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

by Dana Marton

  “How were this many of the Shahala spared?” I asked, grateful that the enemy did not follow their usual tactics.

  “The Kerghi saw our healing powers at the battle of Karamur.” Pride crept into Gormil’s tone. “Through their new khan, Verik, I believe word has reached Emperor Drakhar’s ears, and the soldiers were given orders to keep us alive and leave us in our homes. This way, we can keep serving all who need us.”

  My blood chilled.

  Keep us alive and leave us in our homes.

  Not to serve all who needed them, however, but to serve Emperor Drakhar. The Shahala would be enslaved just as much as all the other conquered nations. And what would happen when the emperor realized that not all Shahala had healing powers? What would happen to the merchants and the teachers, the shopkeepers and shoemakers?

  I drew a deep breath. “We have it on good authority that the new Kerghi khan wishes to break with the emperor and create his own empire. He wants to make the islands of Mirror Sea his and Dahru his seat. If the Kerghi succeed, the emperor might not be long in charge. And if the Kerghi fail and the emperor destroys the insurrection against him… What will you do when he has you transported to the capital of the empire to serve only him and his nobles?”

  Gormil shook his head with impatience. “Emperor Drakhar is the greatest might in all the lands. He is not an uncivilized ruler. He has his own physicians in his cities, whom he holds in high regard. He is a learned man. I heard said that his castles are filled with art and all manner of inventions from all around the world.”

  “All stolen!” The words burst from me on a wave of frustration.

  “How fare the other Shahala cities?” Batumar asked, no doubt holding the map of the island in his mind, ready to mark off enemy positions.

  I fell silent, ashamed of my useless fight with Gormil, ashamed that Batumar had thought to ask about my people first.

  “The traveling traders brought us news,” Gormil said, then listed the handful of major ports. “Each is under the power of an enemy captain, with a small contingency of warriors. Most of our villages inland have not been overrun.”

  Prince Graho leaned forward. “Do the Kerghi have warships in every port?”

  “No, my lord. Not to my knowledge. Only the Barmorid here. But ours is the largest Shahala port.”

  Batumar flashed me a meaningful look that said he did not believe the Kadar ship in Sheharree was a coincidence.

  “Will you liberate all our cities, my lord?” Gormil asked, his face a careful mask.

  Batumar responded with a heavy “Nay.”

  Prince Graho, on my left, appeared torn. He opened his mouth as if to make a case, but then he shook his head. “We must not delay. We must not give the enemy time to discover that we are here. Best would be to sail as soon as we can and take them unawares.”

  Gormil did not beg for help or protest our unwillingness to give it. Instead, he appeared relieved.

  “You could free your cities yourselves,” Prince Graho suggested. “You outnumber the invaders.”

  “Healers do not fight,” Gormil shot back immediately, voice thick with disapproval.

  He does not want us to free those Shahala cities, I thought as I reached for a cup of water. Gormil wanted no more war. He felt safe under the emperor’s protection. The Shahala would survive, and for Gormil, that was enough.

  I drew a deep breath. “We wish to take healers with us to aid us in battle, as many as would volunteer.”

  He avoided my gaze, looking at the other Shahala instead. “We are not to leave our homes. On the emperor’s orders.”

  “You are content to live in captivity?” Lord Karnagh inquired, his tone puzzled, bordering on condemnation.

  Gormil sat up straighter, his demeanor very much that of an Elder, a leader of the community, a man who spoke with the full authority of the nation.

  “Our people the Shahala come from nine tribes, each named after a founding father,” he began, raising his voice now so all in the room could hear. “We are the Roosha, the Torno, the Shelba, the Mortir, the Zetra, the Fertig, the Lormen, the Tuzgi, and the Pirta. Once, we lived on a faraway island, surrounded by greedy and immoral kingdoms. When those kingdoms angered the spirits beyond forgiveness, the spirits brought down the very sky upon them. Only the Shahala escaped, with the help of the spirits. We came through the crumbling island’s Gate to Dahru, an uninhabited island at the time, where we made our new home. To live in peace forever.” He emphasized the last words.

  The Shahala around us murmured in agreement. Batumar raised an eyebrow at me. Whether the Shahala or the Kadar had first come to the island was a centuries-old contention between our people.

  “When we received this new home from the spirits,” Gormil went on, “our ancestors pledged to avoid all the ways of evil, all greed and violence. Our lands have not seen war in hundreds of years.”

  Because the Shahala had made an alliance with the Kadar, I wanted to say. The Kadar were a warrior nation and protected the island for us. Our years of peace had been paid for with their blood.

  Gormil was not finished. “This past year, our healers helped the Kadar during Karamur’s siege. We participated in war. And now we have foreign soldiers in our cities.”

  The Shahala Elders around the table muttered about offended spirits while Gormil concluded his speech with “We will heal all who come to us for help, but we will not go to battle alongside any army.”

  The rest of the Elders murmured their support, and so did some of the common people in the room.

  Batumar looked at me, anger shimmering in his eyes. I gave my head a slight shake. I did not want him to argue. We could not force the Shahala to be our allies if they did not wish it.

  Yet I was heartbroken at their refusal. All that time we’d been gathering an army on the mainland, I’d never once thought we would have to fight alone in this war.

  I could see the anger in the tight set of Gormil’s lips and shoulders clearly now. As understanding dawned on me at last, I folded my hands tightly together on my lap, cursing myself for having been blind.

  I had seen our arrival to the city as a liberation. But my people considered the Shahala lands sacred, home to the healing spirits of their ancestors, lands that should be kept pure from greed and war and blood. Yet today, in the port city, we had massacred men. Batumar said it himself: we had given no quarter.

  The Shahala in me, all that I had once been, wanted to apologize. But I also led an army, and I had a difficult time accepting that Gormil did not grasp what stood at stake should we lose.

  The arrival of dinner cut off further conversation, and perhaps just as well. What more was there to say?

  A handful of women served us. I turned my attention to them and the simple wartime fare: a little meat with a lot of mashed turnips. Not the traditional Shahala feast, but I was grateful for what we were given. The Kerghi soldiers who had been stationed in the port city lately had probably requisitioned the best food for themselves already. I imagined the men and women of Sheharree did not have much left to share.

  Batumar must have realized that as well, but still he said, in a tone that brooked no resistance, “We will gather supplies before we sail. And pay for them.”

  Gormil carefully inclined his head. “We will find enough provisions to last you until you reach the next harbor.”

  Food might be in short supply, but he understood that we were the army in the port now and could take what we needed, even if he disagreed.

  My stomach twisted. The meal sat in a clump in my stomach. The Shahala Elders viewed us as little better than the Kerghi hordes. They wanted their precious peace above everything.

  Peace over freedom. Had they always been this way? Had I been simply too young and naïve to comprehend it?

  I understood at last that when I was healing the injured soldiers on the wharf earlier in the day and the Shahala healers did not come at once but only showed up later, they did so not because the enemy had trapped them i
n their houses. They stayed away because they did not want to declare for either side before the battle was decided.

  I spoke up. “We will also need all the healing herbs you can spare.”

  Gormil hesitated for only a moment. “Of course.” Then, perhaps to distract me from asking for more, or perhaps from true curiosity, he asked, “Would you tell us of your journey?”

  A voice called from the back of the crowd. “Some say you came through the hardstorms. Did you go through the storms to the mainland, then? The army you brought are all foreigners.”

  Batumar’s gaze hardened, as if he was on the verge of pointing out that while those foreigners had fought today for Dahru, the Shahala themselves had not.

  Since that was a discussion best avoided, I launched into our tale, and, as the others ate, I recounted our long journey. Batumar, Lord Karnagh, and Prince Graho seemed content to let me speak.

  I was recounting the destruction of Rabeen when one of our soldiers ran in. “Three of the enemy prisoners escaped!”

  The soldier was allowed through at once. He dropped to his knees in front of me, breathing hard, lowering his head as if for the executioner’s axe. “A boat slipped out of the harbor, heading north, my lady.”

  Prince Graho jumped to his feet, then groaned and braced himself on the table against the pain from his wound. “Send the quickest skiff in the harbor after them.”

  The soldier dipped his head deeper. “The prisoners stole the last skiff in the harbor. Twice as fast as any of the small vessels that remain. We sank most of the boats while fighting the enemy.”

  Gormil was on his feet and moving to the prince. “My lord, may I?”

  Prince Graho nodded and thanked him. A fleeting touch was all it took. The lines of pain cleared from the prince’s face. He was healed.

  Batumar pushed his chair back as he also rose. When he glanced at me, his expression said he did not think we had much hope of catching the escaped Kerghi.

  Yet we had to try. We had to apprehend the men.

  In the next battle we would have to fight, the element of surprise was the only advantage we had.

  Chapter Fifteen

  (Koro)

  While I thanked the Shahala for their hospitality, Prince Graho hurried off to see if he might yet find a fast boat somewhere, or one with only minor damage the shipwrights could quickly repair. Lord Karnagh went with him. Batumar and I stayed a few more moments to talk to the Elders about the supplies we would need, then we hurried after the others.

  We barely left the Square of Gathering when Koro pushed through the crowd.

  “Tera!”

  Batumar’s chest rumbled.

  “Koro can help me bring the survivors of Rabeen ashore,” I told the warlord, stopping to wait. “They will be safe here in Sheharree when we sail off to battle. The Shahala will see to it that they are fully healed.”

  Koro caught up with us before the warlord could respond. “I would be happy to help the Lady Tera, my lord, any way I can.”

  Batumar glanced between us then pulled me into his arms, kissing me most soundly, taking me by surprise. The warlord was not normally given to expressing his affections in front of others. But this time, he stopped only after he turned my knees to the consistency of fish jelly.

  “I will see you shortly, my Tera,” he said in a brusque tone before striding off with a last look at Koro—a look that said if Koro put one foot wrong, he was going to find himself breakfast for tigers.

  “I have heard tales of him.” My old friend’s gaze followed the warlord for several moments. “I did not think he could be more frightening than the tales. Yet you seem content to be by his side.”

  “He is not as harsh as he appears.” At least, not to me. His enemies certainly had reason to fear him.

  In the old days, I would have taken Koro’s hand. Now I resisted the familiar gesture and simply started toward the ship instead.

  “Come. I shall tell you everything.” And as we walked, I did tell him the full tale, my life as it had been since I had been sold into slavery, ripped from our Shahala shores. How Batumar found me and how I became his concubine.

  As Koro and I climbed the ladder down into the hold, he looked down at me over his shoulder and gave me a pained smile. “The warlord has your heart.”

  “He does.”

  “They said you were dead,” he said as I stepped off the ladder. “Lost. You and the High Lord both. But you returned with ships and men, with Lord Batumar and the crown prince of Landria. With the Selorm lords and their tigers.” He smiled again, this time with melancholy, stepping down next to me. “Once, we climbed trees together. And here you are now, a legend.”

  While he had lost his parents, the family business, their trading ship, everything. He had once been the son of a wealthy trader, his life mapped out before him. He had been ready to follow in his father’s footsteps, as I had been ready to follow in my mother’s. Yet the spirits had arranged for us different futures.

  I did take his hand then. “I am no legend. But we will free our people.”

  His face flushed with frustration. “I have no sword to offer.”

  “Offer then to care for the survivors of Rabeen. I ask of you only that. We brought two men and a woman with her daughter.”

  He squeezed my fingers. “You have my pledge, Tera. I will care for them.”

  We reached the storage rooms, and I knocked on the first door, calling out before entering.

  Ina still drew back and kept her daughter close, but her stance was not as defensive as before. She was no longer balancing on an imaginary line, on the sharp edge of a decision between fleeing or attacking.

  She had not yet lost her gauntness, but she had washed her clothes and her daughter’s in a bucket at one point. Their hair was combed now and braided. They no longer looked as desolate as when we had found them.

  “This is Koro, an old friend, a good man whom I know well,” I began my introductions. “Sheharree is free. You would be safe if you stayed here. Koro has offered his help.”

  Ina’s gaze traveled down Koro’s long robe that clearly marked him as something other than a soldier. Then her gaze returned to his face, and she watched him as if she wanted to see inside him, while Koro simply smiled, unmoving, unthreatening. His kindness sat plainly in his eyes. He tried neither to convince the woman nor rush her.

  “What would I do here?” Ina asked.

  “I am a healer’s assistant,” Koro said in a friendly tone. “You could do the same, growing and sorting herbs. I could show you how, if you wish.”

  “We would be fed? There is food here?”

  “Not much now, but the Kerghi hordes came after the spring planting. The seed was in the ground, so they could not take that. We will have a harvest come autumn.” He watched as Ina drew her daughter close, indecision still the ruling emotion on her face, and he added, “There is a hall for women who assist with the brewing of medicine. The vats have to simmer days on end. If you can help with that, you and your daughter could stay there.”

  Ina had more questions, and Koro—soft-spoken, patient—answered all of them.

  Nessa piped up too. “Do you know if there is a dolly for me to play with where we are going?” she asked in a breathless tone, looking at Koro shyly, with mostly downcast eyes. “I lost my dolly when we were running from the soldiers.” Her face turned pinched. “’Twas a corncob doll. She had blue eyes like mine.”

  “I do not know how to make one, but I can bring you a basketful of corncobs and cloth for a dress,” Koro said, and that was the right answer.

  Nessa’s expression softened into a small smile.

  “Will you stay, then?” I asked Ina, because it seemed important that she would follow her own will. Mother and daughter were walking into a new life. They had to choose to build it.

  “We will, my lady.” She blinked rapidly, then gave up holding back the tears and wiped her eyes instead with the back of her hands. She sniffed, inclining her head in a qui
ck bow. “Thank you for bringing us here.”

  We went in search of Urdy and Boscor next. Sailors rushed around us, repairing the ship and preparing it to sail in the morning. A multitude of torches lit up the Shield, pushing back the darkness.

  We found the two men together, Urdy having just brought the chronicle keeper some drinking water. Boscor accepted the tin cup, but with a narrow-eyed look, not bothering to hide his reservations, as if he fully expected poison.

  When Koro offered his hospitality to the pair, Urdy immediately objected, drawing himself as tall as possible. “What days I have left, I would spend it in your service, my lady. I owe you my life. I shall not shirk such a debt.”

  “You owe me naught, Urdy,” I told him, despairing. “And you will have a long life yet. There are many healers in the port city here. You will be fully healed tonight.”

  “I live only until the assassin master finds me.” He sounded certain. “I am a runaway assassin. The morden will not let me live. I brought shame to his school and his reputation.”

  As I watched the tight set of his eyes, I understood that he felt safer with us, under our protection. And I knew that, no matter what Batumar might say, I could not turn Urdy away.

  “I owe you my life as well, Lady Tera,” Boscor spoke up next with a quiet dignity. “I am too advanced in age to serve you well, but allow this old chronicle keeper to witness the battles ahead. I lost Rabeen’s scrolls. Recording the liberation of Dahru and the vanquishing of the Kerghi will erase some of my shame. Allow me this favor, my lady. Allow me to witness and record and go to my grave knowing a small measure of peace.”

  His losses were written on his lined face and spoke to my heart. Yet while Urdy was a trained assassin, Boscor was but a merchant and a chronicle keeper. A chronicle keeper he might be, but chronicles were written after battles, in quiet rooms. He had no place on a battlefield.