Vision of Light [The Renegades 1]

by Amanda Hilton

  His expression did not change. Any thought she had that he might have a shred of compassion in him dissipated. Aislan could not believe the extent of his indifference, this man whom she had always regarded to be her beloved knight. She had never imagined the bloodshed violence that would trail his entrance.

  At his signal, several of his men dragged the bodies towards the deep hole and threw them in, one after another. Staring at Lord Temple's decapitated body, Aislan felt the first wave of grief flooding over her. Everything was just so cold, so brutal! She never expected Hayton to come to such a violent end. Not knowing what else to do, she went back to digging the grave, but her pitiful attempt still barely moved the earth.

  The Dark Lord watched her struggle for a short moment, and then ordered two of his men to help her dig. Aislan stopped and moved aside. After they had dug deep enough, the two men went to Hayton, and one retrieved a small dagger attached to the side of Hayton's belt. They both picked up his body and tossed it into the hole like a sack of potatoes.

  "Wait!” Aislan slipped into the hole and went about pulling the cloak from Lord Temple's body, trying to free it. After straightening his legs, she crossed his arms in front of him. Closing her eyes, Aislan let go of her hate for Hayton. She had wanted her freedom, but not at the cost of innocent lives. After picking up a clump of grass and throwing it aside, she pulled up the cloak to cover the stump of his neck.

  When she felt a presence standing above her, Aislan got to her feet and looked at her captor's long, black boots. He bent and extended a gloved hand. She took it, feeling his effortless strength as he pulled her out. When she stumbled, he caught her against his hard body, and she grabbed at his arm to steady herself. The sinewy muscles stiffened beneath her fingers, and her skin prickled. He vibrated with energy, with power and life, and unable to stop herself, she dug her nails into his arm. Aislan realized he had removed the needled armor from his arms and wondered if he had done that for her. Why had he bothered?

  She looked up and held his gaze. His dark intensity emitted from him like a physical thing and touched her, his darkness drawing her inexorably, captivating her, holding her enthralled. Startled with the realization, she pulled away. He stared into her eyes, and the silvery gaze softened with a hint of tenderness. Aislan was confused at her own conflicting feelings for him, anger, but acceptance, too, which was uncharacteristic of her. She had never accepted anyone or anything easily. His gloved hands lingered on her waist, but then eventually, he let go of her and then left her side.

  * * * *

  The decollator Mallers, Lady Aislan's tormentor Colen, and two other men departed to deliver the heads to the king.

  Lucien stood by the mass grave, watching the last of the victims being thrown unceremoniously into the hole—a young boy of fifteen or sixteen, Hayton Temple's hapless squire. The men started to fill up the hole. The stench of death permeated the air. The king's emissary, Nadan, joined him and stood at his side somewhat companionably.

  "You defy the king and the Sorsverein with your own plans for the woman,” Nadan commented conversationally. “Pray enlighten me."

  Lucien kept his mask in place and remained silent because he had no plans.

  "You think she is worth your future? Do not defy the Sorsverein.” Nadan had arrived a few days ago with an additional decree—Lady Aislan Temple's head, undoubtedly instigated by Sorsverein Penderby. The Sorsverein ruled the Sorcery Circle, served as advisor to the king, and was Lucien's sorcery master. As soon as Lucien turned seven years old, the king had given him to Penderby, who beat all humanity out of him, turning a mild-mannered boy into a hardened assassin. Sorsverein Penderby had owned Lucien the past twenty-one years, breaking and molding him into an animal without compassion, all in the name of serving his country.

  "I kill her, then what?"

  Nadan gave him an odd look. “Did the king not grant you Stonebrush? Did the Sorsverein not ward you the first six apprentices, as you wished? Lucien, your glorious future awaits."

  "How long until I must prove my loyalty again?” Lucien fastidiously brushed Temple's dried blood off his gloves. This was his last mission, the final testament of his blind loyalty and devotion to the Crown and the Circle. All he had to do was kill Lady Aislan, or allow them to kill her, because she posed some threat he could not see.

  "No woman is worth it, especially this one,” Nadan said quietly. “'Tis known she is insane. When she was a little girl, some old witch abducted her. She escaped, but she went mad. ‘Tis said she hid in caves and killed bats to drink their blood. Her husband locked her up to keep her from cutting the maids to drink their blood, too."

  "Nonsense.” Lucien deliberately dismissed the tale.

  "The reconnaissance would not exaggerate. The eager servants tell you tales about the Lady of Templeton up in her tower. Do not throw away your future for a mad witch."

  "How touching, this concern you have for me, Nadan."

  "I bear you no hostility. We are sorsvasus serving the same master.” Nadan referred to their roles and their lifelong obligations serving and protecting the Sorcery Circle. “You have earned an enviable future, but you must pay your dues to maintain your life of privilege and wealth."

  "Why must I kill a helpless woman to prove my loyalty?"

  Nadan shrugged. “'Tis our place to obey the Sorsverein. She must be a threat. Sorsverein Penderby does not allow indiscriminate killings."

  Lucien studied the mass grave and shrugged.

  Nadan grunted. “I'll relieve you of the woman. There, sorsvasus brother, you no longer need to dance around your conscience. If you show proper repentance for your moment of softness, mayhap the Sorsverein will still grant you your castle and your freedom."

  Even though he did not look, Lucien sensed Lady Aislan's every movement. She stood next to her mare, holding onto the bridle and petting the animal, whispering to it. Occasionally, she glanced around as if contemplating running again.

  A part of him acknowledged her fragile helplessness was no pretense. Whatever sorcery power she possessed amounted to nothing against him or Nadan. He already suspected something was not right with her, and not because she might be the menacing Witch of Damnation. However, being rational, Lucien did not confuse the temptress in his dream with the fragile woman in reality. Some of the men stood ready to kill her to gain prestige. Nadan alone could not defeat him, so he assumed Nadan's reinforcements stood nearby in case the discussion came down to fighting.

  "She has a lovely head.” Lucien nodded in Aislan's direction as if her glorious beauty was of primary importance in this conversational farce.

  Nadan lifted an eyebrow. “Beautiful, but cold. She clucked like a hen over a proper burial for her husband, but nary a tear I saw for him. How apathetic. ‘Tis no surprise she appeals to you. Pray tell, my friend, I take it you keep her alive so you can fuck her.” Nadan shrugged again. “Once you have softened her up, mayhap I'll have a piece of her myself."

  "'Twould not be wise. How would it look in the Sorcery Circle if ‘tis known their esteemed sorsvasus raped a woman with child?"

  Nadan stared at Aislan. “Ah, I see!” Folding his arms, he scratched his head in exaggerated contemplation. “That changes the circumstances. Slaying an unborn brat. Why, that would taint the Sorcery Circle. You may be reprieved from your vacillating loyalty after all, my friend. Now, now, what shall we do with her?” He snapped his fingers. “I'll take her off your hands nevertheless. I'll personally deliver her to the Sorsverein. ‘Twill be up to him to decide what to do with her. Our dilemma is solved."

  Lucien folded his arms across his chest also. Lady Aislan knew they were discussing her because she kept looking between him and Nadan. When their gazes met, Lucien felt a spark igniting. It was good he finally felt something else besides his own apathy.

  Even with her face smeared with dirt from digging and crawling in the grave, her hair partially unbraided and caked with mud, she still presented an enticing sight with her lovely face, flawless
alabaster skin, and voluptuous breasts, despite her thin frame. Noting her helpless frailty, Lucien's sense of outrage surfaced. Now, more than ever, he wanted to know why they decreed her death.

  Lady Aislan stared at him for a moment longer, and then nervously turned her back to him.

  "Ah, the way you look at her, like an infatuated fool,” Nadan observed as he scratched his jaw. “Your dick has taken control, my sorsvasus brother. I'll not allow you to run off with her, of course. The Sorsverein, in all his infinite wisdom, must have anticipated this."

  "Do you hear your own sycophant?"

  Nadan's face reddened. “Your arrogance hides your lack of conviction. ‘Tis beyond my ken the faith they have in you. You botched your last mission, and still they rewarded you. What hold have you on them?” His voice calmed suddenly, and he shrugged. “'Tis not my concern the reasons, I—a lowly sorsvasus. I do what I must to please my king and my sorsverein."

  "Such ambition.” Lucien kept his tone conversational as the two of them continued to bait each other. He looked back at the exquisite Aislan. “I'll deliver Lady Temple to the king myself, but all in good time and on my own terms."

  * * * *

  They started traveling. The Dark Lord led the procession on his black steed, with Aislan on her own horse right beside him. The remaining nine men spread around and behind them on their horses.

  They kept riding along the Fellen River that Aislan knew stretched from north to south and through Templeton forest. At one point, they stopped to drink and water the horses. As evening progressed, hunger gnawed at her. Aislan had regurgitated most of her morning meal, and she had not eaten anything the prior evening. The day's violence had taken its toll on her, and lack of sustenance compounded to her physical exhaustion.

  The group traveled almost another two hours into the evening before they finally stopped and dismounted. To her relief, they set up camp for the night, and hopefully, a meal. Aislan had gone through hunger strikes in the past, usually lasting two or three days. Sometimes, after escaping from Templeton Castle, she successfully hid in one of the caves in the forest for nearly a sennight before anyone found her, usually when she went out foraging for food. Even though Aislan could handle going without several meals, she preferred to eat when possible.

  She had noticed earlier that three men had left the group, but she did not care. For Aislan, the fewer of them, the better. A couple of men tended to the horses while one other prepared a large pot and added rations for soup stock. Aislan walked towards the farthest corner on the edge of the camp and sat away from the activities.

  The three men who had disappeared earlier returned abruptly. One had a doe dangling over his shoulder, which he threw in front of the campfire. Another man set about butchering it with a huge, shining knife.

  Aislan's hunting experience had been limited to riding behind the hunting party chasing after prey and watching it taken down. On the many occasions when she had hidden out in the forest, she had survived merely on plants and roots. She had never watched a butchering. It might be hypocritical of her, considering she ate meat without a thought, but prepared food came to her on a platter. Having spent most of her life locked up or under guard, Aislan had never been in a kitchen. When they started the skinning and gutting process, she pressed a hand to her mouth and tried to control herself from heaving. She turned her head aside, unable to watch another beheading.

  Aislan heard splashing in the river just behind the grove of trees. The men eventually drifted back to camp, some of them bare-chested. She averted her gaze, dreading the thought of half-dressed men walking around.

  The Dark Lord came to her, the most powerful presence out of all as he loomed over her. Aislan swallowed, feeling a touch of anxiety, but strangely, it had nothing to do with fear. He had removed his chain mail, his dagger and the long sword hanging from the belt of his baldric. Aislan's heart pounded a staccato as she reacted to his charismatic aura. He looked mighty and capable, and despite his youth, she sensed his authority in the midst of insolent men. She could only surmise that sorcerers, by nature, were more arrogant than normal.

  She met his gaze while striving to maintain her composure. Dynamic and full of self-assurance, he looked ready and capable to keep all the men at bay. Aislan's mouth went dry as the silvery gaze lingered on her face, making her shamefully excited being the constant focus of his attention.

  "I must wash. Come with me.” He waited for a short moment, but when she still did not move, he turned and strode away.

  Aislan pulled herself out of her stupor and scrambled to her feet. He probably thought she was being stubborn with him, but she had no intention remaining behind. Too many half-naked, hungry men paced about, and she noticed one man in particular who kept studying her. The men addressed him as Sorsvasus Nadan, his expressionless perusal making her flesh crawl.

  Rounding the bend, she saw the Dark Lord standing at the bank, looking across the water. He turned, dark and majestic looking, and watched her approach. Aislan met his gaze and felt inordinately nervous, but not with the same nervousness as she had felt with the other men. Her skin tingled, and she nearly stumbled. She wondered how she could have become so clumsy, considering she usually was quite nimble on her feet.

  "Get in the water, please,” he said quietly but firmly.

  "I—I need no washing."

  "You have mud on your face.” His hand went to rest on the hilt of his sword. His tone of voice brooked no disobedience. Even though he spoke to her, his eyes focused behind her. Aislan resisted the urge to turn around and follow his gaze. She slowly stepped into the water until ankle deep.

  "Wash your face,” he said, as if a clean face was of the utmost importance.

  Kneeling, she cupped water with one hand before tentatively splashing it on her face. The cold water felt refreshingly good. As she rubbed, her hand came away slippery with mud.

  The Dark Lord shifted his gaze from her hand to the water, then back to her face, studying her. She looked away nervously. Finally, he hunkered down next to her and cupped water, splashing and rubbing his own face clean. Aislan could not stop herself, feeling compelled despite herself to stare at him. Quite breathtaking, he had a perfect profile, a high forehead, and a classically high-bridged nose. His mouth was beautifully male, wide and sensual, with a slightly fuller bottom lip. The cleft in his chin only made his rugged, chiseled jaw more defined. He pulled the cuff off, and his thick, black hair fell in slight waves to his broad shoulders.

  He glanced up at her before she could turn away, and they both stared at each other. His slow study made her nervous, but only in a feminine way. Aislan had stopped fearing him because, ever since sparing her life, he had not intimidated her in any way. His eyes focused on her face, full of curiosity and interest. Aislan's mouth went dry again when his gaze lingered on her lips as if he contemplated on tasting them. A sharp twinge pulled between her legs, and her clit started throbbing wantonly.

  Too many nights she had dreamed of him, this formidable stranger whose face was so achingly familiar, whose presence she knew. Her pulse pounded too loudly in her ears. She did not want to think too deeply about him. She did not want him to be interested in her, to be aware of her as a woman. Even as she tried to compose herself, she felt the shameful wetness of her arousal trickling down between her thighs. Never had she reacted so physically to any man before, but at this moment, she seemed to have no control over her body's reaction. Thankful he could not see through her clothes, Aislan nervously splashed more water on her heated cheeks.

  "How well can you swim?” he asked in a low voice.

  "Swim?"

  "I need to know if you can swim across the river, or else I must come up with an alternative."

  Dragging her attention from him, Aislan looked across the water. This particular fork off the main river was not as deep as it first appeared. The current flowed steadily but not too strong. Reaching the other side required skill. However, she could easily swim across, had learned to cont
rol her breathing to stay underwater a long time. The river had provided her sanctuary countless times in the past when she had tried to evade Hayton's search party.

  The Dark Lord studied her face, and Aislan had a sudden feeling he somehow knew her secret. “Pray tell, sir, why would you want me to get across?” she asked politely.

  "'Tis time to part from the others."

  The aroma of roasted venison reached her on the wind. “Now?"

  "You are more interested in supper? Stay, and it may be your last meal."

  "Can you not control your own men? Are you their leader, or is there no honor amongst killers?” She bit her tongue when he gave her a sharp look, and then he shrugged. Aislan was immediately contrite. Though she did not know why, he had declared himself her protector, and so far, he had yet laid a rough finger on her. Now that they had set camp for the night, anything could happen. As a lone woman, the other men might expect her to provide them with entertainment for the rest of the evening. Realistically, she could not expect him to fight all of his men for her.

  "What must I do?” she acquiesced.

  "I'll stand guard while you bathe. The current is not as strong at this point. If you cannot make it, I'll come and help you to the other side. If you make it across, start walking west.” He pointed in the correct direction.

  "You will let me go?"

  "No, I'll take the horses and search for you."

  Keeping a deadpan face, she asked, “Pray tell, sir, shall I wait for you somewhere?"

  The silver eyes focused on her unflinchingly. “No, but do not return to Templeton Castle, or you will be in the same position as now. Once you get back on land, dry yourself quickly so you do not catch your death of cold. I'll bring you dry clothes."

  "How will you find me?” She truly wanted to know.

  "I'll find you,” he said with total conviction. He rose to his feet, a striking, well-built figure. She knew far too well the effortless strength in his towering, masculine frame. Unlike Hayton Temple with the body of an indulgent man in his late fifties, the Dark Lord was in the peak condition of a young, well-honed swordsman, embodying everything Aislan's mind had romanticized in her dreams. Aislan was alarmed because of her acute awareness of his every movement and his overwhelming presence.