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

by Dana Marton

  Urdy did not get to have a last word either. By the time I turned to him, he lay still on the ground.

  My heart raced as I rushed to him and put my hands on his shoulders to shake him. “Urdy!”

  A knife was buried to the hilt in his heart. If only I felt a blinking flame left inside him, I could have saved him. But I sensed not even a tiny spark of life. Boscor’s first throw had found its target. Urdy had been fighting with the blade embedded, knowing he was already dead. Yet he had fought for me.

  He still had one of his daggers. He had died like a warrior, weapon in hand.

  Tears splashed from my eyes onto his blue cheek that looked black in the dark. I brushed the drops away. “Thank you for being my friend.” I closed his eyes. “You were a very good assassin.”

  I wanted to stay with him, but I could not, so I wiped my tears, then left the huts and the dead, hurrying toward the men farther down the beach. I would grieve for Urdy later. I would send prayers for him to the spirits. He would be buried with honor, on a hillside, I would see to it. But right now, I had to save the prince.

  If I was not too late already.

  “I am here!” I called to the men once I reached close enough that they would hear me over the crashing waves.

  They looked up, relief evident in the slumping of their shoulders. One gestured frantically for me to hurry.

  My gaze fastened to the dark shape lying at their feet. Deadly still. My heart pounded hard enough to hurt.

  No! Not Prince Graho. I ran faster, stumbling on the sand. Not this time. Not another friend. Not the prince.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  (Kidnapped)

  Even as my heart raced, something on the sand behind the crouching men caught my attention.

  The single mast was oversized for the small fishing vessel that lay at an angle, half pulled onto shore. I stared at it hard through the darkness as I hurried forward. “Is that the skiff that escaped from Sheharree? Did the prince find the escaped Kerghi soldiers?”

  Had the Kerghi killed Prince Graho before his guards could catch up with him?

  I turned my gaze back to the royal guard, waiting for their answer. The three unfamiliar soldiers wore Landrian blue but had the olive complexion of the Kerghi. I stopped and took a quick step back, then another.

  The man nearest me shifted to the side as he rose, and I caught a full glimpse of the body on the ground at last, indeed lifeless. He was not the prince, yet familiar, even with wet sand on his face.

  Durak. The commander of the prince’s guard. I gasped as I saw the dark line of blood on his neck where a knife had severed artery and tendon.

  A trap!

  I turned and sprinted back up the beach—no easy task on crumbling sand—but the strangers seized me before I could take a dozen steps. As I opened my mouth to scream, one clasped his large hand over my face. Before I could catch my breath, they tied me, gagged me, tossed me to the bottom of the boat, then covered me with burlap.

  My capture happened in less time than Boscor and Urdy’s fight among the shacks. This is how fighting goes, I thought, my mind numb. This is why soldiers train so much and prepare, so they can fight back but in a blink.

  I only ever entered the battlefield in the aftermath, to heal. I had seen men fight, and I knew the thrusts of the swords were rapid, but watching was nothing compared to being in the middle of violence.

  My fate was sealed before I could even think. Before I could acknowledge being scared out of my wits. Then I did panic.

  Marga! I need your help. Marga! Please hear me!

  I struggled to no avail. Too soon, we were on the water. The boat rocked as, one by one, the men jumped in. I fought to sit up, but they pushed me back onto the bottom, then placed their waterlogged boots on top of me to keep me down.

  Seawater soaked through the burlap that covered me, then through my clothes. I shuddered with cold and despair. I tried to scream around the gag, but no sound escaped.

  “You think she’s ’nough?” one of the men asked.

  “More ’an nuthin’,” another answered. “We need coin.”

  “We go to the khan with news we lost the city, an’ he’ll chop off our heads,” said the third. “Bringin’ him a bit o’ fluff will not stay his fury.”

  “She’s sum’on’ important like, you mark me words.”

  “She was with them lords, fer certain. Aye?”

  “Still say we shoulda nabbed one of ’em lords.”

  “You seen the size of ’em?”

  “Not too late to dump her in the sea an’ run off.”

  “Run off where, ye boil on a Weranian witch’s arse? Khan Verik has the island. He made the fortress city his seat. We have a fishin’ boat that’ll likely sink from the first big wave. We none of us are sailors. Ye know which way is home?” He snorted. “I thought so, ye pile of buzzard shit.”

  The third man stayed silent. Was he too thinking about drowning me? Would he speak up and decide my fate?

  I held my breath, waiting. I was not nearly as grieved by the threat of a watery grave as by the knowledge that the enemy had indeed taken Karamur, the seat of the Kadar High Lord. And while their khan sat safely behind those walls, more Kerghi poured through Dahru’s open Gate day after day.

  The hope burning in my heart died, as if smothered by the burlap that covered my face.

  Our island was well and truly conquered.

  We had arrived too late.

  * * *

  The skiff sailed through the night, until the men pulled onto a small abandoned beach the next morning. We stayed long enough only for two of them to head into the forest and scavenge for food while the third stayed with me and the skiff. At least he pulled the burlap off my head so I could breathe more easily.

  I squinted against the sunlight. The sail was not black, as I had thought the night before, but smeared with mud so it would blend into the night. I could see the man too, more clearly for the first time. He was the rough sort, scarred and mean eyed, some of his hair missing at his temple where a sword must have shaved off his scalp in a fight. He kept watching me, and I did not like the cold, calculating look in his eyes.

  I was relieved when the scavenging men returned at last with eggs, mushrooms, roots, and berries. Of course, they shared only among the three of them, giving me none. With my stomach a tight knot from anger and fear, I could not have eaten in any case. I did, however, have another need.

  My bladder was near bursting, but, with the gag still in place, my mouth full and sore, all I could do was moan my distress. Whether they understood what I wanted or not, they ignored me. They pushed the boat back into the sea, and soon we were riding the waves once again, as fast as our single sail could carry us.

  They did not cover my head again. After a while, they even let me sit up, carefully surrounding me so I could not throw myself over the side. The only small relief was that my hands were tied in front of me and not behind me. From time to time, I bent to the bottom of the boat to splash water on my face. Each time, without letting them see, I drank seawater around the rag in my mouth.

  By midmorning, I was soiling myself. By midday, I was retching over the side of the boat. They did remove the gag for that. By that night, I was shaking, my muscles cramping, my mind hazy with delirium. I welcomed it all. The sicker I looked, the better.

  We did not land again until the middle of the night. This time, they let me crawl across the narrow, rocky beach to the edge of the forest and squat there. The three men stayed several steps back.

  “Better here ’an in the boat.” The half-scalped mercenary’s tone dripped with disgust.

  My back to them, I peered ahead in the moonlight. Before me spread a stand of oaks, the undergrowth mostly weeds. I thought of Kumra and her poisons, whether there existed a way for me to escape the Kerghi.

  One against three. Yet the chronicles spoke of worse odds at the siege of Mistron, or even the battle Lord Meber won when some of his men volunteered to sacrifice themselv
es to feed the battle tigers. I thought of Queen Emila, who exposed herself to the plague, then went among her kingdom’s enemies and devastated their forces with the disease.

  I would have done that to defeat the Kerghi and save my people. If only I had a plague handy.

  The spirits must have guided me, for I spotted a small clump of black nettle just then, its dark, oily leaves standing out against the lighter green of grass. I could not create a plague, but maybe I could fake one, the spirits willing.

  I kept my back to the men while I picked a handful of nettle leaves, shoved them into my mouth, chewed them, then spit them into my palm. As I stood and turned to my captors, I rubbed my hands over my face, as if exhausted and faint, neither of which I had to pretend. Then I began shuffling back toward the water, skirting the men, who were still relieving themselves.

  The itching attacked me first, then the burning, as if I’d accidentally splashed lamp oil onto my face and it caught on fire. I could feel the blisters rising. My mouth felt as if I had eaten an entire hill of fire ants. I rubbed my hands over each other, then I scratched my neck. Everywhere I touched, everywhere the oil reached, my skin rebelled.

  About a dozen steps from the boat, I collapsed.

  The youngest of the three men—the one with barely a shadow of a beard—strode over to kick me in the side. “Up!”

  The others came too and reached out to grab me, but as I turned my face into the moonlight, they halted.

  “What ails ’er?”

  The young mercenary took a hasty step back. His voice was less than steady as he asked, “Have they brought the plague, then?”

  “Dinna see none of ’em like this.”

  The scalped man walked around me in a wide circle. “Could ’ave kept their sick on the ship, aye?”

  “Get in the boat!” the young mercenary snapped, backing away, his voice underlined with cold fear.

  I crawled to the edge of the water, where I collapsed again.

  Eyes closed, I let the sea wash over my face. I held my breath as the waves came in, then breathed as the waves went out. The cool water should have felt a relief to my burning skin, but instead, the salt stung my blisters. My whimpers were the truth, no pretense.

  “Put ’er in the boat,” the scalped man ordered.

  The other two took only one step closer.

  “You certain?” the young one begged, his breathing harsh.

  The other one swore. “If we take ’er to the fortress city an’ spread the plague…”

  “She’ll be dyin’ before we get there,” his young friend added. “Won’t see sunup, I bet me sword.”

  “Best leave ’er ’ere. The tide’s comin’ in. It’ll drown ’er. The waves will wash ’er away.”

  Silence stretched as the scalped man watched me. He had murder in his gaze, but he did not want to come any closer to me, not even to run me through with his sword.

  I closed my eyes and did my best to look to be dying. Seabirds cried in the air above me as if calling out the news of my death. That might have helped.

  At long last, the sound of splashing reached me. The men were pushing the boat back into the water.

  I opened my eyes to a crack. The boat sat bobbing in the waves. The sail unfurled, but they did not turn it into the wind. They waited.

  The tide came in and washed over me. I let the waves suck me in, draw me off the beach. I let my water-logged clothes draw me under. Then I swam around a large rock that protruded from the water and clung to its side, lifting my face so only my nose stuck out, barely enough to draw breath between each wave.

  When the tide rose, I moved higher too. Again and again. My clothes dragged me down, but I fought them even as cold seeped into my bones. The salt stung my blisters so much, I cried under the water.

  When the sea covered the rocks at last and I had nothing to hide behind, I cautiously stuck my head all the way out, fully breaking the surface.

  The black sail was some distance away. Two of the men were looking forward. One was looking back. I ducked under the water again.

  Not until I could no longer see the skiff did I crawl ashore, hoping my dark clothes would not be visible on the dark rocks of the beach even in the moonlight. I crawled to the edge of the forest, then collapsed on my back and coughed up enough salt water to fill a small bucket. When I was done coughing, I smiled.

  I was half-drowned, my skin still threatened to melt off my bones, but at least I was free. At least the sand in the seawater had scrubbed the black nettle oil off my skin, so the blisters would likely not spread any further.

  Rain began to drizzle from the sky.

  Thank you, kind spirits. I tilted my face up to wash off the salt water that still burned my scrapes and cuts. I welcomed the rain, even if it meant that I could not start a fire. I might not have dared in any case, for fear of being seen. The skiff was gone, but other enemy troops might be near.

  Even as I thought that, I heard a rustle in the woods. Someone walked in the deep shadows my gaze could not penetrate. The rustling sound came again. Closer. Whoever it was, was coming straight toward me.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  (A New Plan)

  The dark shape shuffling in my direction would have reached to my waist if I were standing instead of pressing myself into the ground. Some kind of an animal. It moved slowly. Stalking me? Dry twigs snapped beneath its feet. Something heavy. A tiger? Yet it did not have the shape of a tiger.

  Round. Short feet. Moonlight glinting off not fur but…a shell.

  I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Greetings, Grandmother, I welcomed the giant turtle with spirit song.

  She looked as magnificent as a queen, her mossy shell her royal cloak. She slowed to look at me as she passed by me.

  She was large enough to carry me on her back, and for a moment, I considered whether I could ask her to take me up the coast, closer to Karamur. But I was too exhausted to hang on to her in the cold water. A strong night wind blew from the east, whitecaps dotting the choppy sea. I still felt half-drowned, weak from hunger, and the salt water would have been too painful on my blisters. I kept healing them, but black nettle blisters kept coming back and back, that was the curse of the plant.

  The turtle moved on. I watched it crawl across the rocky beach, then into the waves, majestic to the end.

  The wind never eased. I shivered through the night. In the morning, I moved out from the shelter of the trees so the rising sun could dry me. I ate clams, then a single red crab, sucking out his raw white meat and swallowing it without much chewing, since the inside of my mouth was still blistered.

  I had to decide whether to follow the coastline back to Kaharta Reh, or cut through the forest to find the North Road that led to Karamur.

  Batumar and our army were in Kaharta Reh, but they might be gone by the time I backtracked. He would search for me, but he could not stop the war for me. They had to keep moving. They had to reach Karamur as quickly as they could. News of our arrival would find Khan Verik soon. We could not give him too much time to prepare for battle.

  If I cut through the forest, I had a chance of meeting up with Batumar. Of course, if he was not on the road at the time and place I reached it, I would have no way of knowing if he was behind me or ahead of me. In addition, the enemy probably used the same road—the main road through Kadar lands. If the Kerghi captured me, I might not be able to escape them again. And a final consideration: the woods were full of predators.

  I could walk north on the shore, but any passing ship would see me.

  Before I could puzzle out the right course of action, a spot of white on the gray sea caught my attention.

  A sail.

  I looked again, my heart beating a wild rhythm.

  Two sails! I pressed myself flat into an indentation on the rocky beach and watched as two boats sailed up from the south, closely hugging the coastline. Single-sail fishing boats, four men in each. They were watching the shore, even the two men who handled the sails
. They were all clearly fighting men, armed with broadswords and bows. Some of them were dressed in Landrian blue, but I did not let that fool me again. I stayed low to the ground and watched, prepared to let the boats pass, but as the sail turned and sunlight hit the face of the man in the prow of the first boat, my breath caught.

  I was on my feet in a blink, waving and shouting. “Hartz! Hartz!”

  The boats turned toward shore almost at the same time, the men waving back and shouting, “Lady Tera!”

  I led them to the part of the rocky beach where the enemy had come ashore the day before, a narrow stretch with some sand that would not break the bottom of the boats. Then they were on firm ground and running toward me, smiles on every face, which soon turned to concern.

  Hartz winced. “My lady. What happened?”

  Atter, Lison, and Fadden all looked horrified and worried as they formed a protective barrier around me. “Are you ill, my lady?”

  “Black nettle.”

  “Thanks be to the gods.”

  “Lady Tera!” The four men from the other boat caught up with the crew of the first and joined the protective circle.

  They were of the prince’s guard. I knew them all by name but not much more than that. Valen, the one with the long scar on his cheek, seemed now to be their leader. He was a man passionate about all he did. I had heard him entertain the others in the evenings with outrageous tales of his prowess in battle as well as in the beds of countless Landrian women.

  “Lady Tera…” His gap-toothed smile too turned to horror as he took in my injuries. “Is that the plague?”

  “Black nettle. Three Kerghi mercenaries took me from the beach in Kaharta Reh. I pretended to fall ill with the green plague, and they left me here for dead.”

  Valen’s expression changed from worried to impressed.

  “You should have seen me earlier.” I smiled, ignoring the pain. “You might not have brought the boats ashore.”

  Atter replied in all solemnity, “Even had you the green plague, my lady, we would not have abandoned you.”