by Renee Wildes
“What happened to the carpets?”
Caltrik smirked. “King Jalad didn’t want t’ruin ’em with blood. Rushes’re easier t’ change out.”
Dara paled, but squared her shoulders. “How appropriate—a jackass using stable material for bedding.”
Caltrik’s fist slammed into the back of her already pounding head, knocking her to her knees. “Insolent slave. King Jalad’ll knock that out o’ ye soon enough.”
She was counting on it. “Who opened the gates?” She staggered to her feet. “What happened to the men-at-arms set to guard us?”
“Yer warriors had a run-in with some bad stew. An’ th’ turncoat lost his head soon as we secured th’ keep. A man who turns once can’t be trusted not t’ turn again.”
“Who was it?” Acid dripped from every word.
Caltrik shrugged. “Foppish minstrel with a grievance.”
Bracken-Singer. Had to be. To betray the kindest, fairest master was monstrous. Dara had known naught but justice at Hengist’s hand. No one was overworked, beaten—or branded. She glanced down at her ravaged arm. The dyes already leached into the wound. When the burn healed the colors would be there until the day she died.
The day she died. She smiled grimly. Mayhaps not so very long after all.
Caltrik yanked her by her good arm over to Hengist’s bed. Dara’s eyes widened at the true-iron chains attached to either side of the headboard. How had she missed them? She struggled as he threw her onto the mattress. A single slap to her new burn stopped that. Dara cried out and went limp, long enough for Caltrik to manacle one wrist.
Her skin crawled at the poisonous touch of that rare metal. The iron-blend sword burn from the earlier battle to rescue Loren paled in comparison to the pure version. By turns burning cold and icy hot, it stole her breath and bound more than her arms. Rufus had warned her. Fanny had warned her. Their words paled into insignificance against the reality. The heat of her wild power fled deep and she fought just to breathe. Her joints ached beneath reddening skin. ’Twas as if her very soul were trussed up like a holiday boar, helpless as any other woman.
Caltrik didn’t notice anything unusual as he removed her original bindings and secured her other wrist. “Get some rest. Ye’ll need ev’ry bit o’ strength ye can muster when King Jalad gets here, so ye don’ die on us too quick.” He laughed as he left the room. The heavy door swung shut with a final, ominous thud. A scraping signaled the bolt being drawn from the outside and Dara heard a key turn in the lock.
Resting was just what Dara meant to do. Battle naps, Rufus called them. Even a candlemark permitted the sleeper to awaken much refreshed. She’d need what she could get for the battle ahead. She forced her mind from the true-iron binding, breathed, willing her muscles one by one to relax.
Jalad had kept Hengist’s silk sheets and velvet-edged quilted coverlet. Fluffy down pillows cushioned Dara’s head as she sank into the mattress. Too much give, no support to push off. No chains for her legs. Must be a way to take advantage of that. She wasn’t a garden variety bed slave, slack fleshed. Her legs were as strong as a man’s.
She tugged on the chains above her head, ignoring the darts of black flames that shot through her wrists. The arm chains weren’t long at all, but they might be leverage enough to let her wrap her legs around Jalad’s neck and flip over. ’Twould be worth her own death if she took him with her. While women often overestimated a man’s strength, men’s greatest mistake involved underestimating a woman’s.
Her eyes drifted shut and the world went dark and hazy.
The rattle of a key in the lock snapped her eyes open. The room was dark, but torchlight from the hallway backlit a man’s silhouette in the opening doorway. She swallowed down her fear.
Jalad had arrived.
***
Burning pain sliced through Loren’s shoulder, shocking in its intensity. Hani`ena screamed and stumbled, nearly falling to her knees. Xavier slid to the left and clutched Loren’s tunic to right himself. Loren blocked his connection to Hani`ena and felt her relief as she recovered. He reached back to steady Xavier with his good left hand and glanced down at his right shoulder, half expecting the skin to bubble like an egg in a skillet. He saw naught until he used sight, and then a hideous black and red S appeared.
Xavier grasped Loren’s good arm. “We’re almost to Jakop’s Crossroads. We must keep going.”
Loren cradled the burning arm in his left hand. He could not shield the pain out. He could but block it from Hani`ena. Choking fear and agony suffocated him.
“Breathe,” Hani`ena ordered.
He gasped. The cold air filling his lungs cleared his mind. “They have Dara. We must go back.”
“We can’t,” Xavier argued.
“Life-debt. I shall not leave her to that monster.” Desperation clawed at him. What had he done? He never should have left her—
“The mission.” Hani`ena’s voice cut through the panic. “Hengist’s kingdom is worth one life. Even hers.”
“Nay—”
“Even mine. Even yours. Every delay belittles her sacrifice. Our mission is to get Xavier to Jakop’s Crossroads and to find Moira.”
“I cannot leave her.” The thought made him double over. His eyes watered from the pain in his arm. Knowing it was Dara’s pain made him half mad. “On my shoulder. An S in Westmarche colors. It burns.”
Xavier’s face crumpled. “A Westmarche slave brand.”
Despair almost knocked Loren from Hani`ena’s back.
“All the women were thus marked,” Xavier told him. “Don’t you see? This is why we must ride. For all their sakes.”
“Father, help me.” Loren’s throat was too tight for words. “Show me.”
Loren’s memories rushed through the bond in an agonizing flash of tangled light. Dara’s battle with the Boars, her tending his wounds, his vow, their kiss. “I cannot leave her.”
“What hast thou done, my son? This changes everything.” Cedric was grim. “Thou must go on. Matre Lorelei shalt send someone to aid the girl. I give thee my word. She canst hold on. Long enough for what must come.”
The pressure eased enough to breathe. Above them, gliding on the currents, a buff-colored eagle screamed her defiance at the world of men.
Loren’s hand tightened around the long-knife at his hip. Moira fled to the clans. Jalad would comb the countryside for her, torch everything. Anyone aiding her would be put to the sword. He must go on, find Moira. He knew that. But his heart warred with his head. Never had he been so…fractured.
Xavier’s voice returned Loren to the here-and-now. “My lord, we must keep going.”
The white mare burst into a flat-out run. They plunged through the deepening twilight. Soon they arrived in Jakop’s Crossroads and slid to a halt afore the public livery stable doors.
The stable master himself limped toward them. “Auger Xavier, how may I assist?”
Loren caught a sense of horror and grief at Xavier’s appearance. Of the stable master himself, a sense of underlying honor and honesty. This was a true Eagle. “We need a swift horse with strong legs and good lungs that can go cross-country. Time presses us.”
The man nodded. “Mountain hunter’s what ye need. I’ve a gelding should suit.” He led them to the second stall.
Ignoring the plain head, lop ears and shaggy beginnings of a winter coat, Loren took in the short back, deep chest and straight legs, the ripple of muscles in shoulder and hindquarters, the large nostrils and how the head joined to the neck for unrestricted breathing. This was no parade horse but an athlete, made to run. “How much?”
“We’ve no use fer Jalad here.” The stable master’s eyes narrowed. “Ye ride fer King Hengist, I’ll charge not a brass farthing.”
Loren handed Xavier a bronze knife as the stable master saddled the gelding. “Stay off roads. Take my provisions.”
The seer tucked the knife into a sheath in his right boot. “Just because I’ve read about snaring rabbits doesn’t mean I can do
it.”
The stable master led the gelding out. Loren transferred all of his trail rations to one set of saddlebags, securing them behind Xavier’s saddle.
“What’s his name?” the seer asked.
“Manu. Means ‘bird’ in th’ lost tongue. He’s trained t’ locate w-a-t-e-r on command. I included a fire startin’ kit.” He turned to Loren. “Ye ride north fer Queen Moira?”
Loren frowned. “Where did you come by such a notion?”
The man snorted. “Look fer stone ruins along th’ edge of th’ Great Marsh. Th’ clans camp there when they travel. She may need th’ sacred spots.”
Loren nodded. “I shall keep that in mind.”
Xavier hauled himself into the saddle and gathered the reins. Manu tossed his head and pawed the ground.
“Go,” Loren told him. “Every hour counts.”
Manu sprang into an erratic gallop. In moments, a cloud of dust was all that remained.
Loren leaped into Hani`ena’s saddle. “Be on your guard. The Boars shall make their way here.”
“Th’ children act as lookouts up on the hill. We’ll flee into th’ Great Marsh when th’ enemy comes, an’ burn this village t’ th’ ground afore we go.” His gaze was steady.
“What is your name?”
“Artur Barach.”
The hero of Fortune Fields. He had saved Hengist’s life, nearly at the cost of his own, as northern raiders from the Isle of Ice slew King Zarek and made his teenage son king. Artur would no more betray Hengist than Loren would.
“I am honored to make your acquaintance, sir.”
“I almost died that day,” Artur stated. “Caught a mornin’ star in th’ side of me helmet, what gave me this left-side stiffness an’ me musterin’-out pay. King Hengist’s top healer saved me life. Sheena Kahn Androcles. Her daughter Dara looks t’ follow in her footsteps.”
Just the mention of her name caused his heart to clench anew. “Jalad has Dara. If there is anything you can do on your end until I return…”
“We’ll see it done.”
“Take care. Do not risk what is left of your people.”
“Take care of Queen Moira. See if ye can’t talk her wild relatives into a trip south. They’re fierce fighters.”
“My first responsibility is Moira’s safety.” Loren reminded himself as much as Artur.
“Wind at thy back, warrior.”
“Sun warm thy face, friend.” Loren clasped Artur’s arm. “Mayhaps we shall meet again.”
“I look forward t’ that day.” Artur turned and disappeared into his stable.
“Go,” Loren told Hani`ena. The white mare bolted forward as if stung by a bee and thundered out of town on the northward road. Once the town was out of sight, she angled eastward off the main path into the Great Marsh, the last place pursuers would look. If Moira skirted the edges, Loren and Hani`ena should overtake her without much difficulty.
Every instinct urged Loren to turn back. Only Hani`ena’s single-minded focus on the mission and Cedric’s promise kept him in the saddle. They splashed ever northeastward into clouds of stinging, biting insects. Lorelei’s amulet would come in handy in this foul quagmire.
Loren paused Hani`ena aside a withered telgara bush, drew his knife as he dismounted. Pulling the plant out of the ground, he cut into its roots. A sharp, spicy scent clung to the oozing sap. Loren rubbed it all over the mare and himself, and the insects kept their distance.
If only the searing pain in his arm was so easily rubbed away. What did Cedric have in mind? Goddess protect Dara.
Chapter Five
Jalad locked the door behind him, then went around the room lighting rush torches in their wall holders. The scent of burning rancid fat permeated the air. “Like how I’ve redecorated?”
“I prefer how ’twas afore.”
His half-shadowed face twisted into an ugly mask. “Spent a lot of time in Hengist’s bed, did you? What did Moira think of her husband bedding the help? Or did she also?”
“How dare you. I was in the keep as healer, not whore.”
“What a waste.” He unbuckled his scabbard and hung it on the wall. “Foolish to teach women anything but cooking, sewing and spreading their legs.”
“Foolish of you to have no healers.”
He snorted. “Field surgeons for battles.”
If he was serious, she couldn’t imagine the death-toll in his own lands. How many people died of minor issues turned life-threatening through neglect? “What of sickness, injuries, childbirth?”
“I’ll waste no effort on a slave. Recover or die; they’re easily replaced.”
He truly was a monster. “You’re a fool.” Dara twisted in her chains.
He laughed. “Going somewhere?” He stood at the edge of the bed. His face lost every trace of false humor. “What’s your name?”
No harm in telling that truth. “Dara.”
He cracked his knuckles. “Who are your parents?”
“Rufus Quickblade and his second wife Fanny.”
“Liar.” He lashed out with a fist. The pillow absorbed some of the blow, but not all. Dara tasted blood.
“’Tis a simple question, slave. Who are your parents?”
“Rufus and Fanny raised me. Ask anyone.”
Those serpentine eyes watched her. “Fanny was barren, so who are your parents?”
She gritted her teeth. “Rufus and Fanny are the only parents I remember.”
“Your birth mother was Sheena Kahn Androcles. They say you’re her very likeness.” He reached out, stroking a hand down a length of her hair. It curled and slid betwixt his rough fingers. “Like fire itself.”
She shuddered at the expression on his face.
“You’re a whore and the bastard daughter of a whore. Now my slave to do with as I see fit.” He grabbed her by her right shoulder, twisting her arm until the brand was in plain sight. “That is how the rest of the world will see you from this day forward.”
Dara gasped through tears. Rufus’ training came back to her and she took a deep shuddering breath. It’s just pain, not true damage. Pain’s our friend. Tells us we’re still alive. She forced stillness, glared up at him. “No brand in the world changes the fact we were born free and we’ll die free. You’ll rule naught.”
“I’ll rule everything. I’m the sun in your little world, slave.” He loomed over her. “Know what you are?”
Dara tensed as his hand curled around her throat and slid betwixt her breasts. Just a little closer… She sucked in her stomach muscles as his hand glided lower. Her skin crawled, but she focused on the distance. Closer…closer… Finally! “The moon in your worst nightmare,” she snarled, arching up by the chains. She wrapped her legs around his neck and twisted as hard as she could.
It would have snapped his neck were it less thick with muscle. She groaned. Breaking a neck was a quick death. Strangling took a lot more strength, and time. Time for a skilled target to fight back. She squeezed with her legs, tightening her muscles until they screamed in protest.
She blocked out that pain, blocked out the fists beating against her. Sweat poured down her face. Her lungs burned, threatening to burst if she didn’t exhale soon. The blows weakened. She pictured Jalad’s face turning from red to purple, from blue to grey. The blows stopped, and her grateful thighs loosened as she gasped for breath.
Too soon, her mind screamed, as his fingers dug into her upper thigh. Her entire leg went slack.
He rolled off the bed, wheezing, and his face lightened. Dara collapsed, her strength spent. She’d tried, and failed. She’d not get another chance. He’d kill her for certain now. Lady, may another succeed where I failed. Let me welcome death with dignity.
He staggered to his feet, hands on his knees, dragging in air like a foundered horse. Dara held no illusions about her future. My life for Moira’s and the baby’s. So be it. Hold my tongue, I beg you.
He straightened and opened his mouth, frowning when a harsh croak emerged. He swallowed several tim
es as his breathing returned to normal. His eyes targeted her.
She tried to look defiant, but ached all over from the beating. “Go ahead and kill me. Might want a bow and arrow, though. Getting close to me is dangerous.”
The last thing she expected was a harsh laugh and look of grudging respect. He grinned, a far more daunting sight than his rage. “I’ll carry your mark the rest of my days. As you do mine.” His voice was like crushed stone.
“I failed to kill you. Don’t make the same mistake.”
His laughter crawled over her. “Kill you? What a waste. You’ll be more useful to me alive. Who’d suspect a woman assassin? A healer knowing poisons. A warrior skilled with weapons and unarmed combat. A woman trained to be skilled in bed.” He smiled, an unholy light in his eyes. “All three trussed up in my bed like a birthing-day present. With proper conditioning you’ll be a most useful acquisition.”
Horror twisted like a knife in her gut. “I’ll never serve you.”
“Stronger than you have tried, and failed. Women have unique weaknesses you’ve never explored. I shall enjoy educating you.” His dark eyes gleamed in the torchlight. Something darker yet slid behind that look. “Anyone can be broken. Never doubt that.”
She swallowed hard.
“Much as the sight of you in my bed appeals, you’ll find your new accommodations more…persuasive. Were you ever down in the old dungeons?”
The old dungeons below the cellars hadn’t been opened in a century. Hengist’s justice was swift and sure, appropriate to the crime. Bodies languishing in a cell were no use to anyone.
Knowing Jalad, they were probably the first place he’d found after taking the keep. She gritted her teeth as he unhooked her chains from the wall and pulled her toward him.
“Never been down there? It’s full of interesting things. I’ve great plans for them.”
