Chapter 6
When he said we had a long ride, he wasn’t kidding.
We rode for hours, and my butt was shot by the time we reached a little clearing filled with their white tents.
The clothes were of various sizes, with some being hardly larger than pup tents, but one having a porch and a sizable rear.
I guessed that one belonged to their king.
They all surrounded a makeshift campfire of round stones.
I glimpsed all of this under the encroaching cover of night. Only the faintest of glows peeked out from the western horizon as we dismounted. The experienced riders slid down from their horses. I crawled.
My legs had forgotten how to work and almost collapsed beneath me when I slid off the saddle, and my feet hit the ground. Scalyvar caught me by the waist, and I turned my head around to sheepishly smile at him. “I did say it was my first time.”
His eyes danced with mischief even as he solemnly nodded. “So you did, and you are providing ample proof to your word.”
I turned and took a few steps away from the horse, and a grimace twisted my face. Sharp pains ran up and down my legs, and I couldn’t get them to stop being bowed. “I wish I wasn’t providing this much proof. . .”
Carus sauntered over to us, leading his steed by the reins. His dancing eyes looked me over while his smile played the main tune. “You appear to be rather stiff there, Lady Holt.”
I suppressed the urge to massage my inner thighs. “Just give me a day or two to heal.”
He chuckled. “We leave at the crack of dawn.”
My face drooped. “In a week?”
“Tomorrow.”
I lifted my eyes to His Majesty. “And how far away is that inn?”
“Three days’ ride.”
Several muscles in my legs twanged, and I could hardly suppress my grimace. “I. . .see.”
“We could carry you in the cart,” Carus offered as he nodded at the vehicle.
A donkey stood nearby, tethered to a wooden post and chewing away at the grass.
“The wheels are as unbalanced as the ass that pulls it, and the path we travel on is very rough, but your legs will be spared.” The sorry ass lifted its head at the mention of it, and grass dribbled out of its mouth.
“I, um, I’ll think about it,” I replied as my focus zeroed in on the campfire. Overturned logs surrounded the stones. “I think for now I’ll just take a seat.”
The king stepped up to my side and swept his arm toward the large canvas with the porch. “My tent is at your disposal if you would like to lie down.”
“I’ll try bending my knees first and then see about straightening them,” I suggested as I hobbled my way to the campfire under the bemused eyes of most of the company.
The exception was the Lord Secundus, who watched me with all the warmth of a viper watching its prey. I only hoped the snake was too old to have much bite to his antagonism.
I eased myself onto the most moss-covered log among the lot and let out a sigh. The men didn’t miss a beat, but started the fire and tossed a mess of various herbs and meats into a cauldron that hung over the pit. Another piece of meat was added to a spit.
One of the men clapped their hand on the corner of the spit and turned to his compatriots. “Whose turn is it to turn the meat?”
A laugh broke out from among the men, though the youngest among them didn’t look pleased at all. He was a clean-shaven youth without the shadows of age, and with eyes that were still as bright as young stars.
One of his companions clapped his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I think it’s young Lord Valerian’s time to turn the spit, isn’t it?”
Valerian winced at the suggestion. “Surely someone else would be better suited for the task.”
The man threw back his head and laughed, and was joined by the others. “Nonsense! You’ve had so much practice that you are our best man!”
Valerian’s shoulders sank, as did his face, but he took up his position at the spit’s handle and began the torturous rotation.
Carus dropped onto the log beside me, a grin stretching his face as he watched the young man. “He’s a good lad to take our sport with such a face.”
“He’s pretty young to be a lord,” I mused.
The man bobbed his head. “Young indeed. His father passed away two winters before, and he took up the title at sixteen. This is his first hunt.”
“Hunt?”
“For the nethral,” Carus explained as he nodded at the woods that encroached on the camp. “The fiends have been attacking some of the farms in this area, and we’re here to find their pit and destroy it.”
Nethral. Pit. My mind couldn’t wrap itself around what one had to do with the other, but the dark look in the depths of his eyes told me I didn’t want to know.
However, I did want to know one thing. “Where’s the king?” I wondered as I looked about us. His majesty was nowhere to be found among those seated about the fire.
“Tending the horses,” Carus told me as he picked up a stick and began drawing circles in the dirt to make a creature that resembled a horse. “He won’t rest until everyone else is seated before him.”
“That doesn’t sound very kingly.”
He finished his masterpiece, a horse with wobbly legs and a too-long neck, and chuckled. “That’s what the old ones used to tell him after he became king, and you know what he said to them?”
“What?”
“‘My subjects and their comforts come before me, even if that means I am the last to slop the pigs.’” He leaned toward me and winked. “You can imagine their annoyance at such a young king showing them up in wisdom.”
“Was he young?”
He nodded at the young man who turned the spit. “A year younger than even Lord Valerian.”
The men suddenly shot to their feet, including Carus. My confusion evaporated when I saw the king stroll into their midst with a few other retainers at his back. He beckoned them back into their seats. “Sit, everyone. You’ll need your rest for the morrow. We can’t be far from the pit.”
“And if the tales are to be true, there will be plenty of nethral to vanquish before we get to it,” one of the men spoke up.
“And they’re bold, as well,” another joined in as he nodded at the fire. “I have heard that not even the glow of fire and the soft brightening of the horizon on twilight stops their prowling.”
One of the men who had followed the king pounded his fist against his chest. “But we will!”
A playful smile danced on the king’s lips. “Before that joyous occasion, which one of you will keep the watch?”
All of the men jumped to their feet, and their voices joined the offer.
“I will!”
“As will I!”
“Don’t count me out!”
Their majesty chuckled. “I admire your willingness, but some of us should get some sleep. Lord Corvinus and Sir Drusus.” Two of the men stepped forward.
“You two will take the first watch. If half the reports are true, we are working against bold foes. Trust nothing to chance. Investigate every sound and shadow.”
The pair clapped their right arms over their chests and bowed at the waist. “Yes, Your Majesty!” They hurried off in separate directions and soon disappeared into the growing shadows.
The king turned to me, and his smile softened. He used an arm to gesture to his tent. “Should you need to rest at any time, Lady Holt, you may use my tent.”
Sleep was a tempting idea, but the buzzing in my mind warned me that it wouldn’t come to be even if I lay my head down on the softest of pillows.
Instead, I clasped my hands together and smiled up at him.
“I think I’ll stay up a while longer, Your Majesty.
Besides, I wouldn’t want to take your bed from you. You need it more than me.”
He inclined his head to me. “As you wish.”
“Mind yourself there, young Valerian!” someone shouted, and all eyes fell on the young lord. “Turn that spit before half the meat is charcoal!”
Valerian shrank under the attention and hurried to resume his task. The king drifted off with a few of his lords at his side, including Secundus.
The sight of the lord brought a question to the forefront of my mind. I scooted closer to Carus and lowered my voice to a whisper. “Why did he trust me before I took the blood test? Most of the other guys with him wouldn’t have let me go with them without it.”
“You could ask him yourself,” he mused, still stirring the burning wood.
“He strikes me as someone who doesn’t tell people a lot of things.”
Carus threw back his head and laughed. “You have him read like an old book, Lady Holt.”
“Read who, Sir Carus?” Valerian spoke up as he turned and turned.
“Lady Holt has already read that His Majesty keeps his counsel to himself.”
I winced at the title. “You can call me Grace, Sir Carus. I’m not really a lady.”
“Then I insist you call me Titus.”
“His Majesty just likes to think a lot, doesn’t he?” Valerian wondered.
“A wise man knows when to keep his mouth shut and listen to others,” one of the other huntsmen spoke up.
He was a man well past fifty with a grizzled beard speckled with gray.
The defining feature was his long, crooked nose, bent out of shape at the middle by some powerful blow that had also left him with a dark scar.
His attire was more primitive than the others, with a cape of rough leather and a stained shirt and pants.
Titus bowed his head to the grizzled man. “Very fine words of wisdom, Sir Varro.”
Varro sneered at him as he snatched a flask that hung from his hip. “None of that now, young pup.” He popped the tied cork and took a big swig. “Titles are as useless as an empty flask out here.”
“You might fill that flask with some water,” Titus countered.
Varro scoffed and replaced the cork. “What would I want with that stuff?”
Titus was all smiles as he leaned close to me and winked. “We have quite the motley crew, do we not, Grace?”
“Well, they’re all interesting,” I answered as I looked about them, though my gaze invariably rested on where the king had gone. “But you didn’t answer my question. About the king trusting me, that is.”
Titus looked me up and down. “Because His Highness is an excellent judge of character. I’ve never known him to fail in judging someone.”
“How long have you known him?”
“All twenty-eight winters of my life,” he revealed as he picked up a stick on the ground and studied the branch.
“And he’s that old?”
“That, and two years older.” He paused and wrinkled his nose. “It was a constant source of frustration that he would always be taller than me.”
I looked over his short person and tamped down a snort. “I’m sure he didn’t use it against you.”
“Every chance he got during our training sessions!” Titus countered as he stabbed the air in front of him. “His longer arms and legs meant I-” The man jumped to his feet, and the stick clattered to the ground. He dipped his hand into his coat, and his sharp eyes darted over the area.
The others in the party did likewise, and many drew their swords.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I shot up. “What is-”
“Quiet!” he hissed as he slowly drew out a dagger.
The faint sound of shouts came to my ears, and those were followed by the pounding of heavy padded feet on the ground.
A creature broke through a bush close at hand and lunged at us, its hideous jaws open and dripping with frothing drool.
My heart nearly came to a standstill at that familiar open maw.
It was one of those hideous creatures, the nethril.
And it was charging straight at me.