Bastial Sentinels (The Rhythm of Rivalry: Book 5) (16 page)

Jek thought of Harwin. “Is the Prince of Zav safe?”

“Yes.”

Micah furrowed his brow. “So it’s been confirmed that Fatholl’s army killed them?”

“Yes. Psychic Elves were responsible.”

“We’ve been considering giving up the fort,” Tobkin said sadly. “We don’t have enough food to sustain our army.”

Raymess took a step toward Jek with a ferocious look in his eyes. “You can’t speak about this. If my men realize we’re considering giving up, it would destroy us.”

Jek nodded subordinately, feeling like a child as the older men all stared at him. “What would giving up entail? What would happen?” he asked.

“After losing Lake Mercy, it’s likely Goldram and Zav would fall next.” A solemn look had taken over Raymess’ expression as he spoke painfully. “So rather than fight, we would leave this continent, bound for Ovira. Our armies would easily take that land. We could live there without fear of desmarls ever coming. Our grandchildren will be safe, which is something even the victors of this war need to worry about.”

Cleve’s there and possibly a cure to my nightmares. But would Cleve be fighting against me?
Would my family come with us?
There was too much to consider. Jek didn’t even know anything about the other continent other than that a war was going on there when Cleve left Greenedge to go home.

“I sent off forty thousand men the day before Raymess got here,” Tobkin said. “Twenty thousand to Zav and twenty thousand to Goldram, with the task of bringing back as much food as they could carry. It was the only way we wouldn’t starve within the next week. That means there’s only twenty-five thousand left defending the fort. When our enemies started marching here, we estimated there to be sixty thousand of them. We fight every day, killing those we find, but we can’t say how many are left or if they’ll attack the fort. We don’t even know how many of our forty thousand men were attacked on the way out of the forest or how many died if they were. Without communication with our capitals, we can only know what we see with our own eyes.”

“I assume your men have searched for enemy fortifications in the forest?” Micah inquired.

“They don’t appear to have any.” Tobkin spoke with a tilt of his head to show how unsure he truly was. “We’ve only spotted tents, and they’re always moving, never sleeping in the same place. They have no siege weapons. Their plan was clear from the start, to starve us.” The way he spat out the word “starve” showed he believed it was the most dishonorable way to kill a man.

Unfortunately, the continuous mention of starving only made Jek feel hungrier.

Chapter 13:

JEK

It didn’t take longer than a few hours before Jek realized Lake Mercy was the worst place in Greenedge.

They were served two meals, breakfast and dinner. Whatever his team found in the forest, they were entitled to eat. This didn’t mean they were out there hunting animals, though.

They were hunting men.

Jek joined two allies named Calvon and Peter. Calvon was both a scout and a swordsman. His childlike face didn’t seem to match his broad shoulders or thick arms, which were covered in dark hair. He was the first one to introduce himself, with Peter just after.

“How old are you?” Calvon asked dubiously after Jek gave his name.

“Seventeen. You?”

“I’m twenty-three, and Peter’s thirty.”

“Twenty-nine,” Peter corrected facetiously.

“Yes, sorry, he’s twenty-nine, though he’s been that age for two years now.”

“Exactly.” Neither man smiled as they joked.

Most likely too hungry,
Jek thought, walking beside Calvon as the scout led them into the forest.

Their pace slowed. Calvon glanced in each direction suspiciously. His boyish face was as plain and uninteresting as a slice of bread, his puffy cheeks the only feature giving it some sort of personality. He looked kind, though, making Jek wonder if he’d yet to kill a man.

“Did Tobkin tell you why he put you with us?” Calvon asked curiously.

Tobkin had, but Jek didn’t want to give the reason. Calvon and Peter hadn’t reported any successes recently, so Tobkin assumed they weren’t working hard to find and kill enemies.

Just after Jek was told about the pair, Micah had taken him aside to speak privately.

“Don’t mention my psyche,” Micah advised. “I’m going to tell Raymess about it when the time is right.”

“But you should be using it out in the forest, fighting enemies with me.”

“I don’t have the proper training for that.”

Jek scoffed. “You don’t need training when you have the ability to sense and disable men.”

But when Micah frowned at him, Jek knew he was about to be proven wrong.

“Just because someone can shoot a bow accurately doesn’t make them a good shotmarl archer. They need strength, agility, teamwork, and hundreds of hours of not just bow practice, but shotmarl practice. I have none of the experience I need to be useful…or at least more useful than I can be advising Raymess and Tobkin.”

Micah has the easiest time convincing me of the most absurd things
, Jek thought as he recalled the conversation.
So I shouldn’t be surprised that I believe him.

Still, though, it seemed like Micah should be wrong. Psyche seemed to be the ultimate weapon. Letting it go to waste felt like a crime.

Then Jek imagined Micah out in the forest, getting killed because of his inexperience.
I could never forgive myself if I convinced him to fight and that happened.

He’d stalled in replying to Calvon, and now Jek’s mind raced trying to decide what to say.

“Tobkin thinks we’re lazy, doesn’t he?” Calvon asked.

Jek nodded, relieved he didn’t have to say it.

“It’s because we don’t lie, like others do.” Peter had the voice of a singer. Jek knew, for he had the same kind of voice. It carried far without being loud, easy on the ears.

Peter seemed gentle, like he was capable of shouting only when completely overcome by rage. He had long flowing hair weaved together, falling all the way to the middle of his back where it came to a mangled clump. His bushy eyebrows were nearly connected in the center, and his beard was shaggy yet short enough so as not to extend below his chin. A bow hung over his shoulder. Jek dearly hoped he was good with it.

“What do others lie about?” Jek asked.

“How many skunks they’ve killed,” Peter said.

“Skunks?”

“What we call those fighting us from Waywen and Presoren,” Peter went on. “They wear black tunics. We hunt in small groups, but there aren’t enough officers to watch everyone, thus it’s up to us to report our kills. Calvon and I decided early on to be honest. There are many days we don’t even see a skunk. I’m sure it’s this way with everyone, but not everyone can resist how easy it is to lie. We’re not required to bring back evidence of the kill.”

“Why don’t the groups combine so you have hundreds roaming the forest together?” Jek asked.

“That would be a waste,” Peter said. “Hundreds can’t sneak up on skunks, and it’s too dangerous to move around the forest in such a big group, too easy to be seen or heard.”

“The only benefit of a large group would be if they were lucky enough to come across a camp before it was moved,” Calvon added.

Jek felt embarrassed that he had nothing to offer but questions. “What do you mean exactly by a camp?”

“The skunks sleep in tents,” Peter said, “and they move each night. Finding a camp usually means finding food and other supplies.”

“But it also means a battle.” Calvon’s squeaky voice was a sharp contrast to Peter’s. For a breath, he gave up his focus on the forest to look at Jek. “There are no rewards to be found in this forest without paying the toll of death.”

Silence followed, and Jek began to wonder something. “Should we refrain from talking so the skunks don’t overhear us?”

“It’s unlikely our low voices would be heard before we’re seen or our tracks are picked up,” Calvon said. “And I’d say it’s worth the very small risk it poses to keep our sanity.”

“You ever kill a man, Jek?” Peter blurted.

“I have,” he answered as indifferently as he could, unwilling to show his aversion to the act before knowing his comrades better.

Peter turned his head, looking into Jek’s eyes. “Are you telling the truth?”

“I am.”

“I wouldn’t have thought you had. You don’t have the look.”

Neither do you or Calvon,
Jek thought. “Have either of you?”

“We both have,” Calvon answered, his tone now a low grumble.

They walked for nearly a mile in silence. The ground was covered with plants, none higher than Jek’s ankles. Only a thin path of dirt twisted between the greenery, with tree roots and rocks jutting up and allowing them little time to look anywhere but at their feet. It continued to lead them beside a hill, where naked vines dangled, twisting together and reminding Jek of Peter’s hair.

Around one patch of shrubbery, there was a rustle. The three of them stopped. Jek drew his wand as he noticed Peter readying his bow and Calvon removing the sword from his belt. Calvon had his other hand up, telling them to wait.

Jek thought he heard something behind him, too. There was a chance Calvon and Peter were too focused on the rustling ahead to have noticed. Not wanting to risk a sound, Jek turned to study the path behind them. He pulled in the abundant Bastial and Sartious Energy of the forest.

The first noise grew louder. The rustling had become so rhythmic that Jek figured it had to be someone shaking tree branches. It felt like a decoy, a trap. So he kept his eyes in the other direction.

Out came five men in black tunics. Skunks.

Jek quickly found one armed with a bow and sent him flying backward with a fireball. As he gathered more energy, he searched for any others with the capability to kill them from a distance, but he soon saw the other four had swords.

“Mage!” one shouted.

Peter must’ve turned, for an arrow was shot over Jek’s shoulder. It struck the one who’d shouted, causing him to stumble backward into a man behind him. They both fell, but the two others sprinted forward.

Jek chose his target—the man gritting his teeth with eyes bulging out of his head. His fireball struck the man in the chest and hurled him backward.

Unable to draw in enough energy before the next man got to them, Jek drew the dagger on his belt. He’d had some training in combat, but not nearly enough to give him confidence.

“Calvon?” he called, stepping back without taking his eyes off the enemy rushing toward him.

There was no reply, only the clank of swords behind him.
Calvon must be engaged with another enemy.

Knowing he couldn’t run, Jek decided in that instant to throw his dagger. Hopefully it would give him enough time to create another fireball. As he cocked his arm, another arrow came over his shoulder, this one burrowing into their oncoming attacker’s stomach. The man grunted loudly as he dropped his weapon and fell.

Readying more Bastial Energy, Jek looked for the next attacker. But those left standing were fleeing back through the trees and bushes, one of them with an arrow in his shoulder. They left their comrade dying on the dirt with a shaft sticking out of his stomach, a brown and red pool forming around him.

Jek turned around to see Calvon chasing after an enemy swordsman. The skunk must’ve decided to run when the others did, and now Calvon was in the way of Jek’s fireball.

Peter had his bowstring drawn, an arrow ready to be released. “Move!” he shouted to Calvon.

Calvon fell to the ground purposefully, dropping his sword to brace himself with his hands. Peter loosed his arrow. It was a gruesome shot. Either by luck or skill, it pierced the back of the skunk’s skull with a soft squishing sound.

The screams of the last enemy alive turned Jek back around. It wrenched Jek’s heart to see the kind of agony he was in, a young man at that. Too weak to stand or even crawl, he bent his knees and thrashed in the dirt.

Calvon walked to him and knelt. “Which direction is your camp?”

The skunk said nothing, only continued to groan. Calvon grabbed the shaft of the arrow, simply grabbed it. He didn’t twist his arm, though it looked like he was about to. The skunk’s hand came up as he screamed with agony.

“Please don’t!” he begged.

“Which direction is your camp?” Calvon repeated. “Point to it.”

The skunk pointed in the direction of the lake, the direction Jek and his party had come from. It didn’t seem plausible to have walked by an enemy camp.

Apparently, Calvon didn’t think so either. He gave the arrow a twist.

“Stop!” the skunk yelled, following with a horrific scream.

“Once you stop lying to me.” Calvon continued to twist, slowly.

“This way. It’s this way.” The skunk pointed in the direction his comrades had fled.

“How far?” Calvon didn’t let go.

The skunk had no reply, probably thinking of a lie.