Kalen grinned when Breton sighed and said, “Fine. I’ll deal with Captain Silvereye.”
~~*~~
Breton braced himself for Captain Silvereye’s rage, hoping that the presence of High Lord Priest Tsordin didn’t add to the Mithrian’s irritation. The command tent felt as empty and desolate as the innermost parts of the Rift.
“It seems you’ve found something interesting this morning, Breton. By interesting, I do not mean Captain Blackhand, which was the nature of your little dawn ride, if I’m not mistaken. Do you care to explain?”
Straightening his shoulders and standing taller, Breton announced, “Captain Silvereye, this is High Lord Priest Tsordin, brought to us by Captain Blackhand.”
“So that’s where the runty miscreant went. I should have known. And where is Blackhand now?”
Breton wiped his mouth to hide his smile. “He is with Maiten getting a notable amount of mud and muck out of his hair. After that, he’ll be hiding somewhere in the camp sleeping for a few hours. I have been ordered to defend his rest, Captain Silvereye, sir.”
“How long do you think it’ll take him to get to sleep?” the Mithrian asked.
“Knowing Maiten, I’d estimate about an hour, sir. It looked like he had rolled around in the mud.”
“What is it with him and the mud?” Captain Silvereye asked incredulously.
Breton shrugged. “He’s no better at home, I assure you. If there’s trouble to be found, he is neck deep in it.”
“My condolences,” the Mithrian’s grumbled in reply. “Very well, I’ll send for him in three hours. Breton, if you do not mind, please aid our guest in cleaning up. You can’t be comfortable in those dirtied robes, High Lord Priest.”
The Danarite’s smile was warm. “I’ve endured worse, Captain Silvereye. It is a pleasure to meet you. We have heard much of your prowess from Anrille, may she be safe and secure in
Her
embrace.”
“Anrille,” Captain Silvereye grumbled.
Breton cleared his throat. “She has, unfortunately, perished, but not without taking a Lord Priest with her.”
“She has used her death well,” the Danarite confirmed.
Captain Silvereye arched a brow. “Is that so? What exactly is going on? Why did Blackhand decide to leave the camp without telling anyone, and how is it that no one noticed until dawn?”
Breton frowned, considering the question. It bothered him as well; there’d been no indicator that the Rift King had gone away. The sense of security and presence of his foal hadn’t changed at all during the night.
It hadn’t been until they had sought him out to discuss what to do with the Delrose herd, Anrille, and the morning archery lessons that he had discovered the Rift King had vanished.
“I don’t know myself, sir. It’s very strange,” Breton replied, wondering how such an oversight was possible, especially when everyone, himself included, had been on guard against his foal doing something unexpected.
“Strange is one way to phrase it. I asked Lyeth, and even he was taken aback by the development. He could have sworn he had seen the little runt around and about, though he wasn’t quite sure where or when. Everyone I asked said the same thing,” Captain Silvereye grumbled.
“I had done the same, and received the same responses,” Breton admitted.
“He used magic,” Crysallis announced, poking her head into the tent. “I hope you do not mind my interruption.”
“Come in, Crysallis. I haven’t seen you around in a while. Where have you been? He used magic? What sort of magic?” Captain Silvereye said, sitting straighter on his stool.
Breton stared at the witch, his mouth hanging open. When had his foal learned magic? The thought was so absurd to him he wasn’t able to force out a single word.
Crysallis’s smile was secretive. “I was occupied elsewhere. As for his magic, it is the Rift King’s power. He did not wish his absence to be noted, so it wasn’t. I have noticed that his little foal no longer carries her ritual blade, so I investigated, and I was curious to see His Majesty carrying it.” The witch swept into the tent, sitting on one of the stools nearest to the entry. “When did she bequeath it to him?”
“She let him use it to make a plate to the Rift yesterday,” Breton replied with a frown, thinking about it. “He gave it back to her right after, though, I believe. It must have been sometime during the night, perhaps after the archery lesson?”
“Which was around the same time everyone thought he was around but no one can remember exactly when they saw him?” the witch asked.
“I believe so,” Breton said warily.
“It sounds like he has figured out how to tap into either Gorishitorik’s power or the ritual blade’s power. Either way, he didn’t want to be noticed or found, so he was not.” Crysallis chuckled. “Of all of the powers of the Rift King, I’m afraid that one is the most troublesome for you Guardians. If you would like, I can teach him what I know of that skill. Knowing him, he likely had no idea what he was doing.”
Breton felt the starts of a headache at the thought of his foal being able to trick people using magic. “He’s bad enough without magic. Please tell me it’s just a coincidence.”
Crysallis smiled. “He is not the first Rift King to have developed such abilities. Gorishitorik is potent, but Verishi’s little blade is stronger still. Perhaps he’s been doing it all along, but his power has grown in strength.”
“Wonderful,” he muttered.
“I’ll agree with that. He’s trouble enough to keep track of.” Captain Silvereye sighed. “I don’t suppose you can enlighten us on what Blackhand is planning next, Breton?”
He didn’t mean to laugh, but it erupted out of him before he could stop it. “Me? Know what he’s planning? I didn’t even know he was gone until he was almost back to the camp, sir.”
“We’ll find out in three hours, I suppose. My questions will have to wait until Blackhand has gotten some rest, however much I dislike waiting.”
He nodded. “I’m as curious as you on what he has planned,” he replied, hoping the Rift King wasn’t scheming something Breton would regret.
~~*~~
Kalen wasn’t sure how long he’d slept for, but when Maiten shook him awake, the worst of his fatigue had eased. It was Breton who handed him a steaming mug of tea with a small smile.
“I held him off for as long as I could, foal. His patience has worn thin, I’m afraid.”
Taking the mug, Kalen grunted and took a sip warily. When he confirmed it wasn’t laced with vellest, he relaxed and enjoyed the slightly bitter flavor.
“You enjoy tea?” High Lord Priest Tsordin asked.
Kalen hadn’t noticed the Danarite near the tent’s flap. Another grunt served as his answer as he took another swallow.
“He means yes,” Breton said in an amused tone. “Captain Silvereye wants to know what you’re up to, Kalen. I do, too. Crysallis also wants to teach you a few things, so be prepared.”
“Crysallis?” he asked, his brow furrowing.
“I’ll leave her to explain the issue. First, you need to deal with Captain Silvereye and explain to us what you were doing last night.”
“I thought it was obvious. With a little help from Anrille, I was busy kidnapping a Danarite. Turnabout is fair play, isn’t it?” Kalen grumbled, swallowing down the rest of the tea before setting the mug aside. “If I had involved you lot, it would have been noisy, it wouldn’t have worked, and I would have lost my chance to get him. Let’s get this over with. I don’t think it’ll take too long to explain what I need to happen. Anrille passed on some very important information to the Danarites, and we need to play our part. Considering her murder of one of the priests, we need to make it look like her information was reliable. Hopefully they’ll believe their truthseers and fall into our trap. Has there been any word from Derac and Delaven yet?”
“Not yet,” Maiten replied.
“Hellfires. I was hoping they’d be back by now,” he grumbled.
Maiten grinned. “Knowing Dela, she’s pampering them both and treating the Yadesh as they were her own flesh and blood.”
“Or killing them slowly,” Kalen muttered.
“No, she’ll save that for us. One is your blood and the other is her foal. They’re safe,” his Guardian’s replied, amused.
“All right, all right. I’ll make some guesses based on what I think she’ll do, since she isn’t here to ask. Correct me if you think I’m wrong, Maiten. Where’s Silvereye?”
“The command tent,” Breton replied.
“By Dela, do you mean the Captain of the Silvered Hand?” High Lord Priest Tsordin asked, his tone both surprised and alarmed.
“Who else would I mean?” Kalen said, grinning at the Danarite.
“But her company is, as I’ve been made aware, what you call loyalist? They are in the employ of Danar. Was our information false?”
Kalen clucked his tongue. “Loyalists are loyal to those who hire them first.”
The Danarite looked confused. “Which is, in this case, Danar, is it not? Have you not put your Derac and your Delaven at great risk?”
“Loyalist companies can be quite tricky like that, Tsordin. Did you ask if they had any other prior engagements?”
“I was under the assumption that was not necessary when hiring such a company.”
“It is. The real difference between a loyalist company and a money company is that you can trust a loyalist company to do exactly as written in your contract. Another group can’t come in and hire them out from under your nose; a money company might turn coat if they get a better offer. However, a loyalist company might only live up to the exact letter of your contract, leaving them to pursue other matters.” Kalen chuckled. “It’s complicated, but so long as you have a good contract with a loyalist, they won’t turn on you.”
High Lord Priest Tsordin stared at him thoughtfully. “That’s interesting.”
“What were the terms of your contract?”
“They were to accompany us to Kelsh and aid in our activities dealing with Morinvale. After which, they’d be offered another contract in service of Danar.”
“If those are the terms, then they’re free of obligation to Danar until they sign another contract. That said, the Silvered Hand has been, and always will be, directly employed by the Rift, High Lord Priest. They’ve been mine from the very beginning,” Kalen said, stuffing his feet into his boots. While he dealt with the laces on one, Maiten tied the other. “Isn’t it such a nice surprise?”
“I am more surprised you have informed me of this,” the Danarite replied with a frown and furrowed brows. “Why?”
“You and I are on the same side right now, so far as I’m concerned. Your knowledge has been of great use to me, and knowing that the Silvered Hand is on our side might impact what you’ll say—and how we might turn the tides of the war I can’t prevent.”
High Lord Priest Tsordin nodded. “This is wise. If you need my aid, please tell me how I can give it.”
Kalen stood, wincing at the ache in his muscles. “For now, listen. If you know of something that can help us, speak your mind. You know your people far better than we do. The Wolf Blades will be eliminated, Tsordin, and I mean to take out every Lord Priest I can if possible, unless they’re needed to deal with the skreed.”
“If you kill them, their skreed will run wild,” the Danarite warned.
“What’s a few more?” Kalen shrugged. “I’ve been led to believe that there will be hundreds, if not thousands, of them once they’ve grown—one for each and every man, woman, and child slaughtered in Morinvale. More from the villages and mercenaries caught in the swarm’s path.”
High Lord Priest Tsordin winced. “This is what I warned them against. But how do you know, to speak of this so confidently?”
“I have my sources,” he replied, wondering how much he needed to tell the man about Crysallis.
For the moment, his witch was a secret he’d keep close to his heart.
“The Wolf Blades will not be so easy to defeat. There are many of my brethren among them.”
“Anrille has proved that Lord Priests are not immune to death, Tsordin. I have a few ideas on how to deal with the Wolf Blades.” Kalen headed outside, wincing at the brightness of the sun. It didn’t take him long to find his way to the large command tent in the center of the camp.
When he pushed aside the flap, he made it two steps in before a lithe figure leaped at him. With a startled oath, he was caught up in an embrace, picked up, and spun around.
“Kalen,” the pleasant soprano of his Mithrian
Akakashani
murmured in his ear. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
Kalen was torn between scowling and grinning as Captain Dela of the Silvered Hand embraced him tightly. “I see they found you,” he wheezed.
“I hear you’ve stolen my foal,” she chided, setting him down and flicking his ear with her finger.
“His sire did it,” Kalen said, pointing at Maiten.
His Guardian froze halfway through the tent.
“Maiten,” Dela said, sounding pleased. “You’re looking well.”
A flush spread over his Guardian’s cheeks. “Dela. I’ll admit I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“You can have him all you want later, Dela,” Kalen promised for his Guardian, nudging the woman so she would head deeper into the tent. “Good, I’m glad you made it. There’s a lot of work to do, work that’ll be easier with you here to help me conspire. The tall one’s Breton, and the Danarite is High Lord Priest Tsordin.”