Invasion (The Warrior Chronicles, 4)

by K. F. Breene

  Rohnan was on him as Shanti stifled his Gift, beating down into his head and crushing his ability. Rohnan grabbed the man by the hair, pulled, and then slid his knife across the throat. A gurgle sounded the end of the Inkna’s life.

  Shanti turned to Arsen, who was peeping over the fence. “You don’t go beyond this point. I know where I am, and I’m going to cause trouble.”

  “Yes, Miss Shanti.”

  “Okay.” Then, because it felt right, she said to him what she, and the other fighters, often said to the children from her village when they left their sight, even for a moment. “I’ll miss you.”

  She almost missed his shy but delighted smile as she turned and met up with Rohnan. Grabbing the Inkna’s ankles, she helped carry him out of plain sight. “We’re leaving a huge trail of blood.”

  “His absence will be noticed. I figured I might as well get rid of a little aggression.”

  “Cracking a neck doesn’t do it for you anymore? My, my, Rohnan.” Shanti dropped her half and dusted off her hands, waiting for Rohnan to fling his half so the body was hidden behind a heap of garbage. “You’re getting pretty violent…”

  “They’ve created a smoldering hatred inside of me, Chulan. Killing in this way won’t cure that, but it does make me feel better. For now.”

  “Well, then. Continue to slit throats. We may only have a small amount of time in which to do so.” Shanti started to jog down the street, keeping to the sides and somewhat out of sight.

  “Yes. We’ve just sounded the alarm. He was one of the stronger Inkna.”

  “And now he is a dead Inkna.” Nearing the next intersection, she felt the touch of power. It was only a glance at first, but it became a pressure. Someone didn’t recognize her mind and wanted a better look.

  The joke was on him.

  She grabbed his mind with her substantial strength and yanked, sucking him in. She held on like gripping a rope, sapping him of energy as they ran. When they reached him, Rohnan pulled him down off his horse, making quick work with his knife. Blood soon pooled under the various holes in the Inkna’s body.

  “Now you’re just showing off.” Shanti helped him carry the Inkna out of sight, and then tethered the horse off to the side and out of plain view. Hopefully no one would come close enough to see the blood. With no time to spare, they started running again, soon reaching Junice’s house.

  The shriek from inside froze Shanti’s insides.

  She burst through the door. A woman lay on the floor, eyes closed. No blood. A thump and another shriek sounded off to the left. The kitchen.

  “No you don’t!” someone shouted.

  A slap of skin on skin rang out, following by a woman’s gasp of pain. A clatter rang through the house.

  With her Gift, Shanti identified three men and two women, one single-minded and the other terrified. Shanti squeezed the three male minds to render them immobile, not sure if they were all Graygual, so reluctant to kill just yet.

  “Run, Junice!” a woman shouted.

  Shanti sped between the homely furniture, arriving at the kitchen just as Valencia jabbed one of the Graygual in the kidney with a carving knife, a grim look on her face. He called out, staggering into the stove and slipping, dragging a pot down with him.

  Valencia stepped over him toward the next Graygual, her brow furrowed with concentration.

  Shanti’s knife got there first, the hilt hitting his neck. He reached for it as his body slammed back into the third Graygual. There was not enough room for everyone in that kitchen. Blood gushed between his fingers and down his front. He sank to his knees.

  The last Graygual stood rigid, his face screwed up in agony. His hand clutched Junice’s front, having yanked her to him as his fellow fighter fell against him. He staggered, ramming her hip against the edge of the table. Her hand came away from her face to catch herself. Blood oozed from a cut on her temple, trickling down her cheek and dripping from her chin. Her palm slid against the table surface, smearing blood.

  Valencia stepped over the dying bodies on the floor. With two hands on the raised hilt of her knife, brow furrowed in concentration, she drove her blade into the Graygual. The point pierced his chest, forcing a groan from the man’s mouth. His fist tightened on Junice’s dress front, wrenching her to him again as he staggered backward into the wall. A framed picture tumbled down, rattling to the floor in its cheap wooden frame. Valencia yanked her knife free as Shanti applied more force, finally driving the Graygual to his knees.

  Valencia stabbed down a second time. He clearly wasn’t dying fast enough for her taste.

  His grip finally released. Junice stumbled to the side, trying to regain her bearing on wobbly knees. Rohnan waded in, grabbing Junice and whisking her up into his arms. With the balance of a natural fighter, he threaded through the bodies and blood on the ground and rushed her into the outer room. Her wound was not life threatening, but would require aid.

  “Well then.” Valencia snatched a little towel off the stove. Without haste, standing next to a man sounding his death rattle, she ran the blade against the towel, cleaning off the blood. She slipped it into the sheath, all safe again. That done, she looked up with a nonchalant expression. “Not exactly like killing a pig, but close enough.” She dropped the knife into her apron pocket and made her way out of the kitchen.

  As Shanti blinked after her for a moment, one thing became clear: they had more fighters than she’d originally thought. These women might not be trained, but they would help take back their city. Shanti had just guaranteed that that would happen sooner rather than later.

  Chapter Nineteen

  As the light crawled across the expansive floor, Qadir sat before his dinner. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the savory aroma of a dinner prepared by a skilled artisan. In front of him, swirling with colors, sat a hand-blown glass of the finest quality. True craftsmen, these people. Their goods could fetch a handsome price at market.

  He would make a note to pass on this information, but it was hardly his discovery. After all, the Inkna’s botched attempt at a takeover had made these people infamous. The Inkna salivated with the desire to torture and kill, desiring vengeance for their dead kinsmen.

  The hatred was cyclical. After all, the Inkna had started it.

  He paused in his efforts of readying a bite as the sounds of his Battle Commander’s footsteps echoed down the hall. Qadir waited until the man came into view, his shoulders back and his six stripes worn proudly on his breast. Something haunted his eyes, though. He didn’t have his usual air of confidence and superiority.

  That meant something had gone wrong.

  Qadir lowered his fork slowly, watching his Battle Commander come to a precise stop. His body poised and hands at his sides, his man waited for Qadir to speak first, as he should.

  Scenarios flashed through Qadir’s head. He loved to anticipate his enemy. This one especially. The woman was such an enigma. She seemed to defy him at every turn, presenting him with problems he hadn’t thought possible, let alone likely.

  Of course, this was just the raven-haired man in question. The Captain. Judging by the setup of the city, its organization and prosperity, and the love of his people, he was at the upper tier of adversaries. He would present a challenge, Qadir had no doubt. But divine? Assuredly not. There couldn’t be more than one Fate-touched. Whatever had gone wrong was most probably easily remedied.

  “Yes?” Qadir finally asked.

  “Sir, we’ve had a problem. It seems as though the men sent to deliver the message to the Captain have disappeared.”

  Qadir reached for his wine. “Surely they were just destroyed. I expected that.”

  “No, sir. They didn’t leave the city.”

  Perplexed, Qadir paused, his wine hovering above the table. Scenarios shifted.

  “There is more,” the Battle Commander went on. “Two guards have vanished as well. And those that carried out three of the dead men have not returned.”

  Qadir’s hand in the air stopped the
babble. “Those are separate situations. The last is as I expected. They left the city, were discovered by the enemy, and killed. Has a head been sent by the enemy?”

  “No, sir. We have heard nothing from them. I sent a small team to check out the disappearance. They found a few kill sites, but no bodies. There were hoofprints around the area and the dead men have been carried away. In addition, their men have been scouting the perimeter, but not engaging.”

  “They saw their men dead and claimed vengeance.” Qadir waved the issue away. The loss would barely be felt. “What of this other occurrence?”

  “Two guards have not been seen since their shift last night. There has been a report of neglect about a third guard as well—he left his post early—but that has happened before. As of my report, they haven’t seen him, so it is probable he is also gone.”

  Qadir sat forward. “Are all the prisoners accounted for?”

  “Yes, sir. There have been no uprisings that we are aware of.”

  New scenarios filtered through Qadir’s mind. He replayed the report from the Captain’s first landing. The men they took, the power used, the retreat…

  They could have tried harder to gain entry. Without knowing what awaited them in their city, they should have tried harder, needing to know what had become of their people.

  And then there was this day of waiting. Endless waiting, it would seem to the Captain, while Qadir held their people under the knife. That would drive a good commander stir crazy. They wandered the walls, yes, but they didn’t engage except for the little incident with their own men. If anything, that incident showed that they wanted to fight, but were being held on a leash.

  The question was, whose leash?

  “Do you suppose the Captain is the type of warrior to remain under orders while his men are under attack?” Qadir asked his Battle Commander.

  “That man has been described as coiled and ready, sir. From what my men have seen, he is excellent with a sword, incredibly strong in power, has a skilled force under him, and seemed intelligent. My men were reasonably assured he would prove extremely difficult to defeat in a fight.”

  Qadir’s lips curled in a smile. “The violet-eyed girl has breached the walls. Find her.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Shanti stood by the door to Eloise’s living room, her mind made up. Rohnan waited beside her, his ire rising. He knew what Shanti had planned, and she would have to go through him to accomplish it.

  So be it. She’d assumed that would be the case, anyway.

  Alena paced the floor. The Women’s Circle gathered around. Inky night coated the windows, temporarily hiding the pile of Graygual and Inkna bodies stashed in the refuse area. There were too many, though. They’d be missed, if they weren’t already. Shanti had ensured that they’d run out of time. Worse, she knew for certain that there was no way they could beat the Hunter with their limited resources. Without the Shadow, Shanti would get taken, Cayan with her, and the rest would almost certainly be killed.

  What was the point in putting off the inevitable if it cost lives to do so? It didn’t make sense. She’d made a mess of this whole situation. It was time to make it right.

  “I realize you don’t like it, but I have to turn myself in. It’s the best course of action.” Shanti wiped the hair from her sweaty face. “I am what he wants. Cayan with me. We can go with him now and escape somewhere along the way. The Hunter will treat us like royalty.”

  “He’ll treat you like livestock,” Rohnan corrected.

  “Royalty among prisoners, then. Same thing.”

  “Absolutely not!” Valencia uttered.

  “No!” Alena stopped and faced Shanti, her eyes pleading.

  “It wouldn’t help, would it?” Tabby asked, wringing her apron.

  “Of course it would help.” Shanti kept her voice soft but firm. “He will take me and leave this place, his men with him. I’ll be protected. The Hunter needs me in one piece for Xandre. And he’ll need to travel. I will have plenty of time to escape, and I’ll have a lot of help to do so. By then the Shadow will have shown up—”

  “I forbid it!” Fabienne said. “Forbid it!”

  The other women voiced their agreement. Shanti half turned to look toward the door. They were speaking with their emotions, not with logic, and Shanti would be lying if she said it didn’t affect her. These people only had her to blame for all of this. All of this. From day one, she’d been a bane to this city, protected, sheltered, and all at their peril. For them to object to her making things right touched a place deep inside her.

  It didn’t change her duty. She owed this to them, if nothing else. “This is for the best.”

  “Don’t be daft.” Eloise took a sip from her teacup. “Besides, one person making decisions that will affect the whole Circle will not be tolerated. One person making decisions that will affect the whole city is a gross misuse of power. You are one of us now. You will follow our rules. And our rules dictate that we discuss this and agree on the best course of action. Now. Who would like to speak?”

  “Cayan has the power to rule this city alone…” Shanti quirked a brow.

  “We had no say in that.” Eloise sniffed. It was clearly a sore point. “And we’ve been trying to get him a wife to even that out. The city should be run by two, at the very least.”

  “With you giving your say to one of them, no doubt,” Shanti muttered.

  Eloise sniffed again. That was a yes.

  “The Captain asks for support from his men, his officers most of all,” Junice said. She sat on the couch with a wrapped head. Thankfully, though it had bled a lot, her wound had been fairly superficial. “When a large decision will affect them, or the city, he takes counsel. In the past, the city has been ruined by unfit leaders. It doesn’t happen often, and hasn’t for generations on generations, but no ruler of this land can be left unchecked.”

  “There. See? Now, as I was saying, who would like to speak?” Eloise looked around.

  “She protected me,” Junice said. “If it wasn’t for me, we wouldn’t be discussing this.”

  “Those weren’t the first we killed,” Shanti argued.

  “I was the first person she protected,” Ruisa said in a loud, sure voice. “If anything, this is my fault. Maybe I should be the one to turn myself in.”

  Shanti crinkled her brow. “How could that possibly help?”

  “How could you doing it?” Ruisa shot back.

  “S’am, if they took you, we’d be left defenseless again.” Leilius withered as the women’s eyes turned toward him.

  “Listen,” Shanti said, moving further into the room, quieting the backlash. “Here are the facts. If I turn myself in, the Hunter will take me, and all the men he needs to secure me, and leave the city. That’s it. He will no longer have need of any of you. He doesn’t care about you or this city. You’ll be safe. If I don’t turn myself in, he will kill everyone in his path to get to me. Once he has me, then what do you think he’ll do?”

  Shanti eyed everyone with a hard look. It was her battle gaze. No one spoke. She answered the question. “He will leave the city with his men. Do you see? The outcome is the same. It’s the way we reach the conclusion that changes. Death versus no death. My goal is to save lives. Your lives.”

  Silence descended on the room. The women looked at her, or each other, with wide eyes. A tear dripped down Tabby’s face.

  “I call bullshit.”

  A few people gasped. Eyes found Gracas, who had stepped forward. Hands balled into a fist, he stared at Shanti with simmering anger. “If not for you, we would already be dead, S’am. That first invasion with the Mugdock would’ve been a shitstorm. You are the reason we pulled out of that.”

  Murmurs sounded among the women. Gracas nodded at them. “Yes, exactly. Didn’t tell you that, did she? Then she was the reason we were able to rescue Sanders. Without her he’d be dead, the Inkna would’ve moved in here to get our stuff, and we’d all be dead or slaves or who knows what. And if you get t
aken, guess what’ll happen? That’s right, the Inkna will finally get to move in again. They want our city, I’m as sure as I’m standing here. The Hunter will take off with our strongest protection, and then those others will take what’s left. Only this time, they’ll kill all of the army because they hate us. So if you leave, S’am, you’ll be killing us, not saving us. You’re full of shit.”

  Leilius cleared his throat.

  “Yeah, I know I’ll get punched in the head for saying that, but I don’t care.” Gracas looked around at the women before back at Shanti. “I’d rather get punched in the head and have you stay than say nothing and lose you again.”

  Warmth spread through Shanti’s middle. She didn’t know what to say.

  “Well then. It’s time for a vote.” Eloise looked around at the women. “Who votes that Shanti should stay and defend the city, even though it will mean fighting and possibly death, raise your hand…”

  All the hands shot up. The warmth within Shanti spread to fill her up. Tears glistened in Rohnan’s eyes.

  “And who would rather she sacrifices herself at our peril?” Eloise’s eyebrows rose. “Yes, that is what I thought.”

  “I think we should also discuss, at a later date, what language we will, and will not, tolerate within these meetings…” Fabienne gave Gracas a poignant stare.

  “I think we’ll allow him an exception just this once.” Eloise took another sip of her tea before setting it down on the table. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, we need to discuss how to get our city back. Bring out the map.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The next day, Sanders walked through their tiny camp with an impatient air. The sun was just coming up over the mountains, blazing through the sky in a burst of color. The men sat around the fire, quietly watching the flames dance. A pot sat among the rocks just within the fire pit, only a little water bubbling in the bottom. The rest had boiled away. No one seemed to have noticed.