Rezkin remained alert on the walk back to his comrades in the dark. His focus was split between the potential dangers of the desert wilderness, their proximity to the sanctorium, the jeng’ri who followed only a few paces behind, and his contemplations over how he might convince the queen of Lon Lerésh to part with her daughter so that he could deliver her to a sect of assassins.
“You didn’t mean it, did you?”
His attention fractured once more to include a new line of focus. Frisha had finally broken her silent protest.
“Which part?” he said.
“You know which part,” she snapped from beside him.
“I assure you that what I meant for the Adana’Ro I also mean for the jeng’ri who is walking behind you.”
Frisha glanced back and seemed to understand his meaning.
Xa said, “You know I can hear you.”
“Yes, and now neither of you know to whom I am being most sincere.”
A silhouette, a large, imposing figure, stepped into their path. Farson’s voice carried in the darkness. “I am no longer the only one who understands what it means to never trust anything this man says.”
Rezkin said, “According to the Rules, Striker, you should never trust what anyone says.”
Farson grumbled, “That may be true for you, but the rest of us have to function in a society where a certain level of trust must be granted.”
Frisha said, “Well, I choose to trust you, Rezkin. I do not believe you were using me.”
Xa stepped up beside her and said, “I trust that the Riel’gesh would not weaken himself with useless sentiment.”
“Yet, you both cannot be right,” said Farson.
“But they could both be wrong,” Rezkin added.
The others fell silent as they walked, presumably to contemplate his statement. Finally, Frisha said, “You are intentionally confusing us.”
“Yes,” he replied. Changing the subject, he asked Farson, “Why are you here? You should be in the ward with the others.”
“The mages could not keep that type of ward active for so long. It fell a while ago, replaced with something less threatening. We have been taking turns scouting in case we needed to prepare for another ambush or you required assistance. The camp has been moved to a better location. It is just around this bend.”
Farson snuck back into the darkness, and Rezkin strode into what appeared, from outside the ward, to be a dark camp. Once he crossed the threshold, however, he was surrounded by ethereal light emitted by blue fluorescent swirls dancing across the interior surface of the ward. He was followed by Frisha and Xa, whom most of the others still knew as Lus.
“Frisha?” Malcius exclaimed. “What are you doing here? You were supposed to be waiting on the ship.”
Frisha huffed. “I was—until a group of assassins swarmed the ship and kidnapped us.”
“See?” Malcius snapped. “This is why you should not have come.”
“You’re going to blame this on me?” Frisha said. She balled her fists. “You know what your problem is, Malcius? You always blame the people you’re supposed to care about for everything bad that happens.”
Malcius stomped toward her. “That is because the people I care about keep getting themselves into trouble!”
Frisha’s retort died on her lips as Rezkin whipped the veil from his hips and began dressing.
Malcius said, “Rezkin, must you do that here? There are women.”
“Oh, no, he’s fine,” Reaylin said. “We don’t mind.”
Rezkin looked at Malcius as he strapped a few previously hidden knives to his legs, knowing he would have to adjust them later so his opponents would not know their exact locations. He said, “You would prefer I go outside the protective ward to dress?”
“No, I guess not, but they—”
“Have already seen. If they do not wish to see more, they may look away.”
Malcius stormed over to Yserria, who was seated beside Reaylin, and said, “You are a knight. Have you no decorum?”
Yserria bounded to her feet to meet Malcius’s hostile stance. “Firstly, Malcius Jebai, my oaths said nothing about not watching a man dress; and secondly, it is none of your business where I look!”
Malcius fumed as he stormed to the edge of the ward and sat with his back to the group behind the rock on which Brandt was sitting.
Shezar stepped closer to Rezkin and said, “That one is always angry.”
“Yes,” Rezkin said as he pulled on his pants.
The striker said, “It will get him killed.”
“Probably,” Rezkin replied.
“We should counsel him.”
“You may try, but I believe this is something he must work through for himself. Then again, I have difficulty understanding these outworlders at times. I could be wrong.”
“I have not yet known you to be wrong,” Shezar said with a smirk.
Rezkin strapped on his sword belt and replied, “I am often wrong. I simply choose not to speak of it to others.” With an edge of frustration in his tone, he said, “I was wrong about what Privoth would want, and now we are stuck going to Lon Lerésh.”
“The sword is in Lon Lerésh?
“No, it is not. We are set to yet another task. They want Oledia.”
“Who is Oledia?” Reaylin asked, obviously having been paying as much attention to their conversation as she was Rezkin’s body.
“Queen Erisial’s daughter.”
“Another princess?” she exclaimed.
“She is not a princess,” Rezkin said. “In Lon Lerésh, the crown is not passed down the family line, and the offspring of the rulers bear no more power or respect than any other member of a powerful house. Lon Lerésh is ruled by women. The women are the heads of the houses, and they maintain and control all matters of politics, business, and the personal lives of the members of their houses. For a woman to climb the social ladder, she must defeat someone higher than her, either through financial, political, or physical means. Accepted methods of defeat in specific matters are strictly governed by cultural tradition. To become queen, a woman must kill the sitting ruler.”
Reaylin said, “So any woman can assassinate the queen and claim the throne?”
“Technically, yes, but she would not remain queen for long. If she does not have the support and strength of the highest houses behind her, she will be killed by a rival. You have played Queen’s Gambit?”
“Yes, my father taught me when I was a child,” Reaylin said. “I hate it.”
“It came from Lon Lerésh. It is a game of strategy best won when your opponent cannot make any moves against you without destroying him or herself. When played with multiple players, one must manipulate the board so that any move by any player will be harmful to the other players. The player in the lead takes the Crest, and the other players are relegated to fighting each other to remain in the game.”
“I know,” Reaylin huffed. “I never win. Either a player has to sacrifice herself for someone else to have a chance, or the other players gang up on someone, which was always me, by the way.”
“I wonder why,” Frisha muttered.
Rezkin said, “The crown of Lon Lerésh is won in much the same way as the game. It might be easily gained through murder, but it is not easily kept. Queen Erisial has worn the crown for six years, which is a long time by Leréshi standards.”
Malcius glared at Yserria as he stood to rejoin them and said, “What you are saying is that the Leréshi are a bunch of conniving, backstabbing women who are not to be trusted.” He looked at Rezkin. “Great. When do we go?”
“You will stay with the other men on the ship. I will go alone with Yserria, Reaylin, and Mage Threll.”
“That is absurd,” Malcius exclaimed.
“Yes, it is,” Farson said as he stomped through the ward. “She is not going in there alone.”
Shezar also spoke up. “I am prepared to stand at your side.”
Rezkin looked between the two strikers skeptically. “You two desire to go into Lon Lerésh?”
Both shifted uncomfortably, and Shezar said, “I do not desire to go there, but I will suffer the consequences to serve my king.”
“And I will not let my niece go alone,” Farson said.
“She will not be alone. Knight Yserria and Reaylin will be with her, and she is a capable mage in her own right. You, however, will be a liability.”
“I will go,” Wesson said.
Rezkin looked at him in surprise. “You understand the danger?”