Storm Without End (Requiem for the Rift King Book 1) (11 page)

Kalen scowled and almost wished the poisoned water would kill the man. By the time Garint woke, the Three Sisters wouldn’t be capable of killing a fly, let alone a man—or an entire town of men, women, and children. But, until he found out the truth, he couldn’t touch the cursed Knight.

It wouldn’t just violate the Covenant keeping peace between the kingdoms, it’d trigger an instant war between the Rift and Kelsh. A war Danar, Mithrias, and even the Clans would be all too happy to participate in. The opportunity would only encourage the rest of the kingdoms to find some excuse to fight each other, after hundreds of years of wary, uneasy peace.

Kalen stared at Garint. What use did Garint have for the Three Sisters? How did he acquire them? Kalen had long since banned the sale of the poisons to Kelsh, though there were other kingdoms he offered it to in small supply. Even then, the amount was enough to kill one or two men, not wipe out entire towns or cities. One packet of any of the three dumped into a water supply would ensure a lot of deaths. Kalen wrinkled his nose and resisted the urge to snort his disgust.

Someone had probably risked hunting for the plants in the fringes of the Deeps and gotten very lucky and very, very wealthy as a result. But who had been supplied?

With even more questions than before he’d come to Garint’s room, Kalen cracked open the door and peered out into the hall. It was dark, empty, and silent save for the snores of men and women asleep in their beds. Kalen padded back to his room and was careful not to trip over Marist’s sleeping form. The Knight didn’t rouse.

With vellest, he didn’t need to rest. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. He sat down and drummed his fingers on his leg. Someone who would run through his own partner was more than capable of putting the Three Sisters to lethal use. For all he disliked the Kelshite King, he couldn’t imagine the man using one of the Knights for such unethical work.

~Betrayed,~
the inner voice said in Kalen’s thoughts. The word was accompanied with the image of Jarit’s stunned face as he was run through. Unlike the Yadesh, the presence within him was harsher, and every word it spoke was accompanied by images and emotions, as if the word itself was difficult for it to master, but sharing its very self was easier and more comfortable.

It was enough to distract Kalen from the problem of Garist and the murdered Kelshite.

“What are you?” he asked in a whisper, staring at the door in case Marist woke from the sound of his voice.

~The First,~
it replied. Pride suffused the words. The memory of sunlight and warmth flowed into him, and it was harnessed to contentment. Longing followed soon after, as the memory darkened and refocused on the Rift. But, it wasn’t the Rift from the trails or even from the mountain peaks where the land vanished away to nothing.

It was from the sky.

By the time Kalen remembered to breathe, the presence was gone.

~~*~~

What little remained of the dead horses littered the trail and their blood stained the stone brown. They’d gotten farther than Breton anticipated. The first hints of sunset colored the horizon a bloody red. Their riders hadn’t fared much better. Their remains were little more than empty, dried out husks.

“How pleasant,” Maiten said.

From around the bend ahead, Artin appeared astride his horse. The Guardian was coated in a layer of yellow sand and dust. “You missed the excitement.”

“Bless the ancestors,” Voren whispered before grinning at his brother. “Where’d it go? It didn’t get a bite out of you, did it?”
 

“I’m fine. It disappeared. Cursed thing devoured them, took a good look at me, then vanished like some mirage. What in the deeps is going on?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it,” Maiten said as he swung from the back of his horse. “Did you find the niche? It’s right up ahead. We can talk more when we get there.”

Breton nodded his agreement. His chest and shoulder throbbed, but the presence within had vanished. With the disappearance of the skreed, he’d improved enough that he could use his left hand again, although it still hurt.

“Nightfall’s soon enough. I don’t like wasting time, but with Breton hurt and the niche nearby, I don’t think we have much choice,” Voren said.

Ferethian brushed his nose against Breton’s arm and let out a snort. The black stallion’s hoof clopped several times against the stone. Breton reached out and took hold of the horse’s bridle and drew the proud, elegant head close to him. There was too much truth to the other Guardian’s words, but he took comfort in the little stallion siding with him. Ferethian lipped at his sleeve.

True to Maiten’s claim, the niche wasn’t far ahead. It was little more than a dark crack in the stone, but it opened up into a massive, sand-strewn cavern complete with a spring that trickled down from the rocks overhead and gathered into a pool. In the center of the cave, a pit had been dug out for a fire, and the blackened remnants of an old fire were still within it.

“Almost like home,” Maiten said in a wry tone.

“If only all niches were like this,” Voren replied.

“Where are the serpents?” Breton asked, squinting for any signs of slither trails through the sand.

“We’ve had enough trouble, don’t you think? Don’t ask for more of it,” Artin snapped.

“Enough,” Maiten said. “We don’t need to start fighting with each other. Let’s get the horses stripped down.”

Artin dismounted and stomped into the cavern, leading his horse behind him. Voren followed, casting an apologetic glance over his shoulder.

Maiten sighed. “Don’t worry about them. Fear does strange things to men. They’ll get over it.”

Breton nodded.

A gleam lit Maiten’s eyes, and it was reflected in the man’s sly grin. “Take heart, old man. If it’d been Arik, they’d be halfway back to Blind Mare Run instead of pressing on. Then you’d be on your own. Let’s get the horses settled, and I’ll check on that wound of yours. For some reason, I don’t think you’ll let them anywhere near you right now.”

“It doesn’t hurt that much,” Breton replied. It ached, but it didn’t hurt, not really. He had endured much worse over the years.

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

“Don’t you start too,” he growled. “I’m not going back.”

“With that foal of yours out there? Wouldn’t dream of suggesting it. I might be worried, but I’m not stupid. Serpents might change their skins overnight, but you’re like the stones. Wind might wear you down with time, but we’d be a meal for nibblers long before that happened. They’re fools to think otherwise.”

“You’ve a mean tongue, Maiten.” Breton glanced at the cliff and twisted around to look down the trail. The stone looked solid and he didn’t see any cracks, but he couldn’t ignore the memory of the ledge breaking away. “Let’s keep the horses out of the niche.”

“Good thinking.” Maiten fell silent a moment and joined him in inspecting the cliff. “Who knows if that slide damaged the caverns around these parts.”

Breton let out a relieved sigh when his friend didn’t press the subject of Artin, Voren, and the aspect of returning to Blind Mare Run.

They unsaddled the horses in silence. Breton was removing the packs from the chestnut’s back when the echo of hoofbeats warned them of approaching riders.

“What in the deeps happened back there? Good to see you back, Maiten!” a voice called out.

“Good to see you, Ason,” Maiten called out. “There was some trouble.”

“Everyone’s still alive, I hope?”

“Mostly. Can’t say the same for the Danarites, though. How many of you?”

“Twenty-six, plus the horses. Can we join you for the night?”

“Be welcomed,” Maiten replied. “Artin and Voren are inside.”

Within moments, the trail was full of black-clad Guardians, all talking and staring at Breton with undisguised curiosity. Maiten joined him under the pretense of loosening Honey’s cinch and whispered to him, “You look about as lively as a corpse.”

“I guessed as much.” Breton shook his head and took his time piling their packs near the entrance. When he was certain the packs wouldn’t get blown off the ledge during the night, he started brushing down each of the horses in turn. Once done, he led them into the cavern and watered them before letting them loose to join the growing herd of horses gathered near the niche’s opening.

By the time he’d finished, full night had fallen and the flickering light of a campfire illuminated the entrance to the niche. The stench of burning dung balls was partnered with the equally pungent odor of steeping fungus. Coils of smoke wafted upward and disappeared into dark holes in the ceiling.

The Guardians stood around the fire and their conversations hushed when Breton approached.

“We wish to vote,” Artin blurted out.

Breton stopped in mid stride and stared at them. Everyone stared back, silent and still. The muscles of his neck and back tensed and a headache formed behind his eyes. “Is that so?”

“Maiten will take your place. You will slow us down. You are among those with the most years as a Guardian. Should you die, it will be the rest of us who will be punished for allowing you to take such a risk. You’re too valuable,” Voren said.

“Then vote,” Breton said, struggling to keep his tone calm and even.

“You agree to the vote, then?” Surprise lightened Artin’s tone. For a moment, deep furrows marked the man’s brow before they faded away.

“It is your right,” he replied. At that, Breton fell silent and waited, not trusting himself to speak or move, lest he fail to maintain his neutral mask. He wanted to frown. He wanted to demand answers. A hundred thoughts flashed through his mind, and each one was more angry and violent than the last.

Breton wanted to throttle the lot of them, and it was hard to keep from balling his fingers into fists.

Maiten moved to stand beside him. Not even the shadows could hide the paling of the red-haired man’s face. Neither one of them had a choice. Until the vote was cast, they would stand together in silence, their individual worth weighed against each other.

“Raise your left hand if Maiten should replace Breton in the group heading to Kelsh. Raise your right if the plan should remain unchanged.”

Breton felt the tightness across his brow and struggled to replace his neutral mask. Kalen would’ve spoken the oath, reciting each ritualistic word so that there was no doubt and no question that everyone knew the rules and the consequences of breaking the result of the vote.

One by one, left hands were lifted high. Breton glanced at each face, but no one looked him in the eyes. At his side, Maiten lifted his right hand. Off to the side, silently shunned from the rest, Ason lifted his right hand.

“The majority speaks. By the vote, you will return to Blind Mare Run at dawn.”

Without a word, Breton strode by the silent crowd and dropped his pack. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms out.

He welcomed the pain it caused. It kept him from reaching for his sword and contained his rage deep within, where it belonged.

~~*~~

Sleep eluded Breton. He did not mind. The snores of the other Guardians rumbled through the cavern with an eerie similarity to the groan of shifting stone. It wasn’t their noise stirring the uneasy feeling in his chest, but something else—something that drew his gaze to the east and denied him any peace.

Muttering curses, he escaped the folds of his bedroll, and shook the sand out of it. No one had dared sleep too close to him, so he disturbed no one as he restored his packs to rights. He got to his feet, shrugged the leather strap over his right shoulder, and wove his way around the sleeping forms.

Maiten leaned against the entrance to the niche, one brow arched high when he approached.
 

“I’m going,” Breton growled out through his clenched teeth, unable to look his friend in the eyes.

“Don’t look like that, old man. I wasn’t fool enough to vote against you. If it’d been Arik…”

Breton lifted his left hand and his friend fell silent. “If it’d been Arik, I’d be halfway back to the city by now. I know. You’ve said as much before.”

“They’re fools. All of them. I’ll saddle the horses. Wake Artin, wake Voren, and we’ll ride, just like we’d planned,” Maiten said.

Breton almost laughed. “No. They’ll talk. It was their doing anyway.”

“Not if we take them with us.”

“I’ll go alone. If you go with me, you’ll be as much a code breaker as I am.”

The red-haired man choked back a laugh. “If that thing they pulled was a true oath, I’ll cut off my horse’s tail and eat it. I’ll worry about it later. Someone has to keep you alive. I’d rather break that so-called oath than answer to the Rift King when he asks why I let you go off on your own.”

“Curse them and their kin,” Breton muttered.

“Don’t be hard on them. They’re worried about you,” Maiten soothed. “The upper reaches are dangerous enough.”

“I know that. Anyway, you can’t leave them unguarded. The middle reaches are almost as dangerous. Especially when we don’t know if that skreed will come back.” Breton didn’t want to think too hard on why he was so certain the creature wouldn’t return, but he wasn’t about to share that feeling with Maiten.

They’d think him insane if he dared speak of what he’d felt, heard, and seen when the skreed had attacked.

“Ason didn’t vote against you. Wake him and let him watch. I’m going with you. I didn’t get a chance to check your wound. Is it hurting you?”

“A little, but I can ride. Your decision is your decision, and I’ve no right to take it from you. I’ll wake Ason, and hope you’re right that he’ll agree. How long for you to ready the horses?”

“Perin’s already saddled. I took the liberty of lightening the packs. If Ferethian doesn’t fight me, it won’t be long.”

“You disgust me,” Breton said with a shake of his head.

Whether by accident or design, Ason slept near the entrance of the niche. The Guardian bolted upright when Breton touched his shoulder. “Shh,” he hissed.

Ason’s eyes narrowed and jerked his head in a nod. After a long moment of terse silence he asked in a whisper, “What is going on?”

“We’re going. Take watch?”