She died in my arms while I ignored her last advice and sobbed like a lost and forlorn child.
Kel’Ratan gave me less than two minutes to weep before physically hauling me to my feet by my shoulders. Witraz caught Sele’s body before it could drop from my slack arms to the slate tiles. My cousin kept my face pinned tightly to his shoulder, not trying to still my sobs. I knew what he intended. I did not try to watch as Witraz pulled the sword from between Sele’s breasts, but I heard the steel scrape against bone, the squishing of dead flesh as it released the steel. The sword skittered across the slate floor and hit the wall with a sharp, ringing clang. Witraz must have thrown it hard.
“Save your grieving for later, girl,” Kel’Ratan rasped in my ear, his voice low and thick. “We need to go and right now.”
I nodded, pulling away from him. I choked back my tears, wiping my face before turning to face the others and resume command. Kel’Ratan still held me by the arms, his face close to mine. Tears filled his own fierce blue eyes, his thick mustache quivered as he fought to hold them at bay. Well loved by those who knew her, her loss to most of us was nothing less than catastrophic. Kel’Ratan had known her since she was small, and watched over her as much as he had me. My thoughts turned briefly to Alun, who loved her.
Taking a deep breath, I forced my grief away, locked it into a place deep within my heart. Turning, I held my head high and if my face was red and swollen from weeping, none of my people would speak openly about it. If they felt disgust for my weakness, well, they would remain silent about that, too.
None of the expressions I met appeared to hold anything save a dull anger. An anger not for me, but for the Federation who caused this travesty. The same anger I allowed to show on my face, and let them hear in my voice.
“No one else dies.”
I pointed my bloody sword at them, marking each of them in turn. Witraz held Sele’s body in his arms with a reverent respect, but his usually smiling face was a tight mask of fury. Alun stood close beside him, his expression closed, his green eyes frosty, his mouth a thin white slash in his dark face. I dared not look at him too long or my tears would flood the slate floor. The rest of the warriors ranked behind them stood silent, waiting.
“No one else dies,” I growled. “No one dies except Brutal’s pet pigs in this shitty sty. Now let’s go home.”
None spoke as I led them through the doors and onto the parade grounds. We saw no living soul, but witnessed the aftermath of a pitched battle all around us. The grounds echoed with a creepy, sullen silence. Stepping forward cautiously, on the balls of my feet, I kept my sword half-lifted, ready. At my left stalked Kel’Ratan, his head in constant motion as he tried looking everywhere at once. Yuri walked immediately to my right, his younger brother a pace behind him. I knew Witraz carried Sele’s body just behind my shoulder, as I could hear his muted sniffles as he manfully contained his tears. Alun walked at his side, his face sternly expressionless, his eyes glittering. My thoughts strayed briefly to him, in concern, before concentrating once more on our safety and escape.
Left and Right, I knew, paced just behind. I had no need to turn my head to know they strode as close to me as possible. The rest of my band flanked me and spread out in a V-shaped formation.
I counted more than ten different uniforms and sigils on the dead soldiers that littered the yard. I cocked my head slightly, listening to the sounds of battle beyond the palace walls in the city streets. At least the fight was out there and not in here with us. Yet, I was not the only one who looked up toward the many palace windows, watching for signs of the enemy, or of pursuit.
Leaving the bloody parade grounds behind, we finally entered the stable yards. Bodies littered the dirt floor here as well. No doubt, the battle on the parade grounds had continued on, wending its bloody way out of the palace and into the city. I tiptoed delicately over corpses, severed limbs, faces frozen in silent death screams. Bright sunlight glinted off burnished hauberks and swords not covered in thick dark blood. The stench of death, excrement, blood and piss took its toll on me. I clenched my teeth hard not to spew, for that would shame me far more than my tears for Sele. Horses whinnied from within the huge barns, upset by the scents of blood and smoke.
Luckily, we found our horses quickly, housed in the first block of barns. At least no flaming idiot with a torch, naphtha and stupidity set fire to the wood barns packed with flammable hay and treasured horses. I would spend many hours on my knees thanking Nephrotiti for that particular stroke of luck.
Inside, I breathed deep of the far more pleasant odor of horses, hay and manure. Equine heads rose over stall doors to inspect us, ears erect and eyes bright. No few whinnied at us, as though demanding we cease the madness outside and feed them this instant.
Mikk nickered affectionately as I entered his stall. Despite our need for haste, I took a moment to rub his face and neck, and hold my face close to his. I breathed in the clean, horse scent of him, clearing my head of the stench of blood and filth and death. I raised this horse from a foal, trained him myself for war and battle, fought many battles from atop his broad back. One day, he would sire the next generation for me, a great and noble line of Kel’Hallan warhorses. Right now he was my mount, my weapon, my friend.
Around me, Kel’Ratan and the others fetched their own horses, saddling them with our small fur-covered saddles, tying saddlebags to cantles, filling grain bags from the nearby bins. Witraz lashed Sele’s body to her mount and covered her decently, lovingly, with a blanket, while Kel’Ratan saddled his own bay and Witraz’s blue-eyed piebald. Alun hovered near, his face a steely mask as he saddled his own stallion. I wanted him to cry aloud, weep, curse…something. His continued silence began to worry me.
Within minutes, I tied my saddlebags to the cantle, and tossed my reins over his neck. Mikk followed me out of his stall and the barn, his nose comfortably at my shoulder. Outside, all save Witraz, Kel’Ratan and me sat mounted on their horses, waiting with a various mixture of impatience and watchfulness.
I grabbed a handful of thick black mane and vaulted onto Mikk’s back, disregarding the stirrups. He arched his neck and pranced before I even picked up the reins, sensing our need to run. For generations, we trained our carefully bred and nurtured warhorses to fight as one with their riders. In battle, Mikk needed little guidance from me, responding to the smallest pressure of my knees. However, right now, he felt my sorrow, my anger, my need, and reflected them back at me. His ears lay flat against his skull, his neck arched, his jaws champed impatiently at the simple ring bit in his mouth. Ready to run and fight, he would slay anyone I set him against. He knew me well, that one.
Witraz pulled Sele’s gray horse in behind his, her sword, bow and quiver hanging from the pommel. Alun reined his horse in behind. Noting Kel’Ratan’s nod that he deemed us ready, I finally picked up my reins. Mikk half-reared, lunging into a gallop before his front hooves hit the cobbles. Jumping uniformed corpses and pools of gore, the group of us thundered away from the stables. The palace gates stood half-open, and I made that my goal. I could see people running in a steady stream away from something out of my view, but strongly suspected they ran from the battle I heard earlier.
From another barn across the compound, a pair Synn’jhani in their white and gold rode their horses fast in the same direction as we did. Two against twenty-nine mounted Kel’Hallans stood no chance, despite the awesome reputation of the High King’s own bodyguards. I thought at first I would simply run them down, catching them between steel-tipped arrows and sharp hooves.
Before I could command the attack, a second group of horsemen emerged, chasing the first two. About fifteen guardsmen in the royal colors of purple and gold with the White Lion badge on their surcoats spurred their horses hard on the heels of the bodyguard. I had never heard of any soldier in the Synn’jhani deserting, as they were fanatically loyal to the High King. However, I supposed stranger things have happened.
Damn and blast, I thought, readying myself for yet
another fight.
At that moment the leader of the Sins on the big bay turned around, his sword raised. I noted he was very large, very muscular, and had a thick lion’s mane of dark hair that streamed behind him from under his helmet in the wake of his gallop.
Could it be? I wondered.
Mikk reared as I reined him in, Kel’Ratan bringing his own horse to a trampling halt beside me. My warriors also halted their mounts in a milling circle, a few voices raised in question. I ignored them, fascinated by the scene in front of me.
Although obviously not battle-trained, the flashy bay with the hugely flowing mane and white stockings responded to its rider’s knees. The man held his sword over his head with both hands on the hilt, charging one against all. My excitement at seeing such courage rose to sweep over me. Silently, I cheered him on, raising my blade in imitation of his. The other fleeing guard also turned, drawing his sword and following his companion. He was tall and flaxen haired, his grip on the sword sure and experienced.
“It has to be that slave and the wizard,” Kel’Ratan muttered. “Now they’re both dead.”
I gave myself no time to think. Dropping the reins on Mikk’s neck, I slipped my short recurve horsebow off my back and nocked an arrow. I squeezed my knees, hard. Mikk reared, his front hooves boxing the air. “Kel’Hallans!” I screamed. “To me!”
Mikk plunged forward, ears flattened and teeth bared to kill. I loosed the arrow, and my Federal target fell from his saddle. I had another nocked in the blink of an eye. My second royal target fell within a heartbeat of the first. Dust swirled from the pounding hooves, bows twanged from behind me over the thunder of our charge. I caught a glimpse of the slave, if it was the slave, battling three Federates, his blade flashing through the dust. Then we hit the royal troopers broadside.
Mikk reared mid-charge, taking the gold-and-purple soldier in the face with his front hooves. The soldier’s horse squealed in fright as it too went down under Mikk’s bloody legs. My arrow took another through the throat before I dropped my bow to the pommel of my saddle. Drawing my sword, I parried a thrust aimed at my chest, slashing the soldier through the throat.
Kicking his way through the bodies of men and horses, Mikk carried me out of the roiling dust. He wheeled, half-rearing on his haunches, before I asked it of him. Lifting my bloody blade in readiness to parry an attack, should it come, I lowered it just as quickly. My warriors had gone through the mounted soldiers with swift precision, leaving no man alive and only a few horses to flee the scene. I sighed. No one left to fight.
Glancing to my left, I found the slave and his wizard friend galloping away, riding fast toward the open gates. May you live free forever, I thought. Because of you, we survived this debacle to ride home. I raised my bloody sword in a salute to their retreating backs, and dismounted to wipe it clean on a purple cloak.
Kel’Ratan reined in beside me, also watching as the pair galloped into the city street and disappeared.
“He’s a man of remarkable courage,” Kel’Ratan murmured.
“We owe him much,” I said, almost defensively.
He quirked a brow as he glanced down at me. “Did I suggest otherwise?”
I grinned and shook my head. “I expect you didn’t at that.”
“Pity you’ll never see him again,” Kel’Ratan remarked, nudging his horse forward, toward the palace gate that would lead us north.
I sniffed. “What do you mean by that?”
His broad shoulders rose and fell in a shrug, but he did not pause or look back. Exasperated, I vaulted into my saddle and squeezed Mikk into a trot, the others falling into line behind me. I hated it when he did that, and he knew I hated it when he did that. This was exactly why he did it. Plotting my catty, female revenge, I followed him into the city streets.
Chapter 5
Escape Into Hell
“Stop grumbling under your breath,” Rygel muttered. “I told you I was sorry and I’m not going to say it again.”
I raised my fist as though to strike him and he ducked, cursing. We huddled together in a tiny alcove off the kitchens, the stables tantalizingly near. Yet should we run for them, we’d both be cut down in our tracks.
Upon our successful escape from the royal chambers, Rygel insisted on reaching his own quarters to retrieve items he said he desperately needed, despite my strident objections. I saw naught important enough to risk our hides with this delay. A few slender knives with jeweled hilts, several small vials corked and sealed, some scrolls and several loose gems went into the flat-sided leather satchel. I saw a few diamonds, a ruby or two, and what looked to be amethysts before he dropped them in the bag. A larger crystal, about the size of a hen’s egg, also went in.
Taking off his gold cloak, Rygel put the strap over his shoulder, then donned the cloak again. I hoped no one would notice the slight bulge at his hip.
That delay cost us dearly. The alarm now raised, armed and murderous Synn’jhani roamed the corridors, searching high and low for us. While they did not know, specifically, that we killed Lionel and grievously injured Prince Broughton, they knew someone had. They knew Lionel had summoned me to the royal apartments. They knew I was now at large, had not reported to the gladiators’ barracks. Whether they knew of Rygel’s involvement was anyone’s guess.
Word spread of the High King’s death and the Crown Prince’s injuries, flaming rebellion in the palace. Not only did we have the Synn’jhani, fanatically loyal to Lionel, searching high and low for us, we also had regular troops, rebels and city guards turning the palace upside down. We hid from anyone wearing anything resembling a uniform.
Soldiers in the livery of at least ten different nobles, including Brutal’s younger brothers, roamed in murderous packs throughout the palace, the grounds and probably the city outside the walls. They attacked anyone not wearing their colors, innocents and not-so innocent alike. Our white and gold Synn’jhani disguises made us targets as surely as if we wore signs about our necks broadcasting we assassinated the High King. While it may save us from those loyal to Brutal, it was a death warrant from anyone else.
Dodging the roving mobs proved to be all but impossible. We would no sooner duck and hide from one band than we would run smack into another. Oftentimes, though, one mob would attack the other, allowing us an opportunity to escape in the melee. When they had no other use for their time, they chased us, yelling and cursing, waving their swords. Rygel proved to be a fast runner. I thought I could run fast, despite my size, but I ate his dust every time.
When we could, we hid. We used pillars, bronze statues, antique armor large enough to provide cover, empty chambers, even hiding behind thick tapestries as troops ran past, too busy chasing to notice boots sticking from beneath the fringed hems. We even hid behind the statue of the bastard on his black stallion I admired not so long ago while a gang of Falco’s troops screaming bloody murder ran smack into a troop of revenge-hungry Synn’jhani. We sneaked back the way we had come while Falco’s blue and silvers died under the savage blades of Lionel’s grieving Sins.
Once, I followed Rygel into what I thought was a room, but found to my dismay it was a tiny closet. Hardly big enough for one man, much less two, it remained a doubtful hiding space. There was no time to be picky. I squashed Rygel into a corner and shut the door just as the mob of troopers in bright yellow uniforms followed by in hot pursuit. I opened it, hearing Rygel draw breath for the first time, only to shut it again when a new mob wearing different colors ran by, chasing the first. He grunted, sucking in his gut, unable to breathe until I stepped out.
“Next time, pick a bigger room,” I snapped as he staggered out of the closet, gasping painfully for breath.
Later, we dodged yet another gang of scarlet-and-silver troops carrying a banner of a spotted leopard, the sigil of Radu, Brutal’s second oldest brother and heir should he die in this mess. We ducked through an unlocked door halfway down a side gallery. Hastily shutting it, we listened as booted feet tramped past. Breathing similar sighs
of relief, we both turned to discover the truth.
The door had opened into a chamber occupied by a terrified noblewoman busy changing her satin gown to travel skirts. She wore naught but a kirtle. No doubt, she believed her mantle of nobility would see her through the rioting peasants, a quick escape to her distant estates on her mind. For it was unheard of for a soldier to attack a member of the gentry. Absolutely unheard of. As though the blood-crazed troopers would surely see reason and bow her through the roving, murdering packs to the safety of the country.
She shrieked when she saw us, hastily covering herself from our gazes. Rygel threw her a furious stare, instantly cutting off her screams. The gag silenced the caterwauling, the woman’s mouth working as she sought her vanished voice. Her tiny hands found her throat, circled in glistening pearls. Pale blue eyes bulged in their sockets, her fleshly pudgy face the same color as raw milk. I felt a moment’s pity for her. Who would expect two armed men to scramble through her doors if they did not intend rape?
Then, mercifully, she fainted. She sagged limply into a corner with a sigh, the skirt she covered herself with falling away to reveal her near nudity.
I gawked at the sight of her bare and generous bosom, feeling a hot blush creep up my neck and into my cheeks. Gods above and below, I thought hastily. Women were supposed to be attractive. Her pale lumpy thighs reminded me of unbaked raw bread dough, her sagging breasts not unlike a cow’s udder. Dark brown nipples stared up at me like mournful spaniel’s eyes. I gulped.
Rygel paid her no further heed, peering through the cracked door, watching, assessing when it was safe to run again. He glanced back, caught my horrified stare, and looked back at the nearly nude aristocrat.
“Haven’t you ever seen a naked woman before?” he asked.
“Uh,” I stammered. “Uh, nay.”
That earned me a sharp glance from those fierce amber eyes; then he turned back to peer through the cracked door once more. Seeing naught to concern him, he shut it and glared at me, accusing.
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