Kalenek

Stay in the line!” Kal’s commander yelled.

Kal stood with the other soldiers, side by side, forming a shield wall, waiting for the impact of obsidian pikes. Hundreds of hooves tore into the earth, charging them.

Any moment now.

“Brace yourselves!”

Pikes splintered against the shield wall. Kal flew onto his back. He quickly rolled to his feet, moving his hand just as a hoof stabbed the ground. He thrust his sword up under the horse, nearly gutting the poor animal. It reared back and Kal tripped over a broken sword, this time falling on his face.

“Now! Now!” his commander yelled. “Kill the horses! Kill the camels! Kill the men! No prisoners! Strike them down! Go!”

The horse’s limp legs fell over Kal, and for a moment he played dead, watching its rider through slitted eyes. The man found his feet and engaged one of Kal’s comrades. Kal wriggled out from under the animal. Something thudded beside him. A head. Derson’s. A young man from his squad.

Kal woke with a jolt and found himself lying on a cot in his tent, the light of day brightening the blue canvas overhead.

He had been wounded in an attack against Wilek. He recognized the bitter taste of a soporific on his tongue and wondered how long they’d kept him asleep. The wound on his side stung terribly. He lifted his arm and took a moment to inspect the damage. It wasn’t as bad as it had first seemed. The knife had pierced through Kal’s shirt and sliced off a swath of skin and muscle. This left the wounded area quite large but not all that deep. Kal would have to change the bandages often to keep away infection, but it had stopped bleeding and wasn’t painful enough to keep him laid up.

He climbed out of bed and put on his shirt, sober as he reflected on all that had transpired. The members of the royal family had done a better job of protecting themselves against their attackers than Kal had done as High Shield. His debility left him feeling impotent and ineffective. Wilek could have died. It was unfair to the realm that he continue in his position. The Heir of Armania was simply too important—worth far more to the welfare of the realm than Kal’s pride.

The secret had gone on long enough. It was time to confess.

He left the tent and made his way along the scythed grass path to Wilek’s tent. The guards nodded to him, let him pass without question.

Would this be the last time Kal entered Wilek’s domain so freely? His chest tightened at the thought. He made no sound as he entered. Wilek was, thankfully, alone, poring over scrolls at his desk. Kal cleared his throat. “Good morning, Your Highness.”

Wilek looked up, his face brightening as he stood. “Kal! It’s good to see you. Should you be out of bed so soon?”

“A flesh wound. It will scar like the rest.”

“You saved my life.”

“You would have fared better on your own, Your Highness.”

“I doubt that very much.”

Kal removed his shield ring and set it on Wilek’s desk. “I must resign as your shield.”

Wilek frowned, face pinched in confusion. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am very serious, Wil. Please allow me to say all that I must before you object.”

Wilek sat down, somber. “Go on.”

Kal pushed emotion aside and forged ahead. “You know of my occasional bad dreams.”

“Night terrors. About the war.”

Kal hated calling them night terrors. It sounded so weak. But he was weak. And it was time to admit the truth of it. “It is more than that. They come nearly every time I sleep. Also when I engage in battle.”

“Dreams of battle?”

“No, Your Highness. This is while I’m awake and fighting. The clash of swords, the screams, any sign or smell of blood . . . it takes me captive, and suddenly I am in the war again. In Magonia. I see my old enemies. And I lose myself in the haze. I am able to fight only with part of my senses. And worse . . . my hand.” He lifted his right hand and formed a fist. “The moment I strike out, it begins to lose feeling. Eventually my entire arm goes numb and I—”

“You drop your blade.”

Kal hung his head. “You have seen it?”

“I’ve heard rumors. I thought I might have seen it once, but I assured myself it was merely coincidence. How long has this been happening?”

“Close to two years now.”

“Two years!”

“At first I thought it would go away. Then I believed I could will it away.” Kal shook his head. “Truth is, I’m a broken man, Wil, unfit to serve you even as a guardsman.”

“Have you spoken to the physician?”

“I spoke to one in Highcliff when I was there last year. He was perplexed. Said many men who fought in the war still suffered mystifying ailments. Suggested I find a new trade and choose a life of peace.”

Wilek sat back in his chair. “Kal, I just can’t believe it. Is this in any way connected to your financial problems?”

Kal had not expected Wilek to ask that. Did he know Kal had lost Liviana’s family house on Cape Waldemar? Did he know that Mielle had applied as Lady Zeroah’s honor maiden to help cover expenses? “That’s not important.”

“Explain,” Wilek said.

“I would rather not, Your Highness.”

“Kal, you are my friend. What could be worse than what you’ve already shared?”

Kal sighed deeply. “Very well.” Though when he tried to say the words, he found it more difficult than he had ever imagined. “Captain Alpress is a friend of the physician I saw in Highcliff. He heard of my visit—my problems, my diagnosis. He threatened to tell you everything if I did not pay for his silence each month.”

“That is how you lost the house on Cape Waldemar?”

So he knew. “It is, sir.”

“I thought maybe you gambled, though I had never seen anything to hint at it. That the captain of the King’s Guard would blackmail anyone is unacceptable. You should have told me. I would have found you a position elsewhere. Did you truly fear otherwise?”

“It was my pride that refused to let me confess. I have always wielded a sword. I still can’t imagine life without one at my waist. I know no other trade. And I feared the disgrace such a confession might bring upon Mielle and Amala.”

“You fear too much,” Wilek said. “I will not let you go from my service, Kal. I have told you before: You are my friend. I do not make friends easily. I cannot do without you.”

“I’m afraid you must.”

Wilek stood. “Hush and let me think!” He paced behind his desk, arms crossed.

Kal watched, pained that he had done this to such a worthy man. He did not wish to abandon Wilek. Life would be bleak without his friendship.

“I would make you my advisor if that would not be so suspicious. I do not wish to make your secret known.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

“You have heard the talk that I should wed Miss Onika?” Wilek asked.

Kal winced. “Yes.”

“Calm, Kal. I have no intention of doing so. But her unmarried status makes her a mark to many men. I wish to honor her above myself and set her apart, if that is at all possible. Therefore I will do two things. I will make Inolah her companion. Between the two of them they can choose their retinue of women and maidens. That will do to protect her honor. You will be her High Shield.”

“Wil, I cannot shield anyone!”

“This is in name and reputation only. In this position you may assign a squadron of guards to you both. Let those men protect her life while you act as her eyes.”

Kal tried to imagine such a thing. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Miss Onika has her honor maidens, and now she will have plenty of guards. But she also needs someone to watch her back. To listen and be vigilant. Who seeks to befriend her? Who despises her? Who fears her? I want to know everything. And you will tell me.”

Hope surged within Kal. That he would be able to remain close to both Wilek and Onika . . . “So I am really more of a onesent.”

“Yes, and my spy. But to the world, I shall call you High Shield of Arman, a new office created for the protection of the True Prophet. I want everyone to know that Miss Onika is revered and special to our realm. She is the reason we lived through the Five Woes! She deserves the very best we have to offer, even my own man—my best man. As High Shield of Arman, no one would dare cross you.”

Kal doubted that very much, but he cared deeply about Wilek and Onika, and dared not refuse. “What about you? An attack was just made on your life. You will need a proper shield.”

Wilek sighed. “I must give Harton the chance.”

Kal had misgivings about Harton. “Can you trust him?”

“I believe so. He acted as my shield in your absence and did as well as anybody could. He saved my life against Barthos, as I’ve told you. It would be wrong to pass him up.”

“His morals are questionable,” Kal said. “And being Rurekan doesn’t help.”

“That’s why I intend to make Novan Heln my backman. At your word, he is as moral as a Sarikarian.”

Kal chuckled. “I know that to be true. Heln is a fine man. I feel better already knowing he will be Harton’s shadow.” And conscience. “But if I sense that I am at all putting Miss Onika at risk, you must promise to replace me.”

“Fair enough,” Wilek said. “Let me know if you become concerned. And I will talk with Captain Alpress. He will not bother you again.”

Kal returned to his tent and found Miss Onika and Rustian waiting outside with Jhorn.

At first glance most people assumed that Jhorn was a dwarf, but the man had lost his lower legs in the war. They now ended just above the knee, where his pantlegs were sewn shut over the stumps. Jhorn had a dozen or so hair twists that hung down to his shoulders and a beard he had braided into one long plait that coiled like a pig’s tail. He was sitting on a red cushion on the ground outside Kal’s tent, holding a set of glossy carved canes across his lap. These were used to vault himself around.

The sight of the legless man slowed Kal’s steps, instantly reminding him of the war and worse—filling him with guilt and fear. He wanted to leave, hide from anything that forced him to face his own failures, but today was a day for confessions. And he owed Jhorn a big one. Had Onika told the man already? How Kal had lost Grayson the day the Woes hit?

“Sir Kalenek!” Jhorn said, smiling. “I am glad to see you on your feet. Onika has been concerned for your well-being.”

“Only Onika?” Jhorn must want to kill Kal for having lost the boy.

Jhorn waved a hand. “Oh, I didn’t want you to die either.”

“Sir Kalenek.” Onika reached out, feeling the air. “Are you well?”

Kal took her hand and squeezed it. “I am here, Miss Onika. I was only grazed. You felt the scars on my face and will know what I mean when I say the wounds there were far greater.”

“I wish you had not been wounded at all.”

“It was my fault, but I have rectified it as best I could. Come inside, both of you, and I will explain fully.” Kal did not want the entire camp to hear his news.

They entered Kal’s tent. Jhorn leapt through the small space with ease and settled onto his red cushion on the floor beside the fire. Rustian led Onika to the cot, and Kal helped her sit. Kal remained standing between them. In Onika’s presence, his nose suddenly acquired an increased sensitivity to the rank smell of his lodgings. Perhaps he should have remained outdoors in the fresh air. Best get on with it so that Miss Onika could leave as soon as possible.

“I have resigned as Sâr Wilek’s shield,” he said. “My affliction, as you once called it, Miss Onika, is a danger that nearly cost him his life.”

“I am sorry, Sir Kalenek,” Onika said. “I know how much you care for Sâr Wilek. But you did what you had to, and that is admirable. Honesty is the first step to freedom.”

“So you agree with the physician, then, that a life of peace is all that’s left for me?”

“Why would any man seek a life of violence?” she asked.

Rustian stalked over to Kal, rubbed against his leg, and purred. Kal stroked the dune cat’s back. “Violence is the only life I’ve ever known.”

“I don’t know what Arman has planned for you, Sir Kalenek,” Jhorn said. “But he wants to help you heal from your pain. There is no reason to suffer the way you do. I can help you, if you’d only let me.”

“Another time,” Kal said, not in the mood for Jhorn’s mystic theories on reliving his past. Certainly not when he had one more confession to go.

Jhorn shrugged as if Kal were only bringing misery upon himself. Perhaps he was.

“What will you do now?” Onika asked.

“Assist you, if you will allow it,” Kal said. “Sâr Wilek has asked me to be your onesent. I am to choose a squadron of guards to protect you while I act as your eyes.”

“It’s about time,” Jhorn said. “That brother of his has me most concerned. He’d like nothing better than to make Onika his mistress.”

“Jhorn,” Onika said.

Jhorn folded his arms. “I’m not afraid to say what must be said.”

“I promise that Sâr Janek will cause her no problems,” Kal said, realizing his promise would mean very little after his next confession. “Now I must say something to you, Master Jhorn. I don’t know whether or not Miss Onika has told you, but I have searched far and wide and have found no trace of Grayson. I take full responsibility for having lost him.”

Jhorn’s expression stiffened, like chiseled marble, and his words seemed forced. “Onika says this was Arman’s will, so I am determined to trust the God, though it tears me up inside.”

“You raised the boy,” Kal said. “He is like a son to you.”

“No, Sir Kalenek. It’s more than that. He is my son.”

“But you said . . . How?” Kal asked.

“Years ago I worked as one of Rosârah Laviel’s guards. She and Rogedoth made me an offer, paid me handsomely to carry on an intimate relationship with her sister Darlis—no questions asked. Weren’t no chore to me—the woman was a beauty and I was a foolish young soldier. Thought myself blessed by the gods to have drawn such an assignment. I had no understanding of what they were trying to do.”

“And what was that?” Kal asked.

“Rogedoth had heard the legend of the root child. He used his younger daughter as an experimental subject, made her take evenroot while she and I carried on. And when she got pregnant, he made her take root then too. And that’s where the real damage is done, turns out. Root affects the child in the womb, making it grow faster. And, as Rogedoth hoped, gives the babe special abilities.”

“So when you took Grayson from the sick ward . . .” Kal said, recalling Jhorn’s story of abducting the boy from Rosârah Laviel.

“I was rescuing my own son. I knew by then how they meant to use him. I couldn’t let them. Which is why I didn’t want to come with you to the Seffynaw. I was worried Rogedoth and Laviel would recognize me and guess who Grayson really was. But Empress Inolah told me they were gone, so I came.”

And found Grayson gone. “Are you certain the boy has powers?” Kal asked.

“Oh yes, though I’m not sure they’re as impressive as Rogedoth had hoped they’d be. You saw how the water didn’t affect him,” Jhorn said of the time Grayson had fallen into the poisoned red lake. “Also, he can speak any language—whether or not he’s ever heard it before. He can see into the Veil, actually enter it. I’ve trained him to pretend he can’t so that mantics and shadir won’t notice him, but sometimes the creatures there take him by surprise. Shadir are beyond ugly, in their natural form.”

Kal knew that much. “So the whole time we traveled with Priestess Jazlyn, he could see her great shadir?”

“Yes,” Jhorn said. “And that beast was by far the most powerful shadir Grayson had ever seen—that he remembered, anyhow. Rogedoth had a great shadir. I saw it years ago when I’d taken evenroot with Darlis. Grayson might have seen it as a baby.”

The news floored Kal. When he’d heard that Rogedoth was a mantic, he reasoned that the man must have had a shadir. But he’d never considered the Pontiff had bonded with a great.

Kal would have to make sure Wilek knew this right away.

“Sâr Wilek thinks Grayson might be aboard the Vespara,” Kal said. “He has sent out several ships to find both the Vespara and Pontiff Rogedoth’s Amarnath. If Grayson is aboard either, we will find him eventually.”

Jhorn met Kal’s gaze, his expression grave. “If Grayson is aboard any ship with mantics, Sir Kalenek, it might be too late.”