Demon’s Quest (High Demon #4)(3)
Author: Connie Suttle

"This is good—it has a light, nutty taste," I said.

"Just a bit of nut spice, that’s all," Radolf grinned and offered one more bite. "And I want to put some meat on those bones." He set the fork down and tapped my shoulder.

"Hasn’t taken care of herself," Garek agreed. I wanted to have a talk with both of them about awful things happening over which I had no control, but they were both smiling. They knew already.

"See, cheeks still pale," Garek ran a knuckle gently down my face. I closed my eyes—they’d betrayed me by allowing a tear to slip away.

"Here, now, there’s no need for that." Radolf was the one who lifted me off the island. "Put your arms around my neck, heart’s love," he murmured against my ear. I embarrassed myself by sobbing a time or two against his shoulder.

"What’s wrong with my little love?" Wylend was lifting me away from Radolf.

"I’m sorry," I sniffled. "I don’t mean to take you away from court."

"Love, we recessed for lunch. You haven’t taken me away from anything." Wylend carried me out of the kitchen. I was clutching the finest raw silk robes in my fingers, holding onto them tightly and wrinkling them, most likely, as Wylend carried me toward his suite. He could have folded us there, but he admitted that he wanted to baby me along the way.

"Here, Radolf sent this," Garek was right behind Wylend, offering me a drink of some kind. "It’s berries blended with ice cream," he said. The concoction was pink from the berries and tasted like a dream.

"Radolf is a wonderful cook," I sighed after tasting it.

"His mother still grumbles that he didn’t do something more important with his life," Garek did a little grumbling himself.

"Feeding people is a higher calling," I said. "Not everybody can do that, you know."

"Are we better now? Shall we have lunch in here?" Here was Wylend’s bedroom.

"I’m having lunch now." I slurped more of my drink.

Garek had a table set up quickly, so I sat across from Wylend as he ate and he and Garek discussed several issues that Wylend was dealing with. At the moment, I was glad Wylend was handling all of it—I was feeling sleepy again.

Lok, many times great-nephew of the legendary Dragon Warlord, stared down his opponent. The flag was about to fall, signaling the beginning of his final bout in the Solstice Trials. Lok had trained most of his life in bladework, though the Falchani were turning to more modern weapons to fight their old enemies. Tradition was steeped into their bones and every child with any aptitude was still taught the art of the blade. The swords were made by hand but the craft might be dying. Lok worried that eventually—perhaps not in his lifetime but eventually, the Falchani would walk away from all of it.

Rumors swept the city—many talked of joining the Reth Alliance. The current Warlord was holding off on any decision in the matter, but it hung over their heads like a rain cloud. Lok still hadn’t made up his mind about the whole thing. The flag dropped and Lok went to work, blades flying, fighting his opponent.

"Lok, I grow tired of seeing you in my tents," the Lion Warlord teased good-naturedly as he handed out the prize for that year’s Solstice Trials. "I’m beginning to think the others are just too soft. Is this the tenth one of these you have?" The large gold medallion was handed to Lok, who bowed respectfully to the Warlord.

"Eleven, Warlord," Lok replied, smiling. "But I don’t keep track of those things."

"I’d pay you to train the advanced classes."

"I know, Warlord. I just don’t think I have the patience for it."

"You’ve said that before. I ran out of tattoos to offer you long ago. Is there anything else I might offer instead?"

"A cup of tea?" Lok grinned.

"Done," the Warlord laughed.

"They’re recruiting from the Reth Alliance again—the Warlord only allows them to come once a year," Lok’s cousin, Jeng, announced as he slid onto the stool at the noodle cart just inside the marketing district.

"Where?" Lok asked, using chopsticks to shove noodles into his mouth. Three days had passed since the Solstice Trials and he’d been at loose ends. Lok had done his twenty years in the Warlord’s army before turning to the Solstice Trials. He was ninety-seven—in his prime for a Falchani, who lived an average of two hundred sixteen years. Nothing else appealed to him—he had no desire to run a business—that sounded boring in the extreme.

"Just outside the clothing district—there was space and an empty shop for them to set up. Today is the first day—they’ll be here for three days."

Lok snorted, lifting his cup of rice wine and draining it. He spoke Alliance common, just as every Falchani his age and younger did. The Warlord had decreed it, saying that Falchan couldn’t afford to remain isolated as it had in the past. Too many of their closest neighbors had been attacked in the past two hundred years. So far, Falchan had been spared, but Lok often wondered at that. They were a prime target, he felt, since they held no major weapons and their army was still equipped mostly with steel instead of Ranos technology. All it would take would be a ship filled with barbarians armed with a Ranos cannon and Falchan could be conquered.

Lok cringed at the thought of Falchan joining the Reth Alliance and slipping away from tradition, but the move might become inevitable. There were still plenty of worlds that belonged neither to the Reth nor to the Campiaan Alliance, newly-formed as it was. Still, it offered its worlds some sort of protection against an increasing threat from pirates and other filth. Just thinking about it made Lok’s fingers curl, as if wishing for a sword grip. Shaking his long braid in frustration, Lok resolved to get it out of his mind.

"Cousin, they are harmless," Jeng sighed, misinterpreting Lok’s actions.

"It’s not the Reth Alliance that worries me."

Jeng drew in a breath. "You’re worried about the pirates, too? I heard they took down the Lidrithi Government."

"When?" Lok lifted an eyebrow at his cousin, who accepted a bowl of noodles from the vendor.

"While you were hip-deep in the Solstice Trials," Jeng said, slurping noodles. He watched Lok’s face carefully—Lok didn’t often reveal his emotions. Lok was a throwback; everybody said so. In another time, he might have challenged and won the position as Warlord. Those days were gone. Lok’s torso was covered in red dragons, in deference to his long-ago ancestor, the Dragon Warlord. All the old paintings and drawings portrayed the Dragon Warlord’s tattoos. Lok had requested—and been granted—permission to have those tattoos copied onto his skin by the Lion Warlord.