Heir of Fain [Faxinor Chronicles #1]

by Michelle L. Levigne

  "Has she truly been all right?” she asked, turning back to Lucius.

  "A very good soldier,” the man assured her. “Now, what has happened since you left us? I assume your mother is safe and your quest complete?"

  "More than complete.” Andrixine turned to Kalsan, her eyes bright for a moment. “We have much to tell you, and much to prepare for."

  * * * *

  THEY JOINED BATTLE with the Sendorland soldiers—forty men, leading their horses because of the roughness of the terrain—at dawn three days later, in a ravine two hours’ ride from Snowy Mount. Brother Klee had sent word to Maysford, and the blacksmith, Brick, sent out the call, putting the countryside on alert. A shepherd boy saw the invaders’ campfire and sent word to Snowy Mount, giving the defenders the advantage of choosing their battlefield.

  Andrixine sat astride Grennel on the lip of the ravine the invaders followed, looked down into the misty, rubble-strewn, bush-clogged bottom, and smiled. She didn't mind the chill of the night still soaking her bones or the bruises from rocks that had poked through her blankets and Kalsan's best efforts to make her comfortable. She didn't care the enemy outnumbered her warriors with the king's company still a week's ride away at best. She didn't mind the early hour—it was to their advantage. All that mattered was that the battle would go nowhere near Snowy Mount.

  With the element of surprise, the early hour and knowledge of the terrain on their side, her warriors and the king's soldiers could meet and beat back, if not defeat the invaders.

  The important question in all this was whether these Sendorland soldiers were spies, the leading edge of a larger force, or a lone band coming on the scholars’ retreat in arrogant confidence. They didn't look threatening to her as they picked their way through the morning mist, their cloaks hanging heavy with damp, watching the ground under their feet, clinging to the reins of their horses. The horses slowed and held back, Andrixine noted. The animals were wiser than their masters, knowing ambush waited ahead of them, and unwilling to meet it.

  A questioning whinny floated up through the heavy, chill air from the ravine floor. The light grew a little brighter, the air a bit warmer as the rising sun nibbled at the gray filling it. Another horse called from the ravine.

  Silence grew thick and heavy with waiting and watching tension. Andrixine stood in her stirrups, waiting for the first sign the Sendorland forces saw her band. She rested her hand on the Spirit Sword at her hip, vibrating with a life that disturbed and exhilarated her.

  There—a head lifted, eyes moving from scanning the unsure footing to study the sky. The face looked pale against a thin line of black beard. Even from a long bowshot away, Andrixine saw the man's eyes widen, and he opened his mouth to speak.

  "Go back!” she shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth. “If you do not turn around, you will be destroyed!"

  Shouts and curses and the screams of startled horses were her answer. The Sendorland soldiers continued forward. She looked to Jultar. Her war chief nodded, smiling grimly, and raised his sword.

  "Down!” she shouted, drawing the Spirit Sword and raising it high.

  The blade exploded with light. Her warriors leaped forward to force the battle exactly where they had chosen.

  The invaders in the ravine scrambled to mount their horses. Risking their animals’ legs on rough ground, they dashed toward smoother, open land beyond the ravine. As Andrixine wanted.

  The ravine widened, and the ground sloped down to flatten into a plain perfect for battle. The rubble strewing the landscape was scattered far enough not to endanger their horses.

  Grennel streaked down the slope to the fighting ground. This was what he had been bred for. Andrixine felt his eagerness shuddering through his straining muscles.

  Her warriors—she could actually feel they were her warriors—raced at her heels in a clatter of hooves and chain mail, and arrows rattling in quivers. The ground dropped swiftly, bringing them to the plain moments before the Sendorland party broke out into the open. Andrixine turned Grennel to face them and saw the last shreds of mist evaporate as sunlight lanced over the edge of the ravine. She stood in her stirrups again, raising the sword, and let out the war cry filling her throat. Kalsan joined her, then the rest.

  It bounced off the rocks, off the invaders, off the very sky itself. The first riders emerging from the ravine yanked hard on their reins, making their horses stumble to a ragged halt. Ten lengths away, Andrixine saw their faces clearly now—confusion, dismay, anger.

  "This is your last chance to turn around,” Jultar roared as their forces slowed. “There is nowhere you can cross Reshor's borders that you will not be met and stopped."

  "You only have ten warriors behind you,” a soldier called. “Why should we listen to you?” His voice cracked on the last three words as the twenty soldiers in King Rafnar's livery appeared behind Andrixine's warriors.

  A Sendorland soldier blew a trumpet blast. Andrixine shuddered in dismay as the enemy dug their heels into their mounts and leaped forward, forcing the battle.

  Behind her, Kalsan let out a shout and stood in his stirrups as his horse darted forward. The other warriors took up his cry, the soldiers echoed him and the ground shuddered under their horses’ hooves.

  After that, she was only aware of the shouts of men, the ringing clash of swords and the blue glow of the Spirit Sword in her mind as it guided her hand. Andrixine guided Grennel with her knees, clinging tight with her legs, swinging a spear with one hand and the Spirit Sword with the other. Her chain mail shimmered and chimed with every sharp movement. Her helmet sat light and hot on her head, absorbing the heat of the rising sun. She ignored it.

  Horses slammed up against Grennel, threatening his balance. He turned and kicked and bit, protecting his rider, keeping her legs from being smashed between his and other massive, sweating bodies.

  She knew Kalsan was there, fighting to keep close to her, constantly watching for the stray arrow or sword or an enemy coming up behind her. She felt his concern every time his glance touched her. Andrixine fought tears and didn't know if she was happy or sad—but she knew he was her life, higher than her vows, Faxinor or her family.

  Fire touched her leg. She bit her tongue and turned, swinging the spear up and over. The man who had cut the shallow slice into her thigh stared, his eyes rolling up in his head to follow the arch of the spear down into his chest. A silent shriek opened his mouth as the momentum propelled the spear out his back. He twitched once, twisting sideways off his horse. Andrixine nearly dropped her sword to hold the spear and prevent it being yanked from her hand.

  "Are you all right?” Kalsan shouted through the momentary calm around her.

  "Fine.” She looked around for another attacker, then touched her slashed trousers. Blood pooled from the slice in her muscle, soaking into the thick cloth. Swallowing hard, Andrixine pressed the flat of her sword against her violated flesh. Fire and ice raced through her body, twisting the breath from her lungs. Then it was over. Only dried blood and a slight swelling showed where she had been wounded. That, and the jagged cut in her clothes.

  Then another soldier came at her, his spear raised, and she turned to face him.

  The battle ended when all the Sendorland soldiers had lost their mounts. Two were on foot, staggering in retreat. The others were dead or trying to get back to their feet. Not one was unmarked. Those who still held their weapons dropped them with dull thuds on the churned ground at Jultar's order.

  Andrixine slumped in her saddle, feeling the aches and stings, the bruises and sweat and strained muscles. The heat hit her with the force of a toppling wall of stone. Her hand cramped around the hilt of the sword. She doubted she could let go without prying her fingers free with a chisel. Her arm ached as she wiped the sword clean and sheathed it. She caught a motion from the corner of her eye and, turning, saw two horses and riders appear in the mouth of the ravine.

  "Catch them!” Derek shouted from his vantage point on the ravine edge high above. He ra
ised his trumpet to his lips and blew an ear-cracking blast as the newcomers fled.

  Andrixine shook her head, feeling a weary daze settle around her shoulders. Brenden and Rogan darted across the churned plain, their horses leaping over bodies and gouges in the soil. Derek darted down the slope, urging his horse faster, holding on with one hand while he tried to keep blowing his horn. Andrixine knew she should try to stop him but she was too tired, too numb. If one of the wounded enemy tried to hurt him, her brother would learn caution and not at too high a price.

  Somehow, she moved on. As leader, it was her duty to tally the cost of the battle, to count the wounded and dead and dying. A corner of her mind waited for the first sign of Derek's return as she slid off Grennel and walked across the torn battlefield.

  Brother Klee appeared with five healers from Snowy Mount, dispensing salves, bandages, wine and food to the wounded on both sides. Andrixine felt useless as she walked with Jultar, inspecting damaged weapons and wounded horses, indicating a place to bury the dead and another place to set up a tent for those who needed more extensive help and could not be moved.

  None of her warriors had died. She concentrated on that every time she saw a blood-soaked bandage. No one would lose a hand or leg or eye or arm. Xandar had the worst injury. A battleaxe had crashed down on his helmet, splitting it in three pieces and opening a thumb-wide gash across his scalp from forehead to behind his right ear. Brother Klee had to shave all his hair away before he could clean, salve and sew the cut. Xandar complained of dizziness, but his vision was steady and he didn't lose the drugged wine he drank. He would recover.

  Kalsan was bruised and filthy from falling when his saddle was cut from under him and he rolled through dirt and the remains of a slashed water bag. Otherwise, both he and Fala were unhurt, and Andrixine sent up a silent prayer of thanks when she found out. Kalsan took charge of the prisoners, supervising them as they dug graves for their fallen comrades. He let them wash and eat some bread and cheese before making them dig.

  Then Derek's horn cut through the moaning of the injured, the snorting of tired horses, the sound of shovels in dirt and the dragging of bodies across torn sod. She turned, feeling a small surge of energy that came from relief, and knew how her mother felt when one of her children returned from an adventure.

  "Andrixine!” Derek called as he darted from the ravine. He urged his straining horse faster, waving his horn and dashing to meet her. “Uncle Maxil is here!” the boy shouted over the thuds of his horse's hooves. He grinned, pale and spattered with dirt and darker spots she hoped would be someone else's blood. “We caught him and a Sendorland lord—they're furious!"

  "I imagine.” Andrixine turned to Jultar and gave him a questioning look.

  The warlord's smile was all nasty satisfaction. “They came expecting to see their own soldiers winning."

  Derek nodded, his smile twisting to mirror Jultar's. He had never liked their cousin, though he had admired their uncle's clever way with words. Learning of the plot to kill his sister had given Derek a taste of the bitter side of life.

  Andrixine rested a hand on her brother's shoulder as she walked with him and Jultar to meet the four men coming from the ravine. Brenden and Rogan were mounted, leading the other two horses. Their prisoners walked before them with their hands tied behind their backs. As she drew closer, Andrixine saw their torn, dirty clothes, and she smiled. Good—her enemies had tried to fight and brought rough treatment on themselves. She hoped they were bruised as well.

  Maxil of Faxinor looked away when the two small groups met. The other nobleman glared. He was dressed for victory, Andrixine decided, his flowing cape of royal blue lined with white better suited to a king's ballroom than a battlefield. His long coat was royal blue over a white shirt, his trousers trimmed in gold that just matched the shade of his short, curled hair. He focused his furious stare on Andrixine. His eyes reminded her of someone, though she was sure she had never seen that person look so self-righteously angry.

  "Will you give your name?” Jultar asked.

  "I am Lord Mordon Traxslan, advisor to King Drahas of Sendorland.” Mordon kept his eyes fixed on Andrixine. “You would do well to let me go now, before your crimes grow greater."

  "Is it a crime to defend our land against invasion?” Andrixine asked, unable to keep a touch of disbelieving laughter from her voice.

  "You, woman, will keep your mouth closed in my presence!” the Sendorland lord snapped.

  "This is Andrixine Faxinor, chosen of Yomnian, the Sword Bearer and our war leader,” Jultar said with cold reproof.

  "So you are Arriena's child.” Mordon's lips twisted as if ill. “I knew I should have killed her in the cradle. I knew she was a lying whore like all women, from the moment she was born."

  "Don't speak like that about my mother!” Derek blurted. He gripped his short knife and took two steps toward the man. Andrixine stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

  "So you are our mother's cousin.” She smiled stiffly. “You tried to use her to harm our father."

  "She is a filthy traitor, worthy of death,” Mordon spat. He glared at her, and his shoulders hunched, as if he would tear his hands free of his bonds and lunge at her. Then he glanced at Maxil and his fury turned to an icy grin. “It seems treachery runs strong in both sides of your family, Sword Bearer. You'll find that the heresy of your demon blade will not protect you from Yomnian's justice."

  "You are the villain here, not us. You are our prisoner, caught in the act of invasion, violating long-standing peace treaties.” She kept her voice smooth, her face neutral. Weariness made that easier, not harder.

  "You have no proof,” he returned with a shrug.

  "Confessions from the commander of your soldiers?” Jultar said. “The visions of the Spirit Sword, which brought us here? I think that proof enough."

  "Visions. Spirit Sword. Women warriors. Faugh!” Mordon spat, barely missing Andrixine's toes.

  Jultar backhanded him, and no one helped Mordon to his feet. He waited until the arrogant man wiped the blood from his nose and lips onto his sleeve. “What ransom can you offer for the return of your soldiers and your safe conduct to the border?"

  Mordon drew himself up straight, split lips pursing as if he held something nasty in his mouth. “We have no gold, nothing to give in ransom,” he said, his voice tight, eyes like coals, revealing how galling the words were. To invade enemy territory without the means of ransom in case his mission failed was the height of arrogance—or stupidity.

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  Chapter Twenty

  AFTER FOUR DAYS of waiting for King Rafnar and his forces to arrive, Andrixine discovered boredom. It totally surprised her. She couldn't understand how she could be bored, with so much to do and everyone demanding her attention, her opinion, her decisions. They came to her at every hour of the day with reports on building up Snowy Mount's defenses, or information coming from Maysford, or new figures on the supplies of food and medicine, or scouting forays into the ravines and gullies around the valley.

  Brick arrived from Maysford with two wagonloads of weapons and young men to offer their services to the holy folk and their vows to the Sword Bearer. Alysyn was on her way home to Faxinor and safety, so Andrixine didn't have her sister for distraction. Kalsan acted as her eyes and ears and voice, riding on inspection at all hours. Brother Klee put aside his scholar's robes to give instruction in the finer points of warfare to the young men from Maysford, so he had few hours free to teach her.

  Andrixine longed to be free of questions and constantly spying eyes, just for an hour. Just to take a walk outside the suffocating walls of Snowy Mount. The forest beyond the fields and orchards of the retreat was reportedly clear of spies or intruders. Who would it harm if she vanished for a few hours just to clear her head and be alone? Yet, how could she escape unseen?

  It took her two days to remember she had packed several dresses when she thought they were going to Cereston and the king. Among the fine c
ourt dresses was a simple one, nearly a peasant's costume, in hopes that Kalsan could keep his promise and take her exploring through the city when they weren't needed in court. With her warrior braids hidden under a kerchief that any proper, married woman would use, Andrixine knew she could escape undetected. Would it do any harm if she wasn't available for an hour?

  The next afternoon, she had her chance. At lunch, they discussed a new training phase for the young recruits. That would involve all the warriors and soldiers and leave her free for a short time. Andrixine excused herself as soon as politely possible and fled the refectory. It was a matter of moments to skin out of her clothes in her room and tug on the white, snug-fitting bodice and green skirt and petticoats and tuck up her braids. She tied the matching green kerchief into place as she scurried down the hall.

  The young soldier in the king's livery standing guard at the main gate barely nodded to her as she hurried by. He likely thought she was another village woman come to visit her man in soldier training. She bit her tongue to fight laughter until she had vanished around the curving walls and headed toward the short path to the forest.

  She was barefoot to complete the disguise. The dust felt warm and soft under her feet and kicked up in little clouds. On the eastern side of the retreat's high walls, past the orchards and fields, stretched green, deep forest. She intended to enjoy herself, exploring in perfect peace and quiet.

  The moment she left the shadowed safety of the walls, Andrixine felt another presence. Her neck prickled with the sensation, like a cold breeze had brushed it. She quickened her steps and checked to be sure her knife was secure on her belt.

  A lull fell in the gentle breeze that made the leaves whisper. She heard a single set of booted feet thumping softly on the dusty little trail to the woods. One man, she could handle. She quickened her steps and moved off the trail to run on grass and not risk her bare feet on stones.

  "Andrixine!” Kalsan called, laughing. “Wait for me!"

  Her heart leaped in her chest for a few beats. She turned and waited for him, hands on hips, wondering if she felt angry or foolish.