Veriel's Tales: Night Warriors III

by Brenna Lyons

  * * * *

  The warriors followed Gawen into the training area. Nine women stood across from them. As if by some unspoken agreement, the men who had already latched onto a particular woman were permitted to move to the front of the line.

  Gawen thought it impossible, but he found himself distracted from the thought of claiming Bavin. He found himself drawn to Pauwel’s expression as KreuzStütze scanned the women who waited for choosing. He kept his expression studiously even, but he never once stopped on a face. When he was done, he nodded and walked to the rear of the line. Gawen’s heart sank. Whatever woman Pauwel had been counting on was not present, but before he could corner the young warrior, the ceremony started.

  “Gawen, Lord KlingeStütze, stone lord and master trainer,” Thorald boomed out. “Stand forth now and choose your wife and mate.”

  Gawen crossed the room to the women and took Bavin’s hands gently. “I choose Bavin, if she will have me.”

  Bavin smiled and blushed deeply.

  “Does any man protest this match?” Thorald asked.

  Silence greeted him for a reply, and Gawen felt his muscles relax.

  “How deep is your need, Gawen? Is the joining ceremony one moon hence sufficient to you?”

  Knowing that he could pursue Bavin and take her if she was willing charged him. He could wait for a formal ceremony forever if need be. “I am content with waiting, Thorald.”

  The other warriors were called forth one by one and chose their mates with no interference from another. Predictably, all announced that they were content to wait for the joining to take their chosen wives into their homes. By the sixth, they stood hand in hand with their mates: Gawen with Bavin, Ditrich with Anabilia, Cunczel with Lela, Ger with Ingela, Wil with Evfemia, and Olbrecht with Lenne. Regana had been right on every match.

  Finally, only Pauwel remained for the warriors. Giana, Riberta and Kethe remained for the women. Kethe smiled at her brother and left the floor.

  “Pauwel Lord KreuzStütze, stand forth and choose your wife and mate,” Thorald called.

  Pauwel crossed halfway to the two women and stopped. Giana looked distinctly nervous. Riberta was smug almost to the point of appearing predatory. Pauwel moved his eyes back and forth between them, and a muscle tightened in his jaw.

  “I choose...” He looked from one to the other again and closed his eyes. He shook his head and met Thorald’s eyes resolutely. “I choose not to marry at this time,” he decided.

  The assembled villagers roared in distress, and Thorald held up a hand to still them. “Pauwel, these women have agreed to marry. Your curse demands—”

  “Do not tell me what the curse demands. I know what it demands. At this time, it does not demand me to choose a mate. I will not choose until it makes that demand of me. As for the women, they may consider themselves free of their obligation to me this night.”

  “And when the time comes, if the woman is unwilling?” the leader demanded.

  “Then, I die at Gawen’s blade,” he answered simply, in a quiet, disinterested voice that frightened the master trainer.

  “You are determined?” Thorald asked.

  “I am. I will not choose at this time.”

  “Very well. As it is your right to choose a mate, it is your right not to choose.”

  Pauwel nodded and returned to the doorway.

  Giana left the floor, her face a mask of relief. Riberta glared at the young warrior before she stormed away. Gawen shuddered at Pauwel’s choices: Giana, who doubtless agreed out of a sense of duty, or Riberta. It would have surprised Gawen if any warrior had chosen the self-centered beast that had the face of an angel.

  “You have chosen your women. Protect them, now,” Thorald decreed.

  Six amulets appeared in unison. Six men placed them lovingly over the heads of their chosen women, gave their blessings, and sealed the match. Some sealed it passionately, some in a chaste exchange. The one who worried Gawen was the one who sealed no one to himself that night.

  Bavin stared up at him, blushing demurely, and Gawen cursed himself for allowing anything to steal his attention from her.

  “Go Gawen. You are master trainer, and you must see to him. I will be waiting for you when you are free to come to me,” she finished shyly.

  Gawen kissed her passionately. “I will come for you very soon,” he promised her. He squeezed her hand and launched across the open area after Pauwel, dodging well-wishers on the way. It took him only a few minutes to catch up to Pauwel as he walked from the festivities, looking angry and dangerous.

  “Pauwel, hold,” he demanded.

  The young warrior sighed and stopped.

  “Why?” he asked simply.

  “I could not bind myself to either of them. I could not do it,” he replied, his face all harsh lines in the gathering darkness.

  “I can’t blame you,” Gawen admitted lightly.

  Pauwel smiled a tight smile at that.

  “Walk with me,” he invited.

  KreuzStütze’s smile disappeared, and he nodded sadly as he started moving again.

  “Who is she, Pauwel? Who has captured you so that no other woman will find your heart open?”

  He looked away. “Someone who does not care for me. That much is obvious. Without a kind eye from her, it is all meaningless.”

  “Are you sure no other will do?”

  “I’m not certain of anything but that Riberta and Giana will not.”

  Gawen nodded in relief. “Have you spoken to the lady?” he asked.

  “Of course not,” Pauwel snapped in annoyance. “It would not have been appropriate to announce my intentions. It would not have been kind. What if I had approached her and then died in battle? I could not live with hurting her that way.”

  “Have you thought of speaking to her at this point? Perhaps, she might consent to marry if she knew your feelings. Perhaps, it was only the crush of the ceremony that frightened her and she would look favorably upon you personally.”

  He seemed uncertain for the first time. “What if she doesn’t look favorably on me? If she rebuffs me, I die.”

  “You die if you let this continue. Think about it.”

  Pauwel nodded miserably. “I should go back for Kethe. Night is falling.”

  “She will want to stay and celebrate with friends. The others will see her home. I know Ditrich and Ger will. Come home with me for a quiet meal and a drink.”

  Pauwel looked at him miserably. “I’d rather be alone, Gawen.”

  “Then as master trainer, I order you. This is not a good time for you to be alone.”

  The young warrior smiled tightly again. “For my own good?” he guessed.

  “Certainly.”

  “Don’t you have a chosen to be a nuisance to?” Pauwel complained.

  “She bade me tend to you. If I do less, I bring her displeasure down on myself,” he theorized.

  “Well then, I suppose I have no choice in the matter.” They walked in silence, drinking in the cool, night air as the moon rose over the trees.

  Gawen swept the door to his home open happily. “Regana, we have a guest,” he announced. When she didn’t appear from one of the rooms, he furrowed his brow. “Regana?” he called out.

  He moved from room to room, glancing into the bedchambers in increasing apprehension. The fire was banked and blazing. If Regana left, it was not long ago.

  “Gawen? Could she have gone to the ceremony late?” Pauwel asked quietly.

  “No. We would have passed her on the road.”

  “Then where—”

  He got no further. Regana’s voice, high in panic, reached them. “No,” she screamed. “You can’t do it.”

  Pauwel launched through the open door toward the sound of her voice with Gawen close behind. Their weapons were drawn even before they shot up the path into the trees.

  * * * *

  Regana paced the floor. Her emotions were a knot within her. She had snapped at Gawen when he appealed to her to come
to the choosing. Even if she were not to participate, she could still have watched him choose. He’d left in an obvious upset at her stubborn refusal.

  She couldn’t go. It was that simple. It wasn’t just her own lost aspirations of being chosen by Jörg. If it was just that, she could probably have managed to make the requested appearance and nursed her hurt. Regana wouldn’t be chosen, now or ever. She had surrendered her maidenhead, and allowing another man access to her would generate too many questions that she could not bear to answer — or that might cost her her life in the answering.

  But, there was an even greater fear now. The moon was full and the waxing gibbous past. It marked the second time Regana had missed her moon time.

  The first time, she had been sure it was the stress of the upcoming battle and the fear of being discovered in their deception. By the night Jörg went to the stone with the others, she had been secretly hopeful, imagining that not even Gawen would raise a hand to Jörg if there were a child involved. In the three weeks since that night, Regana had denied the possibility, even to herself. Now, she could no longer deny it. Regana was undone, and not even Gawen could save her, she was sure.

  She’d considered telling him several times, but every time, Regana felt as if her heart would burst if she uttered the damning words to him. He assured her over and over that there was nothing she could not tell him, but this went beyond anything Gawen was prepared for, she was sure. Not to mention, the villagers would make no distinction between a child of Jörg, the warrior, and a child of Veriel, the beast elder. Her life would be forfeit if the father was known, and how could it not be? This was a problem, as Gawen had surmised the morning after the battle, which would only get bigger with time.

  Regana stared at the dark sky morosely. If she had told Jörg that she had missed her moon time, would he still have gone to the stone? She supposed it really didn’t matter now. Not really.

  Drawing a cloak around her, Regana looked back at the empty house she was leaving behind. She needed a walk in the night air. If Jörg came to her, she’d ask for answers. If he didn’t— It made no difference, she supposed. Regana wasn’t even sure what she wanted to ask him except a hopeless ‘why.’

  What would Jörg say if he knew about the child that she carried? What would he do? He had no kinder emotions to love it or her. Still, nothing Jörg did, even to killing them, would be worse than what she already faced, she surmised.

  Regana stepped out into the darkness and darted up the path to their tree. Even in the trees, there was enough light from the full moon to see clearly, not that she had need of a lamp. She had traveled this path many nights without one. What was one more? On all but the darkest of nights, Regana could navigate her way through the paths to the clearing and to Jörg’s chamber without a light to walk with. It had seemed their salvation at the time. Now, she cursed it.

  The clearing opened ahead of her, and she looked at the great tree through bitter tears. “Jörg?” Regana called.

  There was no answer.

  She curled up at the base of the tree, determined to wait all night if she had to — or until Gawen came to drag her home, she reminded herself. Either way, Regana would have to tell Gawen about the child soon, if she could just make her mouth form the words. A rustling over her shoulder drew her attention.

  “Jörg?” she called again.

  But, it wasn’t Jörg who stepped from the trees. It was Tilbrand — Resten, she reminded herself as she launched to her feet and bolted down the path the way she had come. He moved as a flash, faster even than Gawen in training. Regana backed away from him as he stopped down the trail from her. Resten advanced on her, looking hungry and dangerous.

  “What troubles you, Regana? I simply want what was promised me,” he crooned.

  “Promised?” she squeaked as she backed into the great tree. “What promise?”

  “Marclef promised we would retain our rights if we gave him victory in battle. We did that. Now, the night of choosing is upon us. I make my choice, now.”

  “No,” she breathed. Regana clenched her fists against the rough bark to still the shaking that started at his suggestion.

  “You gave your word. You agreed to marry any of the thirteen who chose you.”

  “You’re not a warrior,” she countered uneasily.

  “I was promised my rights,” he growled as he approached her.

  “I have Gawen’s blessing. You cannot touch me,” she warned quickly, hoping to drive him off.

  He hesitated for only a moment before his eyes hardened. “I will find a way to rip it from your throat,” he decided.

  Resten jerked back as he reached for her, but the push of the amulet never materialized. He opened his mouth in a mute scream as long claws, wet with his foul blood extended through his chest. As Resten was lifted up and away from her, Jörg took shape behind him. His face was set in fury, and his eyes shone silver beneath the moonlight as he glanced at Regana.

  He turned his attention back to his foe. “I warned you that I would never allow you to touch her,” Jörg growled as he dropped the beast at his feet only to grab him up by the hair with a hand now pristine and perfect.

  “You can’t kill me,” Resten breathed. “It is not permitted.”

  “I can give you pain,” Jörg promised. “I can give you pain such as you’ve never dreamed possible. And, I will see you dead very soon. It is not an impossible thing.” He turned his silver eyes to Regana again. “Go home. Leave here.”

  “No,” she breathed.

  He looked at her miserably. “Regana, I do not wish for you to see what I am now. I do not want you to see what I must do.”

  “I cannot go, yet.”

  “He heals, Regana. I must act quickly,” Jörg urged her.

  She shook her head adamantly, and he tensed his jaw angrily.

  “As you wish,” he decided.

  Regana sucked in her breath, as Jörg’s teeth lengthened into killing fangs. “No. You can’t do it,” she cried in distress, as his intent became clear.

  Her stomach lurched, as he fell on Resten, tearing at his throat. The sound of his feeding made her physically ill. His eyes closed in something akin to pleasure as he stole the lifeblood from Resten. Regana wrapped her arms around her stomach, shaking in the shock of seeing him like this.

  Jörg pulled his head back. The foul, dark blood on his fangs and dripping from his chin made her stomach clench. Regana fought to remain conscious despite her mind’s rebellion in the face of the idea.

  “I did not want this, Regana, but this is what I am, now. There is no turning back from here. Please, do not look at me that way. Go now — I beg of you.”

  She backed against the trunk of the tree, incapable of answering, incapable of doing more than simply willing her heart to beat, her body to breathe, and her eyes to stay open to the sight as he returned to his feeding.

  This was not Jörg. This was the beast Veriel. Her child had no father. Regana would never admit that the soulless beast before her had any connection to the precious life in her womb. She couldn’t.

  * * * *

  Pauwel barreled toward the sound of Regana’s cry, barely breathing in his panic. Veriel! It was undoubtedly Veriel come for her because he thought her unguarded. Trees whipped at his face and chest as he crashed up the narrow track. Pauwel prayed that her amulet was intact. If the beast could not touch her until they arrived, he would give almost anything in return. To find her unharmed would even be worth giving his life in her defense.

  He ground to a halt, as a clearing opened before him. Regana stood, her back pressed to a tree, shaken and looking in horror at the two beasts before her.

  Veriel raised his head, blood running in thick rivulets off of his chin and splashing in heavy drops on Resten’s face. He smiled a humorless smile. “Lord KreuzStütze, you have arrived just in time.” He threw the beast in his hands toward Pauwel in disdain. “Kill that while it is weakened. Do not let it go to ground and heal. It is not worth the pain
of weakening again.”

  Gawen crashed out next to Pauwel and launched toward Veriel, but the younger warrior stopped him.

  “Protect Regana,” Pauwel ordered.

  Gawen nodded without a thought of who should be ordering whom. When he had placed his larger body between Regana and Veriel, Pauwel strode forward, feeling the Blutjagd take hold in full force. His entire being cried out for Veriel’s blood.

  Veriel smiled in amusement as he came, his face now clean and boyishly handsome again. “Why come for me, KreuzStütze? Take Resten’s life. He is the one who will come for your women again and again until he is dead.”

  Pauwel glanced at the downed beast, barely moving in his dire state. He hesitated. Chances like this would not come often. He delivered a blow to the beast’s heart and took his throat on the way back to his feet.

  Pauwel hesitated again at Regana’s groan. She buried her face in her hands, weaving on her feet. He glared at Veriel and stepped over Resten’s body toward him.

  Veriel put up a hand to still Pauwel’s advance on him. “Hold, KreuzStütze. Tonight is not our time. I will go now. Guard Regana well, Gawen. There are much worse beasts than myself to protect her from, as tonight shows.”

  He sighed and looked over Gawen’s shoulder at Regana’s tear-stained face. “I’m sorry, Regana. You know what I am now. Never come to this place again. I am not what I was, and the others are worse.” Veriel shook his head and growled out several curses as Regana turned from him. He nodded to Pauwel and faded away.

  The young lord looked at the empty space in shock. His senses told him nothing. Pauwel turned several times, scanning for any sign of attack, but none came. Still, for all he knew, Veriel remained in the spot where he once stood — or behind the tree Regana huddled by. Wherever he was, Pauwel had no way of predicting it.

  He locked his eyes on Regana. She looked shocked and frightened in light of Gawen’s rage. Her brother had her by the arm, venting his displeasure at her while she all but cowered from him. Pauwel’s heart softened as he watched her. She’d had enough. Couldn’t Gawen see that?