Where was everyone?
Three of his soldiers stepped into the middle of the village with him. There, tied to a pole, was a sight for sore eyes. Stripped to the waist and tied to some kind of ceremonial pole was the traitor himself.
“Brioll?” Sulan laughed and handed his horse’s lead to one of his other men. “I guess you didn’t get that far after all, did you?”
Brioll glared back at him. Sulan could see how he had rubbed his skin raw along his arms and chest trying to get out of the ropes holding him.
“Sulan, you and your men need to—”
“Commander Sulan,” he emphasized. “I’m still your commander, Brioll. You might have deserted, but that doesn’t set you free from the service of the Rikketh army.”
“Fine. Commander. You need to leave. This is a trap.”
“Don’t make me laugh again, Brioll. Haisson, cut our traitor down.”
The hulking soldier on his right pulled out his short sword and walked around to the backside of the pole. Using the blade, he began cutting through Brioll’s bonds.
Until the spear flew through his neck, piercing him from one side to the other, putting him down on the ground, choking and sputtering.
Sulan drew his sword and ordered the other two soldiers to draw their weapons. “We’re under attack! Rikketh! To me!”
A few more soldiers ran into the clearing here in the middle of the village, all of them armed with swords or hefting the special arms they had brought with them. But, at the same time, Sulan heard screams of pain from other areas. His men. Dying.
He looked up at Brioll, at the traitor’s smug face, in time to see him smirk and mouth four simple words.
“I told you so.”
Chapter 5
Naga’su had thrown her spear with a mighty heave, taking first aim against the foreigners invading their village. She was one of the best fighters of the Ba’nar. It was her right to draw first blood. She was happy to see the spear find its mark in the soldier man’s neck, above the line of his armor, where it would do the most damage.
Now the real fighting would begin.
She and the others sprang forth from their hiding places below trapdoors in the sand. The paleskinned soldiers fell at their hands easily. This was no fight. It was not even a contest. She laid her knee into the neck of a dying soldier and screeched in glory to her ancestors as the man died.
Next to her, one of her own people fell over, dead. Then another. As she watched, two others fell. Arrows blossomed from their hearts as if planted there. What trickery was this?
* * *
Brioll was becoming a nuisance.
“You need to get out of here, Sulan. I’ve seen how these people fight. They won’t let you walk away!”
“Shut up, traitor.” Sulan nodded to the two soldiers with him, and they took up ready positions. “You never wanted us to make this mission. You were always whining on about how it wasn’t right to take anything from another race, as if Rikketh should stay poor and feeble for all of its history. You are a fool.”
“Sulan, listen to me. They’ll tear you apart!”
He snorted at the traitor’s fear. “Just because they tied you to a pole means nothing. Watch, and learn.” Standing and raising his sword up he called to his men, “Now!”
His soldiers brought their crossbows up, fitted with mechanical firing mechanisms and a slot that fired three bolts at once. The things were deadly accurate, and every shot was almost guaranteed to be a kill shot.
The first few Ba’nar fell over dead. They would not be the last.
Sulan was so busy gloating that he failed to see the two things happening at once behind him. Brioll was working the ropes looser where they had started to be cut, and a tall black-skinned warrior was creeping up on him with a metal-tipped spear held high and ready.
Gat’ulan sprung high in the air and came down on Sulan like retribution itself. The commander of the Rikketh army never felt the spear that cut down into him, driven into the top of his shoulder by gravity, as well as the force of a Ba’nar warrior enraged at what was happening to his people.
Brioll saw the other soldiers turn at the strangled scream of their commander. He saw the crossbows with their deadly bolts take aim, saw Gat’ulan crouch and sneer at them like this was going to be a straight-on fight. He had already pulled his spear back out of Sulan. The man had no idea what was coming.
But Brioll did.
He worked at his bonds harder now, felt and heard some of the rope strands snap, and then he was free and moving. He fell upon the soldier to their left, knocking him to the ground, pounding him unmercifully with his knees and elbows, landing a vicious strike on the jaw that snapped the soldier’s head back and rendered him unconscious.
And as Brioll was standing up again, the crossbow in the other soldier’s hand fired and the bolts struck Gat’ulan in his chest.
Brioll could do nothing.
Taking the sword from the hand of the soldier lying at his feet, Brioll flung it through the air as hard as he could. It struck point first against the chain mail over the soldier’s stomach. Enough to hurt, not enough to do damage.
These new crossbows had a quick reloading system that had never been tried before anywhere. The soldier was already recovered from Brioll’s weak attack and reloading the bolt cartridge. Brioll had no time to think. He ran and scooped up Gat’ulan’s spear and used it to knock away the aim of the crossbow just as the soldier fired it. Spinning, aiming on instinct, he drove the sharp metal tip of the spear through the other man’s eye.
The shaft broke off as it exited the back of his skull.
Brioll looked around him. The entire center of the village was empty. He could hear fighting in other places. His own countrymen were here to slaughter these innocent people. This was never going to be a negotiation, never a matter of Rikketh asking permission to take metals and jewels from the Ba’nar. This was always going to be an extermination of an entire race to line a greedy Kingdom’s pockets.
He had no sympathy for the soldiers who had died. None. Any of them could have taken the same opportunity he had to leave. They hadn’t. So he had no care for their deaths at all. He was only worried about one person.
Naga’su.
Chapter 6
She took down a third soldier from behind, cutting into him through his mail with a hard strike from her knife, then twisting the blade and withdrawing it, turning and ready for the next one.
So many of her people were dead. She should have listened to Brioll. He had tried to warn them and they hadn’t listened. He was a foreigner and he was weak and he was stupid, but they should have listened to him.
A soldier ran at her from her right, long sword flashing. She easily dodged his sloppy swing and brought her spear up this time, directly under his chin and through the soft muscle. Before she could disengage from him another soldier spun into view and fired one of those cursed crossbows. She used the soldier’s body on her spear as a shield and after the bolts had struck into him she came out with her knife and dispatched this new threat.
She was tired. The prolonged fighting was draining everything she had. When the next attacker came upon her she very nearly missed his approach and only brought her knife up at the last moment to have it blocked by the spear he carried.
Spear?
She looked again, saw Brioll’s face. Blood spattered across it and she knew that he had been fighting, too. The question was, on whose side did he fight?
“I’ve got your back,” he said suddenly. Although the phrase was strange to her, she took its meaning: he would protect her as she fought.
“You are free now, you know,” she said to him. “You can always run away.”
Her heart thumped in her chest. Would he take his opportunity? Would he run away and leave them here to live or die on their own? Would this man who had wormed his way into her heart now break it?
He shook his head at her. “You said I was your prisoner. I guess I still am, un
til you release me.”
Emotion swelled in her. She caught the back of his head and forced him to kiss her, held him there to taste him as fighting waged on around them. When she broke away from him she nodded decisively.
“Yes. I will release you when it pleases me. It does not yet please me.”
His answering smile was not hard to look at.
Together, they fought through more of the soldiers. He kept his promise to her, fending off several attackers from behind as she cut through soldiers left and right. Something snagged her leg at one point and she saw the blood, but didn’t have time to do anything about it. Her nearly naked body was sheathed in sweat now, stunning and glorious, and it felt like she should catch fire at any moment.
When there were no more soldiers to fight, no more enemies to kill, she stood, panting, sucking in breath after breath, and basked in the glow of victory.
It was over.
Brioll stood next to her, leaning on the spear he had used through the fight. Only now, when she had a moment to stand and think, did she recognized its carved length. It was Gat’ulan’s.
“Why do you have that spear?” she asked him.
He could not look her in the eye. Instead, he handed her the spear as if it were a talisman. “He died fighting bravely. I think, I mean, I’m sure that you would have been proud of him.”
Naga’su took the spear from his hands, dropping her own weapons to the bloodied ground. More of her own people came forward now, some injured, most bloodied across their bodies. She only noticed them in the edges of her vision. Gat’ulan was dead. The man who had shared her bed and her sex for so long now was gone. She had been so torn about her feelings for him after Brioll had fallen into her life just one day ago. And now, she would never have a chance to resolve her heart’s questions.
It was not fair.
She fell to her knees, raising the spear up high over her head. She held it there for just a moment, then cried the warrior’s cry to the heavens. Dozens of voices joined hers. They had won this day. But they had lost so much in the process. They had lost family and friends and warriors. Things would never be the same again.
“This one is alive!” someone shouted from nearby.
On the ground, a soldier in tattered clothes and rent chain mail groaned and curled his arm around a wound to his abdomen. Naga’su could see that the wound was bad, but not life threatening.
She would fix that.
“No, wait,” Brioll said to her, catching her arm as she went to stand. He must have seen the murderous intent in her eyes, because he held her fast.
“Let me go!” she demanded.
“Wait a moment. Please. Let me handle this.”
She glared at him. “You are not of the Ba’nar. We take care of our own.”
“Naga’su,” he said, saying her name in a low, calm voice. “Trust me.”
She swallowed. Without knowing why, she did trust him. She trusted him like she had trusted few men. She trusted him like she had trusted Gat’ulan. She gripped his spear now and called to him in her mind as she would her ancestors. What should she do?
“Trust me,” Brioll asked of her again.
So she did.
Nodding, she waved a hand to indicate to the others that they should let him do what he would. He went over to the soldier, kneeling beside him, and talking loud enough for everyone now gathered around them to hear.
“Hello, Theyor. How’s the wound?”
The soldier on the ground, Theyor, groaned and reached for a knife still in its sheath on his belt.
“Uh, no.” Brioll took the knife away and tossed it aside. “You don’t want to do that. Unless you want to end up dead. Do you want to die today, Theyor? Or do you want to live?”
It was a moment before the man answered. “I have a choice in that, traitor?”
Brioll ignored the taunt. “Yes. I’m giving you that choice. Of course, I can’t speak for the Ba’nar here. They kind of want to mount your head on a pike. Or something like that. It’s all a little unclear to me, but either way it ends with you dead. So. Do you want to hear my offer?”
Theyor didn’t say anything. He just lay there.
“Good. I’ll take that as a yes. Here’s my offer, Theyor. See, what the King wanted to do here was never a good idea. That’s why I left the…service of the military. I just wanted to get away, but instead I ended up here. Good thing, too. For me. See, the Ba’nar didn’t really need my help. They took down your elite regimen all on their own.”
Liar, Naga’su thought to herself. Without him here to help her at the end of the fight, there was no doubt in her mind that she would have died. His praise for her people did not go unnoticed, however. All around them, the faces of her people beamed with pride. Brioll had managed to say just the right thing. For a stupid foreigner, he was smarter than he looked.
“Now, see,” Brioll continued, “here’s what I think should happen. Someone needs to go back to the King and tell him that Rikketh is to stay out of the Orcirin desert. Completely. Because the Ba’nar are waiting for them now, and if they come back, well, you saw the results today.”
Theyor spit. “You talk about Rikketh like you’re not a part of it.”
“I’m not. Not anymore. Not after this.”
“Traitor.” The soldier sat up now, with effort, and glared down at his hands where they pressed against his wound. “Deliver your own messages.”
“See, I would do that. Except for two things. I don’t care to be killed when I get there. And if I go, and leave you here, then you’re dead. My way, both of us get to live.”
Naga’su could tell this Theyor was finally catching on to his situation. He could take Brioll’s offer and leave their desert, or he could stay and die. Honestly, Naga’su could not care less which he chose. Gat’ulan’s staff could feed on blood once more tonight and still not have its fill.
Brioll leaned in closer to Theyor, although his voice stayed loud. “Better choose quickly. These people aren’t known for their patience.”
Some of the color left Theyor’s pale face as he looked around him. Finally, slowly, he stood up. Brioll stood with him, warily blading his body in case Theyor got it into his head to attack. As it turned out, he chose the wiser of his options.
“I’ll go,” he said, “and I’ll report what happened here to the King. All of it,” he added as a threat, “including your treachery. But don’t be surprised if the King doesn’t order more troops into the desert to avenge our fallen.”
“Come if you will!” Naga’su shouted. She drove Gat’ulan’s spear deep into the ground at her feet. “We will meet you on the sands and kill you all! So says Naga’su of the Ba’nar!”
Cheers and shouts of agreement rose from around her until she could only barely hear Brioll say to Theyor, “So says me, too. Now get out of here, before they change their mind.”
Chapter 7
It was the work of a few hours to move the dead. The soldiers were brought miles away from the village, dumped on the burning sands of the desert, and left to rot. They were not worthy of a burial. They could be food for the crowned lizards and the lions and the other beasts. Tomorrow, hunters from the Ba’nar would go to kill the animals attracted to the soldier’s rotting meat. The village would eat well.
Their own dead were brought to the Sands of Time, an area of shifting white sand that had been the Ba’nar’s traditional burial site for as long as there had been Ba’nar. Digging into the soft grains of sand was tricky, but it was an honorable thing to help lay to rest their own. Everyone of age in the village helped with the task, including the Elder.
And including Brioll.
As they dug, they found raw jewels scattered among the sands. Rubies and emeralds, mostly, with one or two raw diamonds. Brioll’s eyes went wide and Naga’su expected him to try to steal some for himself. She was surprised when he dropped every one of the colored stones back into the sacred gravesite. Perhaps he was more unlike the other soldiers than she had r
ealized.
When all had been laid deep beneath the top layer of sands, the last body put in place was that of Gat’ulan. Naga’su did the task herself, folding his arms and laying her hand briefly on his fine chest to recite her ancestor’s prayer of farewell. She would be able to talk to him now just as she did her mother’s mother. He would guide her from the next realm.
The sands were replaced and a fire lit on top of them, built to burn brightly. It would mark their people’s passing. In this way, they honored their own.
That night, after wounds had been tended to and tears shed, Naga’su went to her hutch. It was a dome made of clay and layered over with sand to keep it cool. It had always been enough for her. Whenever Gat’ulan had stayed the night with her it had been cramped, but in a way that made it feel comfortable. Now, as she pushed aside the hanging curtain that was her door, it just felt empty to her.
Only, it wasn’t.
Inside, sitting on her bed, his chest and arms still bare, was Brioll. His light hair was mussed and his face was pale skin was streaked with dirt and sand. He was still beautiful in her eyes.
He raised his hands, bound together now with rope. “Was this necessary?”
She smiled for the first time in hours. “It pleased me.”
“Oh, really. Didn’t I prove myself to you today? Fighting alongside of you? Helping to bury your dead? Offering to teach you how to defend your homes against Rikketh if they invade again?”
She waved a hand in front of him to get him to shut his mouth. For a man, he spoke far too much. “Do you really think that Rikketh will come back? That your kind will attempt to seize what is ours by force again?”
“Count on it.”
She stepped closer to him, and he pushed himself back on her thin mattress on the low bed. “Then tell me, soldier man, what was the point in letting that Theyor go?”
Captured--A Sexy Medieval Fantasy Interracial BWWM Romance Novelette from Steam Books Page 3
