Storm Surge (25 page)

“So your festivals are games? How is it played?”

Kalen grinned a bit at the memory. The festival had been delayed to give him a chance to adapt to having only one arm, though he’d been led to understand that every Rift King had to adapt to some degree or another.

The loss off his arm had startled even the most hardened of Rifters and was likely the reason he had survived his first few months as the Rift King. Few wanted to kill someone on unfair terms, even for his title and rank. That had changed, however, when he proved lethal despite his lack of an arm. Kalen sighed. “Everyone drew straws. Half of the city pretended to be Outsiders. I was given the dubious honor of leading the other half of Blind Mare Run. We held mock battles for a week.”

“A
week
? Why so long?”

“The festival didn’t end until I died or the Outsiders were all killed. We use ribbons, and someone is ‘killed’ when their ribbon is claimed.”

“Blessed Lady of Light, that’s insane. Who won?”

Kalen laughed. “Much to the disgust of most of the Rift, it was a draw. No one killed me, but we didn’t kill the Outsiders either. It was the first of many firsts for me, I think.”

“Why did the game end early?”

Unable to control his mirth, he came to a halt, shuddering in his effort to suppress his chuckles. “Do you have any idea how much stamina those thrice-blasted Rifters have? After three days of being chased around, I was wretchedly tired. In my infinite wisdom, I thought the safest place to hole up for some sleep was in an out of the way cavern. No one had told me the place tended to be a bit unstable at the best of the times. I ended up trapped there for a few days. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I slept through most of it. Those on the Outsiders’ side cried that I had an unfair advantage because no one could get to me. By the time someone figured out where I was and dug me out, Tavener wasn’t happy with anyone, especially me.”

“Tavener?”

“My first Rift Horse.”

“I see. So, why are these festival games so important?”

“Rifters love their festivals. There are four of them every year, and each one is different. Normally, I’m left alone to work or I’m handling things elsewhere in the Rift, but when a festival is due? There’s no escaping. The Guardians have taken to keeping someone with me so I can’t give them the slip. This is a game we’ve never played before.”

“I don’t understand why it’s important, Blackhand.”

Kalen grimaced a bit at his new name, wondering if Silvereye had any idea how accurate it was. How many people had he killed over the years to ensure his survival? Far too many.

“Until now, as we have for a thousand years, the festivals have only included Rifters.” Kalen kicked at the snow, listening to the distant laughter born of adults pretending they were foals once more. “It may be a festival or a game to you, but when they’ve figured out what I’ve done, we’ll find out how many Mithrians it takes to wear out a Rifter—or the Rifters win.”

The Mithrian sucked in a breath, his mismatched eyes widening. “They’ll fight in earnest?”

“Only with snow,” Kalen assured the man with a grin.

“Why?”

“It’s simple, Captain Silvereye. By calling such a festival involving Outsiders—allies, specifically—I, and the Rift, have declared war. Enjoy the peace while you can. It won’t last. We have too much to lose to remain caged in our canyons, and if you’re willing to break the rules, well, so am I. The Rift Rides to war.”

~~*~~

Dodging a rain of snowballs by ducking behind a tent, Breton turned to Moritta. Maiten joined them. The Mithrian dusted snow off her face. A handful of mercenaries, grinning at them all the while, shoved Derac and Delaven at them.

“You’re insane,” Maiten informed the men as they ran to join those who were throwing snow.

A snowball splatted against the back of Ceres’s head. Before the younger Guardian could retaliate, Breton grabbed hold of him and yanked him forward. “Wait.”

“Captain Blackhand is quite mean,” Moritta reported in her serious voice. Breton agreed but kept quiet. Three shapes emerged from the snow, and Varest was shoved at them. When Varest tripped, Maiten caught him.

“That serpent!” Varest spat.

It was Ceres who sighed. “What did Father do now, brother?”

“I was supposed to be on
his
side,” was the grumbled complaint.

“I didn’t do anything either,” Maiten groused.

Ceres snorted. “Yes, you did. You encouraged Breton to make Guardians.
They
didn’t do anything.”

With widening eyes, Breton stiffened. “He’s doing what Arik used to do when one of us failed.” Speaking his fear strengthened it.

When one failed, all were punished.

“Father isn’t like that,” Varest snarled. “He’s never been like that.”

The younger Guardian’s vehemence didn’t sooth Breton’s concerns. “So, what is he doing?”

“I think he’s trying to have fun,” Derac said, kneeling to gather up snow in his hands. “It’s a snowball fight. We used to do this when we were little.”

Breton was relieved when he wasn’t the only one to stare at the Kelshite, trying to imagine Kalen willingly playing in the cold and wet. “How did you force him?”

“Force him? He was usually the instigator.” With a shake of his head, Derac held up the ball of snow. “Pat the snow together until it becomes a ball. You’ll want it solid enough to throw without it breaking apart.”

“Father taught me how to do it, probably planning to throw me in with you lot. Hellfires.” Varest grabbed a handful of snow. “You heard him. If we want to see him, we need to go through them.”

With a vicious grin, Delaven scooped up snow. “This is going to be fun.”

“Varest, did he tell you what he was up to?”

“Father? My father, His Royal Majesty, tell
me
what he’s scheming? Don’t be absurd, Breton.”

Maiten laughed. “He’ll never change.”

Breton turned to Moritta. “What do you suggest we do?”

Holding up her hands, the woman glanced in the direction of the waiting army of mercenaries. “They’ll probably give us a few minutes to sort ourselves out. They all know you’ve never seen snow before. It won’t last long, though—they’ll want to play.”

“Play,” Breton echoed, unable to smother his sigh. “I can’t believe you consider this play.”

“Stop crying, Breton. It’s better than him chasing us with Gorishitorik until he whacks us with the flat to his satisfaction,” Maiten replied, chuckling.

“One day he’ll stop surprising me,” Breton swore, grabbing snow and patting it together. “One of these days I’m going to be completely prepared for what he does. Well, if it’s a war he wants, it’ll be a war he’ll get. No offense, Moritta, Delaven, but I have no intention of losing to a bunch of Mithrians.”

Howling with laughter, Maiten cupped snow in his hands. “Well said, Breton. Well said.”

“So what do we do now?” Ceres asked.

“Isn’t it obvious? We fight them with their snow. One of us will have to get by them and find Father,” Varest replied. “If he wants us to capture him, we’ll capture him.”

“Can’t we just use Delaven to find him?” Derac asked, glancing at Maiten’s foal.

Breton made a thoughtful noise. “Delaven?”

The young Guardian shook his head. “All I can tell is that he’s nearby, that’s it.”

With a concerned expression, Kalen’s cousin turned to face Breton. “It’s not hurting him, is it?”

“Maiten?” he asked.

“I doubt it. We’ll do proper introductions when we find him. First, we have a few Mithrians to put back in their place. Present company excluded, of course.”

Moritta laughed. “A few? This will be fun.”

~~*~~

With smug satisfaction, Kalen stretched out on Silvereye’s cot with a mug of steaming hot tea. A brazier filled with coals warmed the tent. While he hadn’t seen many of the tents in the camp, the captain’s didn’t look much different from the two-person accommodations most of the Mithrians shared, with one exception.

Instead of two cots, there was only one, and the rest of the space was taken up by a rough-hewn table and a scattering of stools and stumps. Silvereye perched on one such stool, leaning over a stack of parchments, reading by lantern light.

“You know, you’re a tricky person, Your Majesty,” the older man said, sitting up straighter with an ill-concealed groan. “You spent at least an hour scheming that little war game just so you could invade my tent and steal my tea, didn’t you?”

Kalen chuckled, sipping at the pilfered tea with a grin. “First, I didn’t know you had tea in here so readily accessible. Second, it needed to be done. Discipline needs to be maintained, but considering the circumstances, I didn’t want to punish any of them.”

“So you, on a whim, created a festival game, just so you could do what was expected in an unexpected way?”

“Something like that. How long do you think it’ll take for them to figure it out?” Setting the mug down on one of the stools, Kalen went to work rubbing the stiffness out of his feet. The furs he’d been bundled in had kept him warm, but the poorly fitting boots hadn’t done him any favors.

He was tired of feeling sore and even more tired of the bone-deep exhaustion that clung to him.

“Until who figures what out? That we left them to play or that the Rift finally got tired of everyone’s horse shit and has decided to come clean the mess up?”

In his effort to contain his laughter, Kalen snorted, coughed, and then cleared his throat. “That we slipped away from the game.”

“Ah, your Rifters, without a doubt. The rest have been ordered to play in the snow, and won’t be keen to stop until they’ve tired themselves out. If there are Wolf Blades out there, if they’re smart, they’ll have holed up like we have. I’ve assigned a few unlucky sods to patrol, but I doubt anyone is stupid enough to launch an offensive in this weather.” Silvereye poured himself a mug of tea, took a sip, and set it aside to drum his fingers. “Were you aware you’ve earned a few friends and a lot of respect today?”

“Is that so?” With a thoughtful hum, Kalen picked up his mug and took a sip to buy himself time to watch the Mithrian.

“It is so. You understand when some things don’t deserve a harsh punishment. You understood the situation and dealt with it accordingly. I was under the impression that you weren’t aware of how badly the cold can impact someone. What made you choose to react as you did?”

Laughing, Kalen set his tea aside. “Breton wouldn’t roll around with anyone in the mud like that under normal circumstances. He’s far too dignified. I didn’t need to be told there was something actually wrong with them. But, discipline matters, so I had to do something. Frankly, I was relieved enough neither had been hurt. They could have easily killed each other.” Snatching the folded blanket at the end of the cot, he draped it over his feet. “The truth is, I’m too tired to fling snow around, otherwise I’d be out there too. It’s the only thing that the cold is good for. I may as well let them play while they can.”

“You Rifters do not seem like the type to play, Your Majesty.”

“Kalen. Or, if you’d prefer, that little name you’ve saddled me with. Anyway, Rifters are the type to like to play. They just treat it like they do everything else: very seriously.”

Silvereye hummed thoughtfully, nodded, and said, “I’ll remember that. As for your name, Blackhand suits you, I think.”

Kalen wrinkled his nose and flipped a rude gesture at the Mithrian. “I’m not that dangerous.”

“With all due respect, Kalen, you’re one of the most dangerous people alive. Only a fool would say otherwise. I know better.” Silvereye smiled, lowering his head as he turned part of his attention back to his papers.

“I’m a man like any other. I bleed. I can die like anyone else, too.”

“There’s something I’ve learned over the years, Blackhand. I’d remember this, were I you. Men like your Guardians never follow someone as they do you out of fear alone. That is what makes you an opponent worth fighting and an ally worth having.” The Mithrian chuckled. “Since you’ve already taken over my cot and stolen my tea, you may as well sleep. You’re not going to be of any use to anyone as tired as you are. Tomorrow is soon enough for our real work together to begin.”

Kalen considered arguing for the sake of it, but he nodded, swallowed the rest of his tea, and obeyed.

Breton’s arm burned from exertion. Snow didn’t weigh a lot, but he’d thrown so much of the wet, cold stuff that he was ready to find somewhere quiet and collapse in a heap. Mithrians, each of them panting as hard as he was, circled them with their frozen ammunition held at the ready.

No one moved, and he took advantage of the moment to catch his breath.

Maiten leaned forward, bracing his hands against his knees as he gasped for air. “What do you think, Breton? They’re not giving up.”

Snorting, Breton scooped up another handful of snow. “Neither are we.”

“Have you failed to notice there are a lot more of them than there are us?” Varest grumbled.

Ceres patted snow into a ball, narrowing his eyes as the mercenaries stirred, preparing for another assault. “Have any of you actually seen Father?”

“No,” Breton grumbled. “He’s probably in the back lines where they can guard him.”

Maiten laughed and straightened. “You’re optimistic. He’s probably found somewhere to curl up and take a nap.”

Moritta cocked her head to the side. “He wouldn’t, would he?”

Shaking his head and joining Maiten in chuckling, Breton lobbed a snowball at one of the mercenaries. A volley of wet, cold projectiles thumped into him as the Mithrians retaliated. “He would, if he feels he can get away with it.”

“Don’t these mercenaries ever give up?” Ceres complained, ducking to avoid the flung snow.

It was Captain Silvereye’s Second-in-Command who laughed hardest. “They’re as tired as we are. They have their orders, and we have ours. Duty and pride will keep them going for as long as they must. I’m afraid only the captains can stop them now.” When she grinned, the woman’s hardened features made way for feminine beauty. “This is fun. For all of us, it’s a holiday. But if you want to win, we need to break through their lines and find Captain Blackhand.”

“I last saw Father with Captain Silvereye,” Varest said.

Moritta hummed, grabbing snow and flinging it at one of her fellow Mithrians. “The captain’s tent would be most secure and hardest for you Rifters to find. We move it every time we change camp sites, and at least once every few days. If they made a run for it, they probably went there.”

“How do we get there?” Breton asked.

“We break through where the line is thinnest and backtrack through the tents. I know a few ways to get there.” The woman took several steps back, watching the mercenaries gather snow for another volley. “If we charge the line, we’ll take a beating, but not much. They’re tired, and it’s probably too much work. It’s fair play to throw someone in the snow.”

While a lot of the snow had been trampled or turned into balls, there were still a few untouched banks, especially near the tents. Breton considered how much effort it’d take to shove the lean, muscular mercenaries aside. He nodded. “Better plan than I have,” he replied with a shrug.

Breton wasn’t willing to admit he’d been so focused on throwing snow he hadn’t really considered the best strategy for winning the game. He also wasn’t willing to admit he was enjoying the challenge, such as it was.

Holding his fist over his shoulder, he called for a silent retreat. Kalen’s foals obeyed first, with the other Guardians following behind them. Breton spun around and plowed through the circle of mercenaries, shoving aside a fur-clad woman and a man almost as tall as he was. Running wasn’t possible, not in the heavy, snow-laden boots, but he shuffled into the narrow paths between the tents after the others.

Snow thumped into his back as he made his escape.

“This way.” Moritta skidded around a tent into another narrow passage.

The snow came up to the tops of his boots, forcing him to kick his way through it. Clouds of white swirled around him. As they made their way deeper into the camp, the snow tapered off to the occasional flake drifting down from the sky.

They emerged from the maze of tents to a circle of larger tents. Instead of heading for one of them, she continued on, delving deeper into the camp until she came to a tent a little larger than the rest. She pushed aside the flap and disappeared inside. Breton waited for the other Guardians to shuffle inside before following.

The tent was made for two, which made it a tight squeeze to fit them all inside.

“Wake him and I’ll hang you from a tree by your toes,” Captain Silvereye warned in a whisper. The man was sitting at a small table, searching through a stack of parchments. A covered coal brazier warmed the air, taking up the center of the tent. It left barely enough room for them all to stand. “Moritta, stoke the coals, would you?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, peeling off her gloves before pushing her way to a wooden box tucked away in the corner. Grabbing a canvas sack, she added a few coals and stirred the fire back to life. “It seems you were correct, Maiten.”

Breton sighed, shaking his head at his foal, who wasn’t much more than a lump under a thick blanket. “I should have known.”

“You’re looking better than before,” Captain Silvereye said, looking up from his work. “How are your ribs?”

“They’re fine,” Breton replied. Either the cold had numbed him to the pain, or they hadn’t been as injured as he thought, but he didn’t hurt. He was sore from throwing snow, but neither his nose nor his ribs ached.

“Ceres, Delaven, Breton, and Moritta, stay. The rest of you, get back to your tents and get warmed up and rest,” Silvereye ordered. “Consider yourselves punished for your earlier idiocy.”

Breton winced as Derac, Maiten, and Varest hurried out of the tent before the Mithrian changed his mind and asked them to stay. “I apologize for my behavior, sir,” Breton murmured so he wouldn’t wake Kalen.

“Kick off your boots and warm yourselves. The fault is, at least in part, mine. I underestimated how much the cold would impact you Rifters.”

“I was keeping an eye on them,” Moritta said.

Breton shrugged out of the snow-caked furs, tossing it near the tent flap at Moritta’s gesture. Despite the cold, he had sweat under the coat.

“I can’t believe you people find that fun,” Ceres muttered, following Breton’s lead and tossing his coat onto the pile. Kalen’s foal leaned over the brazier.

“Ignore them, Captain. I heard them giggling on several occasions,” Moritta reported, grinning.

“Have a seat and settle yourselves. How’s the storm, Moritta?”

“It’s easing. It’ll probably blow itself out altogether soon. Almost done snowing,” the woman replied, sitting on one of the stools nearest to the tent flap.

“Good. I’ve been told the log stashes are running low, but if the snow is tapering off, the fires should last.”

Breton sat on the stool nearest his foal, stretching out his legs with a low groan.

“Do you want me to go check on the supplies, sir? That’s normally my job, but I was a bit busy.”

“Leave it, if there’s a problem, someone will find us, I’m sure,” Silvereye replied in an amused tone. “Since I have you here, Breton, let’s talk about how you Rifters will fit into the company. I’d like you all to continue watching the Delrose family. The arrangement has been working well so far, and I don’t want to change it quite yet. They might not be so amenable with other caretakers.” Shaking his head, the Mithrian Shadow Captain stretched his arms over his head. “Until the Danarite incursion is over, I can’t afford to let them or Kelsh’s princess out of our sight.”

“She’ll cause us problems,” Breton muttered.

“Such is my understanding,” the Mithrian agreed. “I take it you were not impressed with your first meeting with her?”

“Absolutely not.” Breton glanced at his foal. “I am torn between wanting to watch when they meet or finding somewhere a notable distance away. He isn’t going to like her as she is, not in the slightest.”

“That’s unfortunate. I was hoping he might be able to contain her, at least until we can determine what our best course of action is. While the skreed swarm killed many of the Wolf Blades, they’re still a threat. There’s also no guarantee there aren’t other companies out there. With the number of priests in their ranks, I can’t assume they’re all dead—or if any of them died, for that matter. They may not have, considering they’re the ones who summoned the skreed. I don’t like operating on guesses.”

“None of us do, Captain,” Moritta said, clasping her hands on her lap. “We’re going to have to take the offensive and soon, especially if the Wolf Blades have tailed us. I saw no signs of them on the other side of the swarm’s trail. Either they all died, which I doubt, or they’re somewhere nearby. I’d wager on them being close.”

“It’s very possible that we’ll be fighting sooner than later. With this in mind, I want all of you Guardians working with some of our more elite men and women. Moritta, you’re in charge of arranging their lessons. I intend to have Blackhand take charge of our elite skirmishers and some of our mounted archers. With his riding skills and that runty black demon horse of his, he’s wasted on anything other than our hit-and-run forces. It’ll let me focus on other elements of the company. Moritta, I’d like to shift you to his acting Second-in-Command. Breton, you’ll be mine. Moritta can teach Blackhand what he needs to know while I handle you, Breton.”

Breton scowled, but forced himself to consider the plan. Kalen was a superior horseman, and Ferethian was the best the Rift had to offer. While Breton wanted to remain with Kalen, but their separation wasn’t insurmountable. It also would give them both space, something he couldn’t dispute might be wise.

With everyone staring at him, he drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. It’s not necessary we’re all with him, so long as we aren’t too far away. It’s in our better interest to protect those incapable of protecting themselves. It shouldn’t interfere with our duty as Guardians, provided we are somewhat nearby. Moritta and Delaven can learn directly under him, if you think it’s better that way.”

“I’d rather stay with Father, if possible.” Ceres frowned, his brow furrowing. “I’d rather not have to work with Lord Delrose any more than necessary, if you don’t object.”

“Breton?” Captain Silvereye asked.

Remembering how close Ceres had come to slitting Lord Delrose’s throat, Breton was forced to nod his agreement. “Maiten, Varest, and I can handle safeguarding the Delrose family. Considering Ceres’s lack of patience with Lord Delrose, it is wiser to keep him with his father. He’ll be of more use then.”

Ceres wrinkled his nose. “I don’t like him.”

“You missed when Breton laid him out,” Captain Silvereye said in an amused tone. “You Guardians really dislike the man, don’t you? Anyway, with Blackhand’s permission, you’ll take orders directly from me. Of course, I’ll ask that you’re respectful of the other officers, but I don’t anticipate any problems adding you to the ranks. I’ll figure out your exact positions within the company after Blackhand gets up.”

“That sounds fair,” Breton replied.

“War isn’t a friendly thing, Guardians. I hope you’re ready, willing, and able to fight. You’ll kill or be killed.”

Straightening on his stool, Breton met the Mithrian’s eyes. “We’re ready. We won’t forget what they’ve done. We won’t forgive them, either. Stopping the Danarites from repeating what they’ve done to Morinvale is well worth breaking the Covenant for.”

Captain Silvereye watched him with narrowed eyes. “And what of your code?”

In the coldest tone he could manage, Breton replied, “The Code applies to people, not to monsters.”

~~*~~

The murmur of conversation nearby roused Kalen. Cracking open an eye, he squinted and took in the canvas overhead. Mumbling curses, he rolled over in search of who had woken him.

The familiar black-clad forms of two Guardians bent over Silvereye’s table, along with two others. He recognized Moritta from her lithe shape and hair. The other had to be the third new Guardian, judging from the intensity of the ache in his phantom left hand. The five were talking in murmurs low enough Kalen couldn’t understand what they were discussing.

“How long was I asleep?” he asked before a yawn worked its way out of him.

All of them jumped at the sound of his voice.

“A few hours,” Captain Silvereye replied. “Rest well?”

When he lurched upright, Kalen groaned at the stiffness in his muscles. “How long did it take for them to figure it out?”

With a smile, the Mithrian shook his head. “A few hours.”

His Guardians turned to face him. Breton stared at the ground. One of his foals, which one Kalen couldn’t tell through his sleep-blurred eyes, grinned at him. Moritta chuckled softly.

The new Guardian he hadn’t met yet was far younger than Kalen had expected. There was a glint of red in his hair.

The colt had Maiten’s nose, an observation that drew a laugh out of him. There was only one person from Mithrias he could think of who could have so many similarities to Maiten. “You must be Delaven,” Kalen said. “I’ve heard about you, but I never thought I’d meet you here.”

When his Mithrian
Akakashani
found out, she was going to kill him and feed him to her pet kingmakers. Kalen sighed, turning to his red-haired Guardian. “When she comes here to fetch her colt, she’s going to kill us both. I hope you know this.”