The Chosen: A Novella of the Elder Races

by Thea Harrison

  All too often the outcome of a battle was decided not in moments, but in fractions of moments.

  A decision to move left instead of right. Weaving when you should have ducked.

  Choosing to take a moment to breathe instead of thrusting forward with everything you had no matter how loudly your body’s instincts screamed at you, no matter how badly you might be wounded.

  Jada’s battle ended the moment he screamed and fell back. He still fought, still struggled. He might even have believed he was still in the game, but Wulf knew better.

  Wulf knew how to push forward no matter what. How to ride that crested wave, because when the battle rage was upon him, it broke everything into those fractions of moments and made them easy to see, and it made him so much faster and stronger than the other guy.

  He kept at Jada like a battering ram, striking him again and again. Blood sprayed everywhere from the wound in the heel of his hand and from the wounds splitting open on Jada’s contorted features. Wulf’s focus had narrowed to a single murderous intent: cracking the other man’s skull wide open like an egg.

  Trying to protect his face with one forearm, Jada made a wild stab. Wulf caught the other man’s wrist and broke it, and the knife fell to the rug.

  Cold wind whipped into the tent as the guards sprang inside.

  Then a weight landed on his back and slender arms wrapped around his neck from behind.

  Lily shouted in his ear, “Wulf, stop it! You’re killing him!”

  That surprised him so much he actually stopped.

  ~ 5 ~

  Much later, Lily huddled on the pallet in Gordon’s tent while she listened to the uproar in the camp.

  Wulf and his soldiers were busy for quite some time. As she waited, disjointed images of the evening’s events kept flaring in her mind’s eye.

  The light in Wulf’s eyes when he caressed the sensitive skin at her throat.

  The single-minded savagery with which the two men had fought. Wulf had transformed into a killer, completely unlike the roguish man who had gently teased a piece of chocolate into her mouth.

  That hadn’t stopped her from jumping on his back. Almost, she wanted to laugh at the memory of his incredulous expression when he had glared over his shoulder, but a part of her was still in shock, and it was a little too soon for humor. Of all the outlandish things she had experienced in her twenty-seven years, she had never been in the middle of a battle before.

  And she had achieved her objective. He had paused long enough for her to tell him, “You aren’t going to get any answers if you kill him.”

  That was when true rationality came back into his gaze. As he straightened from the other man’s prone figure, she loosened her hold. Then rough hands grabbed her by the back of the neck and twisted one arm behind her back.

  With a snarl, Wulf rounded on the guard who had grabbed her. “Back off! She wasn’t attacking me.”

  Instantly the guard let her go and stammered an apology while others swarmed the manservant. Dangerous, violent psyches buffeted her, along with blasts of severe cold mingling with the heat in the tent. Gordon stormed in, along with Jermaine. They all wanted to fight, but the fight was already over.

  Wulf became the calm, cold eye of the storm. The savage killer eased back, and the commander took his place. He rapped out orders, and the manservant was taken away. She shuddered to think of what the rest of that man’s life would be like.

  It could have gone quickly except she had stopped it. Quick would have been a mercy.

  Moving to the edge of the tent, she watched until, suddenly, Wulf appeared in front of her. Someone had tied a piece of cloth around his cut hand.

  He gripped her by the upper arms. Urgently he said, “Tell me where you’re hurt.”

  “What? No, I’m not hurt.” She blinked at him.

  She would have some hefty bruises where they had trampled her before she managed to scramble out of the way, and her ribs ached like a son of a bitch where one of the planks from the tabletop had struck, but that was all. She had done worse damage to herself when she had fallen out of trees as a child.

  He moved in close enough his torso brushed against hers. She could feel the heat pouring off him. Despite the crowded tent, she felt so immersed in his presence it was almost as if they were alone.

  He ran his fingers over her front, and stroked her cheek. His fingers came away smeared with blood. “You’re bleeding somewhere.”

  She looked down at the crimson splotches on the white cotton material of her shirt, then up into his tight expression and smiled. “That’s your blood, not mine. You were flinging it everywhere while you fought.”

  He gripped her at the juncture where her neck met her shoulder. The firm, heavy weight of his hand pressing down on her made her realize she was shaking. “Don’t ever jump into the middle of a fight like that again.”

  “Well, somebody had to stop you.” She rubbed her forehead. “You don’t know if he’s the only one in your camp.”

  “You could have been injured badly, or even killed.” His hard gaze bored into hers.

  Were they arguing? She couldn’t tell. It had been a hell of a day, she was tired, and the energy that terror had lent to her had begun to drain away. “But I wasn’t.”

  Then his warm baritone sounded in her head. My doctor captured a few drops of wine from the jug. The amount of nightshade in it went far beyond what might have caused the dysentery in my troops. He said a couple of sips would have proved fatal. You saved my life.

  He had switched to telepathy, so she did too. I guess I did.

  She hadn’t considered that. As soon as she’d realized the wine had been poisoned, she had reacted. If she had been a calculating person, she could have sat back and watched him drink from his goblet, and then the pesky issue of what to do about the Wolf of Braugne would have vanished.

  The role she had played in determining the fate of the poisoner troubled her, but just contemplating the possibility of Wulf’s death made her feel physically ill.

  And that was extremely disconcerting, to say the least.

  He stroked his thumb along her skin, the caress hidden from sight by the fall of her hair. Thank you.

  Unable to speak, she nodded.

  Jermaine appeared at Wulfgar’s elbow, his hard expression completely unlike the pleasant man who had helped her on and off the barge. “We’re ready.”

  “Good.” Wulfgar’s voice turned brisk, although he was slow to release her. “We need to know if he was working with anyone else in the camp and, if so, who they are. I also want to know what caused him to turn traitor. Was he offered money, or did Varian’s spies hold something over his head? And when he realized he’d been caught, he didn’t attack me—he went for Lily. I want to know if there was a reason for that, and if she might still be in danger.”

  At that, Lily’s breath caught in her throat and she froze, just like a rabbit being hunted by hounds.

  As if not moving would do her any good.

  Jermaine paused to consider her. “I’ll be sure to ask him, but if it came down to a fight between you, he was laughably outmatched. He had to know he couldn’t win. He might have hoped to use her as a hostage, because once he’d been caught that was the only way he was going to get out of this alive.”

  Wulfgar’s expression settled into grim lines. “Perhaps that’s it, but if something happens to the priestess entrusted to my care, we can kiss any hope of collaboration with the abbey goodbye. We need to be sure.” He raised his voice. “Gordon!”

  As if by magic, Gordon appeared instantly. “Sir.”

  “Settle Lily in your quarters and get her some supper. And double the guard outside.” Abruptly, he swiveled back to her. “I just disposed of you as though you were a trunk full of books.”

  It wasn’t an apology, but at least it was an acknowledgment. Foolishly, she wanted to smile at him, but she stomped on the impulse. Her impulses and emotions were exasperating, confusing, totally out of control.

/>   She said, “You have a lot going on.”

  “Yes, and I may be tearing apart the entire encampment before morning to make sure we’ve rooted out any further attempts at poisoning.” He frowned. “There’s a lot to do tomorrow as well. Try to get some rest.”

  Impulsively, she touched the back of his hand before she could stop herself. “Don’t concern yourself with me. I will be perfectly fine. Good night, Commander.”

  His frown deepened, and he looked as if he might call her to task for calling him that, but one of his guards called for his attention. So after giving her a short nod, he strode out, Jermaine at his heels.

  When he left, he took all the remaining warmth with him. Shivering, she tied the fastenings of her jacket together.

  Gordon swept off his cloak and settled it across her shoulders. She raised her eyebrows as warmth enfolded her. “That’s very considerate. I received the impression you didn’t care for me.”

  As usual, she had blurted out what she was thinking before considering her words, but he didn’t appear to take offense. Meeting her gaze, he said, “You saved my commander’s life. I don’t hate you.”

  He spoke the truth. As she glanced at his psyche, the enmity from earlier was gone. “Still, you need your cloak, and mine has got to be around somewhere.”

  “I already located it, and it’s not fit to use. It’s been splashed with the poisoned wine and trampled underfoot. Come.”

  He led her out. She barely had a chance to feel the bite of the cold before he ushered her into a smaller neighboring tent. The interior was very simple. There was a bed pallet piled with blankets and furs, a small trunk, and two braziers that threw off such intense heat she immediately shrugged out of the cloak again and handed it back to him.

  “I will be back shortly with another supper,” he told her. “Have no fear. Despite recent events, the commander’s food is actually guarded quite closely, and I will test your meal myself.”

  She felt a brief, tired exasperation. He seemed to have forgotten she was the one who had discovered the poisoning attempt earlier. But, unwilling to trample on his newfound chivalry, she said gravely, “Thank you.”

  He was as good as his word, bringing both supper and another cloak. It was soldier’s gear, plain, serviceable, and too big for her. After she had eaten her fill, she wrapped herself up in it and dozed until the upheaval began to subside.

  Then weather magic started up again. The cold turned vicious, and when she peeked outside, a driving snow had begun to fall.

  She didn’t dare linger any longer. The longer she stayed, the more she risked discovery. There would be no better time to do this. Sighing, she sent a silent prayer winging to the goddess.

  And Camael responded.

  An invisible leviathan moved through the camp. The hairs at the back of Lily’s neck rose, and her skin tingled as the goddess’s presence poured into the tent. When it passed over her, the light from the braziers darkened, and she looked at everything as if through the gauze of a veil.

  Lifting the tent flap, she stepped out. There were guards on her tent, and on Wulfgar’s, stationed in front of fires that had been stoked high to help ward off the cold. All were wrapped tightly in double cloaks and stood near a witch who chanted spells in a continuous, hoarse whisper to ward off the weather magic.

  Despite the well-lighted area, no one turned as Lily slipped around them and made her way through the busy camp.

  A few times soldiers hurried past, and once she had to dodge to avoid one who almost blundered into her, but not one of them looked at her. She slipped past the perimeter sentries and the witch who stood vigil to support them. Heels crunching in the snow, she walked along the curve of the road, back to the town and the docks.

  Two guards and a witch stood sentry there as well, uselessly squandering their precious energy to watch the island when nobody who had taken shelter at the abbey would leave without the Chosen’s permission. They didn’t notice Lily as she walked out on the icy dock.

  The night was an immense, dark blue expanse, filled with driving pellets of icy snow that stung the skin, the moon cloaked behind a heavy bank of cloud.

  The island itself was a dark, hulking presence, lit intermittently with bright sparks of light in the windows of the towers, and Lily wanted to be in the comfort and shelter of her own room so badly she could taste it.

  She frowned at the large, unwieldy barges. Not only were they frozen in place, it took a couple of people working together to maneuver them.

  She said to the goddess, If you would be so kind, will you help me get home?

  In response to her plea, ice cracked and shifted. She peered into the water, watching as a large shard of ice drifted close and came to a stop beside the dock. It looked to be a larger piece than the rest. Presumably it was strong enough to bear her weight. She sighed.

  The goddess murmured, Remember. Be brave as a lion. Have faith that I am with you.

  The goddess had once said those words to her when Lily had been very young, but faith came so much more easily to a small child who didn’t truly understand the dangers in the world.

  Gritting her teeth, she gingerly climbed down the slippery ladder and stepped onto the hunk of ice. It bobbed gently in the water, enough to make her breathing hitch, but it held her weight. For a moment, nothing happened.

  Then it began to move.

  Wrapping her borrowed cloak tighter around her torso, she watched as the island grew near. Following the focus of her intention, the ice took her not to the main dock, but around to the small, private dock that faced seaward.

  Carefully she climbed off. Ice coated everything, and it was especially thick where constant waves washed over the stone ledge. It was also ridged and uneven, so even though the soles of her boots were smooth, she was able to gain purchase. Pulling out a large key, she made her way to the iron-bound door, but it, too, was covered in a thick sheet of ice.

  How flipping wonderful. She looked around at the splendid isolation of the half-frozen seascape, then up at the cliff that towered over her, and despite the indisputable evidence of the goddess’s favor, she felt foolish and very alone.

  Pulling her magic together, she sent it out in a raw, inchoate blast of energy that struck the door. It shuddered, and the ice that coated it shattered. Raising more magic, she leaned against the door and strained to sense the heavy bar that she knew was on the other side. After several attempts to shift it with telekinesis, finally she could hear a dull thump as the bar hit the steps.

  All but frozen now, she fumbled to insert the key into the solid metal lock. Her fingers had gone numb, and she dropped the key and had to kneel to retrieve it. As she tried again to insert it into the lock, the door jerked open and she tumbled forward in a sprawl.

  Grim-faced Defenders filled the stairway inside. Some held torches while others gripped drawn swords. Several steps up, a disheveled Margot and a few other priestesses stood, their Power poised to strike.

  Exclamations punctuated the air over Lily’s head. Someone lifted her to her feet while others peered outside at the desolate seascape.

  “Lily!” Margot shouldered her way down. Briefly, she stared outside too. “How on earth did you get here?!”

  “On a p-piece of ice,” she said, teeth chattering.

  Margot repeated blankly, “You rode a piece of ice out to open sea? In a snowstorm?”

  “Well, I didn’t do it all by myself.…” Lily looked around at everyone staring at her, their expressions filled with consternation and awe. “I didn’t consider how the door on this side of the island would be frozen shut. I had to knock the ice off before I could try to get it open.”

  “Several of us felt the blast of Power.” After ordering the door to be shut and barred again, Margot grabbed her hands. “Dear goddess, you feel like you’ve turned to ice yourself. Clear the way!”

  Lily let Margot put an arm around her and lead her up the stairs, pausing only to say, “We’re so complacent about our impregnabil
ity, we’ve been neglecting to set a watch down here.”

  Immediately, Margot turned and raised her voice again. “Did you hear her? I want that remedied. If Lily can break in, another witch can too.”

  “Yes, my lady. I’ll post someone down here, around the clock,” the captain of the Defenders promised.

  As they climbed flights of stairs and strode down hallways, Lily’s frozen limbs began to thaw, hazing her mind with exhaustion. Shivering set in.

  “Tell me what you need.” Margot’s arm tightened around her shoulders. “Food? Tea?”

  “Nothing right now,” she said through clacking teeth. “I just want to warm up and go to bed.”

  When they reached Lily’s quarters, Margot shut the door firmly on the other curious priestesses who had followed them. She marched Lily over to the hearth of a large fireplace where a fire already blazed.

  The flames in Camael’s own hearth never died. Gratefully, Lily sank onto a pile of large floor pillows, scooting as close as she could to the warmth.

  Squatting beside her, Margot grabbed her hands and rubbed them briskly between her own, her mouth set in tight lines. “What drove you to return in such an outlandish manner? Did he mistreat you?”

  “No!” she exclaimed. Then she added more quietly, “No, he didn’t. He treated me very well, actually. I just… A lot happened, and I have to sort through it all. He was going to send me back this morning anyway, but there was a chance I might be discovered. I wanted to leave before that happened.”

  “If he found out who you were, he might not have let you go,” Margot said acutely. “Okay. Can everything else wait until you’ve warmed up and gotten some rest?”

  “Y-yes, I think so. No, wait.” She gripped Margot’s hands when the other woman started to pull back. “I don’t believe he’s responsible for the weather magic, and in any case, no matter who is responsible, we can’t stand idly by and let it continue. For one thing, if it isn’t stopped, it’s going to force him to do something desperate.”

  “And we may not like what he does next,” Margot muttered.