“Power dances on the wind,” the katerghen said. “They come.”
The katerghen popped and crackled then bounded through the porthole, stretching and twisting to effortlessly fit. Rezkin watched after him, noting that they were already tied to the floating dock, and the fae creature disappeared. Once he had finally cleared his mind of his muddled thoughts, Rezkin left his cabin. He had no idea what the katerghen was trying to tell him, but it sounded ominous. Without more information, it was pointless to speculate. He put the matter aside.
The ride to the sanctorum of the Adana’Ro should not have been a long one. The process of arriving, however, had become daunting. Since they needed to acquire more horses anyway, Rezkin had planned on purchasing some in Esk. It was unexpected that none of the horse traders were willing to sell. No matter their method of approach, somehow the traders always saw through their subterfuge. The road was fairly well traveled, and no word of trouble had reached their ears before the onset of their journey. After being attacked by bandits twice in the first hour of their jaunt, however, it became obvious they were being targeted. What would have been a few hours’ ride by road turned into nearly a day’s hike across wild terrain.
“I do not like this,” said Farson.
“Nor do I,” replied Rezkin, “but it was unavoidable that they would know we were coming.”
“They have not attacked,” Shezar observed.
“They have been slowing us down,” Farson said. “Do you think they planned this from the beginning?”
“They stole the sword long before I had designs for Cael or dealings with Gendishen. It may be that someone whispered in Privoth’s ear the suggestion to have me retrieve it, though.”
“Privoth is shrewd enough to invest in that idea on his own,” said Farson.
Malcius sidled up beside them. “I still do not understand why the Adana’Ro would be interested in you.”
“The Adana’Ro are mysterious,” Rezkin said.
Malcius huffed. “That is not an answer.”
Yserria wedged herself between Malcius and Rezkin and said, “The king does not answer to you, Malcius Jebai.”
Malcius said, “You may be a knight now, but I still outrank you. You will treat me with respect.”
Yserria grinned sweetly and said, “When you say something worthy of respect, I shall oblige.”
Malcius looked to Rezkin. “Why do you put up with her?”
“If you find her remarks offensive, Malcius, perhaps you should do something about it.”
“But … she is a swordmaster!”
“Yes, and you are not. Her strength is earned, while yours is dependent on the diluted power of your forefathers. Knight Yserria is not a conniving woman. I would not have granted her the title if she were. Find a way to earn her respect.”
Yserria grinned as Malcius fumed and then dropped back to walk beside Reaylin and Nanessy.
“You always take her side,” Malcius muttered.
“We are all on the same side,” Rezkin said as he studied the cliff face looming in the distance.
The sanctorum was located high upon a cliff that overlooked the River Rhen. The river’s banks were dotted with scraggly bushes and the occasional twisted, scruffy tree. Patches of greenery grew where the water splashed off rocks, but the landscape was otherwise speckled with rocks and a variety of cactuses. The river flowed between high cliffs that appeared painted in varying shades of gold and red, and the road they had intended to take ran across the high ground. It would have taken a phenomenal archer and a generous amount of luck to target them so far below; but, from that vantage, it would be easy to track their progress and signal ahead for an ambush. Therefore, it was not surprising when they were suddenly surrounded by masked assailants.
Wesson and Nanessy immediately encapsulated the travelers in a glowing ward of their combined powers, intentionally rendering visible to all. It crackled with warnings in livid red runes scored across the swirling blue surface. An attempt to breach the ward would mean a messy death.
The assailants were mostly women, each dressed in black and covered from head to foot. All that showed from beneath their skin-tight coverings were their eyes, but the weapons they carried were obvious. Swords, knives, and bows abounded, while mage power buzzed in strength from a few. Thirteen were visible, which meant there were probably at least three more unseen. One stood out among them. She wore a head scarf of scarlet red, and her eyes danced with mirth as she met Rezkin’s gaze.
“We meet again,” said the secrelé in heavily accented Ashaiian.
Rezkin recognized her as the woman who had led the cueret at the Black Hall. “Do’grelah, Secrelé,” he said in formal greeting. He switched to Ferélli, having already confirmed that none of his companions spoke the language. “My companions are ro. You will not harm them.”
After a quick perusal of the others, the secrelé said, “Perhaps some of them are ro, but they dance along the fire line.”
“Only because they are in my company.”
“Then it is you who are responsible for their fall.”
“Only if you push them,” he countered.
Her eyes narrowed as if she smirked beneath the mask. “Why did you bring them?”
“To them I am king. They believe I need them.”
“Do you?”
Rezkin shrugged. “A king without vassals is a king in name only, and I have no need of titles.”
At this, she chuckled. “And yet you have acquired many.”
Rezkin grinned in return. “The first act of defense is to put a name to that which you fear. Without a name, I am only fear itself.”
Her almond eyes became crescents again, and she said, “Do you think we fear you?”
He said, “I think it is your wish.”
“Why would we wish for that?”
“Because you hope. You hope for the Riel’gesh.”
She glanced at the others, who stood in tense anticipation. Another of the Adana’Ro, a woman with amber-colored eyes who buzzed with the talent, approached.
“I have completed the study. They must drop the ward if they are to leave or strike outside of it,” she said.
The secrelé looked back to Rezkin and spoke in Ashaiian. “You will come alone.” Again, she grinned beneath her mask. “And, you will bare yourself.”
Rezkin said, “I do not believe that is customary.”
Her eyes glinted with silent laughter, and she replied, “We do not trust you.”
He glanced back to the strikers.
Shezar said, “It is not worth the risk. With the mages, we can defeat these and leave this place. Once they have lost so many, they will reconsider their methods of negotiation.”
When prompted, Farson shrugged. “You are the weapon. If you should need any others, you can take theirs. You will be at a disadvantage without the armor, though.” He met the secrelé’s gaze as he continued speaking to Rezkin. “If you die, it will not be the first time. They should worry about what you will do when you return.”
The two women glanced at each other and then watched as Rezkin began to disrobe.
“Wait,” Malcius exclaimed. “You are not seriously going in the nude.”
Rezkin removed his armor and then his shirt. He then began unstrapping all the previously hidden sheathes and harnesses, tossing his knives, stars, needles, and other sharp objects into a pile on the ground. “They have something we need, and this is what I must to do get it.”
Malcius watched as the pile of armaments grew. “I had no idea you carried so many weapons. Actually, I did not know it was possible.”
“I do not always carry this many.”
Malcius muttered, “A lot of good it does you if you just throw them away because they tell you to.”
“That is precisely the good of it,” he said as he pulled off his boots. “They know that, although we are surrounded, we are not incapable of defending ourselves. I voluntarily disarm and disrobe as a gesture of good faith.”
“Good faith to a sect of assassins,” Malcius muttered.