The Unforgiven

by A. Katie Rose

  Iyumi smiled, though irritation clearly flowed beneath the bright facade. “Let me finish, Clan Chief. Before you so rudely interrupted I was about to say that a handful of you loyal beasties will stay with me. The rest – go home.”

  No few grumbles and hot protests marked her announcement. ‘Take me along,’ ‘ I’ll not fear any bloody witch,’, ‘I can ride better than you, bird-brain’ ‘me, please, pick me’.

  Iyumi smiled, a rapid there-and-gone affair. “Secrecy is still necessary, and the Red Duchess will certainly be watching for me, us. She’ll set spies to follow, if she hasn’t already. We travel light and fast.”

  Her grim, blue eyes fastened upon Clan Chief Ba’al’amawer. “As dearly as you’ve earned your privileges, Chief of the great Clan, your Minotaurs must return home.”

  “Princess!” Ba’al’amawer’s shocked bellow rolled across the clearing, echoed off the rock towers and drowned the rushing river. “Of course we come with you.”

  Iyumi walked to him, and took his great hands within her tiny ones. Tilting her head back to look up into his bull face and dark brown eyes, she smiled. Before this adventure, I thought Iyumi hadn’t known what a smile was. Yet, this very real baring of teeth and chuckling laughter convinced me otherwise. Her vibrant speech left me breathless.

  “I’m sorry, Clan Chief,” she said softly, her blue eyes kind.

  Kind? That was new.

  She reached up, very far up, to clasp his furry cheek. “Minotaurs are the bravest, strongest and most loyal of my father’s people. You’re steadfast and never weary. But you are also the slowest. Forgive me, my noble Ba’al’amawer, but your folk cannot keep up with horses, Griffins or Centaurs. I require all speed on this mission – speed and secrecy.”

  “Princess –” he protested, but her hand stopped him cold.

  “I have spoken, Clan Chief,” she said.

  He bowed low, his curved horns brushing past her shoulders. “I hear and obey, my Princess,” he rumbled.

  “I would charge you to protect my father,” Iyumi said, earnestly looking deep into his face. “The Red Duchess may attack me through him. All of you,” she added, turning her face about to include all the Atani soldiers within hearing, “all who do not accompany me now, never consider this a slight to your honor, your loyalty, nor your courage. You’ve all that and more. The King needs you more than I. And I beg you, keep him safe.”

  Real tears welled in those huge blue depths, but didn’t fall. “He’s frail these days. With your help, I can devote all my attention to the task the gods assigned me without fear of harm coming to my beloved sire and King. Not with all of you, fierce soldiers and warriors, protecting him.”

  “She’s a bloody genius,” Malik muttered in my ear.

  “Tell me about it,” I hissed in return. “With that speech, she’ll have them dancing a jig and thinking it’s a battle formation.”

  While they didn’t exactly dance, I observed many chests puffed with pride, heads held high as fingers fondled weapons. Several Griffins expanded their great wings as if for flight, preening grandly, and cavalry soldiers drew swords and offered one another mock battle. Chief Ba’al’amawer nodded his huge bull head and sent Muljier off to organize his Minotaurs into marching order.

  I noticed several officers who failed to succumb to Iyumi’s charm. Windy watched her with narrowed eagle’s eyes as Moon Whisperer and Grey Mist flanked him, silent and waiting. Padraig fondled his sword’s hilt, his dark eyes watching me. Another Shifter, my kinsman Lieutenant Gaear, stood side by side with Valcan, their heads bent together, whispering. Two young cavalry soldiers, Edryd and Alain, also watched her through slitted eyes as they bent heads together, murmuring words I couldn’t hear. Lieutenant Dusan stared at his horse’s charcoal mane at Edryd’s left flank, idly flipping his reins back and forth.

  “Someone bring me my horse,” Iyumi commanded, her fists on her hips.

  Aderyn jumped first, trotting through the ranks to the blue roan Prince Flynn claimed from the man he’d killed. Her fist wrapped in his reins, she led the docile beast past enormous Griffins and massive Centaurs before dropping to her knee at Iyumi’s feet. “Your Highness,” she said, her eyes on the ground.

  “Sweet Aderyn,” Iyumi murmured, touching her briefly on the shoulder. “Thank you. You’ll accompany me, should you desire it.”

  “I do, Highness.”

  Taking the roan’s reins from her, I tossed them over the stallion’s blue-grey neck and offered my cupped hands for Iyumi’s foot. “My liege.”

  “Of course, I hadn’t forgotten your talents, my dear Captain Vanyar,” Iyumi said, placing her left boot in my hands.

  I tossed her lightly up to land in the roan’s saddle, and adjusted the stirrups to fit her as she gathered her reins. Settled in her seat, Iyumi lifted her pale yet lovely face. Still, her blue eyes bored like drills. “Lord Commander Malik, front and center.”

  Spine stiff, Malik advanced at a stilted walk, his head high and his black hair brushing his bare shoulders. The many-rayed star over his brow gleamed under the muted sunlight, as his left hand rested upon his sword’s hilt. Precise, military and above reproach, Lord Captain Commander Malik saluted Princess Iyumi with his arm across his broad bare chest and his chin lowered.

  “Command me, my Princess.”

  “You, and First Lieutenant Padraig, will escort me. As will First Captain Vanyar, Lieutenants Wind Warrior, Moon Whisperer, Grey Mist, and Gaear. I want Sergeants Aderyn, Valcan, Lieutenants Dusan and Alain, and Corporals Edara and Edryd. I also require the services of Second Lieutenant Kasi. Step forward, if you please.”

  In my two days back from exile, I listened closely to the chatter and picked up interesting tidbits. Thus, I stifled my surprise at Kasi’s appointment. A Griffin new to the Atan brotherhood, her record, while decent, hadn’t earned her any special marks. I’d no idea how well she’d react under violent pressure and thought perhaps this wasn’t the mission to test it. Edryd, too, could shoot a fly at fifty rods from the back of a galloping horse. Young, perhaps nineteen, with a shock of red hair and freckles over a pale complexion, he joined his cavalry unit a mere month ago. His mettle – well, it just wasn’t there.

  “The rest of you,” Iyumi said, her voice ringing. “Protect my father. I’ll need my sleep in the days ahead.”

  Her quip created some laughter, some snickers and lots of ‘pick up the pace, nimrod, I’m next.’

  “Those I just named,” Iyumi declared, standing in her stirrups. “Come along. Ba’al’amawer, you’re in charge of the Atani forces and will remain thus until our witch is defeated. I’ll send word whenever possible.”

  The Clan Chief bowed again. “Your Highness.”

  He walked away to organize the trip home, and Malik ordered Padraig and Corporal Edara, a beautiful Centaur maiden with wild red-brown hair and a glossy chestnut coat, to the vanguard. The two cavalry officers, Dusan and Alain, were commanded to ride a hundred rods behind them. He ordered Windy and Misty aloft to watch fly high and watch for any approaching enemies. Kasi would remain airborne above us as a swift messenger. He commanded Edryd to ride behind Iyumi as her immediate bodyguard, and Gaear loped alongside her stirrup as a wolf. Aderyn and Valcan reverted into bird form and flew away to watch our back-trail. Malik and myself would remain at her side, guarding and heeding her directions.

  “Which way, Princess?” Malik asked.

  As I whistled sharply, Iyumi turned in her saddle. Her attention on the departing troops, my sudden noise distracted her. “What are you whistling for?” she asked.

  “My ride.”

  “Your –”

  Kiera, my dark beauty, loped out from behind the tall rock towers. Her coat of jet black reflected the sun’s bright rays, shimmering like lightning. Her silky mane fell past her massive shoulders and her tail brushed the sandy earth behind her. The white star between her dark eyes gleamed under the muted sunlight as her four glossy white stockings rose and fell, kicking the sand up beh
ind her striking hooves.

  Before flying away to replace Flynn’s mount, I set her to following the Atani troops. She remained in hiding, after the attack on Flynn and his idiots, patiently awaiting my signal. I swear Malik’s breath shut off as he watched her lope across the clearing in obedience to my summons. He cared for her in my absence, loved her almost as much as I did.

  “I thought you’d, er –” Iyumi began, watching with wide eyes my love slowed to a trot, then a walk before dipping her muzzle into my hands.

  My heart ached every day I spent away from her, yet I couldn’t take her into exile with me. How could I care for her properly as a tavern bum? Inn stables weren’t good enough for the likes of her. No, Kiera fared well under Malik’s devoted care, and I suspected she’d be better off without me. I never thought I’d see her again that day I disappeared into the streets.

  “What, Princess?” I half-laughed, laying my cheek against Kiera’s as she nuzzled my neck. “Fly?”

  “Er, well,” Iyumi said slowly. “Yes.”

  “And leave you to the entertainments Malik might devise?” I laughed, rubbing my hand between Kiera’s dark, sloe eyes and over her tiny black ears. I caressed her silken neck under her heavy mane with my left hand as I tickled her lips with my right. “He’ll have you weeping with boredom within hours.”

  Malik’s eyes rolled. “Van, please.”

  Iyumi’s knowing eye swept over Kiera. “She makes this roan look like a donkey by comparison. I’ve seen her in the royal stables, of course, but had no idea you owned her.”

  I kissed Kiera’s muzzle. “She owns me, rather.”

  “No saddle?” Iyumi’s brows rose. “No bridle?”

  I chuckled as I grasped two handfuls of Kiera’s heavy mane. Vaulting aboard her smooth, bare back, I settled my legs behind her shoulders and shrugged, still grinning. “She’s never worn either.”

  “Van’s horsemanship can fill volumes, Princess,” Malik commented dryly. “He has your father’s best cavalry masters scratching their heads.”

  Iyumi reined her new blue roan up alongside Kiera, and smiled. Damn, but didn’t she have cute dimples. The sun shone in her blue eyes and glinted off her even white teeth. “I think Captain Vanyar can teach me a thing or two about riding,” she said, her tone low and husky.

  I bowed low, matching her grin. “Anytime, my lovely liege.”

  Why did she suddenly blush bright pink? She quickly glanced aside and all but stumbled over her tongue.

  “Uh, north, Commander. We ride north.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Tangled Webs of Deception

  “One.”

  The cat whipped across my back and I jumped, my clenched teeth unable to halt the sharp hiss of pain. Don’t let him see fear, I half-thought, shutting my jaws tight. He’ll see pain. He’ll see agony. But he wants fear. He wants terror. He wants me begging for mercy, crying at his feet.

  Don’t give him that.

  “Two.”

  The royal executioner and dispenser of the King’s justice called out the count. The huge, hairless hulk in a leather kirtle and knee-high boots cocked his arm back, his cat’o’nine tails swishing across the cobbles. I braced myself, but the sharp cut of leather and iron opened yet nine more bleeding welts. I choked on my cry of pain, biting my arm to prevent its eruption.

  Don’t give him what he wants. He feeds on your fear.

  At least my father granted me a semi-private punishment. Only his court nobles, cronies, servants and hangers-on, not the general populace, witnessed his swift and just chastisement for my failure. Inside the stone walls of the keep, Finian’s soldiers lashed me to a hastily erected wooden barrier and stripped me of tunic and weapons. The half-healed wound from Malik’s dagger itched incessantly, but under the cat’s full effect I forgot its existence.

  King Roidan’s elite forces outwitted and outfought me. Commander Malik’s troops deposited me at the border and turned toward their country. Free to go where I will and riding the real Bayonne, I returned to Castle Salagh, my father’s palace, three days later. Blaez, Buck-Eye and the others followed behind me. Upon reaching the town, Finian’s soldiers arrested me on the spot. My father sought to make an example of me.

  Failure had its costs.

  Commander Blaez stood at my sire’s right hand, untouched, accepted, forgiven. As the third stroke forced my bare chest into the sharp splinters of the heavy wood post, I felt his eyes, his contempt, tingle along my skin. Just one moment, I prayed, silent. One moment in an empty room with him. I’ll accept whatever punishment you decree, but give me that moment alone. I beg you, great gods.

  Bracing myself for the next stroke, sweat streaming in rivers down my face and stinging my eyes, I squinted through the salt. Three figures huddled near the postern door that led into the great castle. My throat convulsed. My belly clenched. I scarcely felt the fourth slash of the wretched cat.

  Queen Enya held my sobbing sister close, her huge beautiful eyes damp with unshed tears. Her free hand extended toward me, her mouth pleaded words I couldn’t hear, but read on her fair lips. My son. I love you, be strong.

  Garbed in a silken white dress chased with silver and sewn with seed pearls, I’d never seen my mother so beautiful. Like a goddess of old, her perfect features made the most powerful of men drop to her feet, her slaves. Her cloak of silver lined in scarlet fell to the cobbled stone behind her. Her wheaten hair, loose, spilled like spun gold down her shoulders and full bosom, and shrouded her to her hips.

  Fainche’s small face, wracked with her screams of my name, turned bright red with the force of her panic and tears. Her small arms clasped my mother about her waist, her blonde hair disheveled and matted, her gown of deep blue darkened with damp under her chin.

  Fainche, I tried to say, but the fifth cut halted my breath and jolted my chest against the post.

  The third woman neither wept, nor called to me. She stood, poised and proud, dry-eyed as a royal princess should. She’d braided her red-gold hair into a tight coil at the back of her slender, pale neck. Her gown of fetching russet and gold matched her hair exactly, and her cloak of black fell to her black boots. Hazel eyes watched me with apparent calm, almost detachment. Despite her demeanor, her hands twisted themselves into knots at her waist. I recognized the look in those narrowed eyes. Panic. The eyes of a doe caught in the hunter’s snare.

  Sofia. My wife.

  Cold rage grew in my soul. Like a viper birthed from a black egg, my hate replaced my fear. You bastard, I half-thought. You brought them here, the only ones in this despicable world who loved me, to watch this farce.

  Your father tried to kill you, Van told me.

  I didn’t want to believe him. I told myself time and again – he’s the enemy, of course he’ll lie and sow dissension. Keep me and my father at each other’s throats, and all of Raithin Mawrn will fall under the boots and wings of his devil creatures. They plan an invasion, I reasoned. They let me go for the sole purpose that I’d murder my sire in retaliation, and die in the attempt. Of course, that was their plan.

  As often as I pondered Van and Iyumi’s reasons for shielding me, I remembered his body protecting me from the black Centaur’s blade, and his kindness in healing my cheek. I asked myself: why would he? He’d no need to lie to me. I lay under his hoof, at his mercy, and he spoke me kind. Could pure evil lie behind those laughing green eyes and infectious grin? My gut told me quite firmly: no.

  Somehow, someway – I believed Van, my country’s enemy. He spoke the truth.

  Under the sixth, the seventh, the eighth lash, I no longer tried to banish my pain, nor hide it. I winced, cringed, and shrank away from that awful whip, my pride in tatters. My brow and face cut, I sweated red blood and pissed my trousers. Still the executioner counted ‘nine, ten, eleven’ and on and on and on.

  I pushed my half-healed scar into the wooden mesh holding me upright, my arms tied out to either side. When the agony of my father’s torture sought to overwhelm me, swamp me, I rememb
ered Van’s kindness. He touched me with respect, with friendliness. He didn’t have to heal me, but he did anyway. He saw in me something no one else ever had: a Flynn that somebody liked.

  Despite my body’s betrayal, my new icy friend didn’t desert me. While I wanted to pass out, escape the savage, ripping agony, another part of me relished every cut of the whip. Every stroke meant one more stab of my sword in my father’s lying, despicable gut. I will kill you, I vowed, blinded by sweat and my own tears. If it means selling my soul to accomplish it, I will see you bloody and dead at my feet.

  Did he say twenty lashes or thirty? I didn’t remember. An eternity passed since the soldiers lashed me to the post. The roaring in my ears not quite blocked the sounds of my own moans. My sire’s royal murderer called out number twenty and fell silent. I braced myself for yet another, number twenty one, yet the naked fellow dropped the heavy cat, its leather stained with my blood. He walked away. Resting my head against the wood frame, I shut my eyes and breathed. I focused on simple breathing, my head spinning, scenting my own blood, sweat and piss. My ripped torso on fire, screaming in agony, I didn’t hear him approach.

  Finian yanked my head back, exposing my throat.

  I opened my eyes a fraction, and gazed into his angry, hate-filled dark eyes. His shaggy black hair blotted out the sun, a blessing of sorts, and spittle coated his beard. He grimaced rather than smiled as he leaned to speak in my ear.

  “Don’t fail me again, boy,” he hissed, his breath ranker than the odor in my trousers. “You’ll bring that bitch to me, in chains. You hear me?”

  My hate and fury rose as far as my eyes and my lips. I raised a faint sneer. “Get her yourself,” I whispered.

  Snarling, he slammed my head into the heavy post. A pity that didn’t knock me unconscious. If I wasn’t awake to hear his threats, I’d live in ignorant bliss.

  He yanked my head back again, blood trickling from my brow, between my eyes and down my nose. Queasiness filled my gut and I half-hoped I’d puke on his royal black mantle. “Bring that bitch to me, or I’ll kill her.”