Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles, 1)

by K. F. Breene

  What a bloody irritating discovery.

  Chapter 7

  “I will ask you again: where did you get these weapons?” the Captain said, his irritation coloring the tone in the room.

  Changing her story now would be suicide. Instead, Shanti changed tactics and met that powerful blue gaze with a violet one of her own. She would not yield to his bullying, and it was important he knew that. She was vulnerable at the moment, yes, but she did have her own power. A good leader would respect that. Hopefully.

  “Can you use these weapons?” the Captain continued, only a slight edge in his voice. It was commendable, because his irritation was thrashing at her mind. She didn’t need to step closer to feel it anymore; he was broadcasting.

  “As much as the normal woman, I’d wager,” she said in a light tone.

  The Captain stood up. Up and up until Shanti was sure his head would glance off the ceiling. He was huge. Taller than Xavier, and broader. Well over six feet tall, his shoulders strained against his shirt, causing small holes along the seams. His torso was all bump and valley. His back probably was, too. Power and brawn and extremely fast, not to mention poised and balanced, graceful and agile. If that bastard were mentally trained, things would be extremely dicey. Good thing he wasn’t.

  “I bet this city goes poor trying to feed you,” she let slip.

  “Molly, you are excused,” the Captain pronounced, sparing the woman a glance. “Thank you for your help. I’ve already arranged payment.”

  Shanti kept herself from begging the woman to stay. Less violence usually happened in front of homely nursemaids. Or so she’d heard.

  “Oh. Yes, of course. Yes, thank you, my Lord. Thank you, yes.” Molly bustled out, followed by a shaky Xavier, who closed and guarded the door behind her, his knees bent. She hadn’t noticed him climbing off the floor.

  Shanti backed up two steps so she could see the whole room now that Xavier had switched positions. Her feet stepped on the rug, dragging her focus down to the floor. The thing was incredibly ugly, but so soft. It was luxurious. Her feet sang as they sank in, and then tried to go to sleep. Her lids got heavy in commiseration.

  “Is there a reason you retain her shoes, Cadet?” the Captain asked Xavier, interrupting her rug analysis.

  “She handed them to me, sir. She didn’t like their height.”

  “I see. Cadet Rachie, take the shoes away and come back with some slippers.”

  “Yes, sir.” Rachie, a kid near the front, nearly fell over himself leaving.

  The Captain moved around the desk with an easy glide, that fighting balance evident. He paused in front of the desk, three feet from Shanti. With such a long reach, she should’ve stepped back immediately, given herself room. But something else had caught her attention. His brain pattern was unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

  Everyone had a certain essence, or energy, about them. That energy usually had a mood, which some people referred to as an aura. Often the aura would convey itself to the human brain via a hazy color, or sometimes with movement—bursting and lively on some, smooth and tranquil on others. That energy was usually a consistent hue, however, lightening and darkening with mood.

  The Captain housed a vivid rainbow. A surging, swirling, spinning rainbow. Colors mixed and merged, dancing and playing, pounding from his body like its own life force. She’d never seen something so unique. Or beautiful.

  Her eyes refocused. Reality seeped back in.

  Without thought, she quickly yanked the metal contraption on her dress down the rest of the way and stepped out of her green death trap. If he planned to rush her, she could at least try to kill him before she passed out.

  All the boys gasped.

  “May I ask why you are shedding your clothes?” the Captain asked lightly, humor coloring his voice.

  “You dress your women like cake with frosting. I didn’t want you to think I was offering myself for dessert.”

  “You’re half starved. We’d go hungry. Not my type of fulfillment.”

  “Offering me as a reward for good conduct is not farfetched.”

  Colors stilled and darkened, eyebrows dipped low. “My men have an aversion to violence against women. Most of my people do, in fact. Violence against the weaker sex is not tolerated. Punishment is fast and harsh.”

  The weaker sex? Interesting philosophy.

  “That’s a luxury you may not always have,” Shanti stated in an indifferent tone, though she silently threw out a giant thank you to the Elders for their care.

  “How do you mean?” The Captain didn’t move, but suddenly he seemed to lounge where he stood. It irked her for some reason she couldn’t explain.

  “War is not only fought by men.”

  “My people limit the casualties of war to those on the battle field.”

  “Spoken like a man who has only fought battles, instead of an actual war.”

  Confusion replaced the scowl. “I see. And you know something of war?”

  “I do.”

  “You’ve seen it, perhaps? Are those weapons a husband’s? Or a brother’s?”

  “No. And while we are on that fascinating subject, might I have them back?”

  “And that ring? A lover?” he pushed.

  “Let us cut a chase, as you said. I need that bag, and I would like to leave. A map and some provisions would be ideal, but I can do without.”

  His eyes sparkled, as if she’d said something humorous. He didn’t address it, though, instead saying, “Is that right? And how will you survive in underwear with no food or water?”

  “Do you call what I am wearing underwear? Absurd. It covers me more thoroughly than that green sack. Regardless, I smell wooded lands. Those are enough for me. Blindfold me to the exit, if that is your wish, then turn me loose. I have seen nothing of your city, nor do I care to. I thank you for what you have done for me, but would appreciate it if this is the end.”

  The Captain’s eyes smiled even though his face remained passive. He crossed in front of her, just barely out of arm’s reach. He was trying to intimidate her. Annoyingly, it was working.

  He walked straight toward the couch and sat down, making himself comfortable. The material looked soft and supple as it molded to his shapely backside. She longed to sit on it.

  “We’re constantly at war with the Mugdock,” the Captain was saying. “They’re picking fights more often lately. The way you were headed leads right into their many camps. They’re trying to block out the trade routes to the sea. The difference between them and us is that they won’t house you until you regain your strength. They’ll rape you until they grow tired of you, then they’ll kill you. Possibly with much pain.”

  “Please don’t hold back for my sake,” Shanti said in dry tones.

  “You’re not strong enough to go far. You’ll fall right into their hands, then I’ll have Sanders and a few of these boys trying to play hero. I can’t turn you loose, at least not if you’re going that way.”

  “Ah yes, a mother. I had one of those, once. She was prettier, though. I don’t need another. Give me my things and let me go. Please. I can get through your enemies just fine.”

  “So you are going that way, then. Toward the sea, hum?”

  Shanti stared, ignoring his smug tone. She was getting tired and sloppy. She also wasn’t getting any closer to her things.

  Actually…

  She slid her foot across the floor toward the desk. No one moved to stop her. One more step. The boys, looking more like a flock of geese than fighters in a line, started to fidget, sensing a trap. So did she.

  One more step. The Captain looked at her pleasantly, a small smile playing around his lips, dimples making tiny indentations in his cheeks. The Commanders made no movement at all. The boys leaned back, as if she was about to grab a snake.

  She reached in.

  It was like a handshake that got cut off midway. The two taller commanders stepped at her with swords drawn, lightning speed. The shorter commander fingered
a knife, not bothering to crowd her. He was probably waiting to see if she got through the others, then he’d tackle her. The Captain was up with throwing knife in hand, poised to throw.

  Great technique.

  Her own reactions were slow and clumsy, her muscles confounded and screaming in protest. She clutched the hilt, she hefted it, couldn’t hold on, then threw it across the room with an uncoordinated jerk. It skidded against the baseboards near the feet of the boys. The young men scattered, throwing themselves out of the way, or diving behind the desk like idiots.

  Two sword blades glinted at her throat, the hands holding them steady and confident. Their feet were shoulder width, ready to move and perfectly balanced. The Captain, seeing she wasn’t planning to rush to her death, sat down confidently and tucked his knife into his belt.

  Two heads poked up from the side of the desk and Shanti resisted an urge to blind them with an ink bottle.

  “I guess that answers the question of whether it’s your sword,” the Captain said in amusement.

  Shanti ground her teeth in annoyance. Playing along would behoove her, but she hated his smug surety that women could not wield weapons.

  She took a slow step toward him, feeling out the men holding the swords. The more organized commander relented slightly, pulling his sword away to match her advance. The other, the oldest of the army men, did not. Her skin kissed the metal. The metal bit back. A small pearl of blood welled up on the blade.

  The boys hissed.

  “Well, then. Point proven, it seems.” Shanti stepped back. “If you ever go up against the Mardis, which are all women by the way, this man is the one for the front line.” She jerked a thumb at the gray-templed commander.

  And then something else surprised her. The other commander, the one who had pulled away, swung his sword forward again, his mind oozing mistrust and anger.

  Another interesting reaction.

  “Mardis? Is that your people?” the Captain asked lightly. A hard edge had infiltrated his eyes.

  So they’d had a run-in with the Mardis. Not good.

  “No. Sex slaves are not my thing. I prefer my men willing. Now, since I am obviously in over my head, I think I might just try out the couch?”

  “Please.” The Captain stood gracefully and gestured for her to sit opposite on the couch facing him.

  Shanti crossed the room gratefully, swords falling away as the men stepped back. She surveyed her sword as she passed, making sure it didn’t have any damage. Continuing on, she reached the couch and sank in, sighing gratefully as her body sank into the plush leather.

  “Oh Elders, I thank you for this treat. What workmanship!” Shanti closed her eyes.

  “You aren’t worried about the blade?” the Captain lowered back down.

  “It jumped boat. It can lie on the ground for a while. It needs to go over its life choices.”

  “Jumped ship, yes, I see. Speaking of choices, we need to decide what to do with you. You’ll not be allowed weapons, nor to leave. Not until I have more information. These are difficult times. There are rumors of war and famine coming our way. I want to know what your involvement in that is.”

  She had plenty of involvement in that. Thwarting the Being Supreme, running from him, planning to overthrow his tyranny with the help of a distant relation—yes, she had plenty. The Captain was right be worried about what was coming, but if he knew that the girl he was helping would bring the Graygual to his doorstep immediately, bringing the war with them, he’d probably kill her immediately. She couldn’t say she would blame him, either, were she in his place.

  She said, “I am but a trader who lost her comrades, now just trying to make my way to distant relations.”

  Suspicious blue eyes delved into her with a corresponding brush against her mind. He might not be trained, but he’d learned enough to be of value. What a sneaky bastard. One day soon she hoped to give him a rude awaking. In the meantime, she let him read emotions that gave her credibility. He snatched what she purposely offered, intensity stealing his features as he analyzed information not even remotely true.

  “I see,” he said softly, probing her more readily. Getting greedy.

  She closed up shop, blocking him with a well-constructed shield. “I can’t do much like I am, so I have no choice but to play nice until I’m strong enough to be outside of your control.”

  “I’ll be keeping an eye on you. You best stay out of trouble. You’ll also be expected to earn your keep. What are you good at?”

  Killing people. “Hunting.”

  “Hunting?” The Captain looked at her quizzically. “I don’t want you outside the city walls. It isn’t safe. What else?”

  Training. Leading a nation. Fighting. “Uh…”

  “Do you bake?”

  Shanti started laughing.

  “Can you wash clothes?”

  “Not if you want them clean.”

  “Needle point?”

  “I don’t know what that is.”

  “It’s making designs in fabric.” The Captain glanced around for a display.

  “With needles?”

  “Yes, needles. And colored thread.”

  “That sounds like a huge waste of time. How about skin animals?” Shanti tried. “Although you might have a different way since my people cannot make leather such as this. I would love to learn, of course.”

  “Making leather like that is a well-kept secret. We will try needlepoint. Keep you out of trouble.” With finality the Captain stood up.

  “To insure my cooperation, I ask that you take care of my weapons,” she said softly.

  He didn’t even balk. “Of course.”

  “And that you return my ring. It was my father’s. It’s important to me.”

  The Captain’s eyes lost their accusation. “Are the weapons his as well?”

  “No. Just the ring.” She might be genuine, but she still wasn’t about to reveal her journey.

  After a moment of delimitation, he nodded. “To insure your cooperation.”

  It was then that Rachie came running in, panting. He held up a pair of slippers. They weren’t much more than a couple scraps of fabric. Shiny, pink fabric at that. Were earth colors so out of the norm in his city?

  “Chaylene had a pair that should fit her,” he blurted. “Unless her feet are boats.”

  The Captain nodded and left out the back way, Commander Sanders and the older fellow following him.

  The remaining Commander studied her with a blank, flat stare. “Please dress and follow me.”

  Shanti glanced at the catastrophe of fashion. “Is that mandatory?”

  Silence. Apparently it was.

  She shrugged into the uncomfortable material and had Marc zip the back. She then followed the Commander toward the door. Once there, he stopped and faced her. “Xavier, she is your ward now until she leaves this city. Captain’s orders. Keep tabs on her from here on out. You can take her to Commander Sanders in the small practice yard; he will be putting her up. The rest of you, escort her to the small practice field, where you will then fall in to your training. Dismissed.”

  The Commander strode away, gliding like a swordsman. The rest of the boys stood around on the foot path, gawking. If they’d ever held a sword in their lives, Shanti would’ve been shocked. Xavier stepped up next to her and started walking. She did, too, noticing that Marc was directly behind.

  “So you boys found me, is that right?” Shanti asked pleasantly, noticing all the women bustling by in giant, bright, ridiculous dresses. They looked leisurely and plump, not having a care, or apparently a task, to burden them. This must be a rich sector of the city.

  “I did,” a drooling boy with staring eyes said.

  “And you are?”

  “Gracas, sir.”

  “She’s a girl!” Rachie muttered.

  “Ma’am,” Gracas amended.

  “I am not a lady and I am not of your city. I have experience with commands and fighting. Sir is fine.”

  “S
ee?” It sounded like Gracas elbowed Rachie.

  “I was there, too, Miss!” Someone yelled from the back.

  It occurred to her that these boys were following her in a loose horde, Xavier doing nothing to put them in order. Irritated, Shanti stopped. She was already different—if a rag-tag crew followed her around, everyone would notice her every move. That was not acceptable.

  She turned to face the boys. Then waited until they all looked at her.

  “You are all Cadets, is that right?”

  Nods all around.

  “You nod to mothers, fathers, sisters, and aunts. You nod to neighbors and friends. You do not nod to a commanding officer, or so I have noticed. If you are asked a question, you answer with a vocal response. Is that clear?”

  She got a “Yes, ma-sir”; one “Yes, sir”; one “Yes, com”, which was hopefully slang or the speaker was just plain stupid; and one nod. Marc was the one who nodded. He got punched in the throat. Xavier tried to intercede and got punched in the kidney. Everyone else got one quirked eyebrow. It was a dare. No one rose to the bait.

  It was testimony to how naïve these boys were in the ways of fighting that her poor excuse for strikes dropped them to the ground. It was also testimony to how weak they thought women that these men were sent to guard her.

  “You follow directions or you get people killed,” Shanti continued, noticing the boys gingerly stepping away from Marc moaning and writhing on the ground. “If you are too stupid to follow directions, you will get really, really tough, because I will beat the… I need a slang word for poop.”

  “Kaa-kaa,” one of the boys volunteered.

  He got elbowed. “What are we, five?” The boy turned to Shanti. “Shit.”

  “Thank you, Rachie. I will beat the shit out of you. Now, Marc, are you recovered?”

  She got a nod as he climbed, painfully, to his feet.

  “Marc is about to demonstrate how to get tough really quick.” She spun, sweeping the legs out from under him. He fell directly on his butt bone in the middle of the foot path. It looked like it hurt. Her stagger wasn’t much better. “Please note that Xavier is smart. He didn’t try to help that time. Silently give Xavier praise.”