The Treason Blade (Battle for Alsaar Book 1)

by Keech, Jenny Rebecca

  While no swords had been drawn, Ishar sensed the men before her were tense. It was an honest assessment. There was no defined peace between the Britai and the Haaldyn. To be truthful, many of her people had never regarded the Britai as worthy of a treaty. They were considered by many to be weak. However, Ishar reasoned, many of these very people failed to understand these same Britai had to endure the full brute of the Tourna fury every ten years. As a people they had simply never had the time to recover from one attack before being attacked again. And since the Tourna picked the best and the youngest of the Britai as slaves and killed many others, no great leader had risen to bring the scattered Britai together as a people, until this Varyk.

  A murmur through the ranks drew Ishar’s gaze and she glanced toward the sound. The gathered crowd parted and another soldier walked boldly through and up to her horse, placing his hand upon Simi’s bridle. A Britai man followed at his heels. Simi, for her part took the action as a gesture of good will and rubbed her forehead against his bare palm and stroking fingers. Ishar glanced down and found herself, for the first time, with her sights directed upon a Raanan warrior. She kept her smile hidden; Ishar might have been staring at one of her Wörie. The rumors had been right, a wildness emanated beyond an impassive expression and contained discipline. The man matched her height. His black hair was shorter than most with slight curls that might have given the warrior a feminine look if not for a strong masculine face and steady gray eyes. Those intense eyes now studied her with care.

  “May I ask to whom I am speaking?” The man’s voice was calm. Yet his narrowed glance belied the gentleness of his tone.

  Ishar tilted her head, her voice steady. “I am Ishar, daughter of Ryen of the Haaldyn. I am here on behalf of my father to speak with your lord, Varyk. I ask for admittance into this holding.”

  At the mention of her father’s name, another murmur filtered through the crowd. The man with black hair and gray eyes appeared indifferent. He watched Ishar thoughtfully for a moment, then spoke with a cool politeness. “I am Lysandr, second in command under Varyk. He is not in the holding at the moment. His lady, Eira, is however. I will allow you to enter and escort you to her. It will be her decision whether you remain within these gates.”

  For an instant a ripple of dislike emanated from the man. Then it passed and apathy reigned upon his face. Ishar frowned. “When will your lord return?” She asked, composed.

  Lysandr tilted a shoulder upward with a casual shrug. “Varyk said he would return before the moon was full. That will happen in less than a week. Your wait should not be too long. If Eira admits you,” he added softly. He motioned to the Britai soldier who stood beside him. “This is Jusa. He will see to your horse’s comfort. Please, dismount and follow me.”

  Irritation flickered through her. Ishar opened her mouth but paused a second before she spoke. She brushed her fingers through Simi’s mane in a reassuring manner. “I am used to seeing to my own horse’s comfort. She leads me into battle and her condition is just as important as my sword or bow.” Ishar’s jaw was tight, angry with herself for letting the words slip out. She did not want the Britai to think she thought so little of their care, but Simi had been her responsibility since a filly and her ingrained instincts as a Haaldyn said that these feeble Britai could not hope to understand the care a war horse required.

  Lysandr had turned away. Did she detect his shoulders tightening even as he faced her again?

  He smiled politely and his tone was polished even though he held himself rigid as he answered. “Please, Jusa takes care of Varyk’s horse and my own when I cannot. I would trust no other. Your mare shall find herself in the best of care, I assure you.”

  Ishar hesitated, then realized insulting her hosts was not a way to begin to find middle ground. She swung her leg across the rump of her mare and dismounted. Ishar undid the back straps and grabbed her gear before handing the reins to Jusa with what she hoped was a polite smile. It was hard to tell. Her voice was stiff even as she thanked him.

  Jusa bobbed his head with politeness and lead Simi away. Her traitor of a horse did not even have the courtesy of a backward glance and snort. Simi was already thinking of oats, hay, fresh water and rest.

  Ishar turned to Lysandr. His back was already to her as he led the way through the parted crowd. The people stared as she walked, with a strange mixture of curiosity and slight animosity. Most likely wondered about her presence and what it might bode to the holding. Ishar was certain Lysandr knew. As second in command under Varyk, he had to know the Tourna were coming. Hopefully his admittance of her within the gates to see this Eira was a good sign, unless they were allies of the Tourna and did not intend for her to leave here alive. It was, unfortunately, a chance Ishar felt she had to take. Her father had informed her of how important this duty was for him and the entire island of Alsaar. So she continued on and followed Lysandr, ignoring the onlookers as they passed by several soldiers’ barracks and a training field to her right and what looked like a sheltered gathering place with a set of structures attached to either side on her left. These looked to be either residences or used for additional storage space.

  They crossed through a secondary gate into the inner holding. This was where the women and children of the village would retreat to in time of attack. She watched as Jusa led Simi toward a far building. The sound of whinnies echoed from within. Several additional structures stood in front of her to the right of where the horses were housed. Next to them was another training area. Ishar’s eyes drifted farther right, where the main fortress was situated. The building was of gray stone, impressive, strong and tall. A woman dressed in a dark green gown stood near the top of the steps, waiting by the main doors that stood open. She was Lute, though tall for one with pale skin and dark brown hair that cascaded nearly to her waist. Her dark eyes watched their coming with a reserved expression.

  Lysandr paused near the bottom of the steps. He glanced back. “A moment please,” he said in a tone of utter politeness and with a short nod before proceeding up the stone steps.

  Ishar stopped and narrowed her eyes at his back. She grew weary of this unrelenting courteous manner. She could appreciate honest hatred.

  *

  Eira watched Lysandr make his way toward her. The expression he wore was one of unease. She raised an eyebrow at his tight face even as she eyed the Haaldyn in armor who waited at the bottom of the steps. Her belongings were set on the ground beside her. Eira saw the woman bore the tattooed mark of a warrior upon her left cheek.

  Lysandr stepped close and lowered his voice. “She is Ishar, daughter of Ryen—”

  “Of the Haaldyn,” Eira finished with a nod. “The reason she is here?”

  Lysandr shrugged. “She wishes to speak to Varyk.”

  Eira’s look was thoughtful. “You told her he was away?”

  Lysandr gave an abrupt nod and frowned. Eira smiled at Lysandr’s obvious irritation at the reminder. He was still upset Varyk had ridden out without the main guard of the Raanan warriors to accompany him on his journey to meet with Wyn. The Lute leader had been unable to come to the holding now because of the preparations his people were making to prepare for the Tourna’s imminent return. Eira could recall several heated talks between her husband and his second in command before Varyk left. In the end Varyk relented enough to bring Kagon and Rayne with him. Eira realized she should be grateful Lysandr and all of the other warriors were so protective of Varyk. Still, her father had drilled into her—a leader one placed one’s trust in had to be obeyed completely. There could be no middle ground. Eira knew if anyone could see them through this coming horror, it would be men like her father and Varyk, and now quite possibly Ryen of the Haaldyn. She took a deep breath. “You think this is about the Tourna?” Eira asked slowly.

  Lysandr was silent. “I suppose.” He gave a slight lazy shrug. “I find I do not care. I do not like her here. The people will not either.”

  “I have found many times the people respond in like
manner as those who lead them,” Eira frowned. “Know your words are heard and noted. However, this is not a time for us to allow the past to destroy our future.”

  “She is Haaldyn,” Lysandr ground out softly in a dark tone. “How many times have I heard you say they could not be trusted? How many times have we faced them in battle and they proved this?”

  “We were their enemies” Eira spoke gently. “We have not been their enemies for the past two years. My father has decreed a peace between the Lute and the Haaldyn that I and Varyk accept. I would expect no less from any of Varyk’s men.”

  Lysandr’s black eyes bore into her. “I am not a Lute. I am not so forgiving.”

  Eira put her hand on Lysandr’s shoulder. “Calm yourself, friend. I am not your enemy. And I understand your slow ability to trust. But my father has declared that our future depends on unification. I see a truth in his words and so does Varyk. Please, while the Haaldyn is here there is a need for peace to rule our minds and actions. See that the men start nothing.”

  Lysandr bristled at her words. “The trouble will not come from us.”

  Eira raised a brow and stated calmly. “Then I fail to see how this lone woman can disrupt our holding and cause war in a handful of days.” She proceeded past him but paused. “Remember my words, Lysandr.”

  Without waiting for a response, Eira continued down the steps. At the bottom she gave a low nod before extending greetings, “I am Eira, Lady of Taryn and I greet you, Ishar of the Haaldyn.”

  *

  Ishar stared at the woman standing before her. The Lute stood nearly as tall as she. Up close, swirling markings trailed along the woman’s forearms. The Lute tattoos indicated that the woman was skilled in the use of a bow. Ishar bowed her head. “Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Eira. I bring the greeting of the Haaldyn to Taryn and words of peace such as we have spoken to your father in the past.”

  Lysandr made his way down the steps and past them with a brusque nod. His narrowed gray eyes flickered toward Ishar for a moment. Then he made his way across the yard, through the gate and into the outer holding.

  Eira appeared unruffled by Varyk’s second in command’s lack of protocol. She nodded at Ishar’s words and smiled. “Consider yourself welcome to Taryn. Mena hyuar ae branue fuogr. May our hospitality prove generous and forever in your favor. Now, please come with me.”

  The two women made their way up the steps and into the main fortress. Ishar followed Eira through the main doors and into an entryway. The broad, short hallway quickly dumped into the main hall. There were two large hearths situated on each opposing wall and another large door opposite her. Servants were busy readying a fire. Several tables were pushed against the side walls. The surroundings were similar at Ayden. The tables, tucked away for talking and business during the day, were pushed out for the evening meal when many might gather.

  Eira continued across the open room and through the opposite doorway at the other end and took a left. Another left followed and Ishar shadowed her host. They came to a stairway. The inner areas were well lit, Ishar noted, as she followed Eira. At the top of the stairs: to the right she could see an overlook that peered over and down into the main hall. Eira kept straight, down the hallway. It ended directly at a door before taking a sharp right. Ishar could see where the hall continued on toward a far wall. A click had her attention focused back to her hostess. Eira pushed down on the door’s latch with her right hand and pushed. Ishar followed and they both entered a spacious room.

  Eira took a perfunctory glance around the room as if examining details, then turned toward Ishar. “Please, make yourself comfortable,” she stated kindly, “I will send someone to you for the evening meal and another to ready a fire in the hearth. I know our air is probably much warmer than you are used to but it still gathers a chill during the evening. Take the time to put away your things and rest from your travels. I know they have been long and you might wish to rest.”

  And I will be out of your hair for an hour or so, Ishar thought, so you can decide how to deal with me. She smiled graciously at Eira and said diplomatically, “Thank you. A little rest would be nice. It has been a long ride, though enjoyable for the most part. I have never been this far south. It is quite lovely.”

  Eira slipped her a smile. “And far greener, I would gather, than your northern homeland.” She gave a brisk nod. “My father has spoken of the beauty of your land when he visited your father last year. Perhaps soon I will see this beauty for myself. Though, I will be honest, I do not look forward to your frigid winters.” Eira bowed her head. “I will see you at the evening meal,” she stated softly and exited the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

  Ishar set her bags on the bed. She turned and studied the room. It was solidly built with at one window. Walking over, she unfastened the tight draping and looked out, leaning over the cold stone ledge. She could see the building that housed the horses set against the far wall of the inner compound, close enough that she could check on Simi. There were two buildings between her and the horse shelter. One looked to be a storage place for hay. She had already spied the granary buildings set close to the front of the inner wall. The other smaller building was probably for Varyk’s warriors. Barracks for the Britai had been situated to the right inside the first gate. The Raanan warrior she had spoken to earlier did not appear to have the patience of being housed with the inexperienced Britai. She knew she would not.

  Cool evening air blew into the room and brushed across her face. Ishar enjoyed the breeze as she made a note that there was a gate that came directly into the inner compound between the horse shelter and the granaries, but the heavy doors were shut and appeared locked by three thick beams. Above it and at spots all around the wall were guard houses where men were stationed. It appeared that Varyk kept a tight house, Ishar noted, as she pushed the draping back into place and glanced inward. Her own door had a solid lock on the inside. Good. Perhaps she would not have to defend against having her throat slit in the middle of the night by a Lute or Britai with vengeance on their mind. Ishar sighed and moved to unlatch her bags.

  *

  Lysandr walked up and leaned on the bar. He took the drink Jaya offered and drained it in one sip. He passed it back and waited without speaking as she filled it again.

  The warriors watched his brooding actions. Ber could take no more. He rose from the bench, walked over to the bar and slammed his empty mug hard. His black eyes glared at Lysandr as he spoke. “Well? Are the rumors true?” Though shorter than the rest of his fellow Raanans, Ber was thick with muscle and strong as an ox. His clean shaven head gave him a forbidding appearance that rattled most. Add to that, abundant energy and a short temper. Ber was a man given a wide berth by many.

  Lysandr was not so disturbed. He flicked a glance at Ber before returning his attention to Jaya and the drink she held out to him. He took it with a nod and drank deep, before setting it down and facing them. Most of his fellow Raanans had only recently returned to the holding from an afternoon of hunting and scouting. Lysandr sighed. “Yes, Ber. The stranger was a Haaldyn.”

  Ber’s jaw tightened. He took his drink and slammed it down again. Jaya frowned and picked up the cup. She refilled it and set it back down before reaching over and running her fingers across his cheek in a calming motion. Ber looked at the Britai woman to whom he was pledged and smiled softly. The scowl returned when he glanced back at Lysandr.

  “Why would a Haaldyn enter here?” Glyndwr asked. The youngest of the bunch, he was usually the first to voice the concerns on everyone’s mind. His thick, wavy black hair barely came to his shoulders. He had not joined in drinking. His cup was set before him and he was slowly turning it around with his fingers as blue eyes stared into its depths.

  “What was the Haaldyn like?” Davaris spoke up. The tallest among them, he was also the biggest and the strongest. Like Ber, he chose to keep his hair close cut, though one could see some brown was visible. His dark brown eyes, one of which was heavily s
carred, studied Lysandr as he sought for an answer, but then Davaris studied everyone. To be such an able warrior, he was also one of the quietest, the opposite of Ber. It seemed strange that they would be close friends.

  Lysandr shrugged. “She was a Haaldyn. Ishar, daughter of Ryen, of the Haaldyn.”

  “She?” Gavin set his propped up feet down and leaned forward eagerly. “Was she pretty, this Haaldyn?” Gavin’s brown locks fell past his shoulders and his golden eyes smiled as he waited for an answer. Gavin always favored the ladies. Or more to the point, the ladies always favored him.

  “Female. They sent a bloody female,” Ber roared. “I am insulted.”

  Gavin looked toward Ber. “You forget,” he noted softly, “Haaldyn woman who have warrior status have equal standing with their men. No insult was meant. And she is the daughter of Ryen, the leader of the Haaldyn.”

  For the first time Traevyn looked up. His black eyes pierced Lysandr. “She wore the tattoo?” He leaned against the far wall as he listened to the conversation. There was no drink in his hands. Instead his fingers moved over an arrow, checking the shaft and flight for imperfections.

  Lysandr nodded. “On her left cheek.”

  Ber snorted. “Who ever heard of marking your women so they could remember their place? I suppose she wears her hair chopped off?”

  “The men wear the same mark and their hair the same length,” Glyndwr said.

  “Seems like a strange practice, if you ask me, this tattoo.” Ber stood and paced the length of the table.

  Traevyn’s eyes flickered up for a moment before glancing back down at his work. “Eira wears marks of skill upon her arm.”

  “Yes, but hers do not mark her in a manner that determines her lack of womanhood.” Ber snorted. “Though it is unnatural for a woman to want to fight. Women have their place, mind you. I just do not believe it is leading men into battle.”

  Lysandr smiled as he looked down into his drink. “I would not say that in Eira’s presence if I were you.”