The Battle Lord's Lady

by Linda Mooney

  “Atty! We saved you a seat over here. Better hurry. We’ll be leaving within the hour.” He motioned to a chair on the other side of Yulen, who hadn’t missed the fact that Mastin had taken his own seat on the other side of the empty one. It was clearly a defensive, protective measure. He made a mental note to thank the man later.

  Despite MaGrath’s hearty welcome, she remained cautious. She was in enemy territory, even with the protection of a Battle Lord. Placing her weapon conspicuously across the back of her chair, she took her seat and allowed a servant to bring her a plate.

  The meal went quickly, as everyone was anxious to get on the road. But knowing that a full breakfast would tide them over until late afternoon, they made sure to take plenty. Further conversation was saved for later when traveling. As soon as they were done, everyone grabbed their gear and exited for the main courtyard where the horses were already saddled and waiting. Yulen paid no attention to Batuset’s men as he led Atty and MaGrath to their mounts. “I’ll join you at the lead as soon as I make sure we have everyone accounted for,” he told them, then turned to his horse.

  Unseen behind them, one of Batuset’s soldiers had pulled his sword and was advancing toward the bay on which the warrior girl sat. It was Verris who spotted the man, but as he was too far away to stop him, he yelled out a warning.

  “Atty! Down!”

  Seeing that he’d been spotted, the man charged, his weapon raised, hoping he still had the advantage. He never saw the crude arrow that pinned his arm to the side of the wagon behind him. A heartbeat later, two more arrows had him fast through his other shirt sleeve and lower right trouser leg. All of which had been done so fast no one could remember seeing the shafts flying toward their target. It was almost as if they’d appeared in place by magic.

  Yulen looked over at Atty in time to see her slowly lowering the longbow. Casually she reached back into the quiver slung over her shoulder and pulled out a fourth arrow, which she nocked but didn’t draw. A dozen feet away, the would-be attacker stuttered in disbelief. He was unhurt, but made as immobile as if he’d been tied. The soldiers were glued to the scene.

  “Atty.”

  She looked over to where Yulen sat astride his horse. Her face was blank.

  “Hit the green pennant.”

  Automatically every eye turned to look at the flag identifying Foster City as it fluttered lazily in the morning breeze. The pennant itself was no more than a yard long and two feet wide, colored dark green with three small yellow stars clustered in the center. The banner flew atop the roof of the main lodge, a distance of a hundred and fifty yards. Minimum.

  She stood in her stirrups and carefully drew her final arrow. Drew. Aimed. And the arrow arched over the peak of the roof to snag the material, tearing it away from its mooring. Arrow and flag disappeared over the other side of the lodge.

  “Damn,” she said aloud.

  Yulen tried to hold back his smile. “What’s wrong?” he asked instead.

  “I missed.”

  His eyes widened, as well as the rest of the men who were within earshot. “What do you mean? You hit it.”

  “Yeah, but I was aiming for the center of the stars.” She sighed loudly. “Damn wind.”

  This time Yulen allowed himself to laugh at her irritation. Wheeling his horse around, he signaled for everyone to begin heading out. Batuset’s men stood back, providing an honor guard to escort them out. As Atty passed them, they nodded in her direction and laid their hands on the pommel of their swords, showing they wouldn’t challenge her. She’d proven herself beyond all doubt—once in the story of her facing the bull ferret two days ago, and now in the demonstration of her ability, which proved the story of the ferret could not have been false.

  But more than anything, she’d unexpectedly gained their allegiance when, in stopping the soldier who’d been intent on killing her, she’d dropped him in his tracks without shedding any blood. The fact that she and the Battle Lord were reportedly becoming romantically involved was no longer an issue of concern with them.

  MaGrath grinned broadly as he kneed his mare and trotted to the front of the line. He would be willing to bet his next month’s wages that many of Yulen’s troops now held the warrior girl in higher esteem, if not with pride, that they could call her theirs. After all, it wasn’t every day that a beautiful and exotic Mutah warrior could best the finest soldiers in a Battle Lord’s compound, and at the same time claim their leader’s heart for herself.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Bloods

  The morning progressed without any interruptions. Yulen noticed that Atty intermittently dozed in the saddle, something MaGrath did not miss, but neither did he comment on. In fact, conversation was unusually nonexistent.

  They stopped briefly around noon to give the horses water before continuing on. This had been a long and bloody tour, and it was clear every man in the unit was anxious to get home, even if it meant skipping their meal so they could put more miles behind them.

  The terrain became noticeably more hilly, signaling the border between Foster City and Alta Novis. Yulen excused himself to go check on the troops. The men would be chomping at the bits, which meant he had to remind them to be on their guard. No matter how excited they were about returning home for the season, they couldn’t risk letting their defenses down for even a moment.

  It was nearly an hour later before Yulen joined the physician at the head of the line. As previously instructed, MaGrath had kept the pace brisk, but not so fast as to tire out the horses too quickly. One person was conspicuously absent. “Where’s Atty?” the Battle Lord asked, glancing around.

  “She’ll catch up. She found a strand of saplings she said she needed for shafts to make more arrows. Everything all right back there?”

  “So far. The men are getting antsy.”

  “They’re not the only one,” the physician dryly remarked. Unfortunately, the comment was lost on the Battle Lord. MaGrath noticed that the man’s eyes continued to scan the area although they were already past the northern border of Alta Novis. Sometime in the next couple of hours they should be spotted and challenged by one of the advance guards, which was fortunate. It was getting close to sundown, and it would be dark in a couple of hours.

  As if reading his mind, Yulen called for their colors to be raised, and a soldier near the head of the line lifted the half-blue, half-red banner.

  “That was quite a risk you took back there,” MaGrath finally mentioned almost nonchalantly.

  Yulen seemed perplexed by the comment. “What risk?”

  “Having her take out the pennant. Do you know what might have happened if she’d missed?”

  The Battle Lord slowly shook his head. “She wouldn’t have missed,” he stated.

  “Oh, sure, you can say that now,” MaGrath chuckled.

  “Liam, did you see which hand she draws with?”

  “Which hand? No. What difference does it make?”

  “Think.” Yulen glanced at him.

  MaGrath decided to humor him. Which hand did she use to draw back the arrows that she’d shot at the soldier? “Her right,” he announced, feeling proud of himself.

  “Okay. And which one did she use to shoot for the pennant?”

  The physician squinted at him. “What do you mean, which one? Didn’t I just say she used her right?”

  “Liam.”

  He opened his mouth to say something more when, in his mind’s eye, he saw Atty take a slow bead on the flag, drawing back on the bow with her left hand...

  Yulen watched as the truth dawned on his friend. “Holy crap,” the physician muttered. His face actually went pale, much to Yulen’s satisfaction. “When did you learn?”

  Chuckling, the Battle Lord said, “That afternoon in the forest when I went looking for her and she let me find her. I felt there was something different in the way she had me in her sights. I knew for certain when she bolted and ran. In mid-stride she turned and fired at me with the other hand. To be honest, I d
on’t even think she’s aware of doing it. To her, it’s just another way for her to use her weapon.”

  “Holy crap,” MaGrath uttered again. “Wait a minute...she fired at you?”

  “Yulen!”

  Both men turned to see the warrior girl riding quickly to catch up with them. Her face was shining in the sunlight. “Look!” She held up a handful of saplings, each one at least several feet in length and ramrod straight. “These are perfect,” she beamed. “May I borrow a few tools when we get to Alta Novis so I can finish them?”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem,” Yulen told her. “What are you planning on doing with those in the meantime?”

  To answer him, she tossed MaGrath the reins. “Pull me along, would you, while I strip these down? Yulen, I need to use your dagger.”

  “Here? Now?” he questioned, but tossed her his short blade anyway. Both men watched in amusement as she proceeded to strip the bark from the saplings. After another minute, they turned back around and let her work uninterrupted.

  “Why do I get the feeling she’ll never cease to amaze us?” the physician commented. He wasn’t surprised to see the smug smile of satisfaction linger on the Battle Lord’s face.

  They continued at their present pace, stopping only once more to briefly rest and water the horses. Atty disappeared into the edge of the forest, returning just before Yulen planned to go in after her. She apologized, but showed him and MaGrath the feathers she’d managed to find for the arrows, then climbed back onto her horse and settled herself to continue working on the shafts with a singleness of purpose they were beginning to become accustomed to.

  Spring was slowly but surely coming back, as evident as much by the warmer weather and frequent rains as by the odd patch of wildflowers dotting the roadside and occasional fields. Yulen had a vague thought about what that evening would bring once they got to the compound. If it was anything like their night in Foster City, he knew he would be in for a powerful hurt, but at the same time he realized that at this point in their relationship he craved having Atty come in his arms more than finding his own release. Something about her unabashed acceptance of what he wanted to do to her, of sharing a mutual touch and climaxing beneath a lover’s ministrations...

  He smiled to himself. It would be a special treat to have a few of the servants go out into the meadows to fetch handfuls of the bluer blossoms and spread them over their bed before he took her to his rooms. Casting a furtive glance behind him, he saw she was bent over her work, keeping it close to her chest as she stripped the feathers into fletching and wired them to the shafts with a thin filament he hadn’t known she had.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” MaGrath commented. “On second thought, don’t tell me. I don’t think I want to know.”

  “Oh?”

  “She cooks. She can shoot the eye out of a flea at a hundred paces. And she’s a one-woman ammunition depot. The only thing she isn’t is a lusty wench in bed, but I guess you already have plans on what to do about that one, right?”

  “Jealous, old man?”

  “Actually, you couldn’t pay me enough to be the one to tell Madigan what you have prepared for our blue-haired beauty.”

  “Been reading my mind again, Liam?”

  “More like reading your face. You never were any damn good at poker, either. So what’s the countdown?”

  “To what?”

  MaGrath let out an exasperated sigh. “Give me a break, Yulen. I may be old, but I’m not decrepit. How soon after we get to Alta Novis are you going to post the banns?”

  Yulen quickly shushed him. “Not too loud. I haven’t asked her yet.”

  “So you’re assuming she’ll say ‘yes’?” he half-laughed. “I have another one for you, then. Are you going to be able to hold out until then?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  MaGrath let out a hearty laugh. Behind them, Atty glanced up and smiled, then went back to her work.

  Feeling lighter in heart than he had in a long, long time, Yulen nudged his horse into a lope and headed for the rise at the end of the road where it curved to the right. The territory was revealing familiar landmarks now, and he knew around the next two or three bends he should see in the distance the twin of the pennant he carried flying from the pole mounted on the roof of the main lodge.

  Another curve, another rise, and Yulen pulled up, stopping in the middle of the road. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. A sentry should have challenged him by now. The fact that someone hadn’t made him leery. Wheeling around, he galloped back to the caravan and held up an arm for an immediate halt. Quickly, he motioned for Verris.

  “Sir?”

  “We should have been challenged by now, but I’ve seen no sentry posted.”

  “What do you think’s happened?” MaGrath asked, joining them. Behind him, Atty had pulled up her mount.

  “I don’t know, but I don’t like this feeling it’s giving me in the pit of my stomach. Atty, how many of those arrows have you finished?”

  “Not enough.”

  “It’ll have to be enough. Verris, you accompany me and Atty.” He motioned over Verris’s lieutenant, a man named Corinth.

  “Sir?”

  “Have the men ready for my signal. Drop all provisions and leave the dead. Check your weapons. If there’s something wrong, Verris, I’m sending you back to retrieve the troops.”

  “Sir, your armor!”

  “No time for that,” he barked.

  “And Atty?” MaGrath asked.

  Yulen’s face turned as hard as his voice. “She’ll watch my back.” Giving Atty a nod, he turned the stallion around and the three of them galloped away from the caravan.

  Once they reached the curve in the road where Yulen had previously stopped, he came again to a halt. “From here we advance quickly but cautiously.” Atty and his Second nodded, keeping to the rear.

  They continued toward the compound, keeping their eyes opened for any possible danger. Yulen glanced at Atty, who scanned the edges of the forest lining the road. He trusted her eyes and her instincts now above all others, even his own.

  They reached another rise when she stopped suddenly. “Yulen.” It was the softest of whispers. “Listen.”

  The men halted. Yulen strained to hear what her superior ears had caught. A confused look crossed Verris’s face. “I don’t—”

  “Shh!” she hissed.

  Closing his eyes, Yulen concentrated. It was a muffled sound. Low. Bell-like tones. A high-pitched scream. His head jerked up. “The compound is under attack! Verris, the troops!”

  Without waiting for acknowledgment, he dug his heels into the horse’s ribs, and the giant stallion surged forward, toward the fortress. Atty charged after him as Verris raced back to the caravan.

  Reaching the last bend before the road dipped into the small valley sheltering Alta Novis, Yulen pulled up and unsheathed his sword. Below he could see the enemy advancing from the west, crossing the road as they attacked the main gates of the compound. Atty pulled up beside him, her longbow ready.

  “I can’t tell from here who is leading the attack,” he told her.

  “Who? Don’t you mean what?”

  He glanced over to see her eyes narrowing. “What do you see, Atty?”

  She started. “Oh, no...”

  “Atty?”

  “It’s...it’s Bloods.”

  “Bloods?” He looked back at the attacking force. “You mean Mutah?”

  “No. They’re not like my kind,” she fairly spat back at him. “Bloods are the worse of the genetically deviant. Their kind lack everything that would make them remotely human. My people have battled them for generations.”

  “Can you kill them like humans?”

  “Yes, but be careful, Yul. Sometimes their blood can be their most dangerous weapon.”

  Yulen raised his sword and kicked his horse. The animal launched down the road and into the thick of the battle, with Atty right behind him, carefully picking off the terrifying, deform
ed creatures.

  Several soldiers recognized their defender and raised a cry of triumph. From the battlements and catwalks at the top of the compound wall, a cheer arose at the same time they noticed the woman warrior with the deep blue hair as she fired into the melee, dropping the enemy with each precisely placed arrow.

  It soon became evident to the Battle Lord what Atty had meant by calling these inhuman monstrosities “Bloods”. Instead of a river of red running through their veins, some yielded a yellow or blackish liquid. Another had green, pus-like matter oozing from the stump where its head had been a moment before Yulen’s well-aimed swing.

  He had no need to search her out. He knew exactly where she was whenever the sound of fffffff-thup! arched through the air and the arrow buried its head into a head, a chest, or a weapon-wielding hand. For a second he began to believe they were beginning to see the end of the battle, when a sudden shout and unearthly yowl erupted from the forest on the other side of the road. Yulen turned in time to see another mass of Bloods pouring out of the bushes. From the corner of his eye he saw the flash of a dagger a split second before its tip missed his fighting arm and dug a shallow furrow down the side of his leg.

  * * * *

  Atty screamed as she saw him lean far over his saddle. At first she thought he’d started to fall off his horse until she saw him rear back up, a wide swatch of iridescent yellow staining the front of his shirt.

  Reaching behind her, she pulled the last two arrows in her arsenal and made sure they counted. Two more Bloods toppled, a shaft quivering in the hole that should have been a nose on one, the other wood piercing a neck so deeply the barb emerged on the other side.

  Now she was out of ammunition, and there was no chance of getting any more.

  Another roar rose from the battlements. The caravan rose over the last rise and began to engulf the rear of the Blood’s forces, cutting them down with scythe-like movements.

  Atty heard her name in a shout. She turned in time to see a Blood, axe gripped in furred paws, bringing down the blade, hoping to cleave her in two. Without thinking, she lifted her bow to block the blow. She stared in stunned disbelief as the Blood shifted his swing at the last second, and instead of haft meeting limb, the blade cut cleanly through the wood. She could only stare at the two pieces lying in her hands as the Blood lifted the axe once more and prepared to finish what he’d meant to do the first time.