by Lee Hayton
“And thank goodness I did. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have the chance to intercede.”
Mal gave a huff of annoyance, stalking out of the barn. He heard Sulli running after him and stopped a few yards past the entrance so he could catch up.
“You’re not really going to let her fight, are you?” Sulli’s face was creased with concern, aging him a decade.
“It’s her decision, not mine. I can’t change her mind for her.” Mal shook his head. “I’ll talk to her again if that’s what everybody wants, but don’t expect miracles.”
“We don’t.” Sulli put a gentle hand on Mal’s arm. “But I’m glad you’re going to speak with her. Any one of us would stand a good chance in the ring.”
“Exposing ourselves to Wella Ufsprig,” Mal reminded him. “And for a woman who can’t even bother to ask us to stand in her stead.” He gave a large sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. The anger was fading away, exposing the solid facts of what his brothers were saying. “Tell the boys I’ll talk to her tomorrow. I doubt I’ll get much sense out of her tonight.”
Sulli nodded, recognizing the truth of that statement. “I’ll warn them to back off. Now”—he clapped Mal on the shoulder—”how about we all head in and have that meal I forced you to stay for?” He rubbed his stomach as it gave out an enormous growl. “If one of us is to fight tomorrow, it’s better we do it when well fed.”
Chapter Twelve
Shandra sat on the edge of the bed, checking over the list of instructions. Ricci had worked the farm alongside her for so long, there weren’t many things he didn’t know about. The ones he’d skipped, or often forgot to do, were now written down so he had no excuse.
Chief among the notes was a command to keep on the clan brothers for as long as Ricci possibly could. If she died in battle, Shandra told him to use the fact of her death to manipulate them into staying. The longer they could keep the men around, the better off the farm would be.
Last night, she’d appeared confident about her chances in the upcoming fight, but in reality, she expected to lose. Her worst nightmare was that Wella would spare her life, but only at the point she’d become a crippled mess.
To return home, being a burden on her brothers rather than an asset, would soon ruin any chance the farm had of returning to a profitable business. If one of them had to care for her part-time, the loss would be too severe.
Shandra laid the papers aside and buried her face into her hands. How had she landed up here?
Her goal for so long had been to save the farm. Keep the family legacy going so it could be passed down to the next generation. Work the land the way her ancestors had, bringing forth the bounty of produce locked within the soil.
Instead, she’d ruined everything. In her foolish quest to try to have everything, Shandra had gambled away not only her livelihood but that of Ricci and Halv as well.
And she’d lost the clan brothers.
Mal’s face appeared in her mind—a look of disappointment etched deep into his features. How could she have played with their lives without even telling them she was doing so? No wonder the universe had turned on her and sentenced her for the crime of pride.
A harem should be formed of members willing to commit to each other. Born of mutual respect and love, not birthed from desperation, each side playing against the other.
Each man held a piece of her heart and yet she’d never once thought of how she was placing them in danger.
The battle was a fitting punishment.
Shandra pulled a knife out of her bedside drawer and secured it in a sheathe at her ankle. Her trousers covered the bulge, hiding it from sight. Her main weapon, a short sword that she could wield with the same or better skill than any man she’d come across, she fixed to her hip. She’d already sharpened the edge of the blade and rounded the top off, so it wouldn’t become lodged in bone.
If she even got the chance to thrust it into her opponent.
Not having eaten the evening before, Shandra snuck down into the kitchen and gathered up some leftovers for her journey. She hoped to make good time, which would leave her ample opportunity to stop off halfway, eat, and practice for the oncoming fight.
The note, she left in the middle of the table. Hopefully, anyone who saw it before Ricci would leave it unread. If not, her instructions to keep the men around might be stopped before he had the opportunity to try.
Her mouth crinkled in a smile as Shandra played that event out in her mind. Mal would love to read all about her plans for manipulation. By the time he finished the note, his eyes would spit fire.
For a second, the shimmering scales and heat of Mal’s dragon form shivered in her memory. Shandra licked her lips, letting the scene open into its full glory. It would be the last time. No matter what happened, she’d never see him transform that way again.
Starburst snickered as she opened up her stable, already awake. Shandra stroked the white marking that lent the horse her name and briefly pressed her face up against it. She hoped if she didn’t make it back from the castle, someone would think to send the horse home.
Shandra led the mare outside before she began the task of saddling her up for the journey. The boys slept too close to the barn to risk doing it inside. It took a few minutes more than usual, working in the moonlight, but soon enough she leaped up onto the horse’s back.
The silver tint of the light above made the farmhouse look like an old metal etching. Shandra stared at it with a lump in her throat. She had no regrets about not waking Ricci or Halv to say goodbye—the act of doing so hadn’t saved her any grief over her parents or her brother Zen, so why bother?
If she stayed looking at everything she loved for much longer, Shandra was scared she wouldn’t have the courage to leave. She gently pulled on the rein to turn Starburst away and then pressed the horse into a trot.
By the time she pulled over to eat, Shandra’s mind was on the oncoming fight rather than what she’d left behind. She ate the cold food left over from the night before and closed her eyes to visualize her opponent. His height, weight, and reach were far superior to hers so she needed to prepare for a different style of attack.
The best chance of victory would be to duck and dive under his thrusts, pressing up against Alnerrac’s chest, inflicting damage, then ducking back out again before he could crush her in a headlock. Choosing a tree of a similar size, Shandra practiced running near, thrusting, then twisting out and away.
It had been a long time since she’d put her skills to use, but it didn’t take long for her muscle memory to settle into place. Shandra spun and darted in and out, whirling on tip-toes before tensing her thigh muscles to take a giant leap.
When the first signs of weariness came, she immediately stopped and climbed back aboard Starburst to make the rest of the journey. No good would come of practicing until she wore herself out. As it was, she’d need to find a place to stretch and limber up before she went into the ring.
As Starburst took her ever closer, Shandra closed her eyes and attempted to meditate. If she could achieve a state of calmness, it would serve her well throughout the match.
All she saw projected on her eyelids were the shimmering scales of Mal in his dragon form. His twinkling eyes, imbued with a deep hue of color not present in his human body, still had the power to take her breath away, even if they only locked on her through imagination.
Her eyes flicked open, watering in the sunlight. If she returned home tonight, victorious, she could attempt a rapprochement. Until that moment, her energy was better spent in focusing on Alnerrac and the fight.
The metal blade in her boot had grown warm against her skin. Shandra wouldn’t know what kind of fight Wella would order until she stepped into the ring. If she had to ditch her sword and battle with her hands, the hidden knife might be the only thing to save her.
It was playing dirty, of course. But then again, dirty was Wella’s forte.
Chapter Thirteen
Mal woke when the first ra
ys of sunlight crept into the room. For a moment, he lay in bed, wondering why he felt so out of sorts. Then he remembered.
Shandra was going to a fight. A battle she was certain to lose.
He sat up, getting to his feet quickly but while staying silent to avoid waking his brothers. On tiptoe, he walked out of the room, breathing a sigh of relief as he closed the door without anybody else waking.
The last thing he needed now was a conversation.
As the anger seeped out of his rested body, Mal once again examined the events that had tumbled out, one upon the heels of another, throughout the previous day.
He still couldn’t think about his mother’s unexpected visit without seething. Dropping that thought, he moved on. The visit from Wella, the things he’d learned while eavesdropping from the barn. The fright he’d experienced that one of his clan brothers might be volunteered as a sacrifice so Shandra could stay on her precious farm.
Mal stopped.
It was easy to think along the same lines as yesterday but then, what point was there in going through it all again?
His assumptions didn’t line up with the events that happened after Wella’s first visit. When it came down to it, rather than volunteering one of Mal’s brothers, Shandra had offered herself up for sacrifice.
Today, she would face an impossible battle in the ring if he didn’t put a stop to it. What an idiot.
So here he was, creeping around the house at dawn, hoping that his offer to go in her place wouldn’t be rejected. He knocked lightly on her door, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he waited for an answer.
When she didn’t come, he knocked upon the door again.
After a minute passed, and still no response came, Mal looked back down the hallway to the room where his clan brothers slept. If he knocked again louder, chances were good they’d wake. It would be hard enough for him to convince Shandra to step back from the fight today without wrangling other voices.
Slowly, Mal turned the door handle, hoping he wouldn’t catch his mistress in an indisposed state.
Her bed lay empty.
Mal’s heart kicked into a higher gear as his eyes swept the barren room. The bed had been made up, and the room tidied.
He ran downstairs to the kitchen and saw a note on the table. “Ricci” was written on the front in Shandra’s flowing hand.
Mal had one hand on the letter about to open it when sense prevailed. Reading what was contained inside the private correspondence wouldn’t get him any closer to Shandra. He tossed it back down and jogged to the front door, no longer caring who he woke.
The stable was empty. The horse gone. From the light dew covering the tracks in the mud by the barn entrance, Shandra had ridden away from the farmhouse some hours ago.
He’d never catch her!
Mal beat his fist against his thigh and groaned. Why hadn’t he tried to talk to the woman last night and make his offer? Now, he’d left it too late, and she’d made a disastrous decision. If he couldn’t reach her in time, then she’d never even know how sorry he was for all the mistakes he’d made the previous day.
Shandra would think he didn’t care. She’d believe he was happy for her to die, rather than prepared to fight for her honor and her freedom.
Even if Ricci had been exaggerating the size of the warrior Shandra would face today, Mal knew Wella didn’t have any weaklings in her harem. She liked her men big and strong and prepared to do anything to win a fight.
The farm only had one horse. With Shandra taking Starburst, he had no hope to catch up with her. Still, Mal ran along the trail, slowing to a jog when his breath heated up—he’d need to keep on at a steady speed if he had any hope of making it to the castle by midday.
The sun beat down on the back of his neck as Mal jogged up the track. He didn’t know how long he’d been traveling but it was long enough for the burning disc in the sky to be almost exactly overhead.
When he’d stopped for some water a few miles back, Mal thought he’d caught a glimpse of Shandra up ahead. A woman ran at a tree, dancing and twirling in and out of its range. Then she jumped up upon a horse and rode out of sight.
With renewed hope, Mal had increased his speed. If it had been Shandra—and with the number of times he’d stared at her over the past weeks and months, there was little doubt the form matched the woman etched into his memory—he might not be too late.
But that was miles back. The castle had only just come into view. The sun overhead told Mal that midday was almost upon him.
He moved from a jog to a sprint, never mind how it heated his lungs.
As the hour had grown later, Mal even considered shifting into dragon form and flying to his destination. When the thought first entered his mind he seized upon it, almost changing on the spot.
Then reality asserted itself.
If he changed now, the castle guards would see him. He’d never get over the walls to rescue Shandra. Wella’s men would shoot a volley of cannon fire and arrows to bring him down out of the sky.
He would do Shandra no good dead and his actions might reveal the hiding place of his brothers. With no mistress to defend them, Wella would scoop them up by the time his body grew cold.
With one last increase in effort, Mal sprinted flat out toward the castle, praying he still had time.
He reached the entrance, and the guards forced him to stop. His efforts caught up to him and Mal panted for breath. While the armored men looked on in amusement, he struggled to produce his name. Finally, they let him go through.
The crowds roared as he walked inside, and he broke into a run again as he recognized the sound. It was the greeting for a warrior entering into the arena. By the skin of his teeth, Mal had made it there in time.
As the people milling around the corridors crushed into a group near the entrance to the public galleries, Mal shoved and push his way through to the front. Some people moved aside willingly, some grumbling, still others tried to grab at him or his clothing in an attempt to pull him into a fight.
He pushed through into the seating just as the crowds gave a second roar, followed by some laughter.
Mal looked over the wall of the pit and saw Shandra entering the ring. She had a blade in one hand and a small shield in the other. Against the gigantic man on the other side, she appeared like a dog going up against a lion. No wonder the onlookers were chuckling. It seemed the fight was a foregone conclusion.
“I can still put a stop to this if you’ll sign yourself into the servitude of the army,” Wella said, a generous offer considering the alternative. “Without the usual stipend sent back to your family, of course. Join your fellow men and women on the front-line of our battle and if you die, at least it will be in an honorable fight!”
In his current position, Mal was too far away to signal to Shandra. His voice would be swallowed by the noise of the crowd, and there was no way he could physically reach her from this balcony. He pushed away from the railing and ran down the corridor again, circling down and around to come out on the ground level.
If Shandra called out, her voice was lost in the din of the arena. Still, the assembly roared and laughed again, so Mal presumed she’d told Wella to go get stuffed.
Finally, Mal ran past a dip in the wall. He could see Shandra close-by, focusing on her opponent.
“Shandra!”
She didn’t turn, didn’t seem to have heard him. Not the slightest twitch to acknowledge his cry.
“Shandra. Turn around. It’s Mal. I’ve come to fight for you!”
Again, the woman steadfastly maintained her gaze on the giant warrior on the opposite side of the ring.
Nearby, some crowd members turned their attention to Mal. He held more interest than a fight that hadn’t yet started. As he kicked his steel-tipped boots at the railing, they nudged each other.
“Come on, love,” one wit called out to Shandra. “Can’t you see he’s come to rescue you?”
“More likely to get her into bed,” another respo
nded, causing a bawdy laugh to ring out.
“Shandra, please! I’m sorry for everything I said yesterday. I didn’t mean it. The boys want to be part of your harem, every last one of them begged me to change my mind.”
“Ooh. It’s a love story,” the first wit from the stand cried out in a falsetto. “Who knew they’d interrupt the fight to put on a romantic play?”
Mal turned his heated face toward them. “Stop making fun of me. Either help or shut your mouth.”
“Shandra, love,” the man yelled. “I think somebody wants to tell you he can’t work out how to turn the oven on.”
“He’s been warming up your bedroom, dear. Time to head home and let him jump in the ring.”
As more of the crowd joined in the false melodrama, Shandra noticed him for the first time. Instead of greeting him with a cry of joy, her expression corrupted into a frown. “What are you doing here? You should be back at the farm.”
Her seeming annoyance suddenly turned to alarm, and she ran close to where Mal stood. “You need to go.” She pointed above his head. “Wella has a front-row seat just up there. If she sees you, she’ll haul you off to join her men.”
Shandra gripped the railings, pressing her face close up as she shouted, to ensure she would be heard. Mal took advantage and grabbed hold of her hands. “I’m going to lift you up and over,” he shouted. “Ready?”
“No!” Shandra tried to free herself. “What are you doing? The fight’s about to start.”
“I know,” Mal shouted back, pulling her hard enough to lift her weight. “I’m taking your place.”
As she resisted, he let out a yell of pure frustration. “Damn it, woman. I’m your lead harem member and if I want to replace you in the ring, it’s my right. Now, let me pull you out of there, or I’ll jump down, and we’ll fight, side by side.”
Given the size of the man waiting opposite inside the arena, watching the proceedings with a raised eyebrow, it made more sense for the two of them to fight. But then they’d both be at risk.
