Saviors- Duty and Sacrifice Read online

  Heart in his throat, Valis lowered his gaze. “It will take time to sell the farmstead and get a fair price.”

  “Let us handle the negotiations for price,” Kerac said. “With fields already planted and healthy livestock, we will get you what this place is worth.”

  “All right.” Valis shivered again with the warmth that Kerac exuded. It left him tingling. The Aesriphos still hadn’t released him from that embrace, and panic started to set in. His palms became damp with clammy sweat, and he itched to wipe them on his trousers. Must not show weakness. “You’ll really stay that long?” Gods, part of him hoped not. They weren’t really going to sell his farmstead. They would be out of his life in short order. What would they want with a scared little farm boy?

  “I will head to town and start taking bids after some preparation,” Darolen said. “In the interim, pack what is most dear to you and choose three horses so that we have pack animals.”

  That made him start, and he darted a look up at Darolen. It confused him because he still didn’t believe they were serious. “I can have things at the monastery? I thought it was a poverty vow, from what I was told.”

  Kerac chuckled, and Darolen joined him. When they stopped, Kerac turned a kind look on Valis that both warmed him to his toes and made his stomach fill with acid. “Poverty does not mean giving up what is most dear to you. Our vows are not as strict as I think you believe. We have six: Spirituality, Loyalty, Sacrifice, Compassion, Control, and for men, Fraternity, and women Sorority.” When Valis gave him a curious cock of his head, Kerac explained. “Spirituality includes obeying Phaerith when he asks something of you. You are to commune daily with him when you are able. Loyalty means you protect your Brothers and Sisters and do your duties to the best of your ability. Compassion is for others, as well as yourself, and your enemies. Control means you are in control of yourself, your actions, and your circumstances at all times. Fraternity means we are not allowed to have families outside of our Order. It is not chastity, but we are not allowed to procreate.”

  His heart hardened and Valis swallowed hard. “And Sacrifice?”

  Kerac gave him a sad smile. “Your life is forfeit, Valis. If a situation calls for you to lay down your life to save a layman or your Brother, you don’t hesitate.”

  Darolen gave Valis’ shoulder a squeeze and pressed a hand to Kerac’s collar in what seemed to be an intimate gesture. When he pulled away, he strode out the kitchen and was gone, leaving him alone with Kerac. The warrior squeezed him again and stepped away when Valis tensed.

  He stayed close, just an arm’s length away. Valis watched him with a frown. “Will you be there with me?” He hated sounding so small, but Kerac turned a fond smile on him. Being near to these men made him feel somewhat safe whether it was a lie or not. They hadn’t hurt him yet. Hadn’t shown him anything except gentleness, and for all that Valis knew it was a lie, he wanted to believe it was the truth. Could they be different from his father?

  “I can petition to become your mentor for a time,” Kerac said. “Such things are allowed and smiled upon. We have traveled across Peralea for well over two years now, so it will be nice to spend time at home.”

  “You would do that for me?” he asked, eyes wide. Part of him didn’t believe that was possible. They had to be lying. His stomach pitted when his heart refused to hope. “You don’t know me.”

  A delighted laugh escaped the man, and Kerac leaned against the counter next to him. “I want to know you, Valis.” He smoothed a hand along Valis’ shoulder. “As much abuse as you seem to have undergone in your life, your heart is still so pure. You are worth knowing, and I hope we can be great friends.”

  Chapter Four

  The fact that Darolen fully intended to sell the farmstead quickly dawned on Valis. They weren’t lying. Darolen had donned his armor, and when he headed for the front door not long after breakfast, Valis’ breath caught. When he asked where the man was going, the craggy warrior cocked a brow at him and motioned in the general direction of the town that Valis’ father had lorded over.

  “I head to start gathering bids for your farmstead. We spoke on this.”

  He hadn’t truly believed him. Hadn’t thought it possible. His heart hammered against his ribcage to see the seriousness in Darolen’s eyes and he sputtered, “But—but I live here!”

  For the first time, Valis saw the man hesitate. He let his hand drop from the door’s ornate brass handle and turned to face Valis with an emotion in his dark brown eyes that Valis couldn’t name. If anything, Valis now expected the kindness to finally bleed away into the truth. That wasn’t a happy look, and Valis cringed away when the Aesriphos neared.

  “I’m not going to hurt you.” His gruff tone belied his words. He reached out, and Valis flinched further back toward the stairs leading to the second floor. He tripped over the first step and almost caught himself but for the step that rose behind it. He fell painfully onto his backside with a strangled yelp that ended in intense pain as all his air expended in one foul rush. And even as he tried to get air back into his collapsed lungs, he crawled backward up the stairs to get away.

  Darolen proved much too fast and caught Valis by the ankle. He didn’t jerk, didn’t squeeze painfully tight. He just held on while Valis tried to get air into his lungs.

  Then, with a jolt of terror flashing through Valis, the craggy warrior hauled him up by fistfuls of his shirt front and hugged him.

  “Squeeze me,” he growled. “It will help you get the wind back into your lungs. Squeeze.”

  The last may have come as a brusque order, but it made Valis obey on instinct. That tone of voice always had him jumping because it meant his father was usually too busy to hurt him if he was fast enough to comply. He squeezed for all he was worth, tighter than he ought, but given Darolen wore plate armor, it wouldn’t hurt him any.

  For long moments, Valis thought he would never breathe again. That he would die in this house, not because of his father, but because he had been stupid and ran, even though he always knew running made everything that much worse when his father caught him. For terrifying moments, he knew he would never be free. Never tend this farm as anything other than a blood slave. Never know true safety if such a thing ever truly existed for anyone not born a monster.

  Then Darolen squeezed him just a little harder, and something gave loose in his chest in a sudden rush and his breath came flooding back. It returned so fast he grew dizzy, and it barely registered that Darolen had sat him on the stairs and stroked his back with a gentle hummed tune.

  Nothing made sense, and the less sense it made, the more Valis wanted to run. Fear he knew how to deal with. His father’s fists, those he knew how to deal with, too. Everything within this farmstead he could handle. But faced with these men who wielded kindness, Valis wondered what they really wanted, and if it wouldn’t prove far worse than dying by his father’s hand in a dank cellar.

  A warm, bare hand massaged the nape of Valis’ neck as he struggled to regulate his breathing. It felt like he couldn’t get enough air, but at the same time like he was getting too much, that it all gathered in his head to make him fit to float away. That hand anchored him and Valis arched his neck into it like a cat wanting petted. In that moment, it felt good and alien, warm and gentle like the sun’s rays in the midmorning while he performed his primary morning chores. The way it would caress his skin and leave him relaxed, warm, and tingling if he let himself close his eyes and bask in it for a single stolen moment.

  The deep, rumbled melody that floated from the Aesriphos’ throat reminded him of a few of the farm hands who would sing as they tilled the land or reaped the harvest to both count hours worked, and to help make the mind-numbing repetition bearable. It soothed him in a way he didn’t want to be soothed. If he let himself be soothed now, the shock would hit that much harder when these men showed their truth. No men were ever this kind, this patient. No men would stay in a rich man’s house to protect a boy without thought of reward. No man would
try to sell that man’s farmstead without keeping most, if not all, the gold for themselves. Would they toss Valis aside when they were through and had the riches they were after, or would they drag him along with them, an extra mouth to feed? Would he share his father’s cell in their dungeon?

  He shivered, and that hand on the nape of his neck squeezed, thick, stubby fingers digging into knots of stress to ease them. Was this a trap? It had to be a trap. He created them all the time for rodents and rabbits, pests and food. He knew traps, but had never seen one this elaborate or creative before. Never seen one with such cruel bait. Or had he? The mice he trapped loved the thick nut butter he baited them with. Thought it a kindness until Valis had to drown them lest they ruin the farm’s winter stores. The rabbits loved their bits of carrots until they found their necks in Valis’ fists, ready to snap it so they could have rabbit stew that night.

  He shivered again, yet those thick fingers kept pressing and kneading, turning Valis’ muscles to malleable clay. It served its purpose, made it easier for him to breathe. His mind spun in dizzying circles now that it was no longer dizzy from strained gasps.

  Darolen’s hand moved from Valis’ neck to rub warmth into his back. The house, two feet thick of obsidian stone and brickwork insulated by dried and treated moss, and covered in places by wooden siding, stayed cold in the summer, and warmed well in the winter. Now, Valis shivered, and he wasn’t entirely certain it was from the cold as Darolen scooted closer and squeezed Valis’ farthest shoulder.

  “We had agreed on this, Valis.” To Valis’ ears, that low, rough tone was one his father would use to assuage one of the town folk into doing his bidding, not one to promise a real solution to any problem. “How could you keep this farm running on your own? Eighteen, and yes, you are competent in farm work. But could you manage the finances? Hire enough hands to bring in the crop before it went to waste?”

  The craggy warrior sighed and stared out toward the front door. “You could make it a few months. But by the middle of the fall harvest, you would be out of your mind. You might pull yourself together, get through the winter. But then you would be faced with spring planting. No hired hands to help you get the crop in before the rains. No way to tackle the rodents, birds, and deer fast enough to keep your seeds and sprouts from ending up in bellies, rather than growing in fertile soil.”

  When Valis went to say something, Darolen shook his head. “I can almost guarantee you he kept the vermin away with magic, Valis. And you either have none, or haven’t grown into it yet based upon what we have seen. I am also assuming he kept the soil fertile through magic since I see no fields set to rest while the current crop grows. Your father had considerable lands, but was utilizing it all, and if you tried to do the same without his abilities and help, you would find yourself starving in a few very short years.”

  “B—but—” Valis clenched his hands before him. Could he really leave? Could they force him to? His heart still thundered furiously, ratcheting up more with his panic. The chill of the house settled into his skin, freezing the sickly sweat that coated him, sending uncomfortable waves of heat and cold through his body until he jerked to his feet and started pacing toward the door.

  “Valis—”

  “This isn’t your house!” he shouted. “This is my home!” He whirled around to face the Aesriphos, but found himself tucked under a warm chin. Strong arms encircled him. His ear pressed to a hard chest. Kerac’s voice rumbling in his ear as he murmured, “What is all this shouting?”

  Kerac, still devoid of armor, smelled of mild soap, dish water, and some strange spice mixed with clean male sweat and warm cotton. He blocked Valis’ view of Darolen fully as Valis was over a full head shorter than Darolen, who was a few inches shorter than Kerac. Those strong arms held Valis tight as iron, the muscles quivering with tension as he murmured again, “Darolen?”

  “He’s changed his mind about selling the farmstead,” Darolen said, his exasperated tone flowing from behind Kerac’s shoulder.

  Kerac sighed. “Valis… we discussed this.”

  Those arms tightened, and Valis’ heart stuttered in his chest. When it started again, he heard the beats in his ears echoing, “Trapped. Trapped. Trapped!”

  He didn’t know he fought until he wrenched free from Kerac, his knuckles bruised and tension singing through his limbs. Didn’t know he ran until he had his black gelding out of his stall, no tack, and leapt upon his back. Had no idea where he was going, even as he urged the poor beast into a punishing pace toward town. Someone had to help him. He was the Mage Lord’s son. That had to account for something. Didn’t it?

  His stomach twisted. He heard Darolen and Kerac shouting from behind, but Valis knew the forest trails, and the way between his farmstead and town wasn’t paved. His father had purposely let it become overgrown to ensure his privacy and keep out unwanted attention. The way looked much less like a road and more like a deer trail, and there were several that led in different directions, each set with traps to alert his father to new arrivals well before they broke tree cover.

  Valis didn’t dare give his horse his head. The poor beast knew only the farm, and without Valis to guide him, would end up tripping those awful traps. Gods knew he couldn’t let the beast end up lame or dead because of Valis’ panic.

  The shouts died away as Valis crashed through one trail, tore his horse through the underbrush toward another, and wove between four others. When he reached the tied strips of yellow cloth on the trunks of trees, he swallowed hard. This was the farthest he had ever ventured off his father’s property. Even as his anxiety spiked at that thought, he couldn’t afford to slow down. Couldn’t let himself think about that. His father was in stasis. Probably resting in the tall grasses around the fence posts while the two Aesriphos chased phantom trails after him.

  He rounded a bend, ducking under the low branches of a tree as he led the horse onto yet another path, only knowing it was there from the tracks of the others. Something ripped at his shirt, nearly unseating him. He clung to his gelding’s mane, dug his legs into the poor beast’s sides as he fought to remain ahorse. His panic flared, his gut suddenly sinking.

  The reckless dash through the trails took them around another bend. Something dark came toward them in the path. Valis adjusted, about to vault over toward another open path, but a familiar voice said, “Stop.”

  That single word shivered in the air as if a bell had been struck. Valis’ horse stopped with a nervous snort and pranced in place. The man advanced, and Valis’ blood ran cold. “Uncle Rygas…”

  The blond man with Valis’ eyes wore a royal blue tunic with golden studs, and black breeches belted with wolf fur-lined silver chain. His ensemble was worth almost as much as the entire farmstead Valis retreated from. Even his shiny leather boots that came up to his thighs were more valuable than half the farm’s livestock. He seemed to notice Valis’ eyes on him, flipped his waist-length hair over his shoulder. He leveled a smirk on Valis and inclined his head. “You are quite far from home, nephew. Your father must be… worried.”

  There was no way Valis could say his father was in stasis. No way he could say anything about Kerac or Darolen. Any word of that would get him beaten or killed. His uncle’s interest in him went only so far as to goad his brother on how he should have raised Valis, and it included leering and phrases that made Valis almost glad he received belligerent screams and beatings rather than what his uncle suggested.

  Rygas smirked and glanced over Valis’ shoulder as if Valis’ jaw wasn’t working to come up with some plausible lie. “Or is he in some sort of trouble, I wonder? You are racing very swiftly in the direction of town. Perhaps he has fallen ill, and you are trying to run for help?”

  His tone dipped down as he urged his horse closer. “You poor boy. Help has arrived. Shall I care for you while your father mends? Soothe the years of hurt he has caused you?” He drew close enough now that he traced a single finger along Valis’ trembling jaw. “Or should I kill him for you?”
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br />   The bottom dropped out of Valis’ gut, and he tried urging his horse to back up. Nothing worked. Rygas’ pale blue eyes glittered evilly in the dappled sunlight that filtered down through the trees, painting them both mottled green and gold. He leaned in and sniffed delicately at Valis’ hair with a lazy purr. “Your father treated you so badly. He should pay for such abuse. You should be treated as the favored son you rightly should have been.”

  He made a motion with his hand, and the black gelding under Valis turned without his order and began walking back down the path. “Come. Let us go see what we can accomplish together so you can be free.”

  Those dulcet tones held dark promises that Valis knew would hurt as much as his father’s beatings. Maybe in different ways, but pain just the same. His mind worked in circles to plan a way out of this. Roba would kill his brother for interfering. But was Rygas more powerful? Was he more cunning than Valis’ father?

  More importantly, could he escape his uncle, where he could never escape his father?

  And then a thought crashed into his mind like a dam breaking. He kicked his poor gelding’s sides and ducked under his uncle’s grasping hands as the beast surged forward. His shout left his throat before he knew what words to use.

  “Kerac! Darolen!” Would they hear? Had he truly lost them? Would they care?

  To his surprise, his uncle remained silent as he gave chase. Valis didn’t dare glance over his shoulder. Couldn’t risk slowing down or falling from his horse due to a low-lying branch. “Darolen! Help!”

  What if they had fallen to his father’s traps? A sickening sensation twisted his insides at that thought. His damp hands clenched his horse’s mane tighter. Were they dead? He hadn’t heard the alarms. Or had those disarmed when his father had fallen into stasis?

  His heart lurched as he heard the single word behind him. “Stop.”

  Close. Too close. His horse stopped so fast Valis used the momentum to vault himself over the beast’s neck and head. He hit the ground, painfully jarring both ankles, but raced through the thick underbrush, picking a tangled way that his uncle’s horse couldn’t traverse. He screamed again, “Kerac! Help!”