Guardian Queen: Epic Fantasy Romance (Hardstorm Saga Book 3)

by Dana Marton

  “Nay,” I told him with a heavy heart. “We lost two of our fleet. Only the Shield, the Sword, and the Lance remain.”

  He closed his eyes, then moaned as if he saw our dying men behind his eyelids. He had called those captains and those sailors to his service and had many friends amongst them.

  The guard who had left but moments ago hurried back to us with a bucket of water, sloshing some in the process. “Fresh from the sea, my lady.”

  I grabbed Prince Graho’s discarded shirt from the floor and soaked the stained linen, then washed his fevered skin to cool him. Over and over again.

  Marga stuck her head down the hatch with a soft chuff, wanting to know what I was doing. I sent a soft chuff back, then all is well in spirit song. Since the tiger had saved me from drowning during our voyage to the mainland, she kept a guardian’s eye on me. All is well. No danger.

  She watched me for another breath, then disappeared from the opening.

  My mother had taught me how to talk to animals in spirit song, a language of one living being to another. Some of the best Shahala healers could do it, so attuned they were to the spirits of others. Animals, with their quiet minds, could hear—if not the words, then the intention behind the words. People could not. People’s minds were always loud and busy worrying about something.

  I washed the prince one more time, then finished my ministrations by piling the cold, wet cloth onto his forehead. He fell back into restless sleep, his eyes darting this way and that under his eyelids. He did not wake when I checked his wound—as red and swollen as expected.

  “He will be fine well,” I told his men. “He is but exhausted from fighting the fever.”

  I stayed with him.

  Men snored around me. Waves lapped against the Shield. I could hear the boots of the night guards slapping on the deck above as they walked the ship.

  I said a prayer of thanksgiving.

  “Thank you for saving the Lance and the Sword. Thank you for bringing us to land. Thank you for keeping the prince.”

  * * *

  Morning light and Batumar found me dozing as I still sat at my patient’s side. Prince Graho rested peacefully at last. Not even the captain shouting orders above or the ship lurching forward awakened him.

  The fever had left his battered body, thanks to the spirits.

  Batumar’s frown softened when he looked at me. He pulled me to my feet and brushed some stray strands of hair out of my face, his gaze searching mine. “I wish you would concern yourself with your own rest as much as you concern yourself with the welfare of others.”

  I rested my face against the curve of his neck and closed my eyes. “We land today.”

  “Aye.” He held me tighter, murmuring his words into my hair, “How fares the prince?”

  “He will live,” I said louder than necessary, so I would be heard by all the men who were preparing for their morning.

  We left Prince Graho to rest under the watchful eyes of his guard and went up on deck. I drew the fresh breeze into my lungs as I stretched my aching limbs, looking for the Shield and the Sword. I wanted to see if the caravels sustained further damage since we lost sight of them, but they were too far. They were, however, sailing under their own power—neither towing the other—a good sign. As sunshine warmed my face, relief warmed my heart.

  I grinned at Batumar. “We have three ships and the men they carry.”

  Before he could respond, Captain Temro greeted us, striding forward from the stern, the four leather-clad prongs of his beard slapping against his barrel chest.

  “My lord. My lady.” He flashed a smile filled with crooked teeth. “A good morning, indeed.”

  “Are the caravels damaged?” the warlord asked him, glancing at the looking glass in the captain’s hand.

  “Some torn rigging and tattered sails, my lord, but nothing that could not be repaired in a quiet harbor given half a chance.”

  “A good thing, then, that a quiet harbor is lying straight ahead.”

  “Fortuitous, indeed.”

  Soon the two men were deep in a conversation about shipwrights of which I understood less than if they spoke in a foreign language.

  I left the men to their discussion and hurried to the prow, hungry for another glimpse of Rabeen. When I had first woken at dawn, I had been afraid I had only imagined that strip of land on the water. But no, Rabeen was still there, waiting. I smiled into the morning while, behind me, the captain shouted, and more sails unfurled.

  My gaze searched the island that was growing on the horizon. I hoped we would find Rabeen safe and untouched, even if I had no fond memories of it. The island’s merchants were rich, yet the streets were full of little children maimed to make them better beggars. Rabeen’s slave market was an abhorrence that both angered and offended me, as I was certain it angered and offended the spirits.

  On our last visit, Batumar and I had sworn to do something about that. Now we were here with an army. But as we neared land, I saw no sign of life, no merchant ships in the harbor. Unease skittered up my spine.

  I was searching for movement so intently that several moments passed before I realized that Batumar was standing next to me with the captain’s spyglass. He had the copper tube trained on the island and was looking as carefully as if he intended to count all the apples and figs in the market stalls. Then again, maybe he did. We were desperate to resupply our ships. But as he kept looking, he lost the lightness our two lost ships’ reappearance had brought to his face.

  “What is it? What do you see?”

  He handed me the looking glass without a word.

  “Bad news?” My heart sank as I fitted the copper tube to my eye.

  The spirits help us. And help us better than they had helped Rabeen.

  The last we had seen the island, it had been a busy market, teeming with life. Now everything stood in ruin. No colorful flags snapped in the wind. The merchants’ tents had been trampled, their houses demolished. The sole ship in the harbor was a burned skeleton. No wonder I had not seen the white of sails.

  The sight of the destruction made my stomach roil. As cold, invisible fingers squeezed my heart, I handed the looking glass back to Batumar. “I can see no movement at all.”

  They can’t be all gone.

  “We will find out what happened when we land. There are always survivors after a battle, especially on an island.” He tried to encourage me. “Some men might have been out fishing when the enemy arrived. Some who were left for dead, lived. Some hid themselves.”

  Rabeen destroyed. My mind had trouble catching up with my eyes. I turned back to look again. On the mainland, I had seen multiple sieges—from both sides of the fortress walls. I saw now what I had not noticed upon my first visit here: Rabeen had no towers, no ramparts.

  “The island was wholly defenseless!” The words slipped from my lips, an accusation.

  Batumar took my hand. “Its treaties were its defenses. What few pirates sail Mirror Sea have an agreement with the Merchant League of Rabeen. The pirates have always bought and sold goods here. They would have no reason to sack the island. Neither would the surrounding kingdoms. They gain much income from the market. Rabeen has always stayed safe, protected not by walls, but by alliances.”

  He let my hand go so he could raise the spyglass once more and scan the land ahead. “Enemy ships could be hiding on the other side of those cliffs, soldiers waiting in the ruins, ready for our landing.” He lowered the copper tube and captured my gaze. “I would have you stay on the ship until we ensure that Rabeen is safe.”

  “Must we truly argue about this again?” I set my jaw. “I will not cower on the ship while I send men into danger.”

  He watched me for a moment before he nodded, worry giving way to pride in his gaze. “As you wish.”

  He brushed a kiss over my lips before he left to organize the landing. I stayed in the prow and kept searching for signs of life on the island as we approached. Nothing moved. A forest of small masts caught my eye. I
did not remember Rabeen having that many fishing boats. Then again, they could have been out at sea.

  Birds circled in the air above the masts. Not seagulls. Something larger, darker…

  Carrion birds.

  A shudder ran through me. I had seen enough carrion birds in the aftermath of battles to never want to see another.

  As we neared, I could see what drew the birds to the harbor. The small forest of what I had thought were fishing boat masts were no such thing. They were all gallows, and on them hung at least a hundred men.

  Cold spread through my chest, such cold that my heart felt frozen and brittle. Dread flooded in like ice water, filling me to the brim as if I were an empty waterskin. In the full heat of summer, I could not stop shivering.

  Neither could I stop looking. Beyond the gallows, on the ground everywhere lay more of the island’s dead, mostly men, stacked in piles. The few women were older, past childbearing age. The Kerghi hordes preferred taking the children and young women as slaves.

  Nothing moved other than the birds.

  A terrible fear fell on me, like a house collapsing, burying me in the ruins. As if rocks sat on my chest, I could not breathe. My blood thrummed a panicked rhythm in my ears. A desperate prayer flew from my lips. “Kind spirits, if there is anyone here who can be saved, let us find them.”

  * * *

  We reached the harbor midmorning and dropped anchor.

  Only a handful of structures remained standing, the island little more than rubble. Captain Temro communicated with our two other ships through horn signals, ordering them to stay at sea for now. Should we be attacked, the caravels would remain safe.

  “The Kerghi did this,” I told Batumar when he appeared next to me a little while later. “But how? The ones who came through the Gate of the World on Dahru have no ships.”

  As some walled cities had gates, so did our island, a wondrous portal left to us by ancient men whose knowledge we had lost. One could travel through such Gates to another island, or even to the mainland, provided that one’s destination also had an ancient Gate. Most Gates opened to but one place, but the Gate on Dahru was the Gate of the World. It made passage possible to all other Gates. I was convinced that was the reason for our enemies wanting our island above all others.

  Yet even the khan could not send ships through a Gate. All the surviving Gates were on land.

  “Think you some Kerghi sailed through the hardstorms from the mainland?”

  “If we can sail through the hardstorms, so can the enemy.”

  As the wind turned, the unforgettable battlefield stench was so strong that I had to draw the collar of my light summer cloak over my nose. The destruction was overwhelming, disheartening. And all those dead bodies dragged to the harbor…

  I drew a shallow breath. “This feels like a message.”

  Batumar’s gaze grew pensive. “Almost as if our enemies anticipated our return.”

  As our men prepared for docking, they too kept glancing at the island. The carnage must have reminded them of the homes they had left behind, the families they had lost. They worked in silence, the only sounds the ones the sailors made tying up the sails. Near me, a young soldier who’d just come up from the hold paled at the sight of the gallows.

  Did he wonder if he was looking at his own fate?

  Was he?

  He, and all the others, had left the safety of Uramit to follow me. I had brought them here. I had never felt more keenly the weight of my responsibilities than at that moment, with the sight and smell of a conquered Rabeen in front of me.

  The prince was an admiral. Batumar was a warlord. Tomron was a general. Lord Karnagh led the Selorm warriors and their tigers. But it had been I who had called all these men to battle. I, Tera—a healer. What did I know of battle strategy?

  Yet I had to lead. If I had doubts, I must not show any. Spreading doubt in wartime was deadlier than spreading the plague.

  I must lead or we would perish, and evil would reign.

  On the wind came a whisper, my mother’s last message to me.

  Spirit, be strong. Heart, be brave.

  Chapter Five

  (The Chronicle Keeper)

  I was about to step on the plank to go ashore with Batumar when Durak’s shouts reached me from midship.

  “Wait! Lady Tera!”

  The panic in the seasoned commander’s tone made me turn back. One look at his anguished face had me running toward him, armed soldiers jumping out of my way. When I reached the hatch, I scrambled down the ladder so quickly, I nearly tripped.

  The royal guard surrounded their prince, holding him down once again. This time, he was not fighting them in a fever dream. He was convulsing.

  “Prince Graho?” I dropped to my knees and felt for his scorching forehead, pushing wet cloth out of the way.

  He did not respond. He was past knowing anyone was with him.

  “When his fever returned, we wrapped him in a wet blanket as you ordered.” Durak’s expression tightened with worry. “It does not help, my lady.”

  I had checked on the prince but a short while before. He had been feeling better. But now… His fever spiked too suddenly and higher than was safe. I reached for him with the intent of drawing the fever from him into my own body, then stopped. I might yet be called to heal more grievous injuries today. Batumar was right. There were always those who survived. There had to be some even on Rabeen, at least a few dozen, terrible infections from battle weapons, and many broken bones. Burn wounds too—there had been fire. The prince had but a fever.

  “I need one of the empty water barrels from abovedecks,” I told the two royal guards on my right.

  As they ran off, I turned to the guards on my left. “Start bringing buckets of seawater.”

  The barrel arrived first.

  “Pick up the prince and put him in,” I ordered the men, then, as a dozen buckets of seawater were delivered, I had his guard dump the cold water right on the prince. They doused him until the barrel was filled to the brim and the prince shivering.

  “The Lady Tera assisting me with my bath. And what does Batumar have to say about that?” he joked weakly when he finally revived.

  “He is too busy inspecting Rabeen. How do you feel?”

  “As if death swallowed me down, then vomited me back up. I think I gave him a stomachache.”

  He was gaining back his sense of humor—a sign of recovery.

  I stayed with him until the fever left him once again, until he was dressed in fresh clothes and returned to a dry blanket. Only when he dozed did I return abovedecks, hurrying to the prow to see where Batumar went.

  Marga padded up and placed her plate-size front paws on the weatherworn railing next to me. Her whiskers twitched at the smell of blood and bodies, yet she did not leap into the water to swim to land. She stayed to protect me.

  Four dozen soldiers remained on board with near four dozen sailors to defend our ship should we come under attack. The rest of the men had disembarked and were spreading out, inspecting every possible nook where the enemy could be hiding. Batumar was leading eighty or so soldiers toward the market.

  The men moved forward with their weapons held ready, without hesitation. Where Batumar led, they followed. He was born to lead. He drew every eye and gained the confidence of fighting men without effort.

  The warlord’s gaze cut back to me, as if to assure himself I was still on the ship, still safe. Then he signaled to the men to move forward. The soldiers dispersed in pairs, soon disappearing beyond the charred remnants of the dockside warehouses.

  I did not dare leave the prince, no matter how much I wanted to join Batumar on land, so I did the next best thing. I borrowed the spyglass from the captain again and climbed to the empty crow’s nest atop the mainmast.

  Blue ocean stretched to the east, the white sails of our two other ships remaining a safe distance away. As the captain had said, they did not appear irreparably damaged. One of the tight knots in my stomach eased.

>   I turned the looking glass on the island. Batumar appeared, then disappeared among the ruins. The soldiers moving on the abandoned streets and over the fields were all our own. I saw no sign of the enemy. Bodies lay everywhere. I lowered the looking glass and squeezed my eyes shut, but saw the dead still.

  There must be survivors. Maybe hiding in the orchards on the far side of the island. There are survivors, and we will find them. We will find them, and…

  “My lady!” The shout woke me.

  The sun was nearing its zenith in the sky. I peered down from the crow’s nest at Batumar. “I fell asleep.”

  “You slept precious little last night. I am glad you had some rest at last.”

  I was not. So much time wasted!

  “The enemy left no troops behind,” the warlord said as I climbed down to him, my legs and arms stiff, spyglass tucked into my belt.

  When he could reach me, he lifted me away and held me against him for a couple of heartbeats before he set my feet on the deck. His hands lingered on my waist. His thumbs caressed me—a gesture of affection invisible to the men around us.

  I looked up into his scarred face. “Survivors?”

  His eyes were filled with love, but his tone carried sadness. “Two.”

  I gripped his arms. “On the whole island?”

  “A young woman and an old man. They need your help. I checked on the prince. He is well. He can spare you for a while.”

  “Let us hurry, then.” I handed the spyglass to the nearest sailor with instructions to return it to the captain. “And bring me a small cauldron on your way back,” I told the man.

  I had my knife and my flint. I had, in the very same pouch hanging off my belt, a needle and a small spool of thread left. Herbs I had none. I had used the last bit on the prince.

  The Sword and the Lance were docked next to us, one caravel on each side of the flagship. I had not heard them drop anchor. Nor had I heard the captains shouting orders. My sleep in the crow’s nest must have been fair deep.

  I glanced from one ship to the other as we crossed the deck of the Shield. “Lord Karnagh and Tomron?”