Blooded (Lisen of Solsta Book 3)

by D. Hart St. Martin

  The dinner progressed, amazing course following amazing course, until the only thing left was wine and ale. Lisen sat in the center of the head table, downing wine to drown the fire of emotions flaring within her. Nalin sat to her right with Melanda Cabell to her left, and she spoke to no one. Nalin had Bala at his side, and they spoke in loving whispers. She would never interrupt that. Melanda conversed with the man beside her, her brother, one of the men who’d shared in the emergence of her now-orphaned nephew. And despite the music and the laughter, the camaraderie and the sharing of tales all around her, the celebratory mood of the moment eluded her. She could only think of Korin.

  She’d been allowed no last sight of him, only the wind as he’d ridden off, filled with secrets no words could tell. She’d let him go without thanking him for his tolerant ear as she’d tried to bring sense to the senseless. Had it broken something vital inside of him to find her pushing each of her victims into a willing death? Or had he understood that this, too, was a weapon in her arsenal and it would be foolish for her to shy away from it?

  As the voices rose and fell around her, she yearned to hear his voice. Even at its judgmental worst, it could lift her like a song in the wilderness. When had this happened? When had she transformed from a teenager with a silly crush on her Captain Cutie to a creature whose mind looked on every uninterrupted moment as an opportunity to pine? She shook her head. No. I’m better than this.

  She turned to Nalin, and he and Bala surfaced from their private conversation. “Are we ready for tomorrow?” she asked him. Tomorrow, as everyone else departed, the privy council would meet to discuss what to do with Thristas.

  “I can’t speak for anyone else, but you certainly are,” Nalin replied. “Your thoughts are nothing short of brilliant.”

  The dinner’s raucous atmosphere with decibels of sound beyond comfort wore on her, and she rubbed her forehead with her fingers. “I think it’s time for me to take my leave. Can I do that?”

  “You’re a guest at this one,” Nalin advised. “You can leave whenever you desire. Just stand up and give them time to surface from their discussions to nod in recognition, and then you can be gone.”

  She stood up and waited, and the diners quickly hushed. Nods followed, but before she could accomplish her exit, a voice rang out from the back of the room.

  “What are you going to do about your Will?”

  She squinted and focused on Tazori Dors, who glared at her with his angry blue eyes. “Holder Dors! Would you repeat what you said? I’m not sure I heard you correctly. Did you ask what I’m going to do about my Will?”

  Dors rose from his bench and postured defiantly. “Yes, my Liege, I did.”

  “Don’t,” Nalin whispered beside her, his hand brushing hers, but she ignored him. She’d had it.

  “I don’t appreciate your tone, my lord.”

  “Your Will stood as guardian for Garla in your absence, and for that, I do not fault him. But he convicted a holder, a woman of noble birth, of treason without allowing her the opportunity to state her case publicly. I’m not alone. Others in this room agree with me.”

  To which those others, she presumed, shouted, “Hear, hear!” It didn’t sound like there were very many of them.

  “Damn it!” Lisen stomped her foot on the floor. “Listen to me, all of you. I will say this once, and I will never say it again.” The wine had emboldened her; she said what she wanted to say but what she would never have said if she hadn’t been drunk. “I hope to one day change the laws of Garla regarding the rights of the accused, but the law was observed in the trial of Holder Zanlot. This man, this holder of Felane, who sits beside me tonight, is my Will and shall continue to be so for as long as he desires. As such, he is empowered to act on my behalf.

  “Faced with the abduction of his Empir and having suffered a grievous wound accompanied by unbearable pain, he persevered. He never gave up hope. He oversaw the search for his Empir, and he launched an investigation into the details of what had happened. The results of that investigation yielded only one possible conclusion—Lorain Zanlot had conspired with Thristan rebels who intended to kill me. It was on the facts—the freakin’ facts—obtained in that investigation that my Will acted.

  “And, I might add this. The leader of the rebels, a woman named Ondra, admitted to me that Lorain had traded favors that would benefit herself and her son in exchange for help in my abduction. And there it is. No matter how you look at it, Nalin was correct.

  “So enough. I’ve heard your accusations, and I know you sit around and complain about it in private. Regrettable as executing a holder for treason is, even more regrettable is a holder acting against her Empir. Go home. Spend the winter fretting about how unfair the Ilazer dynasty can be, but that had better be the end of it because I’ve had it!”

  She turned and tromped out the opening behind her that led to the portico. Applause, more than she would have expected, followed her exit. The portico was deserted, save for a lone guard. Sergeant Kopol stood there, waiting, as though she’d known to come, but Lisen knew better. Kopol hovered, eternally available, whenever Lisen left a protected room in the Keep. The sergeant had even made it her duty to ride near Lisen every time she ventured out on Pharaoh. No one was going to capture Kopol’s Empir again, not on her watch.

  “Sergeant,” Lisen said in acknowledgment.

  “Done with socializing for the evening, my Liege?”

  Lisen caught the note of sarcasm in Kopol’s tone. “Yes. I think I’ll try to work a bit before I go up to bed.”

  Kopol nodded and followed Lisen through the passageway from the portico to the inside hall and into the office. There the sergeant left her in the hands of the guard stationed in the hall.

  A single candle upon the conference table broke the darkness, and Lisen sat down at her place. Before her in two neat stacks were notes and a few documents she’d found with Jazel’s help which chronicled earlier conflicts with Thristas. The notes were her own concoction of descriptions of battles from the novels she’d read on Earth. From all she could tell, these people hadn’t experienced a battle in many generations, and Korin’s admonition that the Guard be reminded how to do more than protect made sense to her now. She’d told Tanres everything just as Korin had told her to, even the part about him riding with the Thristans but not fighting with them. Tanres had raised an eyebrow at that one.

  So now, it was Tanres’ duty to turn the Guard into an army. Lisen shivered at the thought.

  One fact appeared inescapable, a litany of three words that had begun chanting through her mind only a day or two ago and refused silencing. And all because of her. She’d fanned the desert embers into flame, and now little Lisen Holt, child of Simon, child of Daisy, must face the firestorm.

  The litany bored through her mind, unstoppable. War is coming.

  War is coming.

  War. Is. Coming.

  Early the next morning, Lisen bounded into the room, the last to arrive, and everyone at the conference table rose, Nalin included. He’d practiced this morning in his bedchamber upstairs, and although his left leg was weak from lack of use, he’d managed to pull himself up with the help of his desk. Now, he’d shown his Empir the proper respect for the first time since her return.

  “Sit, sit,” she ordered as she settled into her chair, and as Nalin managed to lower himself and lift his right leg onto its accustomed cushioned home, she brushed his arm in a supportive gesture that no one else could see. “Thank you all for staying. I’m going to be making a great many demands of you in the coming months. And, Councilor Tor, welcome. Nalin’s caught you up, I hope.”

  “Aye, my Liege,” Sirin Tor responded. “It is an honor to serve.”

  Nalin had recommended the addition of Sirin Tor, the senior councilor of Terane, as well as Captain Palla. Sirin, a moderate in all things, would serve as the voice of balance if discussions grew heated.

  “All right then,” Lisen continued. “The short of it is this. War with Thristas i
s coming. We discussed this before, and I asked you all to think of ways to prepare. I have several thoughts. Jazel?”

  Jazel pulled out a small stack of parchment and handed one sheet to each of them. Nalin did a quick read-through and marveled at how far his novice Empir’s thinking had reached. This was the young woman who’d sat at the closing dinner last night lost in thoughts he could only guess at, getting drunk and ranting about the lack of fairness in the law. Yet today, she shimmered with enlightenment evidenced by the spectrum of suggestions and proposals she’d assembled for them.

  “You’re welcome to take notes,” Nalin’s protégé continued, “but nothing written may leave this room. Understood?” Mumbled agreement greeted this, and she continued. “You may refer to your notes at any time in Jazel’s office, but I want to avoid unnecessary panic. And, of course, we don’t want the Thristans learning what we’re doing.

  “First, we’re going to need a means of communicating quickly back and forth with Pass Garrison. I’m thinking a relay of sorts, one rider exchanging horses along the way.”

  “Or an exchange of both riders and horses,” Palla suggested.

  “We have a whole herd of horses we could donate,” Malaki said. “And perhaps, in addition to guards, citizens could do some of the riding.”

  “Good,” Lisen said. “We’ll work out the specifics soon, so we can be sure we’re ready in time.”

  “My Liege, excuse my ignorance, but what precisely do you mean by ‘in time’?” Sirin interjected.

  Lisen shifted in her chair. “Oh, yes. Here’s my thinking. We don’t go to the Thristans. We let them come to us. And they will. Now, since we’re coming on winter this side of the Rim and since we haven’t heard one word about them moving into position, I expect them to flood into Garla in early spring, not before. Nalin? Commander? Do you agree?”

  “It is the logical conclusion,” Nalin replied.

  “So, we’ll need the relay riders and horses in position by, oh, early-to-mid February?” Lisen continued.

  “Aye, that should work,” Tanres agreed.

  “Now,” Lisen went on, shuffling through her papers, “what’s next? Oh, what do we do about a defense force? The Guard will need training in combat, but even if we virtually empty the three garrisons up on the Rim, that’s hardly an army.”

  Tanres nodded. “We’ll need volunteers.”

  “How many?” Melanda Cabell asked.

  “I’d say at least a hundred from each holding,” Lisen responded.

  “A hundred?” Melanda choked out.

  “At least,” Lisen replied. “Riders and foot soldiers. I expect all of you to go home in the next few days and start sending your people here for training.”

  “What if your so-called ‘captain’ was lying about this?” Melanda asked.

  Lisen glowered. Apparently Melanda was unaware that one never questioned the Empir’s captain. “He wasn’t,” Lisen replied flatly. “Next question?”

  Melanda glared at her Empir, but Lisen refused to back down.

  “And the holdings not represented here today?” Sirin asked.

  Lisen sighed. Much work lay ahead for her, and Nalin worried. She’d had no time to recover from the life of a captive, but at the moment no time was all she had. “Within the week, I’ll ride to Tonkin to confer with Zanlot’s people. As guardian of their heir, I have the right to make decisions for him. Then I will ride farther north to Carlasa.”

  “I doubt Tazori Dors will be happy to see you,” Malaki commented. “Would you like me to come with you?”

  “Oh, yes, thank you,” Lisen replied, sounding relieved. “And Nalin? Perhaps Bala can represent you in Felane?”

  “Of course—” Bala began, but Nalin cut her off.

  “No,” he replied with a sigh, “my mother can do it. She’s due to head home anyway.”

  “Well, good,” Lisen said, laying both palms flat on the table. “That’s a start. We should be ready to accept recruits…” she turned to Tanres… “right after Greatdark?”

  “Aye, my Liege,” the commander replied. “Even before, if they start arriving. Of course, there is the problem of weaponry.”

  “I thought you said the armory was working on that,” Lisen countered.

  “They are, my Liege, but getting everyone armed before spring is going to be a daunting challenge. Having swords and spears ready for training purposes—”

  “Then find every old weapon you have—broken, nicked, whatever—and use those.”

  “Aye,” Tanres responded. “Old weapons are better than nothing, I suppose, for training.”

  “Good.” Lisen nodded. “Anything else?”

  “My Liege,” Sirin spoke up. “Pardon my ignorance, but where exactly do we expect to engage the Thristans?”

  “Our best guess,” Lisen replied, “is Bellin Plain.”

  “Why not just stop them at the Pass?” Sirin continued.

  “We considered that option, my lord,” the commander explained, “but the Pass is too narrow for a decent fight. And since the advantage is ours once they’re in Garla, we chose to not to engage them before they got to our side of the Rim.”

  “Ah, now I understand.” Sirin sat back into his chair, apparently satisfied.

  “All right, now that that’s settled, I suggest you all head home and get to work. Tanres, Nalin, if you’ll stay. Oh, and Malaki, would you join me for lunch today so we can plan our trip?”

  “It will be my pleasure, my Liege.”

  Nalin observed the group closely as they rose and headed out the door, Bala kissing the top of his head while all backs were turned, then following them out. It was a tense exit, no one daring to break the disquieting silence precipitated by the contemplation of what loomed before them.

  “War is coming,” Lisen muttered softly once the three of them were alone. She looked directly across the table at Tanres. “Do we even have a chance?”

  “I can’t answer that, my Liege. Not now. I’ll be more able to make an assessment when I see our new recruits. Their numbers and the abilities they bring with them will determine our chances.”

  Lisen nodded.

  “And speaking of recruits, my Liege,” Tanres continued, “where do you propose we house them? Most of the Keep’s guards live elsewhere in Avaret because there isn’t enough room even for them here.”

  “I was thinking temporary housing of some sort—tents, perhaps?—set up in the park.”

  “For any Thristan spy to see,” Tanres pointed out.

  Lisen shrugged, and Nalin smiled. She possessed a flaming ferocity that singed them all with its intensity. He doubted anyone was immune.

  “All it tells them is we’re aware of what they’re doing and we are preparing to stop them.”

  “True,” the commander said with a nod. She rose. “It appears I have a great deal of work to do. If you’ll excuse me, my Liege….”

  “Go. And thank you.”

  Tanres nodded and left.

  “Now, what are we going to do about you?” Lisen asked, turning and focusing her mesmerizing green eyes on Nalin.

  “My Liege?”

  “I met with Dekar. You know, the saddle maker?”

  “And?”

  Lisen got up, walked around him and pulled what was usually Bala’s chair up beside him allowing him to face her comfortably as they talked. “If we meet the Thristans in battle, and I think we will, I want you beside me. On a horse beside me.”

  “That’s no longer possible, my Liege.”

  Her eyes lit up with green fire. “No. Listen to me. You still have the knee. You don’t need feet to ride; you need knees.”

  “And what do I put in the stirrup?” He wondered if she’d even thought this through.

  “Well, that’s what I went to talk to Dekar about. She thinks it can be done.”

  “What can be done?”

  “She can build you a saddle with the foot and lower leg built in. Then you put your leg inside that. It will take some time to
craft it to fit you properly, of course. And right now your leg is probably still too swollen to do the actual fitting. But don’t you see? It will free you from being forced to ride in a carriage or a wagon.”

  “Whoa, whoa. Slow down.” Nalin held up a hand. “What makes you think I’m ever going to want to get back up on a horse?”

  “Because you are Nalin Corday, Holder of Felane and the Empir’s Will.”

  “Creators, Lisen. Do you think it’s that easy?”

  “It’s not easy. I know it’s not easy. And if I could change it, I would, but I can’t.” Her tone grew irritated, her voice gaining volume as she flung her rant at everything in the room, including him. “I’m sorry. It only gets worse every time I think about Jozan and Korin and now you. What do you all want from me?” She jumped up from the chair and paced to where she could stand, gulping in air, at Nalin’s back.

  He made no attempt to turn around and face her when he spoke. “I can’t speak for Rosarel, and certainly not for Jozan, but I don’t expect you to do anything for me. There are some things even an Empir can’t fix.” He turned his head to look at her.

  She stood there, shaking. He knew she was a slave to her guilt and that she couldn’t seem to escape it.

  “I can’t sit in this position all day,” he said, forcing calm. “Come sit down again and we’ll talk about saddles and horses.”

  Lisen closed her eyes, breathed deeply a couple of times, then opened them again. She returned to the chair she’d vacated and sat down.

  “So tell me about this saddle,” Nalin said.

  “Well, Dekar says she can put together a model first for your approval. Then, she’ll take some measurements. She said she’ll need one of your riding boots.”

  “A right one, I suppose.”

  “Yes. She expects it to take you some time to adapt, but at least you’ll be out in the fresh air and independent of those guards. I’ll help. Once I’ve gotten back from Carlasa, I won’t have much to do anyway except prepare for a war.”

  “I bet those were words you never thought you’d say.”