Duel With A Demoness (A Huntsman's Fate Book 2)

by Liam Reese

  And he did. He did change it for the better, for a while at least.

  “I do,” she said. “But sleeping on the ground does not build the character of anyone,” she added. “We should make this a royal visit.”

  “There’s your answer, Zaynorth,” Besmir said. “Norvasil, send word to the garrison commander. Tell him the king and queen have come for a visit,” Besmir grinned, “then let the mayhem commence,” he added.

  Zaynorth chuckled.

  “Ru Tarn must be speaking,” the Corbondrasi ambassador stated as she guided her horse alongside Herofic’s. She had been pointedly avoiding the stocky man ever since they had left the little hamlet of Loran’s End but he had not been far from her thoughts.

  “Madam ambassador,” Herofic said awkwardly. “How are you?”

  “Ru Tarn is...embarrassed,” she admitted. “Ru Tarn was not telling Herofic everything,” she trailed off, turning her head.

  “You have no need for embarrassment,” Herofic said, a little hurt. “I don’t gossip...”

  Ru Tarn laid a gentle hand on Herofic’s arm and smiled at him warmly.

  “Ru Tarn was not telling Herofic all the facts.”

  “All right,” Herofic said, confused by this sudden conversation. “So what are all the facts?”

  The Corbondrasi looked about, making sure they had strayed far enough from the rest of the party so as not to be overheard.

  “Ru Tarn is having egg,” she said, averting her eyes from his gaze.

  Herofic stared at her for a while, utter confusion playing on his features as he considered her words.

  “As did I,” he said. “For breakfast this morning. We all did, did we not?”

  “Herofic is not understand,” Ru Tarn chirped in frustration. “Ru Tarn is having egg.” The Corbondrasi stroked her feathered hand over her abdomen.

  “Oh,” Herofic said. “Oh!” he repeated, his eyes going wide. “You mean, you are having a baby?”

  Ru Tarn looked around again, making sure no one had overheard his outburst. She glared at him, her lavender eyes burning into his own.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “What is Herofic knowing about Corbondrasi hatchlings?” she asked.

  “Surprisingly it’s not something I’ve made many inquiries about,” he said with a chuckle.

  “This is something Corbondrasi do not discuss,” she said, “even to other Corbondrasi, but Ru Tarn is thinking Herofic should be knowing.” The warrior nodded. “Corbondrasi females are having one egg every year,” she said. “It is coming at same time every year so we are knowing when to be expecting it.” Ru Tarn looked away, embarrassed at discussing her reproduction at all, let alone with a male from another species. “If Corbondrasi is not wanting to have hatchlings, she can rest and have special drink to make things easy while egg...goes away.”

  Herofic nodded silently. He could tell by her mannerisms and tone this was a difficult subject to discuss and had enough respect for the woman to let her explain it in her own time.

  “Ru Tarn egg coming too soon,” she said. “Ru Tarn not having place to be alone, not having drinks ready so Ru Tarn behaving oddly back at tavern for this reasons,” she stopped, looking at him pointedly.

  “Ah, I see,” Herofic said.

  “Ru Tarn is being sorry,” she said. “If Corbondrasi not having special drink it making them...like madness. We not being able to control...urges...and looking for mate...”

  “Mate?” Herofic asked in shock.

  “Ru Tarn was thinking Herofic would be taking Ru Tarn’s mind off problems back at tavern,” she said.

  “Did it work?” Herofic asked.

  Ru Tarn looked away from his eyes, embarrassment and shame crawling through her as she recalled the random dalliance she had had after leaving the dining room in Loran’s End. She shook her head but held her gaze from his.

  “The one Ru Tarn...” She glanced at Herofic but his face was shadowed. “He is not being available for being father...he is having wife and hatchlings already...”

  “Did you want me to deal with him?” Herofic asked in an almost savage voice.

  “No!” Ru Tarn declared, her heartbeat doubling in shock. “Why would Herofic be doing this thing for Ru Tarn?”

  “We are friends, you and I?” He asked.

  Ru Tarn nodded, her plumage rustling in the darkness. A sense of wonder flowed through her. No matter how long she lived among these Gazluthians, no matter how much of their culture and mannerisms she experienced, they always seemed to surprise her.

  “Well when someone uses a friend of mine badly,” Herofic said. “I take offense. It’s only natural for me to offer a little persuasion.”

  “That is being very kind and noble thing to offer but...it was being Ru Tarn that was doing the using,” she said with a touch of embarrassment.

  Herofic was silent for a few minutes before a chuckle bubbled up from his chest.

  “What is being funny?” Ru Tarn demanded with an edge of anger.

  “Oh Madam Ambassador you have made my day with this information,” Herofic said. “I would urge you to share this with as many women as you can, they’ll be able to explain it much better than I.”

  Herofic continued laughing, his chuckle infectious and Ru Tarn felt her own laugh rise in her chest.

  “Might I ask if there’s a stigma attached to your...particular situation?” Herofic gently asked a little later.

  Ru Tarn sighed and nodded.

  “Corbondrasi are being frowned upon for having hatchling without father but it is happening,” she said.

  “Anyone gives you trouble you send them to me,” Herofic grunted. “This old ax of mine can change people’s opinions quite fast,” he said.

  “Ru Tarn is thanking Herofic for his kindness,” she said, looking into his eyes.

  “Think nothing of it,” Herofic said, “and if you need anything, even just to talk, you come see old Herofic. We’d better catch up with that lot,” he added, pointing to the slowly dwindling column.

  Chapter Eight

  Besmir nodded as he walked along the rows of men and women who stood to attention for his inspection. Hastily arranged, the inspection had been yet another delay in his journey to Boranash and one he could do without. Yet Commander Traveel had virtually begged him, saying it would boost morale for her troops to see the king and gain his approval.

  Besmir knew these soldiers had been polishing buttons and swords since the early hours of that morning and their efforts had paid off. Every man and woman there was impeccably turned out, their uniforms neat and weapons sharp. The citadel Traveel occupied was similarly spotless and neat, well kept and orderly.

  Situated at the intersecting borders of Gazluth, Boranash and Waraval, Tinres was a surprisingly cosmopolitan place with people from all three countries mingling easily with one another alongside a few other races.

  “Of course we do get our fair share of trouble here, your Majesty,” Traveel had been telling Besmir at a meal the night before. “Just a few months back we put an end to a gang smuggling Corbondrasi spirits into Waraval.”

  “How well does it work here,” Besmir had asked, “sharing the town with two other garrisons?”

  Traveel had given a wry smile and held her hand up for another drink.

  “We and the Corbondrasi get on extremely well, Majesty,” the stocky commander had said, raising her goblet to Ru Tarn. “They take care of their issues and we do the same with ours. Problems only ever arise when Waravalians are involved, especially as they believe they own the world.”

  The group had laughed politely at that comment and the evening had passed uneventfully.

  Besmir completed his inspection and gave a brief speech telling them all how proud he was to be there and what an excellent job they were all doing. He stepped down from the raised dais only to be greeted by Commander Traveel again.

  “A tour of the fortress, perhaps?” she asked hopefully.

  “Unfortunately, I’ve got pre
ssing business in Boranash,” Besmir said as kindly as he could. “We really must depart as soon as possible.”

  Chagrin flooded him as he realized he should have let Zaynorth maintain the illusion they were ordinary travelers. The stocky little commander wanted him to stay as long as possible.

  “We can have all the necessary arrangements in place by tomorrow, Majesty,” she said, nodding to one of her soldiers who dashed off on some errand.

  “Commander,” Besmir said with a sigh. “I appreciate the hospitality, especially as we arrived unannounced but I’ve got to leave. Now.”

  Besmir watched as the commander’s face fell but she looked to accept his decision and turned to speak to another man who waited for instruction. Once he had trotted off she turned back to Besmir.

  “I have arranged for your mounts to be readied, Sire,” she told him. “You should be able to leave within the hour. Is there anything else you require?”

  “No,” Besmir said. “Thank you.”

  Something in her stance or attitude made Besmir want to explain his situation and once he began, the words fell from his mouth, unstoppable as a river. When he finished Commander Traveel stared at him with her mouth open.

  “I will send word to the Corbondrasi at once, Majesty,” she finally managed. “They can expedite your journey through Boranash to the capitol.” Her honest face crumpled a little. “I was with you when we took the palace,” she added. “I know what it cost us all and to have your son kidnapped as well...I cannot imagine what you and your wife are going through. I apologize for trying to keep you here,” she added.

  Besmir felt a warmth he had not experienced for a long time heat his chest and he held his hand out towards the shorter woman, smiling when she looked surprised at his offer. Her grip was strong when she shook his hand, her smile open and friendly.

  An honor guard had formed around Besmir’s party, mounted Gazluthian soldiers filing from the parade ground out into the streets before Besmir himself made an appearance. Crowds had formed to line the streets all hoping for a look at the king and queen that had appeared unannounced.

  Besmir gritted his teeth at the slow pace he was forced to take while the front runners forced a path through people who had come out to gawk at him. His eyes picked out the dark blue and purple banners of the Corbondrasi flag and he sighed in relief, knowing he would soon be in Boranash when a man stepped out in front of his horse and grabbed the reins.

  He wore a dark green uniform with black trousers and calf length boots polished to a mirror shine. Ribbons and medals adorned his chest and he looked up at Besmir with a self-important expression on his face.

  “King Besmir,” he said in a voice loud enough for all to hear. “I am General Kelloch and I extend the hospitality of the kingdom of Waraval to you and your party.”

  Commander Traveel drove her horse through the crowds, knocking people aside in her haste to get to him.

  “This is not the time, Kelloch!” she hissed. “His Majesty is in a rush to visit Boranash.”

  “Yet Waraval is a much more pleasant land.” Kelloch said. “I am sure His Majesty would rather visit our fair land before the wastes the bird-people live in.”

  “I’m going to Boranash,” Besmir said sternly. “Let go of my horse.”

  Besmir’s anger, despair and feelings of utter helplessness mingled in his chest, combining to create a painful pressure he could not bear.

  “But Majesty,” the Waravalian continued. “Waraval is such a pleasant land, temperate and beautiful. In comparison to Boranash...well there is no comparison,” he finished with a wide smile.

  “I’ve got pressing business in Boranash,” Besmir said, raising his voice. “Now let go of my horse and stand aside!”

  Kelloch’s face fell slightly but he continued to hold the king’s horse as he spoke again.

  “Whatever business you have, I am sure we can make a better offer than our feathered cousins,” he announced in his loudest voice. “Once you enter Waraval, I am sure you will see sense.”

  Besmir growled low in his throat, his anger towards this idiot boiling over and he jumped from his horse, thrusting his face at the general menacingly. Kelloch finally got the message when Besmir grabbed his collar with both hands, about to do some violence.

  “Majesty?” Zaynorth called from behind him.

  Besmir felt the old man’s hand on his shoulder and looked to the side where his kind face appeared.

  “Allow me to explain your situation to the good general,” he said.

  Besmir hesitated, torn between his desire to pummel the idiot into a bloody mess and his need to be on his way. He shrugged, releasing Kelloch and remounting his horse.

  “As you wish, Zaynorth,” he said. “Catch up when you’re finished.”

  Zaynorth bowed his head slightly and watched Besmir ride off towards the waiting Corbondrasi, the queen and small party following.

  “Wait!” Kelloch moaned, sensing his opportunity was slipping away.

  He made a move towards Besmir as if to stop him.

  “Wait!” Zaynorth snapped, forcing the inability to move into his mind. “You and I are to have a little talk,” he added, a savage grin splitting his beard.

  Kelloch’s eyes rolled towards the old man as he strained uselessly against the illusion Zaynorth had planted in his head. Zaynorth leaned in and started to whisper in the general’s ear.

  The Corbondrasi in charge of their section of the town had already made preparations for the first leg of their journey into Boranash. Three mounted Corbondrasi, armed to the teeth with strange looking weapons met Besmir’s White Blades led by Norvasil. The two small groups eyed each other warily until Norvasil grinned and held his hand out to one of the feathered men. The Corbondrasi smiled himself as he grabbed Norvasil’s giant hand and the pair shook.

  “Cal Trin, his brother Col Trin, and Mo Slir are to be escorting,” Ru Tarn said, translating the Corbondrasi’s words. “They are knowing best route and where is watering places,” she added.

  Besmir nodded and gave his thanks to the efficient Corbondrasi commander who bade them all good fortune and watched as the sad looking Gazluthian king rode through the north gate.

  Zaynorth caught up just outside the town, as they were entering Boranash, his horse puffing hard after its brief gallop.

  “What did you do?” Arteera asked.

  “Made him believe he is a princess,” Zaynorth said.

  “What?” she asked as those who heard chuckled.

  “I convinced the good general he is a princess of Waraval,” the old mage repeated. “Small price to pay for being such an ass. I am sure he will be there now, demanding everyone call him your highness and looking for his pretty dresses.”

  “How long will it last?” Arteera asked.

  “Not long,” Zaynorth said in a sullen tone. “I didn’t think I should make it permanent. A month, maybe.”

  “A month!” Arteera squeaked. “That man is going to think he is a princess for a month? What about his position?”

  “I really don’t care, Arteera,” Zaynorth replied, using her name as they were not in a formal setting. “I think he got off lightly as it looked to me as if your husband was about to boil him inside his skin.”

  Besmir grunted noncommittally but Arteera saw the truth in his face.

  “Your son is as dear to me as if he were my own,” Zaynorth continued in a gruff voice. “Anyone standing in the way of getting him back is in for a world of trouble from me,” he added, wiping a tear from his eye.

  Arteera steered her horse over from beside Besmir and leaned over in her saddle, hugging the old man fiercely and awkwardly. Besmir watched as his wife and oldest friend comforted each other, Arteera sobbing as Zaynorth patted her back.

  “Come now, Majesty,” Zaynorth said. “Sit up straight or we are both likely to end up on the ground.”

  Besmir stood watching the group of soldiers as they chatted, worked at erecting tents or demonstrated different fighting
tactics to the Corbondrasi. One of the women, in particular, stood out as she moved around the camp. His eyes followed her as she avoided speaking to anyone else, or joining in with any group. She was thin and lithe with shoulder length black hair, as many Gazluthians did. Hers, however, was too dark and lacked the natural shine of real hair. She was also having difficulty managing the sword that hung at her side and it fouled her steps twice as the king watched her.

  He smelled the familiar perfume of his wife as she approached, spicy and sweet, so turned to take her into his arms.

  “Who are you spying on?” she asked as she leaned her head on his shoulder.

  Besmir nodded towards the woman who was now sitting with her back to one of the campfires.

  “Oh?” Arteera asked, her eyebrow arching. “And why is she of so much interest to a married man?”

  Besmir chuckled and kissed her.

  “I noticed a couple of things,” he said. “How she favors her left leg and her right foot sticks out way more than the left. She’s tripped over that sword about eight times in half an hour and it looks as if someone’s dyed her hair with boot polish and coal dust,” he said, glancing back at the woman. “I’ve spent enough time with her to know Keluse anywhere, even with a disguise.”

  “Keluse!” Arteera cried. “What is she doing here and why is she pretending to be a guard?”

  “Only one way to find out,” Besmir said, leading Arteera over to where Keluse sat.

  “What are you up to?” he demanded as soon as they were within earshot. “And who’s looking after Ranyeen?”

  Keluse looked up, her blue eyes giving her away instantly as a look of guilt crossed her face.

  “Ranyeen’s safe, Besmir,” she said. “I left her with Ranyor’s sister. I...I had to come,” she said, “but I knew you wouldn’t let me so I...kind of hid.” Keluse played with her fingers nervously as she spoke.

  Besmir shook his head but Arteera jumped at her friend and hugged her.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” the queen said, “but whatever did you do to your hair?”