind his eyes. “Are you certain you saw… that? Crysallis’s face, I mean.”

“I wish I hadn’t. It haunts my sleep.”

When Maiten refused to speak further, Kalen frowned. If he weren’t blind, a single glance would have told him if Maiten was being serious. The Guardian’s tone revealed little, and he stayed so still and quiet that Kalen once again wondered if his Guardian had slipped away.

Maiten was many things, but Kalen doubted the man would go that far for a laugh, and his Guardian’s humor was usually in better taste.

To spare Maiten any further discomfort, Kalen said, “I’m not worried about Crysallis, no matter what you saw.” He heard Maiten draw a sharp breath. Holding up his hand for silence bought him enough time to consider his next words with care. “I don’t believe you’re a fool. You’re not one to lie—not over such a thing. I don’t doubt you. What I question is whether or not she meant for you to see what you did.”

Maiten said nothing. Kalen straightened, reaching his hand out. One of his horses immediately lipped at his fingers. “Crysallis is tricky,” he said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “It’s an interesting possibility—almost as interesting as why she’s here in Kelsh in the first place. Tell me, Maiten, what else haven’t you told me?”

Once again Maiten drew a sharp breath, which Kalen recognized as his Guardian preparing to dance around the truth. He stopped the man from speaking by clearing his throat. “I’m mistaken. It doesn’t matter. Perhaps I’m better off not knowing some things. Keep your secrets. In exchange, however, I want to be more involved with what’s going on here. I’m blind. I’m not stupid, deaf, or fragile.”

Maiten sighed. “You were for a while. Do I need to remind you that you slept for almost an entire week?”

“You have a point,” Kalen conceded. He leaned against Ferethian. The stallion’s breath was warm on his neck.

“We’re all frustrated.” Maiten slapped his shoulder.

Turning to face where he thought his Guardian was seated, Kalen frowned as he considered the older man’s quiet tone—and all of the things that remained unsaid.

Faced with more questions than he wanted, Kalen focused on his more immediate problems. How long would he be able to stay with his Guardians without his sight? Surviving without his left arm was challenging enough. No matter how hard his Guardians and the mercenaries tried, they couldn’t protect him forever. The reality of his situation weighed heavily on his shoulders. He had avoided his fate long enough, when by all accounts, he should have been food for nibblers years ago.