Legends of Ahn (King's Dark Tidings Book 3) Read online

  Less than an hour into his journey, Rezkin felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He spun, drawing the dagger at his belt, and caught sight of a shadowy figure just as it stepped around a tree. The silhouette froze and then steadily strode forward as if conceding the game.

  Rezkin’s eyes widened. He had not expected this. “What are you doing here?”

  “I need to come with you,” Wesson said.

  “I told you to stay with the ship. Why do you defy my orders?”

  Wesson looked up as a soft breeze blew through the canopy. He tilted his head as if listening and then shrugged. “You should not be traveling alone. I must accompany you.”

  “That was not for you to decide. You cannot come with me,” Rezkin replied.

  The mage nodded patiently and then said, “How will you stop me?”

  Rezkin narrowed his eyes. Wesson had never been so impertinent. The journeyman had always been eager to please, so long as what Rezkin asked of him did not violate their agreement. He looked past the mage, but it was too dark to see the evidence of his passing.

  “You will slow me down. I must move quickly,” Rezkin said. “If you insist on following me, you will be left behind.”

  Wesson’s boyish smile belied the seriousness of the situation. “I will keep up. Do not worry about me.”

  “Where is your pack?” Rezkin asked.

  Wesson’s smile fell, and he appeared embarrassed. “I was in a hurry. I forgot. But, I am a mage, am I not?” He spread his hands and said, “I will find what I need.” The mage did not appear the least bit concerned.

  Rezkin did not have time to argue with the journeyman. Something was amiss, but he decided he would have to let it play out and see.

  Frisha sat on her bunk staring out the porthole. The still water around the ship was nearly black, and the dark forest seemed to loom closer every time she spied it. She wrung soft fabric between her fingers and then tossed it to the floor. She stared at the sinuous creature, its green scales glinting in the fading light. She huffed and snatched the silky scarf from the grimy floorboards. Her mind and heart were a jumbled mess, and it was all his fault.

  When she imagined Rezkin dressed in his embroidered silk doublet and polished boots, it was easy to forget that he was also the undefeated, demonic executioner of the tournament. His soft voice and reassuring demeanor lulled her into forgetting that he was a brutal killer, a weapon of bloodshed. His impeccable manners and chivalrous honor had blinded her to the cold indifference that lay beneath the surface.

  Rezkin was not at all the man she thought he was. It seemed absurd now that she looked back on the past few months. Who had she thought he was? Had she ever truly considered? None of that time made sense anymore. He was not an average young man traveling alone. Why had she ever thought he appeared normal? Even at the time, his mannerisms and dress had been better than any commoner, and the swords and assortment of other weapons should have been a dead giveaway that he was not so simple.

  Rezkin always had too much money and not enough … well, just not enough. Her uncle had been right. Rezkin was a man with no name from a place with no name. He never discussed his past in the slightest detail. He had no home and no family, and yet he had never shown any concern for the lack. In their society, a man was judged by the family that reared him and the station to which he was born. By that regard, Rezkin was no one. He had once said, though, that a person should be defined by the sum of his experiences and the choices he made. If this was true, then he had never been a person—not to her, since she had known none of his either. Even now, the only details she had learned about him had to do with fighting and killing. Was that all he was?

  No, that was not quite true. She knew how he had treated her. She knew how he had treated Tam and Reaylin and Jimson and Wesson. He had saved Kai from a noose around his neck. It seemed so altruistic. The depth of Rezkin’s deception, though, had shown her that he was cunning. What was his motive? Why had he attached himself to Tam and her? She was nothing special, not unless you considered her relationship with the general of the army. What a fantastic coincidence that the contender for the throne would chose her. She understood, now, why Kai had been so excited to learn her uncle’s identity.

  She felt so stupid. She had just accepted it all—accepted him. Even Tam had tried to warn her, and she had berated him for it. Tam had told her that Rezkin had killed people, but she had imagined a young man carrying out his duty for the king with a heavy heart. That was not at all who Rezkin was.

  She had seen him kill the bandit who attacked Reaylin. She remembered being terrified, and then her savior swooped in and rescued Reaylin. But she would never forget that cold, empty gaze as he stood over the defeated man and ran him through. Afterward, she had told herself that the dreaded look had all been in her head, a result of the trauma and an overactive imagination. Then, Dark Tidings killed the sandman. He had not just killed him. He had chopped him to pieces in front of thousands of people. While part of her applauded the justice he wrought, the display had been gruesome and disturbing. It was an act expected of a king, a leader burdened by the weight of difficult decisions. But she did not know if she could call the same man her lover. Once upon a time, she looked into Rezkin’s eyes and saw beautiful crystal pools. Now, all she saw was frozen ice, empty and cold, and somehow the bright, clear blue was filled with darkness.

  Rezkin was a warrior king—at least he could be one day. Wesson had confirmed that Rezkin was closely related to Tieran, which meant he was also of relation to the royal family. He was someone important even without his mysterious claim to the throne. Although he had exposed himself as Dark Tidings, he had not divulged the evidence of said claim. She had little idea of who Rezkin was, and she was starting to wonder if she really wanted to know.

  The thought alone stoked her anger. Rezkin was supposed to be hers. He was supposed to be the handsome, young man who spoke with eloquence and enchanted her with his cool gaze and dazzling smiles.

  Frisha frowned. Was that it? Wesson had explained that a spell lay over Rezkin that allowed him to influence people’s perceptions. Had he used the spell on her? Had Rezkin truly enchanted her?

  Chapter 2

  Rezkin could not see through trees, the darkness having finally swallowed the forest whole. He continued east toward Serret stepping silently where he could. The small stone he carried in his palm was successful only in lighting the forest for a few feet in front of him. He glanced back every so often to see that the mage was still with him. Wesson strolled through the entangled forest as though it were a mere walk in a city garden. When Rezkin stopped to survey his surroundings, Wesson stood patiently waiting. Rezkin could not see him in the darkness, but he had the sense that Wesson was studying him.

  The mage finally spoke the first words either had said in hours. “How do you find your way?”

  “What do you mean?” Rezkin asked. Their voices sounded like explosions in the stillness of the night.

  “You seem to be using many of your senses, but it appears that you depend primarily on sight. The forest is dark, yet you consistently travel east. How do you know which way to go?”

  Rezkin eyed the mage a moment and then turned and continued walking. He pointed to a tree trunk and said, “It is the moss. Very little light reaches down here, but it is enough. The moss prefers the shade, so it primarily grows on the side of the trunks that face north.”

  “But I see moss all over. There seems to be no pattern,” Wesson argued.

  Rezkin shook his head. “It is not that consistent. The moss will grow wherever it finds shade, but if you look closely, the densest coverings are on the northern side. That is not the only indication, though. There is also the breeze. When it was lighter, I could see the leaves in the canopy. At this time of year, the wind tends to blow from the southwest. Now that it is dark, I must depend on the sound and brief sensations when the wind reaches this far down.”

  “That also does not seem dependable,”
Wesson said. “A weather disturbance or the shape of the land could disrupt the flow.”

  Rezkin hopped down from an outcrop landing in the talus below with an unavoidable crunch. As he righted himself, he asked, “How do you know we are continuing east?”

  Wesson’s voice was much closer than Rezkin was expecting when he replied. “Because it is the direction you wish to go.”

  Suddenly feeling the need to put more distance between himself and the mage, he quickened his stride and then barely caught hold of a struggling sapling before he plummeted into a rocky crevice. The mage light slipped from his fingers, its glow extinguished the moment it left his hand. A few long seconds later, he heard a crack against the rocks below, followed by a plunk into water.

  Rezkin pulled his foot back from the empty void over which it hovered and then turned to peer at the mage in the darkness. Wesson was naught but a shadow, and he stood much farther away than he should have given the close proximity of his voice a moment ago. The mage had not moved to assist Rezkin when he nearly fell to what might have been an untimely death, nor did he seem surprised or concerned.

  “Perhaps you would care to produce a light for us, Journeyman,” Rezkin calmly remarked.

  Wesson did not create his usual glowing blue orb. Instead, hundreds of tiny lights danced forth from the trees to gather in their vicinity. The lights flashed on and off, a gradual ebb and flow of illumination. One passed only inches from Rezkin’s face, and he realized the radiance emanated from miniscule flying insects.

  “Will this suffice?” Wesson asked.

  Rezkin surveyed the forest that was now illuminated in a subtle, golden glow that reached much farther than had the light of his mage stone.

  “Will they stay with us?” he asked.

  Wesson tilted his head and said, “If I wish it to be so.”

  Rezkin eyed the mage suspiciously. “One of those life mage skills you were working on?”

  Wesson smiled pleasantly and shrugged.

  Tam was getting on her nerves. It was unfair to take her frustrations out on him, but she could not take a single minute more of his constant chattering about Rezkin.

  “You don’t know that,” she snapped. “You don’t know anything about him. For all you know, he could be in favor of ritual bonding.”

  “I don’t think Rezkin is in favor of doing anything he doesn’t want to do,” Tam replied with a chuckle as he pushed his plate away.

  Frisha scowled at her friend. “Of course. Rezkin does what Rezkin wants. Doesn’t matter what anyone else wants. I’m just saying, you don’t know that he would reject the bond if it suited him.”

  Malcius’s cup hit the table with a clunk. “Why would Rezkin possibly want to bond with a Pruari?” he asked in dismay.

  “I didn’t say he would,” she exclaimed. “You were the one that brought it up.”

  “It was a hypothetical situation, and it was not specifically about Rezkin!” Malcius said as he threw his hands in the air.

  Frisha huffed, “Tam brought up Rezkin, just like he always does.”

  Tam’s eyes widened, and he sputtered. “There was a time when that’s all we ever heard from you!”

  “Well, grow up! He’s not so perfect,” she said.

  Tam brushed the hair from his eyes in frustration. It had grown too long, and he needed it cut. Frisha had been doing it for him, but he was not sure he wanted her near his head with shears.

  “What is your problem, Frisha? You’ve been surly this entire voyage. I understand, I do. Your family has suffered a great loss, and Rezkin’s revelation was no small matter, especially for you. But you’ve been positively unbearable since Rez left. I don’t get it. You weren’t even talking to him before. Why does it matter that he’ll be gone for a few days?”

  Frisha groaned and buried her face in her hands. “I’m sorry, Tam, Malcius. It’s just … when I was sent to Uncle Marcum’s to find a husband, I expected that I would have to marry a stranger. I was sick with worry. Would he be young or old? Would he be handsome or … not. Would he be kind or cruel? I know Uncle Marcum and Aunt Adelina would do their best for me, but we’ve all heard the stories about people not being who you think they are when behind closed doors.”

  “I had no idea you were so concerned,” Tam said. “You never talked about it.”

  “I didn’t want to worry you, and I didn’t want to think about it. It’s not like there was anything you could do.”

  Tam flushed and glanced away. The only thing he could have done was to marry her himself, and he really did not want to marry Frisha. Still, if she had allowed him to see how upset she was, he might have considered it.

  Frisha peered at the table in the dim lighting of the mess and said, “Rezkin was like a dream come true. He was so handsome and courteous, and he always treated me like a lady. He was young and self-assured, and he made me feel safe. I always felt like he could handle anything, like everything would be okay.”

  Tam understood. Slowly, he said, “I felt that way with Rez, too. I still do, and that’s the only reason I can function with any sense of normalcy everyday while my family is potentially suffering in Ashai. We have no home, no haven. We are all adrift, our foundations ripped from beneath us, but I feel secure because Rezkin is holding us up.”

  Frisha nodded. “In my heart, he was always a prince, and he wanted me.” She looked up with unshed tears. “But now I know it was all a lie.”

  “Oh, Frisha. It wasn’t all a lie. I am sure of it,” Tam replied.

  Malcius added, “Just because he is more than you thought he was doesn’t mean his feelings are any less.”

  Frisha blinked and the tears trailed down her face, which hardened again with anger. “More? You think he is more? You’ve only seen him kill from afar or in the heat of battle during our escape. I’ve seen close up the death in his eyes. I didn’t want to admit it before, but I see it now. He was untouchable in the tournament. How do you think he got so good, Malcius?” She paused and then looked back to her friend. “I’m sorry, Tam. You were right before, when you said that he was a killer. You told me I shouldn’t marry him. I should have listened to you then.”

  Tam shook his head. “I don’t know, Frisha. I think that maybe you are overreacting.”

  “Wesson said that Rezkin could influence our thoughts and feelings. Do you think he did that to me? Do you think he made me want him?”

  “Why would he do that?” Tam asked doubtfully.

  “Because of Uncle Marcum,” Frisha answered.

  Tam and Malcius shared a look. It was not completely unfathomable, nor was it the first time the prospect had been considered.

  “Perhaps we should ask an expert,” Malcius suggested. He raised his voice and called to a table on the other side of the small room. “Journeyman, would you join us?”

  Wesson looked up from his meal and smiled pleasantly. “Of course, Lord Malcius.”

  Rezkin and Wesson trudged through the forest throughout the night. They stopped only for a few hours of rest. The mage had still been awake when Rezkin entered his meditation. When he awoke, Wesson was sitting on the same stone.

  “You were keeping watch?” Rezkin asked.

  The journeyman shrugged. He bore no signs of fatigue, though. The midmorning light that was finally making its way through the filter of boughs revealed a fresh-faced young man unruffled by an entire night of rough travel through difficult terrain.

  “Do you wish to continue now?” Wesson asked.

  Rezkin retied his hair in a queue at his nape and said, “You have not slept.”

  The mage tilted his head curiously. “I am well. We may go.”

  A breakfast of dried fish, fried potato sticks, and hard flatbread was not particularly appetizing, but it was not the worst thing Rezkin had ever eaten. He offered as much to Wesson, but the mage declined. Rezkin filled his water skin several times at the intermittent streams, but the journeyman had apparently discovered a way to stay hydrated without drinking.


  Rezkin had just climbed atop a fallen tree when an ear-splitting scream emanated from somewhere beneath him. He crouched low with his dagger in hand, searching for the source of the wail. Growls and angry hisses drew him to a pile of rocks where they tree lay nestled. Wesson stood back and watched, his hands casually clasped behind him.

  “What is it?” the mage asked.

  Rezkin glanced up from where he was bent examining the creature. “It is a young keurg. This tree is freshly fallen. The keurg is trapped between the tree and the rocks.”

  Wesson nodded. “Will you kill it?”

  “No,” he replied. “We are going to free it.”

  Wesson’s expression was inscrutable. “Why would we do that?”

  Rezkin considered the best way to release the animal as he said, “Because it cannot free itself. I have never tried it, but I was told keurgs are inedible. The quills that protrude from their bodies form deep in the flesh beneath. The meat is riddled with tiny spines in various stages of formation. Killing it would serve no purpose.”

  “Keurgs are known for violence,” Wesson said. “Some say they kill for sport. You said we are in a hurry. Perhaps we should leave it be.”

  “If we leave it here, it will die,” Rezkin said as he stood and closed the distance between them. He pointed and said, “I need you to gently destroy those rocks closest to the trunk. The others will hold the weight of the tree, and the keurg will be able to escape.”

  “Perhaps it would be better to put it out of its misery,” the mage replied. Wesson’s placid face was indifferent, if slightly curious.

  Rezkin’s expression hardened. “Like the donkey?”

  “What donkey?” Wesson asked, glancing around as though such a beast might be found hiding in the trees.

  Rezkin raised a brow and said, “The one with the broken leg.”

  “Oh, right. Sad business that, but it had to be done.”

  Rezkin straightened. One hand rested on his dagger while the other hovered near his sword hilt. “Enough of this. Who are you?”