Saviors- Duty and Sacrifice Read online

  Valis heard nothing from behind him. He made the next track and chanced a glance behind him. But when he turned around, his uncle wrapped arms like bands of iron around his chest and crooned against the shell of his ear. “And who are Kerac and Darolen, I wonder? Friends of yours? Have you found champions to rescue you from the monster, Valis?”

  Sudden fear for the two Aesriphos had Valis biting his lips closed. He may be frightened of them, but that fear didn’t even touch the fear he held for the man who barely struggled against his thrashing. Valis wasn’t a weakling. Years of tending the farm, tossing and sorting hay bales for the animals, mucking stalls, milking cows, digging and working from daybreak until sunset had made him strong, brought out defined muscles in his body that not even his father possessed. That his strength meant nothing to his uncle had Valis’ blood running cold and made him desperate.

  He stomped on his uncle’s instep, ignored his bellow of rage, hoping it drew the Aesriphos near. Elbowed him in the solar plexus. Snapped his head back, trying to catch Rygas in the nose. Reached back behind him and searched with his thumbs, trying to dig out the man’s eyes.

  Rygas let out a low growl, reminding Valis of an angered wolf and caught him across the temple with his hand. The power behind it made stars dance in Valis’ vision, made the colors of the forest mute into muddy grays. Another blow made his brains rattle in his skull, and his knees buckled. The only thing holding him up was the arm braced against his chest.

  “You will answer! Who are these men you call?” The low, angry tone came warped as Valis’ mind still reeled from the blows. Rygas shook him. “Answer!”

  In defiance, Valis bit the inside of his lips together until he tasted blood. A sound alerted him to something approaching from the direction of the farmstead, but he didn’t dare let on that he heard. Now that his mind no longer spun so violently from the blows, he thrashed again in earnest. If he could keep his uncle’s attention focused on him alone, perhaps he could be felled just as swiftly as his father had been. …If that sound was, indeed, the Aesriphos.

  But Valis didn’t dare hope.

  Chapter Five

  Hope was something for people who had the license to live. For free men. Not trapped blood slaves. Not Valis. Not when he couldn’t even escape his father when he was angry. Not when he couldn’t do anything to escape without the help of strangers he couldn’t bring himself to trust.

  Yet, did he trust them? He had called for them when his mind caught up to him, begged the universe and Sovras in his heart that they were close enough to hear his frantic cries. But there was nothing. No response. That noise he heard could have been a rabbit or raccoon or any other mid-sized rodent scurrying away from the noises he made in his uncle’s grasp.

  If he couldn’t extract himself from his uncle’s grip, he knew there would be nothing he could ever do again. He would either be dead or his uncle’s toy. Easily broken because his father had already given his body and soul enough cracks that his uncle could shatter him within days. Months if he took his time, and one thing he knew about his uncle, was that he had an unending reserve of patience for things he truly wanted.

  Rygas turned, bringing Valis out of his miserable thoughts, and smacked his gelding’s rump, sending him crashing through the trail in a frightened gallop. With another show of strength, he hauled Valis off his feet, letting him dangle a few inches from the forest floor as he made his way back to his own horse, a mean-looking roan that stared at them with what appeared to be barely restrained contempt. Did his uncle abuse his horse as he planned to abuse him? Valis shuddered at the disgusting thought.

  He hated to do it. Hated hurting any animal. But as his uncle wrenched him up to the horse’s side, Valis delivered a savage kick to the beast’s belly. Anything to keep his uncle from having an advantage. He silently crowed as the beast reared and crashed along the track toward the farmstead, leaving Valis and his uncle in a hail of kicked up dust and moldering debris.

  His internal cheers abruptly ceased as Rygas murmured, “Stop.” The horse had only gone about ten horse lengths when it halted, reared, and made unhappy noises that resembled disgruntled growls. It still tossed its mane in its agitation as they reached its side, and Valis’ uncle murmured near his ear. “Do that again, and I will knock you unconscious. I know you wouldn’t like that. It always did make you that much more unruly when you woke.”

  New terror made sweat erupt from every pore on his body. He licked it from his upper lip, his eyes straining in their scan of the forest. Was that silver glint Darolen’s armor? Was that noise the Aesriphos coming to his rescue? Could they possibly take on his uncle when he was most likely much more prepared than his father had been?

  Each second he remained in his uncle’s bruising embrace made Valis that much surer that the Aesriphos had given up on him. Why would they want to rescue a farm boy, anyway? What would it gain them, other than an extra mouth to feed on their way back to that mythical sounding monastery? He had no skills other than farming, gathering, and hunting. The latter two could possibly get him some leeway.

  His uncle wrenched him painfully again as he thrashed, trying everything he could to keep from being tossed onto that horse’s back. Something definitely crashed through the underbrush. Was it his horse come back because the poor gelding had gotten turned around? Just like Valis, it had never left the farmstead. But no, he didn’t hear the cadence of hooves. He heard the clank or armor.

  Rygas heard it, too, and turned to face the noise. “So you have protectors, after all. Here I had thought you were bluffing.” He leaned in and his whisper grated along Valis’ senses. “Tell me. Have they taken what is mine? Rutted with you in the forest? Pounded your sweet ass while you lay helpless on a bed or bent over a random piece of furniture? Have they stolen your sweet virginity from me?”

  Valis wanted to scream the lie. Tell him yes, just to see him angry. But he couldn’t get his tongue to work, couldn’t get enough saliva in his mouth to pry his tongue from the roof. He squirmed in earnest again, stomped on his instep again, hoping it broke from having only just been abused moments ago. If he just loosened his grip…

  Rygas hissed and placed his back to his mount’s side, giving him vantage over their surroundings. Valis looked out, but found nothing. No swaying ferns to mark where Darolen or Kerac might be. No glinting armor. The sounds had abated. Only the chittering of squirrels and soft birdsong married with the breeze that rustled the upper canopy.

  “You may just be more trouble than you are worth,” Rygas mused. “Do I dump you and run? Or do I knock you unconscious and drag you with me, torching this infernal forest?”

  Torch the forest? The hope in Valis’ chest shrank to something cold and bleak, untouchable and unwanted. Then light shined from all angles, golden and blinding. His uncle hissed and shoved him away. In the next breath, he was astride his horse. “This is not over, Valis. I will get what I want. I always do.”

  He spared a smirk, then with a flash of darkness, he and his horse disappeared. In the next instant, Kerac and Darolen, both in their silver armor, crashed through the last remaining underbrush. Both had wild eyes, sweat running down their faces. Kerac jerked Valis close, threw his gauntlets to the floor, and roved Valis’ skin as if searching for something while Darolen erected a shield around the three of them.

  “Did he hurt you?” Kerac asked, his voice strained. “Where did he hurt you?”

  “Who was he?” Darolen seemed much calmer than his companion, his dark eyes boring into Valis while Kerac’s filled with unshed tears.

  “He—” Valis sucked on his tongue and swallowed repeatedly as he tried to get saliva enough to speak without croaking. “My uncle. Rygas Bakor.”

  “The Qos adherent?”

  Valis nodded, and Darolen acknowledged the affirmation with a deep sigh. “Why did you run?”

  “You can ask your questions when we are safe,” Kerac murmured. “Are you hurt, Valis?”

  He couldn’t stop the trembling if h
e tried. Valis shook as the adrenaline rush started to crash and shook his head. “My chest feels bruised. Head hurts from where he hit my temple. …Nothing permanent.”

  The younger Aesriphos let out a shaky sigh and crushed Valis to his plate-clad chest, and for the first time, Valis didn’t fight. He couldn’t. Not with the way he shook. Not with how wobbly his limbs felt from his constant thrashing. Unlike how his uncle’s hold had been, Kerac’s arms trembled with restrained power, didn’t hurt as his hands roamed Valis’ back, never straying lower than a hand’s width from his waist. It felt good, and for the first time in his life, a man’s touch felt right in a way that frightened Valis more than the sinister groping from his uncle or the manhandling he received from his father.

  He shuddered again and leaned his cheek against Kerac’s breastplate. Even if their kindness turned out to be a lie, he didn’t have the energy to fight it now. And when Kerac urged him away, something in Valis hurt until the man murmured, “Let us get back to the farmstead. We must fortify it until we are ready to leave.”

  The prospect of walking all the way back to the house on trembling legs made Valis groan, but Darolen laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Our horses aren’t far. We caught yours as he made his way back to the farm.”

  Relief never felt so good. Once they made it back to their horses, it took little time for him to lead them back to the house. Darolen waved him away from the care of their horses with a gruff, “Go relax.”

  Worse than having no duty to tend was the fact Valis didn’t know how to relax. He’d never been afforded the luxury. Neither Aesriphos seemed to notice as Kerac gave Darolen a strange smile and led Valis back into the house. “Come. We will discuss things during our midday meal. Let’s go sit for a while.”

  But Valis didn’t want to sit. He’d never been allowed to be idle unless it was time for bed. What would he do? What would the Aesriphos make him do? He shuddered, and Kerac rubbed warm circles into the small of his back. Sometime during the chaos, he’d fetched his gauntlets, but held them in his right hand, while the left remained on Valis’ back, a steady presence that promised alien things Valis was afraid to explore.

  Once they made it into the house’s interior, Kerac broke away long enough to close the door and motion to the formal parlor. “Why did you run?”

  Valis ducked his head. “I don’t know, sir. I was just… scared.”

  He made it into the parlor, and found his father’s body lying on the floor, still in stasis and blessedly facing the wall. Valis made sure to give his body a wide berth. He only sat when Kerac did and made sure to keep his father in his sights as he settled into the stuffed chair. He knew the fear was irrational, but that didn’t stop his mind from offering up images of his father rising from that stasis as if he had only slept. Of him killing Kerac and beating Valis to within an inch of his life before ending it with a blade to his throat.

  The shudder that cascaded from the base of his skull to his legs made him breathless. His father couldn’t get up. Couldn’t hurt him again. He wouldn’t be able to hurt him ever again if he believed even half of what the Aesriphos said. With that, he tore his eyes away from his father’s unnaturally still body and glanced around the parlor.

  He’d never been allowed to sit in this room. Never been allowed to enter it except to clean. Never dared to touch the chairs after working outside for fear of getting them dirty or earning his father’s wrath for daring to sit where the nobles who infrequently visited were supposed to gain comfort from their long journeys. Sitting in the plush chair now felt like he was pretending to be someone he could never be. It must have shown on his face as Kerac made a soft noise in the back of his throat and reached over to squeeze Valis’ hand. At the same time, he deposited his gauntlets on a long low table meant to hold drinks, and Valis inwardly cringed. What if they marred the polished wood surface? His father—

  His father was in stasis. He would never see this house again, even if Valis convinced the two Aesriphos not to sell his farmstead. But, could he convince them? Did he want to?

  “What are you thinking?”

  And Sovras save him, but he’d never been asked that question in a kind voice. It was usually a demand followed by a curse and the label of “idiot” or something similar when Valis had done something unusually stupid in his father’s eyes. His only answer was a sullen shrug.

  “Is it about selling the farmstead?”

  All the blood drained from Valis’ face, but he couldn’t lie. He couldn’t speak, either, so he just gave a slow nod.

  The man sighed and squeezed his hand again. “We will speak more about that tomorrow, then. Or later today if you are up for it. Don’t worry, Valis. Everything will be set to rights.”

  Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one being asked to sell his entire life and go somewhere he had never even heard of. But, rather than say that aloud, he only nodded again. Better to say he’d speak on it later than create an argument now.

  Chapter Six

  Days had gone by, and neither Aesriphos had brought up the subject of selling the farmstead. Instead, they had set to putting a shield over the house and acting like they would never leave. Valis didn’t have the courage to bring the subject up on his own, so took to avoiding them when he could. And he’d gotten good at it most times. The only times he couldn’t avoid were the three meals they shared, almost all cooked by Kerac, and the few minutes before bed when they traded use of the bathing room.

  And that brought on new surprises. Valis had started when both Aesriphos had told him they would trade days bringing in water for their baths, rather than always making Valis do it. He wasn’t about to insist, either. If they wanted to carry water for their own baths, clean out their own tubs after use, he wasn’t going to argue. He had a feeling that even if he did, they would refuse and it would turn into a confrontation he didn’t want to be part of.

  On the third day, they sat down to the midday meal and both Aesriphos glanced at each other, then focused their gazes onto him over their rabbit stew, leftovers from dinner the night before.

  Valis ducked his head, busied himself with tearing his bread rolls into soft chunks to dunk into the rich broth. He had to admit, he’d eaten better these last few days than he had in his entire life. His father had always made sure he ate, but he also always made sure what Valis ate was bland, and only the bare minimum. Enough so that he could keep working, but nothing so grand as what he and Valis’ mother had eaten.

  At first the richness of the food had made Valis nauseous. Whether it was because he had gorged himself that first day, or because of the spices he was unaccustomed to, he wasn’t sure. Now, though, he savored every bite, and the nausea was only an unpleasant memory.

  He thought he might avoid whatever the Aesriphos might want to talk about, but that hope shattered as Kerac cleared his throat. “Have you thought on selling the farmstead, Valis?”

  All the air sucked out of the room. Or did Valis simply stop breathing? He shuddered and hunched his shoulders, his limbs and body feeling made of heavy, cold iron. “Why must I sell?”

  Darolen grunted. “Why don’t you want to sell?”

  His companion sighed and reached to rub Valis’ arm. “We want you safe. This farmstead, especially with your uncle loose, isn’t a safe place for you. It isn’t somewhere we can leave you alone. Not in good conscience. Certainly you cannot run the farm by yourself. Not without the knowledge of how to settle the books or hire farm hands. But we might have eventually overlooked that.”

  When Valis glanced up, his eyes wide and mouth parted, Kerac gave him a small smile. “We might have. But you said your uncle follows Qos, and your aunt is crazy. Your uncle has already tried to kidnap you, claim you. Could your aunt also have designs against you? Could she also follow Qos?” He grimaced and stirred his bowl of stew. “What of the town? Would they try to harm you and take the farm for themselves? Kill you and take what they could? Sell the farmstead as their own to the highest bidder to elevate th
emselves out of poverty?”

  Valis took his time to think on that. He blew across chunks of carrot and meat, took his time to chew, relished the bite of the vegetables and the way the rabbit melted in his mouth. Today, the broth seemed richer, thicker than it had the evening before. It tasted even better, and at the time he first ate it, he hadn’t thought that possible.

  As before, neither Aesriphos rushed an answer from him. They chatted amongst themselves in their own language, but it sounded strained, as if they were worried. Was that worry aimed at Valis? Were they really giving him a choice?

  He sighed and set his spoon down, letting it sink into the bowl. “Aunt Ortima was mother’s sister. She’s… cunning. Quiet. I don’t know if she follows Qos, but… it’s possible.” He made a face and sat back in his chair. “Uncle Rygas always gets what he wants, but he’s always underhanded about it. Patient, waiting to strike like a pack of wolves scenting deer. Lies low until he’s sure his prey is vulnerable, then strikes. He and father worked together seamlessly like that.”

  “And you would want to be at their mercies?” Darolen asked. “You would want to suffer them again? Alone?”

  Valis flinched and hung his head again, spoke his answer to his bowl. “No.”

  “Then will you start to consider selling your farmstead?” Kerac asked.

  This time he didn’t touch Valis. And the way Valis trembled, he could almost guess why. “I don’t know. It’s all I’ve ever known.”

  “And you would rather suffer abuse than enter into the unknown?”

  He flinched as if Kerac had slapped him. “What do you want me to say?” he shouted. “That I’d rather deal with the evil that I know? That I don’t trust you? I don’t! And you can’t make me trust you! Repeating it doesn’t make it true! Uncle Rygas was kind when he wanted something. You’re doing the same thing. Being kind just because you want me to sell my farmstead and go with you quietly!”