Storm Without End (Requiem for the Rift King Book 1) (18 page)

“There are too many people here. Land’s End isn’t so large. Where did so many come from? There are hundreds here,” Breton said, herding Maiten toward the center of the town.

“All dead, too,” his friend whispered.

The square proved no better than the streets. The stalls of the market had been piled together into a pyre. It cast dark plumes of smoke toward the sky.

“Let’s get out of here before I’m sick,” Breton muttered.

“Good idea.”

Breton edged around the square to the east-bound road. Unlike the road leading toward the Rift, it was shorter and broader. He hoped it had fewer bodies.

He’d seen enough of them for a lifetime.
 

Skirting around a collapsed shop, Breton hurried for the fresher air outside of the town.

Something snatched at his boot. Breton let out a startled yelp and twisted around. With a ring of steel, Maiten drew his sword. Breton stared down at the hand clutching his leg.

The squeal of a horse sounded, accompanied by the thud of hooves. For a moment, Breton mistook the animal for Honey.

It wasn’t until he noticed the awkwardly long legs and bristled mane that he realized they were different beasts for all they shared the same color.

Honey didn’t have antlers.

“What is that thing?” Maiten exclaimed.

“It’s a Yadesh. It belongs to a Knight,” Breton replied, switching to Kelshite. “You’ve never seen one? You’ve been to Kelsh before.”

“Not at a slaughter like this, I haven’t!”

“Y-you must help,” a weak voice called from at Breton’s feet.

The Yadesh stopped several paces away, head lowered with antlers pointed at them. It pawed at the ground with its cloven hooves.

The man’s mangled legs were trapped beneath the bodies of several men and part of a horse. Pale bone stuck out from the Kelshite’s swollen flesh. Breton swallowed back bile.

“Put away your sword, Maiten. We’re from the Rift. You’re that beast’s Knight, aren’t you? I’m not sure I can help you.” Breton forced himself to look at the man’s black-stained face. Why had the skreed left the man alive?

He hadn’t thought it possible. Then again, he’d been left alive, when by all rights, he should’ve been killed.

“Warn them,” the man gasped out and struggled to draw another breath. “Take Dorit and warn them.”

“Warn who of what?” Breton knelt down. Something wet and warm seeped through the knees of his trousers.

The man coughed blood and shuddered. With its head still hanging low, the Yadesh moaned.

Appearing out of the smoke, Ferethian charged forward and let out a challenging squeal. Despite the difference in size, the Yadesh retreated back a pace, ears cocked back and antlers held at the ready.

“Brought their own. Killed. Set monsters loose. Elenrune.” Each word was clipped and clear, and Breton held his breath to make certain he heard it. The Knight’s face twisted in pain and concentration. “Warn them.”

“Hellfires. More skreed,” Maiten said. Ferethian let out another squeal.

“Curse your ancestors, Ferethian! Stand down!” The stallion ceased moving, but let out a whinny. “Be quiet! He isn’t going to do anything.”

The stallion fell silent and Breton turned back to the Knight. “Who did it?”

“Blood Priests,” the man sighed out. The life fled from him on those words and his body relaxed and fell still.

The Yadesh lifted its head to the smoke-shrouded sky and keened.

Breton reached out and closed the man’s eyes. Ferethian let out a low, mournful sound and draped his head over the Yadesh’s golden shoulders.

One by one, their horses emerged from the darkness to huddle around the Yadesh. It continued to keen. The harrowing call was unanswered by the Knight who would never awaken.

“Terrible,” Maiten said, his voice thick with tears.

Horses and Yadesh couldn’t cry.

Breton listened to the Yadesh’s dirge and wept.

~~*~~

Breton paced around the camp. Maiten, the horses, and the Yadesh still slept, oblivious to the shuffle of his boots through the sand dusting the hard-packed dirt.

He paused to stare at the dead Knight’s bondmate, who was nestled in the center of the little herd. Ferethian stood watch over them several paces away, one leg slack and head drooped in slumber. The haze of smoke hung over them and stung in his eyes. He’d been the last to fall asleep and the first to rise.

None of them had rested until the Yadesh had fallen asleep. They hadn’t gotten far from Land’s End; the horses refused to leave the Yadesh, and the Yadesh refused to leave its Knight.

Breton scowled at his tunic. Not even the black material was able to hide the stains of blood and soot from carrying the man’s broken body out of the town.

He circled his sleeping companions and paused at the disturbed sand marking the Knight’s final resting place. The Yadesh had been the one to start digging the hole. Then the horses had joined in. Breton and Maiten had been the ones to finish the work.

It had seemed like pointless, tiring effort to him, but the Yadesh had refused to calm until the body had been completely covered with dirt and sand.

Would they even be able to grant the man’s final wish, his
Moritisori?
Breton swallowed back a lump in his throat. It reminded him too much of their own horses, so attached to their Riders that they followed them even in death.

The warm breath of a horse blew against the back of his neck. Breton lifted his hand and a soft, small muzzle lipped at his fingers.

“What will you do if this happens to Kalen?” Breton whispered. Ferethian sighed and rested his head on Breton’s shoulder. “I should make you promise to keep me company. You’re the only one who knows the real him.”

The real Kalen. The Kalen who didn’t dare expose the truth of his existence to anyone but him and the few horses whom he acknowledged as his.
 

Ferethian sighed again.

“At least you should see your Rider soon. We’re getting closer.” A week ago, Kalen’s presence had been distant, but it was stronger. Another week, maybe two, and he would be able to do his duty.

The stallion’s head jerked up. Illuminated by the early morning light, a small and cloaked figure stepped forward on shaking legs. A dagger was thrust out, but the tip shook in an unsteady grip. “Don’t move or I’ll stab you!” It wasn’t a shout. It was a little girl’s voice, and it trembled with her fear. She spoke in Danarite, but he didn’t recognize the faint accent.

“Wha?” Maiten mumbled. The rustle of blankets and a groan was followed by a tired grunt as his friend man lurched upright.

“I’m not moving,” Breton replied, careful to keep his tone low and soothing. His throat itched with the need to laugh, but he choked it back.

She was smaller than Kalen, and she clutched her dagger with both hands.

“Horse. I need a horse,” she said, twisting around to stare behind her.

Breton jumped forward and plucked the weapon from her grip, tossing it away. He spun her in a circle and sat down hard, pulling her onto his lap. “Maiten!”

“Got it,” was the reply.

“Let me go!” The child kicked and screamed, but her blows didn’t hurt. He wrapped both of his arms around her, pinning her arms. The screams turned into heavy sobs. “Let me go, let me go, let me go!”

“What do these Danarites think they’re doing? This is one ugly little dagger.” Maiten turned to show him the blade. The hilt was covered in leather and linen wraps, but points of metal stuck out, and it was stained with blood.

The girl bit his arm. Breton winced as her teeth grazed him, and he shifted his grip to rest his elbow under her chin . “Why do you need a horse, little one?”

“I’m not little! Let me go.”

Maiten choked back a laugh. Breton captured her hands in his. She was so small in his grip that it reminded him of Kalen when they’d first met.

Kalen, however, hadn’t struggled quite so desperately. He’d also been older. She was larger than the three or four year olds he knew, but her voice and the way she spoke reminded him of a child of that age.

“He’ll find me!” she wailed.

“Who will find you?”

The girl let out a pitiful moan and sniffled, but didn’t reply.

Breton winced. Kalen, at least, hadn’t screamed or cried. Much. “My name is Breton. What is yours?”

Another sniffle. “Verishi.”

“Little girls shouldn’t point daggers at strangers, Verishi. Someone could get hurt.”

“But it’s okay for little boys to use daggers?” Maiten laughed, speaking in the Rift tongue. Switching to thickly accented Danarite, the Guardian continued, “Breton won’t hurt you. He likes children. Who will find you?”

Verishi stilled in Breton’s grip, scrunched her shoulders and ducked her head. “Lord Priest Yektrik.”

Breton drew his breath through clenched teeth.

A Lord Priest.
Blood Priest.

“Why are you running from him?” Breton asked.

The girl’s calm broke, and she sobbed again. Turning her to face him, Breton patted her back and made soothing noises. Maiten helped him to his feet. She weighed even less than he thought she should.

“Shh, it’s fine. We won’t let him find you. Why don’t you ride with me on my big horse? His name’s Perin,” Breton soothed. “Would you like that?”

Verishi jerked her head in a nod.

Breton’s chest ached and his throat burned at how tightly she clung to him.

“That Yadesh isn’t going to be happy.”

The animal stared at them with both ears turned back. Breton met the creature’s golden eyes. “And this is me not caring. She’s just a child, and if he has any of the morals those Knights say they have, then he’ll recognize that and be good and quiet about the matter.”

The Yadesh flinched and bowed his head in acceptance.

“If I recall correctly, Kalen wasn’t much older the day you brought him back with you. You’ve really got to stop stealing children whenever you want. Now look at him. Give her a few years, and you’ll have her just as bad as he is.” Maiten grinned at him. If Verishi cared that they conversed in the Rift tongue, she showed no sign of it.

“I’ll tell Kalen you wanted to abandon a foal,” Breton replied. “Mind saddling the horses?”

“So what are we going to do about the filly?”

“She’ll ride on Perin with me. I’m not leaving her behind so this Yektrik fellow can do to her what he did to those people in Land’s End.”

Maiten huffed. “This is getting complicated. First the Yadesh, now a Danarite runaway.”

“We’re good at attracting trouble. We’ll draw straws to teach her our language.”

“Didn’t you hear my Danarite? It’s wretched. I’ll be happy to teach her a few choice words that I know, though…”

“So you’re the horse’s ass who expanded Kalen’s vocabulary?”

“Well, I did teach him Mithrian.”

“Nevermind! Nevermind! I’ll teach her.”

“Breton. Are we really going to do this? I mean, she’s not even one of us. Why are we kidnapping the little filly again?”

“Can’t teach this old horse new tricks,” Breton muttered with a shake of his head. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m not leaving her with the monsters who did that to Land’s End. What’s another foal? Maybe I’ll start a collection of them. One from every kingdom. Think about it, if we use her as bribery, maybe Kalen will be distracted by her enough to delay killing us.”

“I don’t think he wants another one, Breton. Doesn’t he have enough already?”

“Just saddle the horses, please.”

Maiten snickered, but complied.

“Verishi?”

The girl’s fingers tightened on his tunic. “Mhmm?”

“Why are you running away?”

Verishi sniffled. “He’s mean.”

“What did he do that was mean?” Breton adjusted his grip on her and paced around the camp while Maiten tended to the horses. He patted her back.

“I don’t want to be his wife. He’s mean!”

It took Breton a moment to remember what being wife meant. Stumbling to a halt with his heart pounding in his throat, his breath choked off, he stared at Maiten. Maiten stared back with his mouth hanging open.
 

“How old are you, little one?” Breton asked when he could speak without his voice cracking.

“I’m not little. I’m nine. I don’t want to be wed when the moon is dark! I don’t want to. He’s mean.”

Breton forced one foot in front of the other and walked around the camp until the tightness in his throat eased and he could keep his voice soft and kind. If she was nine, he’d chew on Perin’s reins. But, if she
was
nine, he didn’t want to think of what had reduced her to someone behaving so painfully close to a toddler. “Can you tell me what else he’s done that was mean?”

Verishi lifted her head, loosening her grip on him long enough to point at Land’s End before burying her face against his neck and shoulder again. Her tears were hot against his skin.

“He laughed when I wanted to play. Then he sacrificed them to our Lady Selestrune and made me watch. And he laughed and laughed and laughed. Mean!”

Breton trembled and Maiten rested a hand on his arm. “Easy. We’ll take her to Kalen.”

Verishi quieted, then coughed. “Can we see the horse man?” she asked in a whisper.

“Horse man? Who is the horse man?” Maiten asked. Breton breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t certain he could speak without his voice betraying him.

“He lives in the hole in the mountain, Papa Mortan told me so. He said if the Lord Priests were mean, the horse man would save me!” The tears made way for something so close to hope that it drove sharp pain through Breton’s chest.

“Hole in the mountain? The Rift?”

For all Maiten claimed to be wretched at Danarite, Breton was impressed with how quickly the man adapted his accent to match the girl’s.

“Hole in mountain,” Verishi confirmed, tightening her grip on Breton. “Take me to the horse man in the hole in the mountain?”

“Maiten, do you know who the horse man might be?” Breton asked in the Rift tongue.
 

“How in the deeps would I know? We’re all horsemen!”

Breton switched back to Danarite and said, “I don’t know who the horse man is, but I know someone who is fond of children and likes horses. See?” Breton turned so Verishi could see Ferethian and the rest of the horses. “That little horse is Ferethian, and he’s one of Kalen’s. That pretty gold mare is Honey. They both acknowledge Kalen as their Rider. Do you want meet him?”