Under a Warrior's Moon

by C. L. Scheel

  "The noise alone ought to call back the Summoned," Assur commented and Kitarisa nodded in agreement.

  "There is a smaller entrance that only allows people. I will show you."

  To the left of the massive drawbridge, a separate opening, a smaller entrance doglegged sharply to the right and then to the left, designed to hamper an attacker on foot.

  Suddenly, Assur felt Brekk touch his arm.

  "My Lord Assur, you must see this..."

  Assur followed Brekk across the darkened sand to the ruined networking of ancient stalls, with the others close on his heels. Brekk thrust the fluttering torch into the gloom of the nearest stall. Kitarisa and her sister gasped softly. Swords. Dozens, hundreds of swords arranged with military precision, lined the inner walls of the stall.

  "My lord, there are more here," Del called from the next stall. Like the first, the second stall was filled with arms, including spears. The next stall held shields, the next crossbows. There was no need to examine each stall, as each one, on back into the deepest interior of the vaulted chamber contained an arsenal of weapons, provisions, saddles and harness, helmets, leather goods and foodstuffs.

  "Enough for an army," Kuurus muttered.

  "But which one?" Assur added. "What does a roadwild need with all these weapons?"

  The Talesians eyed each other uneasily.

  "Not another abduction," Brekk commented dryly. "There is enough here to supply an army for many moonturns--a long siege."

  Kuurus lifted his head, suddenly alert. "Someone comes."

  Like wraiths, Assur and his men vanished into the shadows and behind the massive pillars. From the darkness a lone guard emerged carrying a rapidly guttering torch.

  If he saw them he would most assuredly call out and Assur was uneasy as to how far the sound of his shouts would carry in this blackened echo chamber...and there could be others.

  "Wait for your chance," he heard Kitarisa murmur faintly.

  To his astonishment, Kitarisa tugged down the top edge of her gown to reveal her pale shoulders. She bent over allowing the long, gleaming hair to fall to the floor and then stood up, tossing it back, giving her at once a sensuous, wild look. She stepped from behind the pillar.

  "They told me I would find you here," she said sweetly.

  The surprised guard almost dropped the torch as he took in her white, creamy shoulders and soft, full lips.

  "I got so bored up there." She shrugged, indicating the upper halls. "Reddess said there were some nice soldiers down here and so lonely, too." She eased up to the guard and placed her hands on his chest. "I hope you like dark-haired women." Kitarisa pouted prettily and shook the rich hair. "Reddess always seems to have blondes around."

  "I like `em, like `em fine," the man stuttered.

  Bewildered and delighted, the man looked about frantically to find a place to set the torch so he could return her embrace. A rusting bracket hung on the nearest pillar and he hastily set the torch into it. Eagerly he slipped his arms around Kitarisa.

  "`Specially ones like you."

  He bent to kiss her but she easily pushed him back, feigning coyness.

  "Oh, not here. I don't even know your name yet."

  "It's Duras."

  "Duras. Well, I am Fiana. Let me look at you in the light so I can see how handsome you are."

  She turned him by the shoulders so his back was to the torch and to Assur. Willingly the man turned, a huge grin of delight spread across his coarse features.

  "Have you been down here long? It must be so lonely," she said sympathetically, slipping her arms around his neck.

  From the gloom, Assur eased from behind the pillar, the reflection of the low light glinting dangerously on the edge of his sword.

  Kitarisa lifted herself up on her toes and pulled the man's head nearer to her. "And the lonely ones are such sweet lovers," she sighed. The guard gathered her close and again bent to kiss her. The pleasure of her kiss was short-lived.

  Sudden, excruciating pain registered on his face as Assur's blade drove deep through the guard's ribs, into the lung and finally his heart. He sagged heavily on Kitarisa, dying, his eyes wide open with astonishment. He fell to the sand, his mouth working in silent anguish, until death finally ended his suffering.

  Kitarisa wiped her mouth with the back of her arm and readjusted her gown. She was once again the cool and distant woman as before. "Come on!"

  With no more regard for the man than dead vermin, she hurried through the dogleg passage to the outer door. Kitarisa struggled with the ancient door and the rusted iron bolts, until Jarad gently tugged her hands from the task. In his element, the big barbarian easily slammed the bolts back and pulled the heavy door open. Without hesitating, Jarad, Kuurus, and the others slipped out into the night.

  "Go! Go now," she ordered Alea.

  Fresh tears ran down Alea's cheeks. "No! Come with me! Don't leave me with them." She sobbed and clutched at Kitarisa.

  "Alea, you must go. Father has paid these men handsomely for your return. They have risked their lives for you. Go!"

  "But what about you," she cried. "They, they will..." She choked on her words, unable to finish.

  "They will have poor sport with me," Kitarisa said firmly, trying to cover her own terror. "Reddess will sell me. I am much too old for his tastes. Go, Alea."

  She shoved the reluctant girl through the door.

  "You are a very brave woman," Assur said quietly, his admiration for her rising with each word.

  "I am a fool. What I did...back there...was too easy. He was unbelievably stupid by half."

  "I do not mean that, I mean showing us this passage way, trusting us. Our orders were conveyed to us from your father. I cannot understand why his instructions did not include you."

  "He has his reasons. You had better go," she said coldly, noticing his impatient men waiting outside.

  Deliberately she avoided his penetrating gaze and he was quick to notice the faint trembling in her hands as she clutched the edge of the door.

  "If we had another horse--"

  "Go!"

  It was then he saw the wet gleam of tears on her lowered cheek. She was incredibly brave, but she was as frightened as the other girl, perhaps more.

  "When we return, I will speak to your father--"

  He did not finish. She was gone, swallowed up into the blackness of the keep and its unspeakable horrors.

  IT WAS AN EASY sprint across the dry moat-bed and up the embankment where Courronus, the youngest, waited with the horses. The fire, now out of control, lit the night sky in a roaring inferno. The horses danced at the ends of their reins and rolled their eyes in terror. It took all their skills to keep them from bolting.

  From the keep they heard the screams of Reddess' remaining panicky horses, breaking free of their handlers and bolting across the main drawbridge to freedom. Reddess' men ran everywhere, shouting and cursing, trying to hold the last of the terrified horses or make a futile effort at fighting the fire.

  "We must go, my lord," Kuurus ordered tersely, "or they will spot us in this light."

  Assur shoved Alea onto the jigging roan and then mounted his gray. He allowed himself one last glance at the roaring inferno and then nodded to the others.

  The seven barbarians heeled their tall horses around and fled into the night.

  ASSUR BROUGHT UP the rear, keeping the powerful gray just behind Alea's horse, making sure the girl did not fall behind. She was a poor rider and clung desperately to the reins and the roan's meager mane. He silently growled an oath to Verlian. If the stupid girl fell....

  With Kuurus in the lead, they could keep a steady, ground-eating pace for a long time until they reached their camp where they could rest for the remainder of the night.

  As he watched the girl struggle to keep up with the others, Assur fervently wished it was Kitarisa and not Alea they were supposed to have saved. It angered him to think that such efforts had been made to save a sobbing, hysterical girl, when the worthy one
remained in that burning hulk to either die in the flames, or suffer the cruelties and abuse of Reddess' men. Rarely had he witnessed such courage, even among some of his own warriors. He was equally angered by Prince Kazan's callous indifference to his daughter's fate.

  "Kuurus!" he called out. "Hold."

  The horses skidded to a halt, panting from their exertions. The exhausted girl, unused to hard riding moaned softly from the saddle and leaned over to rest her head against the roan's stubby mane.

  "My lord?" Kuurus questioned.

  "Take the princess on to the camp; wait for me. If I am not back by the mid of the day tomorrow, you are to go on and return her to Prince Kazan and collect your reward."

  Kuurus frowned, troubled. "Where are you going, my lord?"

  "Back."

  "Back? But that is madness. You will be captured and killed. By now they must know of her escape." He nodded to the huddled princess.

  "I am going back to get Alea's sister, Kitarisa. No one told us not to save her."

  "My lord, we don't have enough horses. We'll be slowed down. This is a dangerous land and--"

  "I will be responsible." Assur leaned across the space between them and patted Kuurus' shoulder reassuringly. "She is worthy of saving. We would have never made it without her help. Besides, I would not leave a marglim in the hands of those swine."

  Before Kuurus could protest, Assur swung his horse around and headed back toward the distant, raging light in the night sky.

  "COME HERE," the big man growled.

  Kitarisa huddled against the far wall of the bedchamber, a tiny knife clutched in her trembling fist. It was only a fruit knife, a toy, she had purchased years ago, but it was all that stood between her and the hideous, filthy man in front of her.

  The man chuckled at the sight of the knife. The knife did not frighten him. He flexed his beefy hands showing her how easy it would be for him to pry it from her hand and then use it to cut the rest of her gown from her body. The only thing that seemed to disturb him was time.

  The fire had not reached this portion of the immense keep, and in the confusion and smoke, he was the only roadwild who had remembered the two women and knew they were unguarded. He had been disappointed when he found Alea missing.

  "Where's the blonde wench; someone else get her?" He grunted, then gestured to her again. "Come here, girl," he repeated. "Gimme the knife."

  She retreated another step, holding the knife higher. "Don't come any closer. I will kill myself with it."

  The big man laughed. "Alive or dead, it won't matter. Your pretty body will be warm, long enough for me to get what I want."

  Almost too easily he swung at her wrist and knocked the knife out of her hand. He moved quickly, his speed belying his bulk and pinned her to the wall. His large hands were everywhere at once; on her arms, her belly and her breasts. With one hand he held her by the throat, forcing her head against the wall. With the other, he grabbed greedily at her skirt, pulling it to her waist. One knee was shoved between her legs as he began pressing wet, vile kisses on her mouth and throat.

  Kitarisa fought him with every ounce of her strength. Panic and shame rose in her. Her heart beat wildly in her chest as she tried to push off her attacker. With unbelievable luck, Kitarisa saw an opening and struck at his face with her nails and managed to catch his cheek, cutting the skin as neatly as if she had used the knife. The man howled and grabbed his face with one hand, freeing her enough for her to fight him in earnest.

  "You bitch!" he roared.

  Viciously he slapped her on the side of the head, sending her reeling to the floor. Kitarisa scrambled across the cold stones to find the little knife. Just as she reached it, one large dirty boot came down hard on her arm.

  "It won't matter if its on the bed or on the floor, will it now?" he leered, expertly flipping her on her back. Deliberately, the huge man started to lower himself on her, but never made it.

  From nowhere, something slim and gleaming whipped around his neck and bit deeply into the fleshy folds of his throat. The man froze. An unseen hand grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head so far back, Kitarisa saw his throat muscles bobbing and jerking with nervous swallowing.

  "Get off of her," a low, deep voice ordered.

  The man let go and eased into a kneeling position, his head still straining backward.

  Kitarisa looked up and saw the barbarian's eyes, glittering with ill-concealed rage and deadly intent.

  "Get your cloak, Kitarisa, and wait in the corridor," he said firmly.

  Scrambling to her feet, she lost no time in complying. She grabbed her cloak and the small satchel containing what was left of her personal articles and ran from the room, huddling in the corridor, afraid to look back, knowing full well what he was doing.

  In moments he emerged, wiping the blood from his dagger on a scrap of bed linen.

  Smoke began to fill the corridor. He grabbed her arm and began running in the direction of the secret, back entrance.

  Unlike the sobbing, stumbling Alea, Kitarisa's steps were sure and swift. His own strides were too long and relentless for her, but she never once asked him to slow down or stop.

  They ran down the curved stairway and past the common room, still unnoticed with its dead occupants, and into the ancient, vaulted stables; Kitarisa determinedly keeping up with him. Only at the zigzag door did he stop and approach with caution. Sword drawn, he eased around the first turn, paused, and then around the second to the door. It was still open, his horse tied just outside, waiting.

  They could hear the fire now, roaring and crackling into the night. The shouting had grown fainter as more and more of Reddess' men had either fled or been killed.

  "Get on," he ordered. The barbarian's horse was much taller than any of the horses she had ridden and she struggled to reach the stirrup.

  Seeing her struggles, Assur re-sheathed his sword and lifted her onto the restive horse. In an instant, he was up behind her, right arm firmly about her waist. He spun the big gray on its haunches and urged him across the dry moat.

  "There they are!"

  From the gloom, Kitarisa saw three men on foot and one on a horse heading straight for them. She felt the barbarian's beard tickle her ear and cheek.

  "Hold the reins and duck your head to the left."

  With his hands freed, Assur again pulled out his sword. Holding it high over his head, he spurred the war horse toward the oncoming one; a savage cry ripped from his throat. Fearlessly, the powerful gray thundered straight toward his opponent. Within ten feet, Assur's horse suddenly bent his shoulders toward the left and galloped diagonally to the right. Kitarisa had only moments to realize what the horse was doing and barely managed to duck her head to the left.

  Like a great battering ram, the warhorse slammed full force into the shoulder and chest of the oncoming horse. The wretched animal reeled from the blow, stumbling back, while struggling to keep its feet--the impact itself nearly unseating her.

  Off balance and unnerved, the rider lost his momentum to attack and Assur took full advantage. A soft whistling sound rippled over her head. In the weird, flickering light of the burning keep, Kitarisa watched the blade come down and cleave the man from neck to breastbone, but Assur allowed no time for her to take in the grisly sight. He spun the gray around again and headed straight for the three remaining roadwilds.

  The others stopped, having no stomach or skills to fight such an opponent and fled back into the keep. No time would be wasted pursuing them either. Kitarisa glanced down and watched his left hand take the reins from hers. His right hand, still gripping the sword, took a firmer hold about her waist, while the hot blood of his enemy ran down the gleaming blade.

  Once more, he heeled the horse around and headed up the dry, outer rim of the moat, across the bridge, and into the forest.

  THE BIG GRAY settled into a deep, steady jog and after what seemed an eternity of silent riding, Kitarisa at last had the nerve to speak.

  "You should not hav
e done that, you could have been killed."

  "It is done," he answered quietly, his breath fluttering at the back of her neck.

  "Then I am in your debt. I owe you my life."

  "I consider the debt paid. I could not leave you behind after what you did for my men."

  "Well then, thank you." She paused a moment. "I do not mean to be an annoyance, but I need for you to stop...a moment. I need to...I need..." she ended lamely.

  He did not press her any further, but halted the horse and slid off. He held his hands up to her and she allowed him to take her waist and ease her down from the saddle. He was very close and she could nearly feel his heart even through his leather jerkin and her own cloak.

  "Do not go far. There are said to be marglims in these woods."

  Kitarisa slipped away to attend to her needs, not daring to look back at him. When she returned, she found him resting easily on a large rock, holding the reins at the ends while the horse cropped peacefully at the sparse grass.

  "Better?"

  She nodded.

  "Why not sit down a moment? We could do with a rest."

  Kitarisa sat on the nearest boulder, arranging what was left of her ragged skirts over her knees. The moon was bright, even though only a slim crescent and in its soft light, she could at last take the time to really look at him.

  The warrior was like no other man she had ever seen--frightening, savage, and certainly not from any of the lands around Gorendt. Once her old nurse had told her of the people far to the west that were both fierce warriors and highly cultured and she wondered if he was one of them. He did not speak like a barbarian or a common mercenary.

  His long, almost-black hair was drawn high behind his head and tightly bound with an intricately carved silver ring. No other jewelry adorned him, save for a smooth silver collar about his neck. It was wide as three of her fingers and gleamed in the wan light.

  He looked like a great cat at rest, quiet but alert. The fierce eyes were calm now, even languid. A trim beard and moustache framed a face with high fine cheekbones, flat cheeks and a straight, firm nose. Dark brows swooped over slightly almond-shaped eyes and she suddenly found herself staring at them.