Knights of Rilch: Serengard, #2

By Rachel O'Laughlin

When Serengard rebels and the Orion monarchy falls, former crown princess Kierstaz Orion’s love for her people becomes a burning desire to set things right. With a price on their heads, Kierstaz and her brother Mikel lead a handful of men against the new army, fighting skirmishes all along the border of Dreibourge. But months of heavy bloodshed force her small band of knights to abandon the border—and all of Serengard—to the rebels.

Nine years and a thousand betrayals later, Kierstaz and Mikel again find themselves on the run—only this time, they’ve a boy in tow: Malcom, the son of two of the Seren rebellion’s strongest leaders. The new regime wants him dead, Mikel wants him alive, and it’s all Kierstaz can do to keep their tracks covered. Desperate to preserve the innocent life she swore to protect and the brother who has always stood by her, Kierstaz must gamble the last thing in the world she owns: her identity. Secrets are a staple of the Orion family, and those Kierstaz keeps are as dangerous as the ones kept from her.

In this thrilling sequel to Coldness of Marek, loyalties and alliances are turned on their heads, vows are made and broken, and no one escapes unscathed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rachel O'Laughlin
• Release date: Feb 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9780984919444

Book preview

the S E C O N D in the

S E R E N G A R D S E R I E S

KNIGHTS

of

RILCH

by Rachel O’Laughlin

DUBLIN MIST PRESS

MAINE

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

KNIGHTS OF RILCH © Copyright 2014 by Rachel O’Laughlin

All Rights Reserved.

First Edition. February 2014.

Published by Dublin Mist Press

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

ISBN: 978-0-9849194-4-4

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9849194-3-7

Knights of rilch : Serengard, book two / by Rachel O’Laughlin

1. Fiction 2. Fantasy 3. Epic

www.rachelolaughlin.com

Edited by Rebecca A. Weston.

Original Watercolor and Pencil Artwork Copyright © 2013 by Dan Tare. All Rights Reserved.

For Abbie, Andy, and Gracie — loyal allies when I desperately needed them.

{1}

Now

In the province of Dreibourge.

In the 13th year of The Four Cities.

TEV DIDN’T RECOGNIZE THE MAN’S face from this distance. He was a Seren, like many who came through the port towns, but he stopped Malcom in the street and said more than a word to him. That made the hair on her arms prickle, and the instant Malcom turned toward her, the pallor of his skin set her on edge. He hadn’t looked like that since the day they left the cliffs.

He asked me which month I came here, and I couldn’t remember. Malcom jerked his nose toward the short little man. I made one up, but… He shrugged, petrified fright still stamped on his face.

Tev kept her voice calm. Have you noticed him anywhere before?

No. Wait… Where’d he go?

I see him. Tev slipped around the corner of their tiny flat into the market square—if you could call the sorry mess a market. The man led her through a confusing maze of alleys and stacks of barreled fish, his footsteps fast for someone of his stature. As were hers. Even before she reached him, she knew what was wrong by the few glimpses she caught. His hair was cut close to his head. His fingernails were clean. He was not the kind of man who came here in search of refuge, but he was no slave trader either.

That made him a spy. A hunter.

Tev followed him all the way to the docks, into a narrow passageway between buildings, and grabbed his arm. She was stronger than him and tossed him against the wall without difficulty. He pulled a knife, but she already had one against his throat. She took his with a smile that she hoped gave him chills.

Tev tucked his blade inside her waistband. Who are you working for?

He didn’t blink. Aren’t you forgetting to ask my name?

I know your type. I know you’re looking for someone. You can look elsewhere.

One of his eyebrows raised slowly. No need to get unpleasant. I can’t think what I did to upset you.

You were talking to my son. A man such as you might want to ship him off for the army. He’s too young. Keep your petty fingers off.

"How old is he?" He was skilled, turning the conversation back on her.

Tev tried a different approach. You know there’s reward money on most of the people in these parts, but you also know most of us are vicious enough to kill you before you collect, so there’s no reason to be this far west unless you’re looking for family. True?

A slow grin split his features. I’m not falling into your little traps, lady.

Tev let the ghost of a smile drift across her own lips. Your loss, sir.

She stabbed him quickly, just below the knee. He cried out in surprise and pain and reached down to grasp at it.

Should have answered me the first time, she hissed at him through her teeth.

You’re a cold woman.

You’re not the first to tell me that. Tev smiled and flicked her long, dusty-auburn hair behind her. She slid an arm under his shoulder. Not to worry. I’ll have you fixed up by evening, in time for the man to get home. He’ll want to talk to you.

Who’s the man?

He’s the nicer of the two of us. But he can be mean, too, I promise. Don’t make a sound. Smile and nod. I’ll keep this knife close to your gut all the way.

No one noticed her limping companion. There were a lot of injured in the moor towns. The only sufficient work was in the mountains, cutting granite, laying road in the cuts, or—if you were lucky—hauling out the scrap. When people were too hurt to work anymore, they came to the moors. Tev had avoided them at first because there were ports nearby—too much access to the world—but she’d soon learned inland was far worse. The Drei had gravitated toward the Four Cities of the former kingdom of Serengard, and those left in the foothills were bitter and suspicious, especially of Serens. And while Tev was slim enough to fit in amongst the slender Drei, her brother had the stocky Seren build and hair far too blond.

Here, there were plenty of drifters and criminals. No one asked, no one told, and no one expected justice for any wrongs done.

She dropped the body of the man on the floor of their tiny dwelling. Malcom’s eyes went wide, and she put a finger to her lips. He had seen a lot in his thirteen years, but he hadn’t seen her let blood the way she was trained to. Not up close, anyway.

The cellar, she told him.

He swung open the hatch and helped her lower the man down.

Are you going to kill him? Malcom asked.

Shh. Tev let the light glint off of her blade. The rest of her was hidden in shadow. She knew she didn’t look all that menacing. She had a tiny frame and a face covered in freckles. They kept her looking younger than her thirty-four years. I’ll probably have to. He refuses to tell me why he’s here, and we can’t take risks.

Can’t you at least wait until he gets home?

I might. She didn’t want to ask Mikel. He came home late every few nights, his deep sword scars well-hidden by a mixture of dried sweat and marble dust. He slipped out with Malcom, and they played at weaponry behind bawdy houses full of patrons too drunk to notice. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t even eat that much. But he seemed happy enough. She didn’t like to disturb his calm.

Besides, it wasn’t his job to protect Malcom. It was hers.

Did you like the feel of that blade in your leg, Seren? Tev snapped at the man.

He bit his own lip hard enough to make it white. I don’t care what you do to me, woman. I’m not here for you.

You’re here for the boy.

I didn’t say that.

Tell me who wants him?

No.

Tev looked up at Malcom. Go check the windows.

It was a good distraction for him. She tore the man’s sleeve, stuffed the fabric in his mouth, and made a long, shallow cut up his arm. He didn’t even scream. Not a good sign.

Did Otreya send you? Are you here to steal him away for the old man? Or have you a more sinister purpose?

He just shook his head.

You probably find it quite convenient that you’re in my cellar. If you know who the boy is, you know who had him last. Is it his guardian you seek?

The flash of recognition was unmistakable. Yes. He was looking for Mikel. And he knew who she was: Kierstaz Orion, alive and well in the slums of Dreibourge. Dermed. Well, she hadn’t meant to let him live anyway.

Tev removed the fabric, leaned close to his mouth, her blade playing on his throat. "Who sent you?"

He smiled, a hideous smirk, and she felt the ripple of instinct run up her spine. Princess. He’s going to be so happy that you’re still living. We all thought you long dead.

She gouged his throat quickly, but it still took him a minute to die—a minute in which Malcom completed his task and came back. He saw her hands, wet with fresh blood, and gulped. She couldn’t blame him. His true mother had protected him from the desperate side of life, and his father had been a horrid bastard whom he needed to be protected from.

We’ll wait until dark to get rid of him, Tev told him. She climbed out of the cellar and replaced the trap door. It took a few minutes to wash her arms and change her dress. She rinsed the fine dagger as well. It was long and thin with a hitch on each side of the blade, an inch from the hilt. She would have loved to keep it, but it could be recognized.

Malcom stood by the door when she came out of the washroom. He already wore a slight smile on his face. We should go to the tavern. Blend in. He likely has companions.

Goblins, the boy was smart.

He most certainly has companions. Not to worry, she told him.

It wasn’t quite dark yet, but they had to move. Tev opened the door slowly and slipped out. She reached for Malcom. He took her hand but shook her free as soon as he was in the street.

He was growing tall. It was getting harder to pretend she was his mother. Thank Allel he hadn’t inherited his father’s solid, square jaw or clear, dark eyes, but he did have nicely shaped hands and a swarthy chin that made him look more man than youth. Striking. Everything about Tev was half-tinted—soft freckles, auburn lashes, sandy skin, and a turned-up nose—the look of a girl who would never grow up. Then again, she didn’t look much like her true brother either.

The tavern was filled to brimming with senseless chatter and the tinkling of unskilled musicians, but Tev liked that. It would be easier to hide, and she wouldn’t have to listen to Malcom talk to his friends tonight. The other boys here liked him, and the girls liked him more. The sight of him flirting was always enough to make her stomach turn over. It was the one thing about him that reminded her of his father—his power over people. The boy should be too young to know how to incite that kind of worship from others.

Tonight she tipped her head and led him to a dark corner of the room. Mikel would know to look for them here when he came home. If he did come home tonight. The chance that he might not made her shiver. They might need to run again. Mikel was tired of running, but she didn’t want to leave him here.

Tell me if you see anyone, she told Malcom.

He knew how this went. They’d done it in many a village. He was taller, so he watched. She was stronger, so she fought. The hilt of her mid-sized Desert dagger—one she’d taken from an assassin many years ago—slipped into her fingers. She used to think it meant something to her, but like most things she held onto, it failed her much of the time.

You are sure he would come here? Malcom said.

Shh. Tev frowned at him. She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t even sure Mikel would come back at all this week. He sometimes stayed in the cuts until his food ran out. She didn’t need him; she only needed to know he was safe, and the cuts were as safe a place as any. She suspected that he only came back for Malcom now anyway.

There, Malcom said quietly.

How many?

Three.

By the Derm.

They followed us?

Or they were here all along.

Who do you think…

Tev scowled and led the way to one of the back doors. As soon as they were through it, she whirled against a wall. Malcom did not have to be told to do the same on the opposite side. Her heart thrummed. How long had the hunters been searching? These past three years? Would killing all of them force Otreya to start over at the beginning?

The door burst open, and a couple of drunks staggered through. Malcom jumped, threw himself back. He’d almost tackled one of them. Steady, Mal. Tev glanced intentionally away, into the alley, to remind him to watch his back. Malcom was skilled, but he was green, like a man of the long dead and forgotten Guard who hadn’t been blooded.

Another minute dragged past. Waiting was no good. Tev cocked her head to one side and slunk across the alley into the shadows. Malcom followed, his footsteps quiet on the soft mud of the street. Now she had to decide: go north up to the cape, where the shanties were; go west to the sea; or go east, inland—toward the border, the Four Cities, tyranny, and certain death.

East. The only place they wouldn’t expect Malcom to be.

She didn’t have a chance. Twenty feet ahead of her, dressed in black and clothed in shadow. Not three, but five. She turned, and there were two behind them to block the alley

Tev, Malcom rasped.

I see them.

But there was someone else—a prisoner they pulled out into the road. Mikel. These men weren’t half as tall as him, yet somehow they had him tied with heavy cord and his face shoved into the dirt.

Tev’s hands filled with a rush of blood and her arms throbbed with the new heat.

Give us the boy and we free him, one of the dark figures said.

Don’t do it, Tev, Mikel said. His head rolled as if he had been drugged.

By the Treacher. Tev blew air through her teeth. She knew how to get out of this. She’d done it before. But people always got hurt. Best plan was to be the one doing the hurting. I don’t care about the boy. Take him if you like.

He’s nothing to you?

He’s just a slave boy, has to fight his own battles, same as anyone else. She spit in the dirt, not sparing a glance for Malcom. That all you want from me?

Yes, that’s all.

Good. They didn’t know who she was. Her first kill had been fortunate—that one must have been the leader. She sauntered close enough to take in the height and build of each man in front of her, walked up to Mikel, kicked at the dirt under his nose. Where’d you find this one? Is he drunk? He’s supposed to come home sober.

He—

Tev used the moment to draw her daggers from inside her waist. If the men closest to her saw her move, they realized her intent a moment too late. She drove a weapon through each of their ribs before they could meet her offensive. Those behind had enough time to ready themselves. Three of them were on her in a moment before she’d drawn her sword. Instead she took a knee and turned about in a circle. Her arms twisted and turned fast enough that they couldn’t follow her movements.

Was Mikel up yet?

She heard another moan and knew Mikel was out of the dirt and taking one of them on. Good because there were the two behind Malcom that she hadn’t looked twice at. A haze formed in her vision and helped her focus as she kept her mind on the end of her sword. It was over in a moment, and she whirled to find Mikel standing in the street next to Malcom.

Is that all of them? she asked, her voice low. The block was silent, but it wouldn’t be for long.

Mikel nodded and held an arm out. He staggered slightly, but there were two corpses next to where he’d knelt. Another was in the midst of crumpling. Malcom held out a sword, his own. It dripped with blood, as did hers.

Tev slid her arm under her brother. Can you walk? What did they use on you?

I don’t know. Knocked me out. I didn’t even see them. He shook her free, rolled his head around on his neck. I can walk, Tev.

Malcom stood stock-still. The sword in his hand dangled, and then he dropped it. Mikel caught him in his arms just before Tev got to him and took his face between her palms.

Mal? Speak to me. Malcom.

His eyes rolled back in his head. She tore open his shirt as his breath grew shallow.

Part I: Border

Though she be but little,

She is fierce.

—Shakespeare

{2}

Then

In the hill country above Neroi.

Thirteen years ago, in the 24th year of the reign of Petrolai.

THE SMACK ACROSS HER FACE came as a surprise. Kierstaz had been nicked by the point of a blade before but never struck by a hand.

Was your journey pleasant, little Orion?

Kierstaz squinted at the Seren militia man from the darkness of the wooden crate. He caught one of her small hands and yanked hard. She braced, swung herself past him, and skinned her palms on the ground. Her fingers curled into the turf, and a quick breath gave her muggy, sweet air. They were in the hardwoods…to the south?

Eleven men languished around her, armed with the weapons of her murdered armor-bearer. Damned militia bastards.

Up. Into the house. Their leader gestured toward a slate dwelling twenty paces away. The iron chain around her ankles tugged as she walked, but it was not very solid. Kierstaz smirked. Likely she knew more about iron chains than these fools.

Inside, the windows were covered by tapestries, maintaining a dim reddish glow. Boards had been pulled from the oaken floor and a rickety wooden chair placed in the clay beneath. She was tossed into it.

Sit, princess. It makes me dance in sweet revelry to know that you’ll hold no title by the end of the week.

Kierstaz flicked her eyes upward and assessed him. The scruff of a few days covered a strong, square chin, and moppy brown hair fell in bunches about his ears. A handsome Seren if ever she saw one, but his arms were thin. He could no sooner wield a broadsword than he could carry away a portico.

Well, will you be escorting my head to a spike? She wanted to ask what had been done with her armor. If you destroyed my armor, I am going to be more than incensed.

You were heading west when we stopped you. The Orion safe haven? Perhaps you could tell us where?

Kierstaz laughed. Did you interrogate my guard as well? Before you bribed them? Surely if coin could have bought the truth—

The man leaned in and nearly spat in her face. You attempt to try my patience. I know the haven is secret, even to the Guard. Else we would have tortured your armor-bearer in hopes of an answer.

You could have tortured him in front of me, in hopes I would have pity.

He smiled back at her. I know you haven’t any pity in your cold little heart.

Then why am I here?

You are being held by the rebel militia until Ashlin falls and all your pretty little loyalist friends lie dead in the square. Then you will be dealt with according to our Emperor’s wishes.

Her stomach quivered slightly. Not for herself, but for Ashlin. She did not want to see blood in her streets any more than her father did. You like to refer to me and my people as little. What is little about you, I wonder?

He lurched toward her suddenly, put his hands on her shoulders. I would hate to have to be rough with you, Kierstaz.

Do not call me by name.

I do not wish to be rough. I’m not a man who enjoys killing.

You’re not going to kill me, little man.

He stepped back a bit too late. She brought her legs up and planted a heel firmly in his groin. Then she dropped and rolled, wrapped her leg irons around his neck before he recovered. He tugged and grasped at the chain. She held it tight while he tried to pummel her shins. They bruised easily, but then, she was already quite bruised from riding over rough road in a wooden crate.

This one wanted to live. He managed to get a key out of his pocket and hold it up before she had strangled him, so she let go, grabbed the key from his fingers and unlocked her anklets. He choked out a cough. It took the men outside a moment to realize that his cough was not a conversational one. They burst through the door, puzzlement on their faces.

Too late, you sots. Kierstaz already held his weapons. The others went still, afraid of her now. They should be. Two short little knives could carve a man in seconds once they lay in the right hands.

Kierstaz hoped she was not trembling as she looked down at the handsome Ashlin man at her feet. She should kill him. Should fight her way out of here, kill all of these men for what they hoped to do to her and her family.

But Petrolai Orion had sent his daughter away to live. To be queen. Stay alive, Kierstaz.

Her bare feet smacked across the floor faster than the heavily booted men who chased her. She dove for the window nearest the horses outside, caught the reins of the closest animal, and swung up onto her.

Before she had made it a mile, she knew her mount would have to be abandoned. A galloping horse left a trail a blind man could follow. She waited until she had sufficient cover in the woods, then dismounted, wrapped the reins around the saddle, and smacked the horse’s rump. She ran into the woods on her bare feet and chose a thicket of thornbrush to crouch in. Her pursuers were close. She could hear their saddles creak even in the damp, muted air of the trees. Damn the deep teal color of her under-armor. She couldn’t take it off or dirty it up without too much movement.

The hoofbeats did not slow as they passed her. They followed the filly.

Kierstaz breathed, started to move again. With any luck, the horse would not stop for five miles. She headed north instead of west. In the first few hours of travel, she changed direction every half mile or so, in and out of woods and fields, to keep out of the path of the militia.

It was nearing dusk when she emerged from the woods again. Below her lay a valley that sloped gently down to a stream and tiny village. The flat roofs of rough stone brought her to the realization that she was north of the eastern river, near Dragon Country. Unfortunate. The hill people were known for their dislike of city people, and she was not just any city person. This meant no dinner tonight.

It began to grow dark. Kierstaz was not afraid of creatures, but she had never been alone. She had always had her father or some of her guard and, on occasion, her little brother. She set herself down in the tall grass at the edge of the wood and went over her wardrobe. All she had worn beneath her armor was fine teal linen and a tight leather waistband. The delicious smells of the castle were still on her. The dirt on her hands did not hide the smoothness of her callouses, the lack of a scratch or of wrinkles. She took a knife to the linen, tried to make it less attractive—less royal—but it still smelled evocative.

Kierstaz crept into the village and stole a piece of rough-spun wool from a clothesline. It worked well enough, arranged over her like a summer frock. She slipped back into the tall grass and was almost away when a rough hand grabbed her arm. He hadn’t been stealthy, but she hadn’t been listening for village folk either.

Where you going, girl?

He spun her around, and she twisted away to hide her uncommon face—round with a pointed little chin. His eyes narrowed as he looked over her tiny, boyish figure…with breasts.

I know you.

I do not know you.

You’re from the city, by that voice of your’n. Ha. Everybody knows you. Did King Petrolai get run out of Ashlin by now? Did they tell you to run along?

Kierstaz pulled away and started to walk. I don’t know what you mean.

The man started laughing. Come to raise yourself an army? Pretty funny, considering you can’t even fight me.

Panic threatened. For true, everyone knew her face. But she thought that without the armor—

The man grabbed for her again, this time with a hold that was tight and impossible. He was tall, like most Serens. Burly. Kierstaz wasted no time. She stabbed him in the chest with the knife she’d taken from her captor, shoved it in as hard as she could, and yanked it back out. He couldn’t draw another breath to make a sound. His body made a loud thud as it hit the dust. She wiped the blade on her clean wool and headed west. Time to steal a horse.

{3}

Tension

MIKEL KEPT HIS HAND NERVOUSLY poised on the hilt of his sword. The torchlight sent ghastly images running ahead of him, keeping time with the slumping sound of his tight leather battle shoes on the marble steps. Shadows and sounds that meant comfort and home.

He had spent the first hour of battle with his knights and captains atop the wall, watching the teeming mob and trying to determine if there was a way to avoid bald-faced war with the young patriots of Ashlin. Now he was meeting his father in the dungeons beneath the city for a last assessment of their political prisoners—one in particular.

The king was already down here somewhere. Mikel walked as quickly as he could without running. Inside, he was a coil of tight knots, and running felt like an admission of panic. He didn’t want to allow that to take hold of him, at least not yet. He stopped at the cell at the far end—the cleanest, most spacious one—and stayed in the shadows so he would not be fully visible.

Otreya, Mikel said the man’s name through tight lips.

Otreya jumped up and sprang forward, his eyes animated. An old man, but it was hard to say how old. This morning he had the look of a night goblin, his eyes darting about wildly.

You are here to sentence me or to slip a sword through my flesh in the dark? Otreya looked amused at the prospect. Nicknamed the Pitching Boar by the people, it must be a reference to the way he sought to rock Serengard off of the scaffolding that protected it, down into the earth that gave it life.

Neither, Mikel admitted gruffly.

Ah. Otreya ran a soft hand down the length of his white beard. To look at him, you could hardly guess the danger he posed. Gentle eyes in a wrinkled old face. Yet he was confident and smiling. He even laughed once—a laugh with a note of glee.

Mikel’s mood was raw, and he did not control himself. He snapped, Your precious hoards of followers are dying outside by the hundreds—untrained commoners with kitchen knives against generations of trained knights.

Otreya simply nodded. Your emotions will be the death of you, prince. Or they would be the death of you… His eyes gleamed, his tone still gentle. …but I am sure you will die by the kitchen knives of that mob you speak of in piteous terms. They will gut you and hang you out for the birds whilst they rescue me. You incite no love, Mikel of Orion.

Mikel offered no reply. He wanted to spew obscenities at the man, but that wasn’t in his nature. Besides, Otreya was well-known for his riddles, and this sounded like another one of them.

King Petrolai rounded the corner. His height and shoulders carried armor and banner well, a frame he had passed on to his son. In the dark, with the lines in his face and the gray in his hair hidden by shadows and helmets, the two appeared identical.

Still, Otreya seemed to know effortlessly which was which. I am being held here with no charge. You have some serious crimes to answer for, Petrolai. Oh, serious. Otreya opened his palm