Storm Without End (Requiem for the Rift King Book 1) (26 page)

“That’s the Breton we know and love,” Maiten said. Breton glared over at the other Guardian, who grinned at him.

“She wants us to rest. She’ll guide us in the morning,” Verishi said, clapping her hands together. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat. Let’s eat something that tastes good tonight.”

Breton sighed. “My cooking isn’t that bad.”

“Sure, if you like chewing on shoe leather,” Maiten mumbled before picking up the short hunting bow, quiver of arrows, and stalking off towards the woods. “That must be why Kalen’s so short. He had to deal with your cooking for so long you stunted his growth.”

~~*~~

Breton jerked awake to a hooting call. The wet chill of early morning seeped through his blankets. Rolling over, he muttered a few curses and tried to fall back asleep. A ray of light hit his eyes, and he let out a low groan.

Burrowing deeper into the blankets, he cracked open an eye. The trilling song of birds filtered through the fog in his head and chased away the final remnants of sleep. Across the clearing, Verishi sat near the fire. She hummed a melody.

The dagger lay across the girl’s lap. Her hood was thrown back, and her hair glowed in the light. She stroked a hand down the length of the blade, smiling at the shining metal. He kept still and glanced around through half-lidded eyes. The horses and Dorit slept with their heads drooped while Maiten tossed, turned, and mumbled.

“Go to sleep, Verishi. I’ll watch,” Breton said, kicking the blankets aside.

She glanced at him. The sunlight gleamed in her eyes and hid the blue of her eyes. She blinked at him, and the reflection of the sun vanished. Breton rubbed at his eyes.

“
She
isn’t ready for us to go today. The time for the morning prayers isn’t over.”

“Sorry, Verishi, but I don’t pray,” Breton replied, getting to his feet and stretching. “I’ll go take care of the horses.”

“Your life is a prayer.”

Breton hesitated and shook his head. “I don’t believe in that sort of thing. I’m just a man like any other.”

“But you’re the Horse Lord’s man. You’re not like any other,” the girl whispered. Breton twisted around to face the girl. She continued to stroke the groove etched in the center of the blade. “There is none who can be like you.”

“You’re a strange child, Verishi. Children should play, find trouble, or make it when they can’t find any, and leave that sort of talk for us adults,” he said.

“But you don’t worship
Her
.”

“You’re right, I don’t.”

“But
She
likes you.”

Breton shook his head and rummaged through the packs for the curry combs. “You like Kalen and you’ve never even met him. His lack of knowledge of you doesn’t change how you feel, does it?”

“You two are noisy,” Maiten grumbled. “Why are you talking about stuff like that so early in the morning?”

“Because you aren’t on watch.”

“She said she’d watch.”

“She’s a little girl, Maiten. She should be sleeping and growing, not keeping watch,” Breton grumbled.

“You let Kalen keep watch, and he wasn’t that much older than her.”

Breton stiffened and twisted around to glare at the sleepy-eyed Guardian. He clenched his hands into fists.

“Hellfires. Sorry, Breton.”

“The difference is that Kalen
couldn’t
sleep, and Verishi
can
,” he replied, forcing his hands to relax. “Unless you want to eat my cooking, get up and stop lazing about.”

“I’m not tired,” Verishi said. “But the time for prayers isn’t over yet.”

“Do what you want, Verishi.”

The girl bobbed her head and went back to humming and toying with the dagger on her lap. With a thoughtful hum of his own, he fetched Gorishitorik and set it down beside her. “There, you said your dagger didn’t like being alone. Watch Gorishitorik while we pack the camp.”

“It’s not a toy,” Maiten muttered.

“Why not? Kalen started playing with it when he was twelve. It’s not like she’s going to be swinging it around. If it makes her happy, I don’t see any harm.”

~Maiten’s right. You’re noisy,~
Dorit grumbled.
 

Breton managed a laugh. “Sun’s rising and there’s no reason to layabout. We’ve a horse to chase after.”

“And after that?”

“Do you really have to ask?”

~~*~~

Kalen crept through the cottage, the snores of the sleeping family drowning out the sound of his footsteps. The first light of day streamed through the curtained window and pooled on the floor. The door creaked open. He froze with his breath in his throat, but no one stirred. Coughing into the crook of his arm, he stepped outside. His eyes watered at the light.

Satrin grazed at the bottom of the steps and one golden ear flicked toward him.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” Kalen asked. He took deep breaths and willed the burn in his throat to fade. His next cough came out as a rasp.

The Yadesh shook his head and pawed at the ground with a hoof. Splotches of dried mud caked the animal’s golden flanks.

Wind rustled the leaves of the trees, and when it struck him, the cold and wet chill he expected didn’t come. It carried with it the warmth of the sun. The scent of sand and the dry heat of the desert taunted him. He sneezed, and the musk of the forest flooded his nose.

He sighed.

“At least it’s not so cold today.” The stairs creaked as he descended them. “Where are the combs? You’re filthy. I might not be able to hold a sword, but I’ll feed myself to a nibbler swarm the day I can’t handle a curry comb.”

The Yadesh put his ears back but pointed with his nose. Kalen stretched before walking in that direction. Satrin walked at his side, staring at him with a golden eye.

“It’s usually dark still when I get up,” Kalen admitted with a rueful grin. “Less people to bother me. I’d be grooming Ferethian if he were here, and then Honey. Then I’d check in on the rest of my herd and see if any of them needed work. It was very rare for someone to interrupt me then.”

The sound of his own voice added to his desire to do something—anything. Satrin didn’t reply, not even with a snort or huffed breath, as Ferethian did. Kalen wrinkled his nose.

For all Satrin was intelligent and could speak in his strange, silent way, the Yadesh wasn’t Ferethian. The wordless replies to his commentary didn’t offer companionship. He wasn’t alone, but the comfort of
his
horses being near him wasn’t there.

All that remained was the deep void that needed filled.

The Yadesh didn’t reach into it, not like Ferethian, and not like Honey. Not like the other mares and geldings who acknowledged him, watching over him with their dark eyes and eternal patience.

Not like Tavener.

Twelve horses were tied to a picket. Most of them were dapple grays or dark chestnuts with the exception of one tall, black horse that was too skinny in the leg and long in the nose to pass for a Rift horse. Saddles lay across a crude fence that separated the forest from the horses. Satrin stopped at one of the sacks hanging from a post and nudged it with his nose.

Pain radiated up his arm but Kalen forced the cast through the woven strap of a curry comb and went to work. Each breath hissed through his teeth, punctuated by coughs he didn’t bother to cover or try to bite back.

“I know what I’m doing when I get back to the Rift. I’m got to find a nice flat rock in a nice, sunny spot where it is quiet, and I’m going to bake until they have to peel me off of the stone,” he grumbled.

Satrin bobbed his head and let out a snort. Kalen fell silent and brushed most of the muck away before he tossed the comb back into the sack. “I’m going to have a look around here. You’re welcome to come with me if you’d like.”

The stallion let out another snort and pinned both ears back.

“Disapproving isn’t going to stop me. If you are worried I’ll go wandering off and not come back, come along. I don’t own these woods. It matters not if we happen to go the same direction. It’s more convenient if you walk beside me rather than behind me.”

Kalen rubbed at his nose in the effort to stop from sneezing. He sniffled and shrugged his left shoulder. “Or not. Do what you want.”

He started by circling the cottage. A stream bordered one side with a path weaving through the trees. He jumped from one bank to the other side, the heels of his boots splashing where the water lapped at the shore. Satrin followed, crossing over it with a long leap. “Cheater.”

The Yadesh whinnied his laughter.

Kalen took a deep breath and let it out in a long, slow exhale. The warmth of the breeze spread from his chest and his muscles relaxed. He kept his stride brisk until he felt the burn of exertion in his legs. Shadows moved through the forest, and he watched with a wary eye. Satrin kept close, plodding along behind and to his left. He hesitated and instead of the golden Yadesh, he saw the tall, muscular form of Breton hovering just at the edge of his vision as the man only did when Kalen was in no mood for anyone, Guardians included.

He halted and shook his head. The memory faded. Satrin stared at him with ears pricked forward in equine curiosity. With his cheeks burning, he jerked around and stomped through the forest. Different kingdom, same method. Always someone to watch his left side, even when he didn’t want it.

The cast prevented him from balling his hand into a fist. Even if he wanted to blame the Yadesh, the creature did what any wise man would do. What he would do, if someone important did find their way into the Rift.

The crack of a stick brought him to a full halt, and Satrin bumped into his back. Kalen reached for the sword that wasn’t there and muttered a curse.

“Go. I wish to be alone. I’ll return soon,” he said, watching the shadows and how they moved as the leaves and branches swayed in the light, warm wind.

Satrin snorted and shook his head so hard that his mane hissed against his golden coat.

Kalen looked the beast in the eye. “
Go.”

Staggering as though struck by a blow, the Yadesh backed away a pace. The whites of the creature’s eyes showed. Something writhed beneath Kalen’s skin and he shivered. Tension spread through his brow. With pinned back ears, Satrin retreated, pivoted on a hoof, and charged through the underbrush with the haste of a Rift horse fleeing a landslide. Kalen pressed his lips together and continued to follow the trail.

A dark shape detached from the trunk of a tree and ghosted through the forest after him. The back of his neck tingled. Kalen drew long, slow breaths, and kept his steps slow and careful. The shape condensed into that of a man. Metal glinted in the morning light, but the sword hanging at the figure’s hip remained sheathed.

Kalen kept walking, pretending not to notice the man. He ducked his head and his fingers itched for the feel of leather and metal in his hand. His throat tightened and his heartbeat drummed in his ears, its steady rhythm that of a war march. The edges of his mouth pulled up in a grin.

The man drew closer, arms held out at his sides. No weapons. Scars stretched across a square-jawed face and a grin revealed several missing teeth. Kalen ignored the rustle of leaves trod underfoot and the breaking of branches. He slowed his pace and drew close to one of the larger trees with knobby, rough bark etched with deep cracks.

Sunlight filtered through the trees and washed over his face, its warmth erasing what was left of the aches in his bones.

Footsteps approached from behind him, and Kalen hummed one of the cheerful Rifter melodies sung at the festivals. A stick cracked several paces behind him and a shadow fell over him. He jumped, planting the heel of his foot into the trunk of the tree. The bark crumbled underfoot, and he launched himself upward and twisted around to face his opponent. A pair of dark brown eyes met his and widened. The grin faded to a gaping expression. Pain lanced up Kalen’s leg where the back of his ankle connected with flesh and bone. The heel of his boot scraped along the side of the man’s neck, leaving behind a smear of mud.

They fell together in a heap. Breath catching in Kalen throat, he twisted and got his foot under him. He lunged to his feet. Fingers wrapped around his ankle. Rage ignited deep in his chest, and Kalen whipped his arm around and brought the cast down on the stranger’s wrist.
 

He was released, and he jumped back several steps. His ankle ached and he drew his breath in short gasps. Kalen’s attacker jumped to his feet and reached for his sword.

“Duck!” a voice cried out. Kalen lunged for the shadow of one of the trees and rolled. A bow twanged. The thump of an arrow heralded a scream of pain. Another thud silenced the man. Kalen held his breath and stayed crouched. A hand reached out along the trail and the fingers twitched before stilling.

Rising to his feet, he searched through the woods. The memory of the archer’s voice echoed in his ears. He furrowed his brow. A woman’s voice? The tones weren’t much different from his, and he got mistaken for a girl often enough by those who didn’t know him. His muscles quivered in anticipation, but the forest remained still and quiet. He waited, but if there was someone hiding in the shadows, they didn’t reveal themselves.

He stepped out on the trail. The twang of the bow he expected didn’t come. His attacker lay on his chest with an arrow protruding from his back. Feathers sprouted from the man’s gaping mouth. Kalen knelt down and closed the man’s staring eyes with his finger. With a grim smile, he straightened and lifted his casted arm in acknowledgment of the archer’s skill.

No one emerged. His smile widened into a predatory grin.

~~*~~

Kalen prowled through the trees. The sun streamed through the canopy and the wind rustled the leaves, but the archer remained hidden from him. He coughed and cursed under each breath at the relentless itch in his nose and throat. He tightened his grip on the broken shaft of the arrow. The barbs jabbed him. He didn’t know if the fletching would provide any clue as to who she was, but he clung to it.

Why had she helped him? He hadn’t asked for her aid. Her Kelshite lacked accent, and if she had been a Rifter woman, she would’ve tried to claim a prize from him—or her place as a Queen. His mouth twisted into a scowl.