The Complete Enslaved Chronicles

by R. K. Thorne

  “They are too many. We could fight them together—”

  “I’ll find you, all right? I’ll find you. This is not goodbye. Don’t even say it. Just go. Now. They’ve got to be almost here.”

  She didn’t listen and instead leaned closer. He stiffened, but she pressed her lips to his, soft, but insistent. There was no time, and this was foolish… but what other chance would they have? She threw her arms over his shoulders, the brand in its knapsack probably jutting into his back.

  His lips parted, and she nearly dropped her burden as he returned her kiss with a surprising hunger. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her hard against him. A flood of heat shot through her.

  Just a moment longer. She needed to remember this moment, and his mouth, for all of her days.

  She broke away first and hesitated only a split second before she hobbled straight for the horse. He helped her up, and now more than ever his hands lingered on her fingers, her hip, her thigh. She squeezed his hand one more time. “In case guilt doesn’t lure you back to me, maybe that will.”

  He snorted.

  “Promise me you’ll follow.” Damn, she’d hoped to hide the note of desperation in her voice. “Don’t let them catch you, Tharomar. There’s no telling what they’ll do.”

  He nodded, squeezed back, and stepped away. “I’ll do everything I can to delay them. And I’ll do my best to follow. Now, Jaena—please. Go.”

  She dug in her heels, ankle aching, and the horse surged forward. She bent close to the horse’s back, clinging to the mane to avoid prying eyes.

  South. She could only hope the man in the midnight tabard had been telling the truth.

  Chapter 15

  The White City

  Tharomar spared himself a single moment to stare after her, struggling to process what had just happened. All this time, she had longed for him as well? Or had that kiss just been some kind of good-bye born of passion and fear that would fade in the light of day? He had met her advances, hungry for her, eager to admit that he’d felt the same way. Regretting he hadn’t done so sooner.

  South. Hopefully she was headed that direction for a reason. And… hopefully he could follow.

  Tharomar climbed back up the ladder into the stable’s loft. He would need every advantage he could muster if they figured out he was here. He ducked behind stacks of hay bales, quieted himself, and waited.

  If they heard Jaena racing away, there were no shouts after her, no horse hooves. Likely, they were still searching the inn and their room. But now, a woman’s voice called out from the front of the inn.

  “Search the area. Find them.”

  How many Devoted would check the stables, all of them or just part of the group? Would they be thorough? Would they use their lanterns, or actually check? Had they realized their lanterns had failed them before?

  Unfortunately for him, it looked like his luck had finally run out. They, very logically, headed straight for the stables, and while he couldn’t see all of them enter between the slats in the loft floor, at least eight drifted in, scanning for him. A lot for any warrior to handle. A chestnut-haired woman followed them with a severe expression, murder on her mind. He had a feeling she looked that way often.

  As two of them started up the ladder, he made his move. He launched his two throwing knives and took one knight down but missed the other—knives were hardly his forte. With a swift kick, he sent hay bales toppling onto the other knights below.

  Ro charged the one remaining knight in the loft head-on, taking a wild slash at the Devoted’s neck and chest before diving into a roll toward the stable wall. Hopefully that would put him out of projectile range from those down below. Perhaps if he could slowly lure the Devoted one at a time up the ladder, maybe he could pick them off one by one.

  Three more flooded the loft. Damn, they’d found a second ladder. He glanced around, frantic. How could he use this loft to his best advantage? A crossbow quarrel thunked into the wood just above his head, interrupting his thoughts. The three had narrowed in on him and just about had him cornered.

  He kicked at the closest one’s stomach and got lucky, sending him toppling. The next lunged at him, then the third, though, sending him down hard. He thrashed, but two against one, they easily managed to wrest his sword from his grip. Now the blows came, and he braced himself, twisted, kicked. These Devoted seemed more interested in pummeling him into submission than actually killing him, but he would give them no such quarter.

  He managed to get to his knees. The bigger one was a bit overconfident, and on his next swing, Tharomar caught the fist and pulled, sending his attacker reeling off-balance. In nearly the same motion, Tharomar darted forward, over the Devoted’s body, lurching for the nearby window. Maybe if he could just get out of it, he could get away from them or delay them just a little longer with a wilder chase.

  Without entirely thinking it through, he thrust himself at the window, the wooden shutter swinging wildly and clanging, and he fell.

  He hit the ground hard on his back, the air flying out of him. He needed to get up, but for a moment he was barely able to focus on breathing. He gasped for one breath, then another, then heaved himself up. He staggered three steps forward and around the corner of the barn, darting into the darkness between the buildings.

  If he could make it to the end, then turn left, he could just maybe—

  The tip of a blade met him, its point hovering in the air somewhere between his neck and his nose. The woman who so longed for death. He raised his gaze to meet hers.

  She had eyes of beautiful crystalline blue beneath that murderous glare. Someone so dark didn’t deserve such eyes. “Where is she, and where is the brand?” she demanded.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

  “Throw him back inside and torch the place,” she ordered.

  He gaped, in spite of himself. “But the horses—”

  She gave him a withering look as another Devoted grabbed him, dragging him back toward the stables. Tharomar wasn’t above an underhanded attack and sent a fist deep into the man’s gut, but five more swarmed him, pulling him toward the stables.

  They threw him to his knees amid the tumbled hay. One leveled a cruel kick at his temple, sending him reeling and into the dust and chaff, black splotches flashing before his eyes.

  “I’ll give you one more chance. That renegade mage you were helping. Where is she? Tell me, and perhaps you will go free.” The woman and her sword had returned, leveled at his neck. She must be the knight, he thought. Were these others even knights, or simply her squires? “I said, tell me if you want your freedom,” she pressed.

  Freedom? No chance of that now. He highly doubted he would even survive. Fine with him. He’d gone down in the battle he’d chosen to fight, and not without causing them trouble along the way. He would die in service of his mission.

  It would have been nice to find out if anything waited on the other side of that kiss, or if they would regret it after the danger had passed. But it was too late. For him, the danger was not going to pass.

  He shook his head. “I told you I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She lifted the blade point and sent a swift kick to his shoulder, rolling him from his side to his back with the force of it. Then she put one booted foot to his neck and pressed ever so slightly. “You’d forfeit your life for this mage? This seed of corruption? Tell me where she is.”

  “I don’t know now,” he whispered. That much was indeed true. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

  “Get those torches ready.” She leaned forward, pressing her foot down and slowly closing the airway. This was it, he thought. He gasped for a breath to buy him time, but he had no hope. She was going to crush his windpipe and leave him here to die.

  It was worth it if the Akarians could destroy the brand. It was worth it if Jaena got free. He’d done what he could. More than he could have hoped or imagined on that day he’d first sworn allegiance to his
order.

  He’d never expected to live forever.

  Her eyes caught on something, and she stopped. Then she removed her foot entirely. He gasped for breath, more desperate for it than he would have liked to admit. She squinted at his neck and squatted down beside him.

  “This necklace—I’ve seen it before. What does it mean?” she demanded.

  He blinked at her, then shut his gasping mouth. He likely couldn’t even speak. If he could, he certainly would not tell her anything about it.

  She grasped it and yanked it from his neck, dangling it in front of her eyes. She scowled at the pendant, then at him, then handed it to one of the other Devoted. “Hold. No flames today. Put that in my bags for later. We’ll have to torture this out of him, I suppose.”

  Torture what out of him?

  Did that mean he was going to live, for the moment?

  Another cluster of Devoted arrived, most carrying flaming branches and torches, but one carried one of their strange lanterns holding a purple-orange stone. As the squire strode away with his pendant, the rock suddenly flared to life, shining brightly enough to fill the whole of the stable as though it were the midday sun.

  What the…

  A dark smile curled across the woman’s mouth. “Well, well. Is that what that’s for?”

  Tharomar frowned as he struggled to right himself and back away from her. What was going on? There was no one here but these Devoted and the horses.

  And him.

  “Looks like we won’t have to torture him after all. Don’t look so disappointed. Shackle him. We’ll take him back to Kavanar. Once we capture that renegade and the brand, we’ll get what we need out of this mage easily. Take him.”

  His mouth fell open for a moment, then he shut it again hastily. Revealing his surprise would not help him. But inside, his mind was reeling. Did they— Could they—

  Nefrana’s blooms, were they right? Could he be a mage, just like Jaena?

  Before he could wonder, or think anything, really, the hilt of a sword collided again with his temple, and everything faded to black.

  As Jaena raced south, she struggled not to look back behind her. He’s not coming, girl. Not for a while, at the very least. But a part of her was afraid that deep down, she knew the truth. Those Devoted weren’t going to let him follow if they found him. Although what exactly they would do, she didn’t know. Slavery seemed like a terrible thing to hope for, but at least he’d still be alive.

  And she still had the brand. It prodded her back and shoulders, a constant reminder of its presence. Damn, it’d feel good to get rid of that thing. Maybe she could even destroy it. If she could figure out how. If not, perhaps she could toss it into the deepest sea.

  She wasn’t entirely sure where she thought she was going. Her damn ankle ached with every hoofbeat. She’d tried riding with it out of the stirrup, but that wasn’t much better. She had to hope the man’s word that they’d left only an hour before was correct, because she wasn’t entirely sure she could get on and off this horse alone. Maybe with the other foot, or with some serious pain. She’d figure it out. Or she’d ride the whole way to Panar, or as far as Yada was willing to go.

  It wasn’t like she had any money to pay for a room or food anyway.

  More than an hour had passed, then two, but before the sun crossed the zenith in the sky, a large procession came into view on the road up ahead. She studied it at a distance. Three or four dozen horses carried men and women laden with armor, weapons, and supplies. One woman riding toward the front wore a dress of emerald green that made Jaena long for such things, irrational as that might be at the moment. There had been a day once…

  Those days were over now, though.

  Another woman was dressed in a tidy crimson shirt and breeches. Did that mean Kavanarians? Nearly everyone else in the group wore armor of some kind, and fine armor at that. She squinted, trying to make out the symbol on any shield or breastplate. A bear, roaring mightily into the night.

  Ah, they were Akarians, at least. Thank the gods. Neither of these women had Miara’s red hair, but perhaps someone among them knew her or could help Jaena find her.

  She quickened her weary horse’s pace, whispering, “Just a little farther, I swear.”

  As she neared them, the rear soldiers—for she realized now they must be soldiers—turned and faced her.

  “Who goes there?” one voice called out, stopping. Several other horses turned and joined them.

  Well, that seemed like a lot of soldiers to face one woman on a horse. She would not be cowed, though. She needed to find Miara and fast.

  “Jaena Eliar, mage of Kavanar.” She was pleased her voice carried with a strong echo, even after all the day’s exertions.

  At the mention of mage, however, the women and men shifted uneasily, horses stamping. Another horse carrying an armored man with shaggy, blond-brown hair rounded and trotted toward her. The rest of the procession had stopped.

  “I have news and information. I was freed with the request to share it. I’m looking for another mage from Kavanar—Miara Floren.”

  The riders exchanged glances. They knew Miara. They weren’t sure how to react to Jaena’s arrival, though. The grayish eyes of the blond-brown-haired man cut into her with a keen stare.

  “Who did you say you were?” he said.

  “Jaena, mage of Kavanar. Slave, until just recently. Miara told me to meet her in Anonil, but we were ambushed, and I had to flee.”

  “Ambushed, eh?” His voice was weary. “That seems to be happening a lot these days.”

  “I need to see Miara as soon as possible.”

  “Welcome, Jaena,” he said with a slight nod. “I’m the mage who freed you.” Her mouth dropped open as relief washed over her. Miara hadn’t mentioned anything about her “friend’s” identity, but at least she’d found someone she could—hopefully—trust. The armored mage looked to the other men. “Let’s take a pause, rest the horses. I am sure Jaena has much to tell us and could use a rest herself.”

  The escaped mage slave—Jaena, was it?—followed Aven off the road with the others. Thank the gods they’d run into her. In all the tumult, he’d completely lost any thought or hope of connecting with her, at least not until much later.

  Near a stand of trees, Aven dismounted and tied off his horse. Jaena hesitated for a moment, then dismounted herself. A hiss of pain reached his ears. She was wincing. Must be injured.

  He caught his mother’s eye. She’d heard it too, and she looked to Siliana, mumbling something Aven couldn’t hear. The journeyman dismounted and stalked straight toward them.

  Jaena turned, favoring one leg as she did. “Is there somewhere we could speak privately?”

  Aven glanced around. “Not really.”

  The mage frowned, then her eyes caught on Siliana approaching her.

  “Your ankle—may I?”

  Jaena’s eyes pierced the other woman with a tough stare. What was the escaped slave estimating? Then she heaved a sigh of relief and nodded, shutting her eyes. Siliana squatted down to look at the mage’s leg. Gods, it was idiocy not to have mages on their side, if only for their healing abilities. Jaena’s eyes opened, accompanied by a relieved sigh.

  “Thank the gods for creature mages,” she said, smiling.

  Siliana straightened. “Siliana,” she said with a bow.

  Jaena bowed in return. “Well—you heard my name. Jaena.”

  “I believe Miara said you were an earth mage?” Aven said, joining them by Jaena’s mount.

  She nodded.

  “We’re in dire need of earth mages. We’ve got a number of them with no training. And yet, enemy earth mages are wreaking havoc left and right. I’m glad you’re here.”

  Jaena looked a little stunned at that but smiled again. “I have something to show you… but I’d really rather not everyone see it at this point.”

  She had no idea who she could trust. And that was fair. He wasn’t entirely sure who they could trust either, and Alika
r still rode with them. Although… glancing around, he didn’t see the bastard’s horse anywhere. He scratched his chin. At the same time, how could he entirely trust her?

  “We can go off a bit from the others. We don’t have time to set up tents. Our plan was to reach the next inn before we stopped.”

  Jaena pressed her lips together, apprehensive, but then nodded. What other option did they have?

  “May I join you?” Siliana asked. Aven looked to Jaena, who looked uncomfortable.

  “Can you fetch my mother and then join us in a few minutes, please?” Aven said instead. That would give them at least a little time. “This way. Can you walk?”

  “I can now.” She beamed a warm smile at Siliana as the creature mage headed for the queen. “You said she’s not here. Is Miara all right?”

  Aven swallowed the lump in his throat, wishing he could smack the emotion down at the moment. “We… don’t know.” Damn it, his voice had faltered.

  “I see,” she said softly. “What is she to you? She said you were her… friend.” The lilt to her voice said she understood more was at work.

  He glanced at her, unsure how to deal with the direct question. Was he still beholden to keep their secret? Should he keep it now more than ever? He stole a few moments to think, picking up several nearby fallen logs and twigs and arranging them for a fire. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, visualizing the heat. He opened them and smiled as the logs sputtered into flame. At least he could do that now, although it summoned up a memory of another time, another fire…

  He settled on the ground by the fire and patted the earth for her to join him as he chose his answer. He couldn’t continue along his father’s path. He was king now, and he had to make decisions without looking over his shoulder. His father had taught him as much and would have wanted that. Er, would be glad Aven had done so when they found his father alive. That said, Aven hardly knew Jaena. He chose his words carefully. “She’s one of the finest women I’ve ever known. She and I escaped from Mage Hall together, after I figured out how to break the spell.”