conspiratorial whisper. “Perhaps the abolishment of the Council of Six might interest you. Without the Council of Six, wouldn’t your people be more free to pursue that which they desire?”
Kalen lifted his cup to his lips and took a sip. No one knew quite how old the Council was. Not even the archive had the first records announcing its creation. That treatise was what kept him chained to his desk more often than not, and had forced them to have a rather elaborate system of who handled the missives and work when he wasn’t at his desk.
It was a treatise that kept the six largest Kingdoms from slaughtering each other for the sake of power and conquest. It was the treatise proclaiming the Rift as the neutral mediator destined to watch in silence and speak only when the Six couldn’t agree.
It’d been well over a hundred years since the Six had met, let alone needed the guidance of the Rift.
“And this is your King’s wish?”
“It is,” Garint replied.
Kalen wanted to laugh. His throat tickled with the need to, but he swallowed it back and allowed a faint smile to touch his lips. “And he would not send a missive for something of such importance.”
“You can understand our position, I trust,” Garint replied.
If it was written, the other Kingdoms would have just cause to war against Kelsh. Without the treatise, Kelsh could openly war against Danar without fear of rebuttal.
If Kelsh were to win, it was only a matter of time before they grew too drunk on their own power and force their ideals on the smaller Kingdoms.
He didn’t want to think too hard on what would happen if Danar won that war. There were worse things than men, and the Priests of Danar knew how to summon them. Those were missives from his Akakashani spies that he handled himself and didn’t even let the Guardians read.
“I understand your position,” Kalen said. “And if you hadn’t discovered me, would you have sent a messenger to bring such news to my city?”
“We would have. His Majesty has been in discussions with the rest of the Knights to learn who might be the best to brave your trails and speak with you within Blind Mare Run. It is fortuitous that the rumors are false that you never come out of your Rift.”
“Men don’t like to be caged, and I am not different. It is refreshing to see the realms of the Kings with whom I write with frequently. I trust you understand that,” Kalen said.
“I understand. You can trust that no one else will find out of your presence here,” Garint said. The man’s smile broadened.
The back of Kalen’s neck tingled with the same instinctual warning like when he was being hunted, as though the words were a carefully laid trap, and he was about to walk right into it.
“I will go with you as far as Elenrune. I will decide then if I will meet with your King,” Kalen said. Garint nodded his satisfaction.
Kalen stared at each of the men around him until they looked away. Under the cover of his too-large sleeve, he took up the knife.
No matter how many ways he spun the tale and considered every potential conclusion, it ended the same way. If the Kelshite King had his way, Kalen wouldn’t return to the Rift. Then, the Rift would Ride.
If he were lucky, Kalen would live long enough to see it happen.
~~*~~
Several long hours after leaving the niche where they’d found Kalen’s pack, Breton was tired, sweaty, and ready for a break. When they came across the shadowy entrance of another niche, he reined Perin in and listened.
He heard the swarm of serpents long before he saw them. The rasp of scales was loud enough to drown out even the restless wind. Their high-pitched hisses chilled him. Alone, a nibbler wasn’t a threat. They could be eaten, they were one of the few things in the Rift that wasn’t venomous, and they were tiny. Their dull, gray forms were shorter than his forearm and thinner than his smallest finger.
But, in a swarm, they drove men to madness and even
Kalen lifted his cup to his lips and took a sip. No one knew quite how old the Council was. Not even the archive had the first records announcing its creation. That treatise was what kept him chained to his desk more often than not, and had forced them to have a rather elaborate system of who handled the missives and work when he wasn’t at his desk.
It was a treatise that kept the six largest Kingdoms from slaughtering each other for the sake of power and conquest. It was the treatise proclaiming the Rift as the neutral mediator destined to watch in silence and speak only when the Six couldn’t agree.
It’d been well over a hundred years since the Six had met, let alone needed the guidance of the Rift.
“And this is your King’s wish?”
“It is,” Garint replied.
Kalen wanted to laugh. His throat tickled with the need to, but he swallowed it back and allowed a faint smile to touch his lips. “And he would not send a missive for something of such importance.”
“You can understand our position, I trust,” Garint replied.
If it was written, the other Kingdoms would have just cause to war against Kelsh. Without the treatise, Kelsh could openly war against Danar without fear of rebuttal.
If Kelsh were to win, it was only a matter of time before they grew too drunk on their own power and force their ideals on the smaller Kingdoms.
He didn’t want to think too hard on what would happen if Danar won that war. There were worse things than men, and the Priests of Danar knew how to summon them. Those were missives from his Akakashani spies that he handled himself and didn’t even let the Guardians read.
“I understand your position,” Kalen said. “And if you hadn’t discovered me, would you have sent a messenger to bring such news to my city?”
“We would have. His Majesty has been in discussions with the rest of the Knights to learn who might be the best to brave your trails and speak with you within Blind Mare Run. It is fortuitous that the rumors are false that you never come out of your Rift.”
“Men don’t like to be caged, and I am not different. It is refreshing to see the realms of the Kings with whom I write with frequently. I trust you understand that,” Kalen said.
“I understand. You can trust that no one else will find out of your presence here,” Garint said. The man’s smile broadened.
The back of Kalen’s neck tingled with the same instinctual warning like when he was being hunted, as though the words were a carefully laid trap, and he was about to walk right into it.
“I will go with you as far as Elenrune. I will decide then if I will meet with your King,” Kalen said. Garint nodded his satisfaction.
Kalen stared at each of the men around him until they looked away. Under the cover of his too-large sleeve, he took up the knife.
No matter how many ways he spun the tale and considered every potential conclusion, it ended the same way. If the Kelshite King had his way, Kalen wouldn’t return to the Rift. Then, the Rift would Ride.
If he were lucky, Kalen would live long enough to see it happen.
~~*~~
Several long hours after leaving the niche where they’d found Kalen’s pack, Breton was tired, sweaty, and ready for a break. When they came across the shadowy entrance of another niche, he reined Perin in and listened.
He heard the swarm of serpents long before he saw them. The rasp of scales was loud enough to drown out even the restless wind. Their high-pitched hisses chilled him. Alone, a nibbler wasn’t a threat. They could be eaten, they were one of the few things in the Rift that wasn’t venomous, and they were tiny. Their dull, gray forms were shorter than his forearm and thinner than his smallest finger.
But, in a swarm, they drove men to madness and even
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