CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
*~~~**~~~*
Alaric Sampson
*~~~**~~~*
20th of Decepter, 935 PC
----------------------------------------
Alaric crumpled up the note and handed it to Tripelthin. “Burn this. Fucking burn it to ashes.”
“There’s no escaping-” The advisor stopped when Alaric snapped his eyes toward him. A flame burned at the end of his thumb a second later and then the parchment was turning orange and black as the flame spread slowly. Tripelthin dropped it in a tin cup and shook out his magic.
Alaric made straight for the bookshelves in a blind fit of rage. His fingers curled down the back of a few books then yanked them off the shelf with a loud outburst. They thumped and banged across the warped floorboards. The window shattered as he hoisted another book through it. “Fuck!” Book after book soared into the raindrops.
Tripelthin spoke gently. “Alaric.”
Alaric slammed both hands against the window frame and let his head hang.
“Alaric.”
“What?”
“Might I ask what the note said? I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”
Alaric turned around, still breathing heavily. “They found them.”
“Surely not. Who’s word is so trusted?”
“King.” Tripelthin closed his eyes, accepting the situation for what it was – a fucking disaster. “Slaughtered the whole village and took the Marsallas. At least he thinks they did. There was no sign of them.”
The Marsallas were as important as Maddy. The boy gave them a way to learn the Lotus Queen’s secrets but the Marsallas gave them a chance to reverse the effects of her lotus magic. They were his way of offering Lotus a way out of the horrible fate their false prophet had strapped them with. Without an antidote no one would abandon the purge and the lifeline the Lotus Army supplied them. A new leader would simply blossom upon Iris’ death and continue the efforts; Donovan Rellin came to mind.
“They were so close,” Alaric said. “So fucking close. We are so close!” He dropped his ass onto the window sill, letting the cold night air chill his sweaty back.
“We adjust,” Tripelthin said. “We send a group to Northcrest. To the Deep Frost. There’s no doubt in my mind they’ve been taken there.”
“They’re surely dead, Trip.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” The way he spoke was convincing enough to let Alaric hope. “Iris appreciates brilliance. Would it be so hard to believe that she’d force them to work for her rather than against her?”
Alaric rubbed the stiff stubble on his cheeks. “It’s what I’d do.”
“I believe it’s what any good leader would do.”
There was a tap, tap, tap at the door.
“What is it, Garth?” Alaric yelled at the door.
A soft hum of night-time activities came through the crack as the door opened. A man the size of an ox standing on its back legs dipped his head as he stepped into the room. No matter how many times Alaric saw the monster he could never believe just how large he was. Or how strong. The greataxe strapped to his back was little more than decoration. Garth liked to kill with his hands – more respectful was how he’d put it. The only thing the axe on his back couldn’t cut through was the stiff, bristly beard that stuck out a few inches from his chin.
Garth stood up straight, arms tucked uncomfortably behind his back. Tattoos depicting adventures Alaric was glad he wasn't present for covered every inch of them. “You got a visitor.” His voice was so deep it was almost difficult to understand. “Sir.” The big man had a tendency to forget how he should address his employer.
“Tell them I’m busy,” Alaric said.
The door opened further. “I’m not the kind of man to wait.” No one could forget a voice like Rhyne Camdrie’s.
Alaric had been expecting this moment since Belvedere explained what had happened in the woods the night before.
The general of The Hounds of Haldar stepped out from behind Garth’s girthy frame. His heavy boots thumped loudly, his black chainmail rattled quietly. The first thing Alaric always noticed about the general was the scar under his left eye; grim but nothing like his own. Rhyne was nowhere near the size of the bodyguard, yet his presence was equally imposing. He’d taken over command of the infamous mercenary group when he had but twenty-four years to his name, an achievement that had made him a household name across the entire empire. Alaric always considered it a much more lucrative way to accomplish that task than having your chest torn open.
“Alaric. Tripelthin.”
“Rhyne.”
“General Camdrie. What brings you to Thronerock?” Tripelthin asked.
A useless question. They all knew the answer. Except, perhaps, Garth. Alaric was never quite sure what Garth did and didn’t know. The real question was how Rhyne knew they were here.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
Just as the general went to respond, Alaric said, “Thank you, Garth. We won’t be needing you.” General Camdrie started up again but was interrupted once more. “Please, Rhyne, come sit down. It’s been too long.” More like not long enough. The pettiness was only the beginning. He’d be throwing insults soon if he wasn’t careful. Perhaps snapping another neck on accident with the mood he was in. Tripelthin pulled out a chair for their guest as Alaric made his way to the other side of the table. Alaric pulled a hard candy out of his pocket in hopes that it might help calm him down, laying the wax paper down in front of him.
The Hound took his seat. “I see you’ve gone with no curtains. Or glass,” he said, nodding toward the shattered window.
“What can we do for you?” Alaric asked as calmly as he could.
There was one good thing about Rhyne – he didn’t beat around the bush. “I’d like compensation for my men that were killed in the woods.”
Not unreasonable. “How much?” Alaric asked.
“A hundred Leos per head.”
Completely unreasonable.
Silence.
Alaric sucked on his hard candy furiously. This bastard thinks he can come into my inn and demand outrageous prices for an accident… “It’s my understanding that your men had bad intentions. You wouldn’t expect a capable woman to simply allow herself to be taken against her will, would you?”
“I can assure you my men would never think to do anything of the sort.” Lies. It’s exactly what they’d do. It was what they did regularly. In fact, it was part of the reason the group was so feared.
Tripelthin’s input was to be expected, however, he did come at the situation from an unexpected angle. “Gentlemen. Rather than bump heads until you’re both blue in the face, might I suggest you address the real matter at hand… We have Diedro Pyvelle and you know it. If you are telling us it will cost four hundred Leos for his services then we will pay it. If that is truly what you want for your other losses, then I’ll have Garth see you out and we’ll handle this another way.”
General Camdrie leaned to the side of the table and blew snot onto the floor. “Three hundred for Pyvelle. One hundred total for the men in the woods.”
“Come on Rhyne,” Alaric said.
“Pyvelle is worth even more that.”
“Done.” Tripelthin was on his feet immediately. “Excuse me while I get your money.”
And there they were, old friends reunited. Torn apart by ambition, kept apart by a woman so cunning she could convince a man the sun rose in the west and set in the east. And not a blind man, one that was looking right at the damn thing.
Neither spoke at first and eye contact was poisonous. The only sound was the wind blowing through the window. Alaric would be damned if he’d let Rhyne Camdrie be the first to wriggle through the discomfort of silence better than him. He picked up the wax paper wrapper and twiddled it nonchalantly.
Finally, Rhyne said, “Still stubborn, I see.”
“How’d you find us?” The words blew out of Alaric’s mouth like he’d be holding his breath in anticipation.
Rhyne rubbed the scar under his eye. The one his brother had accidentally given him as a young man but he now used to look the part of a grizzled general. Not that he didn’t have plenty of others but this one had somehow made him a living legend. All Alaric’s scars did was punish him for living. “You have no secrets anymore. You’re about as difficult to find as my own cock.” His voice was gentle now, like it had been when they were close, not the voice he used to make his reputation more believable. And yet it made Alaric even angrier. Or maybe he was just angry at Urman. Or Iris. Or himself. Who knew, there were all prime candidates… “I would have sold him to you. No need to play a month’s worth of games trying to sneak him out from under my nose.”
Alaric brought his foot across his knee and grabbed his ankle. “You don’t think I know that?”
“Just can’t see why you went and did it anyway.”
“Because no one will fight for a man who bought them like they will for a man that rescued them.”
Rhyne shrugged in disinterested agreement. “She’s pressuring me, Alaric. Damn near every week.”
“Join her. Cower like everyone else for all I care.”
“I don’t cower to anyone, but I do see the value in her proposal. The world isn’t like it was when you were part of the Crimson Nine. Wars aren’t fought like they were then.” Then… It had only been half a decade or so and yet the world had an entirely new face, a new heartbeat. “She has flying ships that can drop the three hells on your head. She has battering rams on wheels that carry the men instead of needing to be carried. I may have the better soldiers, but she’d decimate us in a battle. The Hounds are a distant third in this arms race. I have to do something.”
He’d never expected to hear those words come from Rhyne’s mouth. As true as they were, he figured the man’s ego would never let him accept the fact.
Rhyne continued, “I wish we could work together, my friend, but the Hounds don’t have enough honor to go down with the ship.”
Alaric tossed the wax paper on the table and tapped his fingers on the wood repeatedly as he thought. He was well aware of Iris’ talks with The Hounds. In fact, he’d been impressed by her when he’d learned of her willingness to admit she needed better soldiers. He’d long ago come to terms with the fact that the woman was a formidable opponent but the longer this went, the more he realized exactly how quick a learner she was. “For fuck’s sake, Rhyne. It will kill your men.” The lack of response made Alaric uncomfortable. “Rellin’s figured it out then?” A nod. “When it rains it pours, my father always said.”
“And she’s offered to let me run her army however I see fit.”
“A deal fit for a general if I’ve ever heard one.”
“I’ll hold out as long as possible but you can expect to see Hounds with purple claws soon.”
Alaric had almost convinced himself to beg Rhyne to end the purge if he was given control of the Lotus Army when the door opened and Tripelthin walked back in. Garth trailed him with the chest of Leos.
Tripelthin said, “You can count them if you must but I can assure you I don’t short-change anyone.”
“It’s fine,” Rhyne said, using the voice that matched his persona better, gruff and annoyed, like his time with Alaric had been insufferable. Perhaps it had. “I’d ask only for some help taking it to my coach.”
“Garth, be a gem and help Rhyne out,” Alaric said smartly, staring out the window.
“Alright.” A pause. “Sir.”
Alaric barely heard him over the angry crunch of hard candy.