Daughter of Fate, page 16
part #1 of The Knights of Alana Series
Devon watched as the man put his head back on the table. He’d seen Caledan drink a time or two, but had never seen him even tipsy—let alone drunk to the point of falling down. Caledan was normally so controlled, calm even in the heat of battle. Whatever he’d needed from the king, it must have been important.
“What did you want from him?” Devon asked softly. “I swear, if it is within my power…”
“I don’t think so!” Caledan chuckled.
Sitting up suddenly, he jerked back in the chair, his head lolling. He leered at Devon, then reached into his coat and drew out a flask. Devon cursed and tried to snatch it from his hands, but the warrior still managed to take a swig before he could take it.
Devon returned to his chair as the sellsword cackled again. “Good stuff, that.”
A sniff of the flask confirmed his words. Devon’s eyes watered as he found himself staring at the candle again. Silently, he wondered what Selina would think of him now. It seemed everything in his life had fallen apart after her death. He’d fought with Kryssa not long after the funeral; though he couldn’t remember over what now. It hadn’t been important—Kryssa had never forgiven Devon for his part in her husband’s death. She’d only been looking for an excuse to cut him from her life.
That had stung, but Devon could accept it, so long as Kryssa and her daughter were safe. But then Pela had come running into his courtyard, upheaving his world yet again. And now Braidon was dead, and it seemed no matter what Devon did, things would never be right again.
The queen had listened in silence to their story, but not even Pela’s pleas could move the woman from her course. She would sail south with the king’s fleet in the morning, five ships to scour the River Lane and the southern coast until they found Julian and his Baronians. They were welcome to join the hunt, but Marianne would not spare any soldiers until the king’s killers were brought to justice.
So Devon would be left to search the Forest of Plorsea alone. A forest teeming with Knights who wanted him dead. The task would be the death of him, and yet he had to try. But he would not bring Pela with him, not this time, when death was almost certain. He would send her back with the queen in the morning. She might hate him forever, but at least Pela would be safe with the King’s Guard.
Remembering his friend brought Devon full circle, and he raised the flask. “To the king,” he said, and drank.
The liquor burned its way down his throat and he had to choke back a cough.
“To the king!” Caledan bellowed, raising an invisible glass. “May the miserable bastard rot at the bottom of the river!”
Devon frowned at the sellsword. “You never did say what you wanted from Braidon,” he said quietly.
“I wanted to watch the light fade from his eyes,” Caledan hiccupped. “For him to die by my sword. But the bastard Baronians beat me to it.”
For a full ten seconds, Devon sat staring at the man. Blood throbbed in his temples as he rose to his feet, fists clenched hard against the table.
“Ruined my life, you see,” Caledan continued, unaware of Devon’s rage in his drunken state. “Destroyed our family. Or at least, his sister did. Just had to die, and take the Gods with her, didn’t she? The Gods and their bastard magic.”
Now it was the sellsword who sat staring into the candlelight. Devon slumped back into his chair, the anger falling from him like water over stone.
“My father borrowed every shilling he could to pay for the healer, but when the man’s magic failed, he fled,” Caledan continued. “I can barely remember her face now. I wish I couldn’t remember my father’s. Bastard drank himself into a stupor for most of my childhood.” His eyes flickered up, though he didn’t seem to see Devon. “That’s why I wanted it to be me. I wanted him to suffer like I suffered. I wanted the witch to know.”
Sitting there in silence, Devon wondered how he could have been so blind. Madness shone from the sellsword’s eyes, borne of the pain he had suffered as a youth, of the hatred that had driven him for all his adult life. It made little sense, the blame he placed at Braidon’s feet, but who else could a child blame but the king?
“It wasn’t Braidon’s fault, you know,” Devon murmured, though he sensed it was hopeless to argue.
Caledan cackled. “Oh I know.” Now his voice took on a steely tone. “But an eye for an eye, as the Knights say, and nothing cuts quite so close as family.”
A chill raised the hackles on Devon’s neck.
“I wanted her family to suffer, as mine suffered,” Caledan spat bitterly. “To die, knowing it was justice.”
“Braidon was a good man,” Devon said. “What would murdering him have achieved?”
“Why should her family get to live,” Caledan roared, coming to his feet, “when mine is all gone?” He finished, his words a misery.
“And what about Plorsea?” Devon asked, mustering all the calm he could manage. “You’ve seen what his death has brought, the chaos. Is this what you wanted, for the sake of revenge?”
“What do I care for Plorsea?” Caledan retorted. Anger seemed to have sobered him somewhat. “What has Plorsea ever done for me? The only person you can rely on in this life is yourself, hammerman. Or haven’t you figured that out yet?”
Devon laughed. “Quite the opposite, sonny. I wouldn’t be here if I’d stood alone all these years.” Faces flickered through his mind—Kellian and Merydith and Alana, and so many more now lost to him—and he continued in a softer voice. “I learned long ago that no matter how long I trained, or how hard I fought, there will always be someone better. Magic or no.”
“There is no one better than me,” Caledan hissed, drawing his sword and holding it aloft.
“Is that so?” Devon asked quietly. He rose and advanced on Caledan, until the sword pressed against his chest. His hammer lay at the foot of the table, but Devon had no need for it.
“What are you doing?” Caledan growled.
“I owe you a debt, don’t I?” Devon murmured. “You helped me rescue the villagers. I could not have done it without you. If you wanted to hurt Alana, to hurt the ones she loved, you never needed to kill Braidon.”
“What are you talking about, old man?” the sellsword slurred.
“Alana died to protect me,” Devon whispered. “That is a truth the Knights refuse to heed. She gave her life for mine. If you wish to hurt her, you only need kill me.”
Caledan stared at him, his face contorting with agony. The tip of his sword trembled, and the razor-sharp blade sliced through Devon’s tunic. Eyes wild, Caledan bared his teeth, an almost inhuman growl rumbling from his chest. Then he stepped back and pointed at Devon’s hammer.
“Pick it up!” he shouted.
“No, sonny,” Devon said, moving forward until the sword rested on his chest again. “I’ll not fight you.”
“Do it!” Caledan screamed. “Let us see who’s the better fighter!”
“No,” Devon rumbled, his voice echoing through the room. “If you want your revenge, take it!”
Caledan pressed down with his sword until blood began to flow. Devon said nothing, only stared at the sellsword, waiting to see what he would do. The strong spirits burned in his stomach and he had no idea why he’d challenged the young warrior. It was madness, and any second now he expected Caledan to skewer him.
What then for Kryssa? There would be no one left to rescue her from the Knights, no one to free her from their clutches. He could not afford to die here, so why had he handed his life over to a madman? Fists clenched, he waited for Caledan to strike the killing blow.
But with an awful scream, Caledan spun and hurled his sword away. Sparks flashed as it struck the bricks of the fireplace. He stumbled away from Devon and crumpled onto the sofa lying in the corner.
Standing by the table, Devon watched him for a long time, until the soft whisper of his snores filled the room and he was sure the swordsman was asleep. Then he retrieved Caledan’s sword and returned it to its scabbard. After a moment’s hesitation, he leaned the sword against the sofa.
He hesitated again before departing for his own bed, staring down at the sellsword. The man had had his chance for revenge. Devon could not understand why he’d refused to take it, but he was relieved. Despite his aging body, he’d realised in that moment he was still needed. He could not allow despair to conquer him now, not so long as he still breathed. Only when he lay cold in his grave would he finally rest.
The next morning, Devon was woken by a groan and a curse. He looked up to see Caledan stagger into the room. For half a second his heart began to race…and then he recalled he was sharing the room with the sellsword. The man’s eyes were red and his face pale; it looked like he was suffering. Stumbling past Devon, he made for his bed before apparently deciding better of it.
He reached the window just in time to hurl the contents of his stomach out into the street. Somewhere outside a voice shouted out, but Caledan was already sinking onto his bed.
“Don’t think that’ll help our relationship with the door guards,” Devon remarked. “Better?”
Caledan shook his head. “I’m never drinking again.”
“I’ve rarely seen a man in such a state.”
Caledan shrugged. “The king is dead.”
Devon eyed him closely, but the sellsword did not seem to recall the conversation from the night before.
“I suppose you’ll be leaving us then?” he asked.
Caledan looked up. “Why?”
“The king is dead,” Devon said, repeating the obvious.
“Yes…” the warrior trailed off, his face taking on a pained look. “But…the Knights still have Pela’s mother.”
“Ay, but I can’t afford you, sonny,” Devon said softly.
Caledan shrugged, his eyes distant. “It can’t all have been for nothing,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then he shook himself. “You can’t rescue the woman without me.”
“I’m not sure we can rescue her with you.”
“Even so.” Caledan gave a pained grin. “I have a reputation to uphold. I cannot go abandoning a quest half-done.”
Devon eyed the man, remembering his rage the night before. Finally he sighed. “Very well, sonny.” He glanced out the window. The first hint of light now lit the world. “We’ll take the first ferry across the Lane. But first I need to talk with Pela. She won’t be continuing with us.”
“Good luck with that,” Caledan remarked.
“I wish I’d never let her come this far,” Devon murmured. “But it can’t go on, not now, when so much is at stake.”
“Did you have a plan for how to rescue the woman from a hundred of the bastards?” Caledan grunted.
“Ay,” Devon replied. “I have a few ideas.”
Chapter 26
Caledan’s head pounded with each step as he descended the stairwell and stepped out into the backyard of the villa. His stomach swirled and he wanted more than anything to return to his bed and sleep. Silently, he cursed his weakness of the night before, for letting grief sweep away his self-control. After watching his father drink himself to death, he rarely tasted anything stronger than ale.
But the king’s death had shocked him, cutting him adrift. He had no purpose now, no dreams, nothing to aspire to. For so long, he’d dreamt of slaying the king. But always Braidon had been protected, surrounded by his Guard. Only the most loyal soldiers could join the King’s Guard, and Caledan had never been the soldier type. He fought for himself—or whoever could pay the most.
So why had he agreed to continue with Devon’s foolish quest? After all, his skills would be in high demand in the coming days, as vultures circled the flailing country. Nobles and merchants alike would offer good gold for his sword. Instead, he’d agreed to help a man who could pay nothing.
Yet his time as a sellsword had only ever been a means to an end. Now that that end no longer existed…what was the point? But neither could he simply retire. Sure, he had coin enough to buy a farm, but what joy would he find eking out an existence on the land? He was a warrior, and he would sooner lie down in a ditch by the Gods Road than surrender to such an existence.
So he would ride with Devon for now—at least until a better opportunity presented itself. Whatever he’d told Devon, he didn’t intend to see out his quest until the end. Storming a Castle was one thing; only a madman with a death wish would go up against the full might of the Order.
Caledan grimaced as the clouds parted overhead and the sunlight lit the courtyard. Spotting Devon standing at the docks, he started towards him. The hammerman wore a grim smile, but it fell from his face when he turned and saw Caledan approaching. Their eyes met, and Caledan hesitated.
If you want your revenge, take it!
A frown touched Caledan’s forehead. The words were spoken in Devon’s voice, but he could not recall the old warrior saying them. Dismissing them, he crossed the courtyard to where the rest of the King’s Guard were gathering.
Two dozen remained of the garrison in Lane, along with those men and women who’d survived the Baronian attack. All were garbed for war, their red and gold armour gleaming in the morning sun.
“Caledan!” Pela shouted behind him before he could join the Guard.
The young woman came storming across the courtyard, her face twisted in a fiery rage, and drew to a stop in front of him.
“You can’t let him do this!”
Caledan sighed, the pain in his forehead redoubling. The crunch of footsteps saved him from answering as Devon appeared alongside him.
“This discussion is over, missy,” Devon rumbled. “You’re going back.”
“No.” Pela’s sword flashed into her hand. She pointed it at Devon, her eyes shining. “You can’t!”
Devon lifted a finger and moved the point of the sword away.
“I can,” he said quietly, crouching beside her. “I told you at the start; I should never have brought you. In that forest, I can’t protect you—”
“And who will protect you?” Pela snapped. “Or did you forget I saved you in Townirwin?”
“I did not forget,” Devon murmured, crouching beside her, “and you have my thanks. But…”
“You don’t think we can win, do you?” Pela croaked.
The hammerman closed his eyes and his head bowed. “I…I won’t give up, Pela.”
“You need me.”
“Maybe we do,” Devon whispered, and for a moment hope showed on Pela’s face. “But Kryssa would not want you to trade your life for hers.”
“I won’t go,” Pela grated. “I’ll follow you.”
“I know,” Devon replied, coming to his feet. “That’s why I told Rylle to look out for you. You’ll be on the queen’s ship, nowhere near the battle, should they find the Baronians. They’ll take you home.”
“You’re passing me off to the King’s Guard,” Pela hissed.
“Yes,” Devon sighed, and Rylle stepped up beside him.
“You can’t—”
“I can,” Devon cut her off. “You’re going, Pela—if I have to chain you to the mast myself, you’re going.”
Pela’s eyes darkened. “I’ll never forgive you for this,” she hissed, then turned on her heel and stomped down the pier to the queen’s ship.
Genevieve appeared from the shadows at the edge of the courtyard. She raised an eyebrow at Devon, but the old warrior only shook his head. “It’s for the best,” he murmured, then looked at Rylle. “You’ll look after her?”
“She’s the daughter of Derryn and Kryssa,” Rylle replied, as though that was all that needed to be said.
“Thank you,” Devon said. His eyes flickered to Genevieve. “Are you sure you’re up for this? Going against the whole Order is more than any of us bargained for back in Skystead.”
Smiling, Genevieve stepped around the hammerman and crossed the courtyard to where a line of horses waited for them. She swung herself into the saddle of a white gelding and took up the reins of the pack horse.
“Let’s get moving,” she said shortly, “before we miss the ferry.”
A smile flickered on Devon’s face and he followed suit. Struggling to keep the last remnants of his supper in his stomach, Caledan hauled himself onto the last horse and followed his companions out the side gate of the villa. Glancing back, he caught a glimpse of Pela on the deck of the queen’s ship. She stood with sword in hand, hacking and slashing at invisible enemies—or perhaps at Devon—and Caledan felt a touch of sadness at their departure.
Despite his initial reservations, he’d liked the girl. Terrified as she might have been, Pela had shown more courage over the last few weeks than many adults Caledan had known throughout his thirty-three years. But he supposed the old warrior was right—chances were, none of them would survive an encounter with the entire Order of Alana.
Which raised the question again: why was he following Devon on this suicide mission?
Chapter 27
Pela shrieked as she lashed out with her sword, skewering an imaginary enemy and then spinning in time to deflect a second. A sharp hiss followed each swipe of the blade, her breath coming in short gasps. The deck of the ship rocked gently beneath her as the oars rose and fell, propelling them ever downriver.
She barely noticed. The queen’s ship was crowded, but she had managed to find some space at the bow where she could practice the drills Caledan had taught her. Not that they mattered now. She cursed and speared an imaginary heart.
After everything they’d been through, how could Devon have done this? He needed her! Pela had not forgotten the despair in his eyes back in Townirwin, how close he had come to giving up on her mother. Now he had lost faith in himself; he was defeated before he’d even begun.
Shouting again, Pela brought her blade down in an overhead slash that would have beheaded anyone standing in her path, then stepped back and sucked in a breath.
What was she going to do? The queen was taking her back to Skystead, to the sleepy little town she had always called home. But what was left for her there now, without her mother or grandmother or Devon? How would she support herself?
