Storm Surge (3 page)

His Guardian didn’t let him go until Kalen nodded in agreement.

“Let’s head back to the camp before someone notices you’re gone.”

~~*~~

Ferethian and Honey refused to be left behind. Without the use of his eyes, Kalen was powerless to control either horse. Somewhere in the darkness, Maiten laughed—at him, at his horses, and at the absurdity of a Rift King who couldn’t make his best animals behave.

“This isn’t funny,” Kalen grumbled, which made the older man laugh even harder.

Even the First was amused. Kalen was torn between relief the creature’s presence had strengthened and annoyance that it had sided with his Guardian.

His awareness of the First unleashed a lot of questions; how and why it existed were only the beginning of them. Before, the First had been something he had accepted as another consequence of being the Rift King. His doubts resurfaced.

Like the existence of his Guardians, there was something he didn’t know about the creature in his head, and his ignorance bothered him. What
was
the First?

If the creature heard him, Kalen wasn’t acknowledged. It was expected, but it disappointed him all the same.

A horse’s nose bumped against Kalen’s chest. He lifted his hand to gently push the animal away. The soft muzzle was too large for either Honey or Ferethian. With a frown, he stoked the animal’s muzzle, trying to imagine the horse through feel alone. His fingers brushed against the smoothed leather of the horse’s bridle.

“Could you—”

The ground lurched beneath him. He pitched forward and would have fallen without the intervention of the horse. He ended up sprawled across the animal’s neck, spitting out strands of mane. The growing rumble of thunder drowned out the whinnies of frightened horses.

Kalen’s skin crawled. As if terrified of whatever was spooking the horses and making the ground shake, the First’s presence retreated. Kalen managed to straighten, clinging to the horse’s neck with his hand. “Maiten? What do you see?”

“Nothing,” was the clipped reply. A hand seized Kalen behind the elbow, steadying him as the ground continued to buck underneath him.

Kalen shuddered, pulling his arm free once certain he could remain standing without help. The trees creaked and groaned in protest. In the distance, wood splintered and cracked.

“Get to the camp and find out what’s going on,” he ordered, letting go of the horse.

“What about—”

“Go, Maiten! I’ll slow you down. I’m not going anywhere.” Kalen patted the animal’s neck, and managed to stand tall despite the way the ground heaved. “Now.”

Maiten spat curses at him, but the creak of leather revealed the man’s obedience.

Kalen’s heartbeat raced, and his breath caught in his throat. Quakes and rock slides happened in the Rift, but the way the ground writhed and bucked beneath him didn’t feel—or sound—the same. In the Rift, shelter was either found along the cliffs away from the edges of the trail or as far out in the open as possible.

The First urged him to follow his instinct and run. Kalen remained frozen in place. Even if he ran, where would he go? Without Maiten to guide him, fleeing would only cause problems. His mouth twisted in a rueful grin. If someone did want him dead, he had given them the perfect chance.

“Hellfires,” he muttered, trying to think of a way to be useful. The thought of the camp being attacked was short lived; what sort of army would it take to make the ground lurch beneath his feet? But in the slim chance it was an attack, there was one thing he could do. Without their horses, Rifters were at a disadvantage.

That was something he could rectify easily enough.

“Ferethian,” he barked out over the rumble. A neigh answered him. “Herd to Breton!”

The command wasn’t one he used often, although Breton had insisted he teach it to Ferethian. As with all things, his stallion had learned quickly.

A derisive snort answered him.

Kalen clenched his hand into a fist. “Curse you and your foals to the deeps, Ferethian. Now is
not
the time.
Herd to Breton!
”

Ferethian made a sound so pathetic that it broke Kalen’s heart. Ignoring his stallion’s protests, he jerked his arm out and made a ‘move it!’ gesture he hoped the horse would recognize. Without knowing what was going on, arguing with the stallion was out of the question.

“Honey,” he called out. Within moments, the mare’s nose touched his hand. “Kneel.”

Unlike his stallion, she obeyed. With a low grown, he mounted. She rose at the touch of his heels against her sides.

Ferethian made one final, pained sound before Kalen became aware of the stallion’s presence departing. For a moment, he was tempted to have Honey follow Ferethian. Without knowing where Maiten had taken him, he didn’t dare break his word to his Guardian. If he returned to camp, he’d only be in the way. He was too tired to dance around busy mercenaries reacting to the threat to the camp.

Honey trembled beneath him, and ignoring the ache in his hand, he stroked her neck. While the mare was smart, equal to Ferethian in many ways, he hadn’t taken the time to train her as he should have. He hadn’t wanted to ruin her sweet temperament by forcing her to live with Ferethian’s relentless wariness. In his desire to protect the mare, he had left her—and himself—woefully ill-equipped to handle his blindness.

Muttering curses at his stupidity, he gave the mare one of the few commands he had taught her. “Guard.”

Honey stiffened beneath him, and he relaxed at the change in her stance. All he could do, as always, was put his trust in his horse.

She would take care of the rest without his interference.

While Breton had expected someone to fetch him when the quake started, the appearance of the Crimson Eye’s captain startled him. The man slipped into the tent, a frown on his lips and deep lines creasing his brow. Breton tensed and waited for the Mithrian to announce the bad news.

“Morinvale is gone,” Captain Silvereye said in an emotionless voice.

Breton decided it was best to treat the mercenary in the same way he treated the Rift King during ill-tidings; with respect and a healthy dose of paranoia. “What do you mean, sir?”

“It’s gone. There’s nothing left but a smoking crater. A smoking crater, I should mention, that is filled with black… things.”

Breton’s eyebrows rose. “Things?”

“One of my scouts reported that it appears to be a moving cesspool, Guardian.”

Breton frowned. The first thing he could think of was the black ichor in the cellar beneath Morinvale two weeks prior. It had proved volatile enough, eating through a steel blade in a matter of moments, but to devour the entire
town
? He shuddered at the thought. “So this cesspool has taken up residence in the town?” While Morinvale wasn’t quite large enough to rank as city, well over a thousand people lived within its walls.

“From my understanding, Guardian, there is no longer a town, just a crater.”

“How long ago?”

“I’m guessing the ground shake is due to whatever is happening where Morinvale used to be. My scout rode here as fast as he could. Unfortunately, he was only able to give me a partial report before the healers kicked me out so they could treat him.”

Breton considered how long it took to ride the distance between their camp and Morinvale. “So he left the town about an hour ago?”

Silvereye lifted his palms up in a helpless, unknowing gesture. “It’s as good of a guess as any. We’re leaving. Be ready to move out in thirty minutes. Pack only what you need and leave the rest.”

After the past two weeks of careful movement and observations of the rival mercenary company and the Danarites, the captain’s move worried him. At an hour’s ride away, the Crimson Eye should have been safe from whatever had destroyed Morinvale. Breton narrowed his eyes, nodding in acknowledgment of the order. “What of the Wolf Blades?”

The mercenary grimaced. “We’ll have to track them after we’ve moved our camp. I’ve no news of them.”

“With all due respect, sir, unless I know what we’re up against, we won’t know how to prepare for it.” Breton made certain to keep his eyes lowered. The simple trick often worked to keep the Rift King’s temper in check—mostly. With luck, it’d work on the Mithrian.

“That’s part of the problem, Guardian. I have no idea what we’re up against. I sent two scouts; one returned. The one who did make it back wasn’t entirely coherent. The healers are trying to learn more from him. All I know is that whatever is in Morinvale is on the move and coming this way. I don’t want to be here when it arrives. It crashed through the town’s walls like they didn’t exist. At the rate it’s moving, I expect it’ll arrive within the next forty minutes.”

At first, Breton thought the man was overreacting, but he swallowed back his urge to say so. While Captain Silvereye favored methods different from what most Rifters used, the man was an equal to the Rift King in cunning. “What happened to the other scout?”

Silvereye winced. “He thought he would investigate and see what was going on. He got a little too close.”

The mercenary’s expression shifted to a mask as neutral as the Rift King’s during the most dire of emergencies. It was the man’s expression and hesitation that convinced Breton that something was very wrong. He didn’t dare break the silence, waiting for the captain to decide what to say.

Finally, the Mithrian whispered, “It ate him, Guardian. Judging from my scout’s report, I’d guess it took the things less than a minute to leave nothing but bone.”

Breton’s eyes widened. “It ate him?”

“That’s what I’ve been told. Considering my scout’s injuries, I’m surprised he made it back alive at all—and it’s a good thing he did. If we had been caught unawares…”

Shuddering at the thought, Breton nodded. If whatever was in Morinvale could reduce a man to bone within a minute, he could easily believe that the Crimson Eye could be wiped out before they had time to react to the threat. Without knowing what was coming for them, Captain Silvereye’s decision was wise. Running would buy them time to find out what was going on and why.

“What do you need me to do?” he asked.

Captain Silvereye looked relieved. “Get your people ready and keep an eye on the Delrose family. Normally, I would say we leave no one behind, but we’re leaving in thirty minutes, and not a moment later. We can’t afford to wait for any stragglers. Understood?”

“Understood, sir.”

The mercenary hesitated, frowning at some thought. Instead of saying anything, Silvereye nodded to him, whipped around, and hurried away. Breton waited for the man to disappear before sticking his head out of his tent, bellowing for Ceres and Varest.

~~*~~

It took Breton less than ten minutes to pack all of his things. His saddlebags were ready to burst at the seams, but he didn’t dare take the time to repack it. While the worst of the quaking was over, the ground still trembled. The incessant low rumbling gave him a headache. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he emerged from the tent.

The camp bustled; mercenaries hurried without running, working in determined silence, folding tents and tossing them onto waiting wagons and horses. Little was left in their wake.

“Captain ordered me to pack your tent, sir,” a young man gasped, snapping a salute.

Breton moved out of the mercenary’s way. “It’s empty.”

The trumpeted call of a horse heralded the shouts of startled men. When Breton turned to see what the commotion was about, Perin charged to him. Lather splattered his horse’s shoulder. The other Rift horses surged through the camp, skidding to a halt in front of him. Ferethian circled the herd with explosive snorts. The stallion’s coat, like Perin’s, was speckled with foam.

The horses trembled, the whites of their eyes showing. Breton counted the animals, sucking in a breath; counting again didn’t change the result. Two of the horses were missing. It didn’t take him long to realize the Rift King’s golden mare wasn’t among them. After a more careful look over the animals, he realized that the second missing horse was Maiten’s Horasian.

“Where’s Honey?” While Breton didn’t expect an answer from the horses, he asked anyway.

Ferethian’s ears pinned back, and the stallion let out another snort.

“Ask him where my fool of a father is while you’re at it,” Ceres snarled as he emerged from the crowd of mercenaries. The Rift King’s adopted foal trembled from anger. “I’ve looked everywhere for him.”

Breton rubbed his temples and sighed. “Have you asked your brother?”

“Varest hasn’t seen him either.”

“How about Maiten? I don’t see Horasian here.”

Ceres blanched. “I haven’t seen Maiten since this started.”

“He certainly couldn’t have gone far,” Breton said cautiously. The Rift King’s impatience with confinement in the camp had been a sore point for a week. He hadn’t thought Kalen would
act
. How far could he go when blind? Breton had trusted in that fact to keep the Rift King under some semblance of control. Was Maiten with his foal and Honey? “When was he last seen?”

“No one is really sure. Before this mess, though. Captain Silvereye hasn’t seen him since last night. He told me he had gone to his tent before coming to see you and asked me to locate Father.”

“Silvereye hadn’t told me that,” Breton replied, frowning.

Ceres shrugged. “I’ll keep looking. He couldn’t have gotten into too much trouble. He doesn’t seem to be in danger.”

“If he were, he’d be a lot easier to find,” Breton snapped. “Find him and tie him to his horse if you have to. Actually, I’ll do it myself.”

Ferethian snapped his teeth. Breton glared at the stallion. “And why aren’t
you
with him?”

“Are you certain that’s a wise idea?” the Rift King’s foal asked in a bland tone.

“What exactly do you mean by that?”

“The last time you ‘spoke’ it was in shouts. I’m pretty sure Father was ready to strangle you. Quite a feat with one hand.”

Breton scowled. “This is an entirely different situation.”

“It’s your head, Breton. I’m not fool enough to cross Father when he’s like this. If you’re smart, you’ll let me and Varest take care of him. He wouldn’t strangle us, and you know it.” Ceres held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Right now is not the time for unnecessary bickering.”

“You’re staying here,” he ordered. “I’ll need you to help with the horses. You’re better at it—and you’re better with the Delrose brood. Finish packing and make sure they’re ready to march. I’ll send Varest after Kalen.”

Ceres scowled, but nodded instead of arguing. “Varest took care of my packing. He’s helping the mercenaries with their beasts.”

Breton closed his eyes, dread tightening his throat. All he could do was trust in Ceres and Varest. He hoped he wouldn’t regret his next words. “Get to it. If you don’t find your father by the time the company moves, we’re leaving without him.”

Ceres’s eyes widened and the young Guardian’s mouth hung open. “You can’t be serious.”

“We leave with the mercenaries.”

“But—”

Breton shook his head. “If half of what Captain Silvereye told me is true, we can’t be here when what came out of Morinvale arrives.”

“But—”

“Ceres, we do no one any good if we’re dead. Honey’s not here either. If Honey is with—”

Ferethian snorted, bobbing his head. Stomping a hoof, the stallion shook out his mane, all the while keeping his ears pinned back.

Breton sighed. “Honey is likely with him. Trust in his horse. We’re no use if we’re dead.”

~You are correct, Guardian,~
Dorit’s voice rang in his head, driving away all other thoughts.
~The captain spoke truth, and I have confirmed it with my own eyes. Morinvale is in ruins and half of the Wolf Blades are dead. It comes.~

“Hellfires,” Breton gasped.

~We must hurry.~
The Yadesh emerged from among the Rift horses, both golden ears turned back.

“We leave,” he whispered, his tone far calmer than he felt, but he didn’t dare let Ceres know the truth. If he panicked, so would the others—even if it meant that Breton had to make them believe that he’d leave Kalen behind without any sign of remorse.

~~*~~

Breton found Varest at the picket lines, saddling one of the Mithrian’s scrawnier horses. The Guardian’s horse pranced anxiously, already tacked and eager to go.

Varest didn’t acknowledge his presence until after tightening the animal’s cinch band. “You don’t know where Father is, do you?”

“I don’t. We leave with the camp, so make certain you’re ready.”

Varest gaped at him in shock. “You don’t mean we’re leaving him behind, do you?”

“We must. Get ready to ride. You’re going after your father. Ceres will remain with me, as our duty is to protect the Delrose herd. If we let anything happen to his sire or dam…” Breton shook his head. “We have no choice.” They did have a choice, but if they did abandon their duty to the mercenaries and the Delrose family, Breton didn’t want to think about how Kalen would react.

“We can’t abandon him.”

Breton hated himself even as he met the other Guardian’s eyes, careful to keep his expression calm. “If we can’t find him, we must. That’s why I’m sending you to look for him. Don’t get yourself killed, understand?”

“We must leave,” a woman said behind him. At first, Breton didn’t recognize Crysallis’s voice. The witch stepped to his side. The hood of her cloak hid her face. “The coming swarm will leave nothing living in its wake.”

Breton flinched away from the witch, his hand dropping to his sword. He curled his fingers around the hilt, considering whether or not to draw the blade. “Where have you been?”

“Hunting skreed,” the woman replied. “Where is the Rift King? I must speak with him.”

At the mention of the Danarite-summoned creatures, Breton bit back his initial desire to scold the witch for her untimely disappearance two weeks prior.

“Two minutes!” someone bellowed.

Breton cursed. Crysallis turned to face in the direction of Morinvale.

“We’re leaving,” he announced, focusing his attention on Varest. “If your brother hasn’t already, find Maiten. Get mounted. If you see your brother before you leave, let him know he’s in charge of Verishi.” He hoped the Danarite handmaiden would cooperate; she respected the Rift King first and foremost, and her obedience to anyone else often proved optional. If she caused problems, it would cost lives—hers and anyone who tried to protect her. He wanted to deal with the girl himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to defy Captain Silvereye’s orders.