Blooded (Lisen of Solsta Book 3)

by D. Hart St. Martin

  Finally, Nalin pulled back and trained his red and slightly swollen eyes on Bala’s face. “Creators, Bala, I do love you.”

  Bala knew that she could interpret this one of two ways, and for a second, she wondered what he was trying to tell her. But when he wrapped his arms around her in a tender embrace and kissed her on the lips, she welcomed his fervor with an equally passionate response.

  “Nalin,” she whispered tentatively into his ear, “will you be my spouse?”

  He pulled away again and looked at her, and she feared she’d moved too fast. “As soon as this is over,” he said, an unaccustomed smile spreading across his face. “I promise.”

  Korin and his band of Thristans pulled into Pass Garrison just after dark. They’d traveled two nights on the desert and a day up the Pass, and every one of the four had expressed their misgivings about Korin’s plan to include a few guards in their contingent. Korin didn’t care. He’d run this operation his way, and that was the end of it.

  His teat itched. And it swelled. Every few hours he’d claim a need to relieve himself, but the truth was he would relieve himself of his milk, leaving it in the sand. It pained him to waste it, but if he wanted to continue nursing Rinli himself when he returned, he had to keep urging the milk out and not allow his teat to dry up.

  Upon their arrival at the garrison, Under-commander Ezret Cunbae rumbled down the stairs from his quarters on the second floor. He grumbled a greeting to Korin and invited him up for a talk. Korin dismounted, ordered the Thristans to prepare to settle in for the night and then followed the lumbering Cunbae up the stairs.

  “Korin Rosarel,” the under-commander said as he and Korin sat down, “when did you slip back into the Thristan camp? And what the Destroyer happened to your eye?”

  As a child, Korin had spent time here in the garrison when visiting his mother, Enka Rosarel, who at the time was Sergeant Cunbae’s captain. Cunbae had shown kindness to a boy who struggled to speak Garlan and had taught him the rudimentary aspects of wielding a sword. Now a man of considerable maturity, Cunbae oversaw Pass Garrison on behalf of Commander Tanres.

  “The eye isn’t relevant,” Korin replied. “Nor is my return home, and you know it. What is relevant is why I’m here now. You’ve heard the Empir was abducted?”

  “Damnedest thing.” Cunbae poured himself some wine and held an empty goblet up to Korin. “Were you there?”

  Korin shook his head at the offer of the wine. “No. I kept her safe until the start of Council in May. Once she’d established her claim, I returned to Thristas. She didn’t need me anymore. But now I have information no one else has about her whereabouts, and we are on our way to free her. One thing remains. I need three guards—no less—to help defeat her abductors, and then they can be the ones to see her home to Avaret.”

  “Hmm.” Cunbae coughed and studied Korin. “I’ve always known you were a Thristan mutt. Never mattered to me, and I respected your mother, so I never said a thing. But I’ve got infiltrators on their way to as many mesas as they can reach in two weeks. They’re searching for our new Empir. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

  “That I know more than I’m telling? Of course, I do. I know where she is.”

  “And are you going to tell me? Because the Guard should be in charge of this, not you.”

  Korin shifted in his chair. This was the delicate moment, the moment when he had to pretend he didn’t feel like an insubordinate fool. He wasn’t a guard anymore. Why should this bother him? But it did. He just couldn’t show it.

  “The abductors invited me. I have a plan. I’ll go in alone, and when they relax, the rest of my band will attack while I’m freeing the Empir.”

  Cunbae laughed. “That’s not a plan; that’s a suicide mission.”

  “You don’t think I know what I’m doing?”

  “I think you’re walking into a trap.” Cunbae sounded secure in his assessment. “They invited you, Korin. They know you’re coming.”

  “They know I’m coming, and they know I’ll bring reinforcements. I have thought this through. I’m not the child nor the raw recruit you once knew, Commander. I took an innocent hermit and turned her into an Empir. I know the enemy. I played Capture the Mesa with my enemy. I know how she thinks and why she’s invited me to join her. She thinks I have feelings for the Empir, but she has no idea how strong the Guard’s influence is on me. I’m not going there to impress a young woman; I’m going to free my Liege Lord.”

  It was a lie, of course. Not all of it, but enough for Korin to cringe a little inside at the deception. Anything to get Cunbae to agree. Anything to save the mother of his child. Damn. My emotions are going to kill me if I don’t tighten the reins.

  “Damn it, Korin. Where did you learn to speak with such a silky tongue?” Cunbae downed the last of his wine and stood up, running his thumbs around his belly under the belt he wore over his tunic. “Go. Get some sleep. Do you want to choose your companions? Or should I?”

  Korin stood up. He smiled. He couldn’t help it. His little girl might yet get to know her mother. “You do it. My people and I need to adapt to the sleeping habits of Garlans.”

  Cunbae laughed and clapped Korin on the back. “Your companions and your gear are in the gathering hall.”

  “Thank you.” Korin turned and left, trotted down one set of stairs from the commander’s quarters and up another to the hall. He hadn’t slept in the full cycle of a day, awakening yesterday evening and traveling all night and all day to get here. He nestled into his blanket in the garrison’s hall, and soon joined his Thristan friends in slumber.

  The next morning, Korin felt the eyes of all the garrison guards on him as he strode from one horse to the next, inspecting the security of saddle and bridle one buckle at a time, while three members of the Guard and four Thristans awaited the results of his assessment. Then came the pack horse. He’d only asked for one; if the members of his party couldn’t hunt their own meat and carry all they needed on their own animal, they were useless to the mission.

  With a nod, Korin pronounced the band of rescuers ready and encouraged everyone to mount. Having observed an uneasy peace settle between the Thristans and the guards, Korin threw himself up on his own horse and turned it around to rally his troop to action. He knew what he must accomplish, but he could barely drag himself free of the excesses of emotions he felt. A heart-wringing desire to call off this mission entirely and return to his baby daughter back at Terses called to him. But that baby’s mother needed someone, and he was the only one with the knowledge and the skill to see her sent safely home again.

  “You all know the mission,” he shouted, the ever-present wind at the top of the Pass fighting to stifle his words. His horse pranced in place and pivoted, and he had to fight to hold it still. “Find Empir Ariannas and free her. I’ve been told there are search parties, but they will never find her. I’m the only one other than her abductors who knows where she is. To the Thristans in this party, I believe Ariannas possesses within her the potential to appreciate the rhythm of our lives and may one day prove to be our friend. And to my fellow guards, you swore an oath to protect the Empir above everything else. This is your moment to fulfill that promise.”

  He paused, breathed deeply and concluded. “I know Garlans and Thristans have no love for one another. You can all turn away once this is done, but while I lead you in this mission, I will suffer no fighting, no excuse for confrontation. Understood?”

  Nods and mumbled assent greeted his question.

  He allowed his voice to rise as he continued. “So to each of you I say, you hold in your hands an opportunity, an opportunity to show allegiance to an Empir who might actually deserve that allegiance from both Garlan and Thristan alike. Now let’s move out and find her.”

  Standing midway up the stairs leading to his quarters, Cunbae smiled at Korin. Korin gave a small nod in response, then led his band out of the garrison’s yard and onto the road that led to the Pass itself. Thank Mantar and t
he Creators they only have to get along for a couple of days.

  They rode all day and camped for the night, Thristan and Garlan on opposite sides of the fire, Korin in the middle close to the heat. They’d made it out of the mountains and onto the main road to Avaret from the Rim. In the morning, Korin let the Thristans lead the way since they knew where they were going, and he took the middle of the pack. As he rode, he rehearsed how he would explain Rinli to the Empir. If she did, indeed, know nothing about the process of pouching, he was about to shock a woman who might already be overstimulated and frightened.

  Lisen? He recognized the irony. He’d seen her fight and survive possession, accept the necessity of participating in the Farii and act on her decision to murder her brother. Was there nothing that could unsettle this young woman? Perhaps not her abduction and captivity, but knowledge that she had conceived a child up on the mesa and that Korin had taken that child from her without a word might prove enough to provoke an unfiltered response. Whatever else happened once they got to the Khared, he would practice caution when he informed his Liege that she already had an Heir.

  “Captain!”

  He jumped at his name and turned to his left. The tall, auburn-haired female sergeant—Kopol, he believed her name was—had ridden up beside him on his bad side, the side without an eye, and managed to take him by surprise.

  “Yes, Sergeant?” Korin said, hiding unaccustomed irritation. He’d joked many times about his missing eye and had assumed it was no more than a passing inconvenience. But now he realized that it would take a mere second of distraction for anyone to take him down if they wanted to.

  “I was wondering what the plan is.”

  “I’ll fill everyone in on the plan the night before we get where we’re going.”

  “All right.” And Kopol pulled back behind him.

  A plan. The idea he’d thrown out at Cunbae was the first thing he’d come up with, but it had its merits. Go in alone. They’d know he wasn’t alone, but he’d go in alone anyway to assess the situation and determine where Lisen was. Then, at a prearranged signal, he thought, I’ll rush to get Lisen while my people storm the cave. Who lived or died wasn’t important; the only important one was Lisen, and he had to get her out alive.

  Yes. Much better. A good plan, one I can refine to perfection. Then, in a few more days, he’d see Lisen and tell her everything, and that was all he wanted at the moment.

  After what felt like hours of trying and failing, Lisen felt the tiny four-foot creature she shared this cave with brush against her leg as she’d pushed it to. Success! Even through the damn hood they’d left on her head for longer than usual. She couldn’t smell the drug anymore, so it had either dissipated or she’d grown accustomed to its stench. Either way, she’d reached through the hood and the drug and gotten a small furry thing to do what she’d asked of it. Now, on to the next step. She didn’t know what the next step was, but she’d recognize it the moment it occurred to her. And it had better occur to me fast because those natives out there are starting to feel mighty restless.

  The next step, she realized in quick staccato thoughts, assessment of everyone in the caves—strengths, weaknesses, temperament, how they walk, how they talk—connecting these attributes to know who to strike first and how to overcome them.

  “Ah, there you are.”

  Lisen quickly released her control over the little one at her leg and sensed it scurrying off. “Ondra. Where else would I be?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Using your magic to make yourself invisible?”

  One little push and she might be able to make Ondra fall on her face. Oh, how she wished she could do it. But she had to keep her secret until the perfect moment, and this wasn’t it.

  “I couldn’t do that even if I wasn’t drugged,” Lisen answered instead.

  “Well, let’s see how you’re doing,” Ondra said and pulled the hood from Lisen’s head.

  Darkness?

  “Ah, good,” Ondra remarked as Lisen struggled with connecting this reality with all the other realities in her arsenal. “The drug has done exactly what I’d hoped it would, left you blind as well as without your magic.”

  “I’m…blind?”

  “I’m afraid it’s a side effect of the drug.”

  Blind? “Your drug did this to me?”

  “Odd thing, that,” Ondra said. “First it darkens the mind’s eye and then it drops a veil over the physical eyes as well.”

  “How long? Is it permanent?” Lisen’s breath came in little gasps as she fought against the ties around her wrists.

  “Hard to say. Depends on what you mean by permanent. For the rest of your life? Since that’s likely to be rather short, yes, it’s probably permanent.”

  Anger, frustration, fear—these led Lisen to do what she did next. She’d kept herself in check, had taken care to find a way to practice overcoming the damn drug without arousing anyone’s suspicion, but she didn’t care anymore. She pushed. She pushed as hard as she could, and if Ondra figured out what she’d done, well, then, so be it.

  “Damn,” Ondra said, and Lisen sensed Ondra pressing the heel of one hand to her forehead. “That’s a headache.”

  Now I know one thing I didn’t know before, Lisen thought. I can insert myself inside the mind of someone else and sense what they sense.

  A hint of light and shadow. Her own face—a filthy mess—swirling before her. Was the headache she’d visited upon Ondra this bad? Or was it the limitations of the connection itself?

  I won’t break down, Lisen swore. Not in front of her, not in front of anyone. She felt her lip begin to quiver, and she fought to still it. A lump formed in her throat, and she squelched that as well. She’d never felt so determined, not even when she’d entered her brother’s room to kill him. She had to get out of here alive no matter what it took.

  “Here, have your damn hood back.”

  Lisen felt the hood drop over her head. The smell of the stuff, whatever it was, had returned. Ondra must have soaked it again. She felt herself slip into the blurry space, and she heard Ondra leave her cave.

  On the periphery of consciousness within the darkness, she could see wavy, unfocused movement and the play of bright light and shadow. Daylight at the mouth of the cave? And thoughts, different thoughts, each of them easy to identify. Rika, completely dependent on Ondra and loathing himself for it; the Elder, who trusted no one and didn’t understand what he was doing here; the woman who’d jumped Pharaoh the first day; the other female kidnapper who brought Lisen’s food more often than any other; and one of the two men, not the heavy-set one, nondescript but an effective fighter in Ondra’s estimation.

  Creators. She pulled back. These insights belonged to both herself and Ondra. Her eyes may have failed her, but she’d gained another kind of sight. How long would it last? Could she maintain this connection without letting Ondra in on the trick? She sat in the darkness of a cave far removed from sunshine and wind and sky, and yet… she felt the sun as though it were on her face (does Ondra feel terror?), the wind blowing through her hair (leaving Ondra uneasy?), the sky a thing she feared after a lifetime of hiding in the mesa from daylight’s destructive power (panic?—Ondra must run!).

  So, Ondra is like anyone, Lisen thought, impulsive…and a bully who was once bullied herself perhaps, conditioned to respond by an early environment she couldn’t control. I can use that. I can use all of it.

  And what about me? What environment taught me who I am? Solsta? Earth? A bit of both perhaps? Imperatives change the game, though. “You must” becomes a mantra one can’t avoid. What did I do? I killed him, without mercy. But what else could I do?

  And finally, Lisen broke down and mourned her brother.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  not long now

  The headache that had hit Ondra two days ago had waxed and waned but had never really left. Ondra sat, her back against the rock, just inside the cave, the sun from outside not as painful to her eyes as one might expect given her th
robbing temples, and she cursed whatever deity had inspired her to kidnap the Empir. It hadn’t necessarily been a bad move, not in the abstract at least. Kidnap the Empir. Perhaps demand a ransom. Threaten to kill her. Threaten to kill her family. Basically terrorize her. Then kill her. Simple.

  And then she’d pulled the gryl-soaked hood off the Empir’s head. It wasn’t that it turned out that that damn Garlan girl was Empir Ariannas. It was Korin. And Korin’s child. Because this meant Korin’s child was the only Heir this Empir had, and only this Empir could verify the truth. And that truth—oh, Destroyer—that truth carried the potential to fulfill the prophecy. No wonder Ondra had a headache. Kill the Empir, and the destiny of Mantar’s Child would die with her.

  “Ondra?”

  Hand pressed against her forehead, Ondra looked up to Jadda who’d brought back the Empir’s breakfast dishes with her. “What is it Jadda?”

  “She refused to eat again,” Jadda said as she crouched down beside Ondra. “So I just put her hood back on.”

  “After soaking it well in the gryl, I trust.”

  “Of course.” Jadda made to rise but halted. “And one thing else. Her eyes.”

  Ondra sighed. She’d hoped to have the silence back. “I told you she’s blind. Has been for a few days now.”

  “No. Even in the light of the torch, the pupils blot out all the color.”

  “That’s the way gryl works,” Ondra replied, weary of the aching in her head.

  “I’ve never seen it before.”

  Ondra patted Jadda’s shoulder. “Well, now you have.”

  “Shh,” Rika hissed, gesturing them to move back with one arm. “Intruder.”

  Her headache all but forgotten, Ondra scuttled back into the cave, drew her shindah and prepared to back up Rika and Desit. Jadda, Mohmed and Elder Barok waited at her side. Could it be Korin? Twelve days there and back again. Seems about time.