The Drinnglennin Chronicles Omnibus

by K. C. Julius

  “It’s true that I prefer my earned title of Marechal,” Latour conceded, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t value the advantages with which my family name provides me. Without it, I could never have risen to this rank.” He cuffed Borne lightly on the chin. “Admit it,” he demanded.

  “Admit what?”

  “That you’re already tantalized by the prospect of traveling to the exotic city of Tell-Uyuk.”

  “I haven’t had time to even begin considering it!”

  “Well, let’s get you started over a flask or two of mulate. We’ve much to celebrate.”

  Borne couldn’t help but take Latour’s enthusiasm as an affront. “You seem positively jubilant to be rid of me,” he grumbled.

  Latour shrugged. “I’m a practical man. I was unlikely to keep you in any event, and I’d rather lose you to the further service of Gral than to a rebel band of å Livåri.” He laughed at Borne’s expression. “You are surprised, Sir Herald, that I suspected your future plans?”

  Borne could only shake his head.

  “Don’t worry,” said Latour. “I’m sure you’ll find much to intrigue that inventive mind of yours in the East.”

  “Tanah velkrie vela dar, vole rellen me’taksa mar,” Borne replied.

  The marechal frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

  “It’s a line from Heart Songs for Hegamah by Olkim bè Halour.”

  “Who’s that?”

  Borne clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Only the greatest poet who ever lived. Do you learn nothing about the world beyond your parochial borders?”

  Latour cuffed him again, this time with more force. “Mind your step, sir,” he cautioned. “I take it this bè Halour is Olquarian. What do the words mean?”

  Borne grinned. “It’s difficult to translate, but it refers to the exquisite charms of the love maidens of Tell-Uyuk.”

  With a shout of laughter, Latour threw his arm across Borne’s shoulders. “I told you—you’re halfway there already, you bastard! Now, let us go and salute that flashy new sash of yours in true Gralian style.”

  Chapter 19

  Halla

  Halla ran her hand over her dripping brow. The sun had climbed high above the mesa, and the growing heat was relentless. She would have pulled off her tunic as well if she weren’t wary of her fair skin burning.

  “By the breath of Alithin,” she grumbled, plucking the cloth away from the sweat pooling between her breasts. “I’d give my teeth for a whisper of wind.” She scowled at Nicu’s amused expression. “This Albrenian spring is brutal. It feels more like high summer!”

  She raised her waterskin to her lips but drank sparingly, for there was no telling where the next watering hole might lie. As far as the eye could see, the rust-brown land stretched, arid and flat as a trencher, save toward Delnogoth, where distant mountains wavered in the hazy heat.

  Halla, along with the rest of the å Livåri contingent that had remained in Gral, had been released from Latour’s service three weeks ago, and they were now in the far east of Albrenia with Mihail and his freedom fighters. Nicu’s second-in-command had been busy in their absence, and had rescued scores of å Livåri women in the past months. The company had recently uncovered a lucrative slave trade operating in nearby Estelbau, but on the several forays they’d made into the market town, they’d seen none of their own people up for auction—only Goths and eastern tribespeople.

  It was good to be back at camp with her comrades—where there was no need to play the lady. Halla fell easily back into the routines of training, foraging, and going out on raids, but one thing had changed. Despite what she’d told Borne about accepting her lover’s dalliances, Halla had not returned to Nicu’s bed after the party Crenel held in her honor. Over the remaining months of their service in Gral, she’d maintained a cool, polite distance. Nicu’s response was at first amused, but when she continued to avoid him, he began excluding her from his daily briefings. It seemed her behavior had stung him in return. That tension had eased somewhat now that they were back in Albrenia, though, and she hoped they could return to a semblance of their early camaraderie. She missed his companionship.

  When scouts reported that new shiploads of å Livåri women had arrived in Segavia to be put up for auction, Nicu gave the order to prepare to move south. But then the morning before they were to break camp, another scout returned with the news that a large military operation was being carried out less than a day’s ride to the west, and Nicu sent four men out for a closer look. Now, as the hours crept by, Halla could tell he was on edge waiting for the men to return. In between sharpening his knife with short, sharp strokes, he would periodically rise and pace, running his hand absently through his thick curls. And with good reason: it shouldn’t have taken the men so long to complete their business. When Hus struck his ladle against his battered pot to signal their supper was ready, Nicu swore under his breath.

  “I suppose we might as well eat,” he muttered.

  Halla gave a small groan. The men had killed a boar earlier, and the gamey smell of the stew Hus had concocted had been making her feel nauseated all day.

  Nicu raised an eyebrow. “Not hungry? You barely ate your morning porridge either.”

  “You go ahead. I’m too hot to eat.” She leaned back in the shade, willing the sun to hurry its descent below the horizon.

  But when Nicu came back, he was bearing two bowls.

  She accepted one, albeit reluctantly, knifed up a piece of the gristly grey meat, and frowned at it. “If I hadn’t seen Hus dress the boar, I’d swear this stew was made from those burrowing rats.” She leaned over and dropped the meat into Nicu’s bowl, setting her own aside with a grimace.

  Nicu paused with his knife halfway to his mouth. Halla, following his gaze, saw a small cloud of dust in the distance. She reached for the hilt of the sword slung on her back. “Shall I alert the others?”

  Nicu sprang to his feet. “No. That’s Chik’s horse. I just can’t tell if he’s on it.”

  Halla squinted. “I can’t even see a horse.”

  A slow smile spread over Nicu’s lips, although his eyes remained riveted on the approaching riders. “You forget that I’m descended from dragons,” he said, citing the old å Livåri legend.

  Born of the dragons of Tarm, she recalled. She’d heard the tales from Bria and Florian by their campfire. She wondered what Nicu would say if she told him she’d ridden astride a real dragon’s back.

  The horses were close enough now for her to count four of them—all with riders. Nicu strode out to meet them, and as the å Livåri converged and leapt from their saddles, they exchanged the wrestling embraces and insults that passed for warm greetings among men.

  “It took you long enough,” Nicu grumbled, leaning over to sniff at Mihail’s tunic. “You reek of sow dung. Have you been rolling again?”

  “I smell a sight better than you, you loll-sacked skamelar!” Mihail threw a mock punch at him.

  Nicu grinned and turned to clap Chik’s shoulders. “Come. I want to hear at once what you learned about these military manueveurs.” He glanced over at Halla. “You too, Åthinoi.”

  Halla felt a small bubble of pleasure welling up inside her. He hadn’t called her that since they’d stopped sleeping together.

  “I’ll see to the horses first,” she offered.

  Chik’s gelding was especially footsore and thirsty. She walked him a bit to cool him before letting him drink his fill. “Later I’ll give you a good brushing,” she murmured as she led the piebald to a patch of shade.

  When the horses had been cared for, she joined the others in the relative cool of the lean-to and found the men still on their feet. “What did I miss?” she asked, scanning their faces.

  Nicu’s eyes were ablaze with excitement. “It seems King Jorgev’s high commander is in the region.”

  Halla felt her stomach c
lench. “Seor Palan?”

  “The very same.” Nicu knew all about Halla’s connection with Seor Palan de Grathiz, the man who’d commissioned her purchase and sent her to the Casa Calida to be trained as his bed slave.

  Her hands balled into fists. “When do we ride?”

  “Patience, Åthinoi,” Nicu said. “We’ll need to do some more scouting first.”

  But Halla’s blood was already singing in her veins.

  “When do we ride?”

  * * *

  The Albrenian commander had chosen his base well. His army was encamped on an oasis of grassland, the only green for miles around. Halla knew from her time with Latour that Palan had been conducting field drills along the border with Gral for some time. “Flexing his muscles,” was how the marechal had described it, but judging by the size of his force, it looked more like Palan was shaking his fist.

  She and Nicu had ridden under cover of darkness to meet up with Chik, Mihail, and Jibin, who’d gone ahead to observe the army several days before. Now, as the sun made its way over the horizon, Halla peered out from the scraggy underbrush, her eyes drawn to the adarrak, the first she’d ever seen, at the center of the milling riders in the camp. These great horned horse were of a rare breed found only in Albrenia. Some believed them to be descended from unicorns, and now Halla saw why. The adarrak stood over seventeen hands high, and had two knobbed bones protruding from the ridge of his forehead. His thick, black mane was twined in a crisscrossed web over his regal neck, and his full tail was braided as well. Both were laced with golden ribbons that swept the ground. The creature was draped in a cloth of royal blue, winking with sapphires and topazes worth a king’s ransom.

  The tall man sitting the ornate saddle was in full uniform, the sash and badges of his supreme office on prominent display.

  Halla narrowed her eyes at the sight of him. “Devil’s whoreson,” she hissed.

  Beside her, Nicu gave a soft laugh. “Your former owner, in the flesh.” Seeing her expression, he cautioned, “Don’t make me regret giving in to your pleas to come along. You’re to keep that lethal knife of yours sheathed.”

  Halla glared at him. “I didn’t plead. You asked me to come.”

  “Only because I knew you’d follow in any event.”

  He was right, of course.

  As they watched, the commander dismounted and tossed the reins of his fine horse to a waiting squire. Halla had to clench her itching fingers to keep from drawing an arrow and putting it through the Albrenian bastard’s throat. He was soon lost among his milling men, but she assumed he was headed toward the tall peaked tent rising from the center of the camp, its bold blue-and-gold banner flying above all the others.

  On Nicu’s signal, the å Livåri backed away and returned to the thickly brambled hedge shielding them and their horses from view.

  “There must be over a thousand men in the camp,” Nicu said. “Mostly infantry I’m guessing, but still…”

  Halla could tell he was reconsidering the feasibility of their plan. They’d faced a full army when they were backed by Latour and his Gralian force, but now the company’s size limited them to smaller-scale raids.

  “We’re not going to engage with all of them,” Halla reminded him. “Only Palan.”

  “We’re not going to engage with Palan either,” Nicu replied. “We go in and take him, then offer terms to King Jorgev for his release.”

  Halla failed, once again, to hold her tongue, even though previous efforts to convince her comrades their expectations were pure folly had fallen on deaf ears. “You’re asking for the release of hundreds, maybe thousands, of å Livåri in exchange for one man,” she protested. “You think you can negotiate something like that with a king? Jorgev will not only refuse—he’ll throw the full force of his royal army against you. It would be better to just slit Palan’s throat and slip away unscathed.”

  Nicu shook his head. “We’ve been over this. If we kill Palan and run away, we’ll have nothing to show for it, no leverage to use. And Jorgev will still end up sending the might of his forces against us. You’re letting your personal enmity for the man rule your head, Halla. Palan is worth a great deal to our cause—but only if he’s alive.”

  “And if King Jorgev refuses to free the å Livåri slaves?” she persisted.

  “Then we’ll demand gold,” Mihail said. “Enough gold to buy their liberty.”

  “But—”

  “Leave it, Halla,” Nicu said, his voice stern. “That’s an order.”

  “At least let me go with you to take Palan. My waiting here serves no purpose.”

  “It does if you have to carry news of our capture back to the main camp.”

  Halla scowled, though Nicu was in fact trusting her with a critical role. If the Albrenians captured the å Livåri, they’d make sure to extract the location of any comrades before taking their lives. It would be up to Halla to warn the others to move, lest the entire company be caught unawares.

  Nicu’s stern expression softened. “Don’t look like that, Åthinoi. If Palan follows his usual routine, we shall seize him and be miles away before he’s missed. The Albrenians are within their own borders. They aren’t expecting any trouble. Palan’s so certain of their security he hasn’t even bothered to post sentries.”

  “It’s an incredible stroke of luck that he’s a creature of habit,” Mihail said. “Every day at sunset, he goes alone to bathe in the wadi on the western border of the camp. After his bath, he sits by the water for as much as an hour in prayer. No one ever disturbs him.”

  Chik grinned. “We’ll take the bastard while he’s communing with his goddess. Tonight, there’ll be no moon—nothing could be easier.”

  Halla had to admit that the plan was so simple, it might just succeed.

  They had hours to kill before the daylight faded. After a light meal of grapes, cheese, and hard, spicy sausage, Chik, Mihail, and Jibin found a patch of shade and stretched out in it. They’d need to sleep now, for they’d face a hard night’s ride after the kidnapping.

  Halla was too restless to join them, and she was relieved when Nicu produced a deck of cards.

  “Fancy a game of Bloody Flux?”

  Halla nodded, and as she was ordering her cards she asked, “If this ransom is pulled off, and your people freed, what will you do then? I mean, after it’s over.”

  Nicu threw down a ten. “Nothing will be over. We’ve still to find out what’s happened to those who never made it to Albrenia.”

  Halla took his ten with her knave. “So where will you look for them?”

  Nicu shrugged. “I guess I’ll go back to Drinnkastel—see if the wizard has turned anything up.”

  Halla stared hard at her cards. She felt guilty about not telling Nicu about her connection with Master Morgan. Even when Nicu told her about the wizard’s part in finding Maura’s brother, Dal, she hadn’t said a word. It was just too complicated. She’d have to explain she knew Maura as well, yet leave out any reference to Mithralyn and the elves, not to mention the dragons.

  “What about you?” Nicu leaned back on his elbow and eyed her speculatively. “Since you’re so dead set against wedding your cousin and playing lady of the manor?”

  Halla shrugged. “I don’t know.” It was the truth. The prospect of returning to Drinnglennin certainly didn’t excite her. Even if she escaped a marriage to Whit, her mother would likely try to force her into another of advantage to Lorendale. “I don’t think I’m ready to cross back over the Erolin Sea.”

  If Nicu was disappointed, he didn’t let on. “Latour would probably have you back, or you could petition to join Borne’s royal commission and travel to the East. In fact, I think you’d prefer that; å Livåri are born with wanderlust running through our veins.”

  Halla grinned at his inclusion of her as one of them, and he returned her smile with a disarmingly gentle one of h
is own. Something in the way he remained gazing at her made her heart quicken.

  “You’re like no one I’ve ever known, Åthinoi.” He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Most will look at you and see no further than your beauty. And that’s a pity, because it distracts from your greater assets.”

  Halla looked down at her cards to cover her surprise. “If you think I’ll spare you because you’re spouting pretty words, think again.” She plucked her Grand Dame from her hand and covered his King. “Bela!” she pronounced as the round fell to her.

  But Nicu had folded his cards and his gaze had not wavered. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low.

  Halla didn’t pretend not to understand him. “You have nothing for which to apologize. We took no vows.”

  “That is so. And for this too, I am sorry.” His eyes were like black pools, so deep she thought she might drown in them. She looked down at his fingers, which had curled around her own as he lifted her hand to his chest. Beneath his dusty doublet, she could feel the steady rhythm of his heart.

  Nicu leaned forward until his forehead rested against hers. “I have burned for other women,” he murmured, “but always, once the fire was quenched, I was as I had been before. Not so with you, Halla. You appear to be made as other women, but you are not. You left me with something beyond the burning.”

  Halla untwined her fingers from his hands and gently pushed him back until she could see his face once more. In his smoldering eyes, there was something she had not seen before.

  He gently pulled her closer again until his lips touched her brow, then he moved them to her ear. “Emptiness, Åthinoi,” he whispered, “that’s what you’ve left me with—emptiness that can only be filled by you. I would wake to feel your breath on my cheek again, and to hold you throughout the night; to hear you laugh, to run and ride and dance with you. I would have you as my wife.”

  Breathless, she had no words with which to reply, but let her lips give him her answer.

  * * *

  Waiting had always been hard for Halla. Waiting for her father to finish meting out justice before coming to ride with her, waiting for the interminable embroidery lesson to end so she could escape to the sparring grounds. Waiting in vain, once her brothers had usurped her place in Father’s heart, for him to remember that once she had been his dearest child.