How could he live without her?
How could he breathe?
Even now his chest constricted. Damn honor and reputation and pride. He wanted her to stay. Sorin reached out to touch her, intent on shaking her awake and demanding she never go. His knee hit the bed and she sighed, her head turning. The soft action stopped him. Everything about her seemed so fragile. He clutched his hand into a fist and backed away.
“I will fight well. I will make you proud, my lady,” he whispered. It was the only thing he could think to say. Everything else jumbled in his mind, unable to find the right words or expression. “Upon my death, I will honor you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Sorin lifted his sword, slashing and hacking his way through the throng of hairy, man-eating beasts. The Caniba warriors all looked the same to him—smelly, pelt-covered monsters with sunken eyes and sharpened teeth. Their hair hadn’t seen a comb, ever, and he highly doubted any of them had heard of bathing.
Rumors flew that these creatures weren’t men, but beasts created from the fornication of people and ancient wolves. Sorin had killed plenty of them to know that they were of flesh and blood. They had the bodies of men, but were the basest example of what men could become. He doubted the noble wolf sired them, but he did not doubt for a second that they were truly beasts.
Three days earlier, Sorceress Magda’s army had come up from the ground right through the middle of their encampment. Like a giant serpent of dirt snaking through the ground, the topsoil had sucked into a pit taking a few of their men with it. Caniba warriors rose up, splitting the Starian army in half. Sorin’s half was surrounded and fighting an army twice their dwindling size with little reprieve.
Sorin thrust his sword into the stomach of his enemy, watching the beast’s gnarled face remain impassioned as if he didn’t feel death. He’d seen the same look many times. The Caniba felt nothing beyond a driving need. Sorin spun on his heels and withdrew his blade just as quickly as it went in. Yelling to release the tension of battle, he swung once more and beheaded a blood-soaked figure.
The smell of sweat and dirt and death filled his nose. Metal clanged, men screamed and moaned and died all around him. Sorin knew these horrors well, but this battle was different. Try as he may, he couldn’t keep Lilith out of his head. He saw her disappointed gaze staring at him from the corner of his eyes. Her face appeared in swirls of kicked up dust and her tears in droplets of blood. She would not be pleased with what he did. His honorable deeds would not make her proud.
Sorin fought harder, driving through the throng. He needed to get to her and hide her from the truth. If she discovered his deeds, if one of the men sang his praises not knowing her heart, Lilith would run.
Just like Bianka. No, never like Bianka.
“Argh!” Sorin swung his arm, the movements as natural and practiced as walking.
“To Lord Sorin!” a cry went out over the field, only to be repeated. “Follow my lord, he’s going for the Sorceress!”
Sorin glanced over the battlefield, his vision hampered by dust. Before him he saw the makeshift throne of Sorceress Magda. Eerily pristine in her gown of sparkling white, she sat on a carved wood platform, lifted up so that she might watch the carnage she’d created with the pride of a goddess. Dark, smooth hair fell about her shoulders to her waist, and the inky depths of her eyes became even more so by the black lines drawn thick around them. Right now, that bloodthirsty gaze was on him. Her evil children swarmed around her, a thick, living wall of protection.
He realized he’d fought his way close to her, closer than they’d been the entire battle. Sorin had been so distracted by thoughts of Lilith that he’d broken rank, leaving the tightly formed unit of knights behind him. Caniba soldiers turned their attentions to him.
“To Sorin!” the men shouted. “To a good death!”
“Forgive me, my lady,” Sorin whispered in response to their cries. There was no way he could fight his way to kill the Sorceress, and by the gleaming pleasure of her expression she knew it as well. He had one chance and he was going to take it. For Staria, for Ronen, for family honor and for Lilith, though she would not appreciate the deed, he arched back and threw his main line of defense. The sword flew through the air, singing toward Magda.
A swarm fell on him, blocking his view. Teeth bit into his forearm, as he grabbed the knife from his waist. The weight of thronged bodies pushed him to the ground, and all his strength and training couldn’t stop it. Burning, white heat filled his arms while sharp, metal-tipped nails clawed into flesh. The foul Caniba smell encased him.
I fought well, my lady, take pride in that. Sorin thought, hacking the best he could with restrained arms. Upon my death, I honor you.
* * * * *
The sound of the gate caused Lilith to jump from her seat in Spearhead Fortress’ main hall. She’d grown to know it well in the two weeks she spent waiting for Sorin’s return from battle, and each time it drove the stake of fear deeper into her chest. How could he go without waking her? Why didn’t he send word?
I should have made him promise to come back. He would have kept his word.
Panicked, she tried to act nonchalant as she walked through the aisle of tables to the door. Karre had disappeared that first morning, and someone told Lilith the lady rode to battle with her husband. It had been an easy enough task to find Karre’s chambers and hide directions to the portal. She only hoped a servant didn’t find it first.
Knights came and went, always armed and covered in blood as they rode into the castle, always grim-faced and determined when they rode out. A few times she’d seen them walk to a random woman in the yard to present the sword of a fallen husband. Most accepted the dark gift with a nod and stiff retreat. One woman screamed and fell to her knees, shaking and grasping the blade as if she’d end her own suffering. No one moved to stop her, but in the end she merely curled into a ball and lay in the muddy earth. Lilith had stayed back at the glare of a guard warning her not to interfere.
What if she was next? What if it was Sorin’s blade they presented to her?
I can’t take this. Please, make it stop. I can’t take it.
As she stepped into the evening sunlight, she pressed a fist to her chest. The unknown was slowly killing her. She’d barely eaten. The smallest of sounds would cause her to jump out of her skin, and every moment became a worry-filled piece of hellish agony.
The sound of horse hooves greeted her as a single rider passed through the gate. Guards hurried to close it as soon as he’d cleared the large doors. Lilith stumbled to a halt, instantly seeing the extra sword sticking from the pack on the man’s horse. She knew that hilt, that blade. She’d seen Sorin clean it after their morning knife-throwing lessons.
“No.” Lilith shook her head, backing away from the man, willing him to disappear, to not see her. If he didn’t hand it to her, it wouldn’t be true.
The knight’s eyes scanned the courtyard before finding Lilith. She froze. He didn’t look away. Why didn’t he look away? The sword had to be a replica of Sorin’s. It couldn’t be his.
Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision. She blinked hard, trying to keep her world from spinning in circles. The hall behind her had gotten eerily quiet. People no longer moved about the yard. Why were they looking at her?
Look away! All of you. Stop it.
The rider dismounted, his actions seeming both fast and slow at the same time. By the heavy breathing of his mount, he’d ridden hard to get to Spearhead Fortress. His brown hair slicked back from his head, plastered into place by sweat, and his face carried the same grimness the others bore. She didn’t recognize him.
Lilith grabbed her stomach. Taking the sword from the pack, he revealed the broken blade. The metal had been snapped in two.
Hot tears spilled down her cheeks, sliding down her chin to drip onto her scarf. As the knight neared, she clutched her stomach harder, grinding her fingers into the hard corset to stop its ache. She tried to break the connection of their
gaze, but his eyes kept her steady. Hands lifted to give her the sword, and she saw dried blood still caking the remaining blade. Lilith shook her head in denial.
“No,” she whispered, barely able to make the word leave her throat.
“My lady, I—”
Lilith didn’t give him a chance to finish. Bile rose, making its way up her body and out her mouth. The knight jumped in surprise as she threw up on the front of his tunic. The broken sword fell from his hand, hitting Lilith’s skirt and snagging the dark blue material.
“By the rotting marshes, my lady,” the man swore.
“Cedric!” a stern voice charged. Sir Oskar had command of the fortress in the absence of Sir Vidar. “You will not swear at Lady Lilith or upset her.”
Cedric’s brow furrowed as he looked at his stained clothes.
“All know she is with child,” Oskar announced.
That brought her head around. “What?”
“It is quite all right, my lady. We noticed your pallor, refusal to eat aught but pieces of bread, the restless wandering at night, and your nausea confirms it.” Sir Oskar gentled his look as he spoke to her. “Cedric should not have alarmed you with news of war without talking to me first. Lord Sorin asked us to look after you, to make sure you were comfortable and not bothered with talk of battle. We came to understand quickly his reasons.”
Lilith shook her head, utterly confused. She wasn’t pregnant. She couldn’t be. Turning to the more horrific matter of the sword at her feet, she asked, “What happened? Can I see him?”
At the news of her “condition”, Cedric calmed his temper and he began tugging out of his tunic. “Lord Sorin honored your family name, my lady. He fought well against the Sorceress’s army.”
She touched her stomach. A baby? A piece of her husband to carry with her? If only…
At their expectant looks, she nodded weakly. Inside, she felt numb. “I’m sure he did. He’s a very good soldier.”
Cedric dropped his tunic on the ground before reaching to take the broken sword. He again tried to give it to her. Lifting his voice so all those gathered could hear, he announced, “With this blade Lord Sorin injured the Sorceress Queen, proving she’s mortal and bleeds like the rest of them.”
Cheers erupted. Lilith flinched, wanting desperately for them to shut up. The sound echoed in her head.
“I present it to you, my lady, to honor you and your child.” Cedric bounced it in his hands.
How could she touch it? “Where is he?”
“At the encampment. He asked that I bring you to him,” Cedric answered.
“Bring me…?” she repeated, breathless. “But, how could he ask? Are you saying he’s not…?” Lilith didn’t dare hope.
“My lady?” Cedric prompted.
“He’s not dead?” Lilith looked at the broken weapon.
“No, my lady.”
“Then why in the blasted stars are you bringing me this?” Lilith slapped at the hand holding the sword, making him drop it. She screamed in anger, releasing some of the pain he’d caused her with his little show of presenting the sword. The weapon dropped and Lilith swung at the man’s chest, landing a loud smack against his flesh. “I thought he was dead, you imbecile!”
“But, why would you think that?” Cedric blocked her very unladylike attack of slapping hands and backed away. Lilith followed him, enraged all the more when he chuckled at her efforts. “My lady, halt, I beg you. I did not bow down when I took the sword. I know you saw me. I—”
“Bow down?” She stopped hitting, breathing hard. “No one told me you had to bow down—argh! These stupid customs should be written down somewhere so they can be read by newcomers like me. How in all the accursed dimensions am I supposed to know these things if I’m not told? If I brought you to my home dimension, do you think you’d get on with no help?”
“Lady makes a good argument,” Oskar put forth.
“Why didn’t Sorin come himself?” she inquired.
Cedric glanced at Oskar who nodded his permission to answer. “He’s been injured.”
“Take me to the encampment. Now,” she ordered, determined to see Sorin for herself. The fear she felt when she’d thought him dead didn’t leave her, and it wouldn’t until she could touch him and feel the warmth of his flesh.
“I’m assured he will recover. There is no reason to take you into the marshland in your delicate condition, my lady. Lord Sorin has recovered well in the past. He is strong and a hero. We have great hope—”
“You can tell me everything on the way,” Lilith interrupted.
“It will be night before we get—” Cedric again tried to talk her out of her plan.
“Take me to my husband. Now.” Lilith turned and strode into the castle to get a blanket for the cart.
* * * * *
“Everything” might have been the wrong command to give. Cedric obeyed, explaining in full detail every gory, horrible second of the attack on the first encampment. By the tone of his voice, it was clear he had no idea how close he was to being thrown up on again.
Lilith’s cart ambled toward the newly set up second camp where Starian forces had combined. She’d refused to get on a horse. Thinking it was because of her baby, Cedric agreed to the slower pace of the cart. Lilith did not correct him. What did she care if he thought her pregnant? It’s not like she’d started the rumor. And if their misunderstanding made them a tad more accommodating, so be it.
The air became almost stagnant the farther south they traveled, making it hard to breathe. Moss-covered trees lined the wetlands, before spreading into an opened space of shallow waters covered with oddly shaped patches of vegetation. Cedric led her horse right into the marsh, splashing them through the shallow waters before reaching higher ground.
Lilith saw the tops of rectangular tents outlined by firelight, dusk and the large moon, before she heard the gentle murmur of voices coming from the encampment. The smell of burning wood from the bonfires mingled with nature’s perfume. Tiny sparks from the flames danced in the evening sky before dying out.
“Do not worry, my lady,” Cedric assured her. “The Caniba cannot rise up from the marshes. You will be safe.”
The tents, varying in sizes, spread out over the high clearing on an orderly grid to create pathways. The larger tents were in the middle with progressively smaller ones fanning round them. Banners hung from the tent flaps, pinned to the opened entryways. Their brilliant colors stuck out against the light caramel of the canvas.
Lilith searched the gathering crowd for her husband, but didn’t see him. Curious eyes stared at her, a few of them familiar, most not. Then, seeing Sorin’s crest hanging from a flap, she jumped from the slowing cart and ran for it.
“Sorin?” she called, not stopping to knock. “Are you in here? They said you’d been injured. Cedric wouldn’t tell me how badly. What happened? Are you all right?”
Her eyes adjusted to the dim light and no one answered. A pitcher had been placed on a small wooden table. The steady rise and fall of breathing drew her attention to a fur-covered bed. Sorin rested with his hands at his sides, above the fur coverlet. Someone had bandaged his arms from wrist to shoulder with cloth strips.
“Sorin?” she asked, quieter as she made her way to him. She touched his head, trembling to feel the feverish heat.
“He fought well.”
Lilith turned, about to tell whoever spoke that she really hated that saying. Out of respect for Sorin and knowing that “fighting well” was something he took pride in, she stayed quiet. “You’re one of his men. Lance, right?”
“Yea, my lady,” the redheaded warrior nodded. “I tend to the injured. My family has a gift for it.” He crossed to his patient. “His wounds are clean, but his fever won’t break. I’ve given him every herb I know, but now it is up to the gods.”
Lilith nodded. After all the emotions that run through her, she now had to face losing him all over again? She wasn’t sure she could stand it a second time.
“H
e’s been asking for you. Because he can’t travel, I sent for you.” Lance touched her shoulder lightly. “Steel yourself. Don’t let him see that pity on your face. In his state he might think you are not proud of him. He is a hero, the gods will favor him.”
“It’s not pity.” She rolled her arm away from Lance’s touch. “It’s determination. He’s not going to die. If he did, I’d die with him and he promised to always protect me. His stubborn pride won’t let him go back on his word.” She stood next to the bed, looking down at Sorin’s pale face. “Do you hear me, my lord? If you don’t fight, I’ll be right behind you and I’ll make your afterlife a living hell. There is no way you’re leaving me alone in this forsaken dimension to be claimed by some other man.”
Sorin didn’t move. Lilith pretended to be brave, hoping that her actions would convince her terrified heart. She reached for a bandage, peeling it back. Long deep gashes created crosshatched patterns over the flesh. What had they done to him?
Lance peered over her shoulder. “I still need to cauterize the wounds on this arm. I did not wish to overtire his body. He’s lucky he wore armor. The Caniba tribesmen could not bite through the metal plates.”
“How soon until I can take him to Battlewar?” Lilith asked. She couldn’t leave him in the marshes. He needed medical care—real medical care—and she knew just the people who had it.
“Why would you wish to move him? If it is supplies you seek, we can send for anything you need.”
“I need a handheld medical laser from dimensional plane 187.” Lilith redressed the wound, careful not to press too hard. “He appears stable enough if we travel slowly. There is no reason we should risk his life when I can obtain the treatment he needs.”
“I cannot allow you to use the Divinity portal.” Lance shook his head. “We don’t trade off-plane.”
Lilith Enraptured (Divinity Warriors 1) Page 15
