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

by Dana Marton

  Some sixty Kadar warriors joined them before they left Kaharta Reh, men who had been hiding alone and in small groups, biding their time to strike back at the Kerghi. The battle for the harbor had brought them out into the open.

  Batumar was glad for every new man.

  “There is a creek up ahead,” he called out. He knew the North Road as well as he knew his own sword. He was home, on Kadar land. And yet he was brooding. He knew he was, but he did not care.

  During the past long months spent at sea and on the mainland, not a moment had passed that he had not wished to be back here. But now, even being home ceased to matter. Tera was not with him. His heart had been ripped out of his chest. There could be no home if Tera was not there.

  What cared he for the road? What cared he for the forest? He would burn the entire world to get her back. She was the light in his soul. Without her, nothing mattered.

  Taken.

  Marga had led him on the scent trail. They had found Boscor and Urdy among the fishing huts, both slain. Then Commander Durak, down by the water’s edge, the sand all torn up—signs of a brutal struggle. Tera was gone. It flayed Batumar’s heart, black fury consuming him as he had roared her name to the waves. He had sworn not to rest until he got her back. But the army did need a break.

  “Take them,” Batumar told Baran, pointing at the men who had been walking next to his manyinga. “And tell the forward scouts that we are stopping for the night.”

  The half-dozen soldiers—covered in dust and sweat—had been heading for the shade, but as Baran slipped from his beast and issued a command, they turned back and marched off without complaint.

  “Set guards!” Batumar called out the next order before he too slid to the ground and stretched his legs, then unfastened the two buckets hanging from his manyinga’s side and strode into the forest.

  “Valen!” he called out when he spotted the man, one of Prince Graho’s, by the creek. “Come tell me again how the Lady Tera seemed when you last saw her. Repeat for me every word she said.”

  Valen hurried over. The man was a head shorter than Batumar but built for battle, with a compact, wiry build that made him an efficient warrior. An old scar puckered his cheek. He had a gap in his smile where his two front teeth had been knocked out by a sword pommel. When it came to a fight, Valen would give everything he had. He was the type always to run into battle at the front of the line, the very reason he had been sent in the boat after Tera.

  “We thought the beach was empty as we sailed by,” he began. “But then she jumped up from the rocks and waved.”

  Batumar filled his buckets as he listened.

  She could jump. She could wave. She could talk. The last the men had seen her, she had been hale—save some blisters from black nettle.

  The tension in Batumar’s chest eased, but only a little. He set down the buckets and filled his flask. “Tell me more.”

  He knew he sounded like a child demanding his favorite bedtime tale, but he needed to hear the words.

  Valen obliged him, the two of them heading back to the road with water. The soldier finished with “We all wanted to go with her and told her so, my lord. But she insisted that the four of us carry her message to you.”

  The day before last, when the four Landrians had walked out of the forest, Batumar wanted to run them through with his sword for leaving Tera. He had calmed since and could see the wisdom of her plan, so now he simply nodded.

  He was putting the buckets of water in front of his manyinga when Baran and his six came running around the next bend in the road, Kerghi soldiers right on their heels.

  “To arms!” Batumar called and unsheathed his sword. He swore as he ran forward. Marching the troops until they were utterly exhausted had been a mistake. “To arms! To me!”

  Half the army was down at the creek. The ones on the road were the ones too spent to make it to the water. Yet he could hear metal singing as swords flew from their scabbards, and he knew men were scrambling to their feet behind him to follow him into battle.

  The fight broke out too fast for the archers to nock their arrows. The two forces came together in a ground-shaking clash, the soldiers launching themselves at the enemy. Batumar looked neither left nor right but at the Kerghi commander before him—a mountain of a warrior with a large iron nose ring.

  “Here is where you die,” he told the man.

  The commander’s arms were nearly as thick as his thighs—he had the look of a man who had spent time in the gladiator pits of the mainland—but Batumar would not think that he was outmatched. He thought only that the bastard stood between him and his Tera. And he would not be allowed to remain there.

  Each time their swords met, Batumar felt as if the bones in his arm would shatter. He had met few men in his life who could match him for size, but this one towered over him by a full head. The man’s black boiled-leather armor was reinforced with metal disks. If it was a memento, brought with him from his gladiator days, it was the right one to keep. Batumar could not slice through. His blade merely threw sparks as it met the metal. He had to pull back to stab. Yet the other man’s arms were longer. It took a reckless lunge to cut the commander’s throat at last.

  Batumar did not wait for the man to hit the ground. He leaped forward to the next Kerghi mercenary, and then the next and the next. When a sword sliced his right arm open, he went on fighting with his left.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  (Tera)

  For a while, the passage through the mountain remained straight, without side channels, no need to guess if we picked the correct direction, no need to worry about having to backtrack. Our only trouble came from bats, rats, and snakes.

  Our torches scared the bats, and they near took off the tops of our heads as they swarmed for the exit. The snakes we could avoid for the most part, as they were pale so far into the cave and easily seen in the light of the flames. The rats were brazen. They smelled our food and tried to climb our legs to get to the bags. We fought them off, but not without being bitten and scratched.

  Then we were too far in for animals, but here the ceiling began to lower. First we hunched, then we dropped to our hands and knees, then we crawled on our bellies, suffering more scratches yet, the stone floor uneven.

  Suddenly, the bottom of my feet heated. This I did not remember from my previous passage with Batumar—whom I missed a thousand times more than I missed the sunlight. At first, I thought the heat a trick of the mountain, then realized the true cause and called back, “Lison! You are setting my boots afire.”

  “Sorry, my lady.” He stopped moving immediately to allow more distance between us.

  Behind him, Fadden cursed him for a fool.

  Soon we reached the first of the side channels. I remembered the right turn and took it. For the next turn, however, I hesitated and had to look closely at the stone before making my decision.

  “You memorized the entire passage, my lady?” Fadden asked from the back.

  “Not quite. Vooren, one of the stewards of the High Lord’s castle, brought Batumar and me through. He knew the way. His grandfather had been through the caves and tunnels and left the true path marked.”

  Each time the old steward had taken a turn, he had marked the wall with a print of his bloody hand. If he continued on that way, the sole print remained, an indication to us to follow. If the way had turned out to be a dead end or unpassable, the man had returned and placed a second print diagonal to the first before searching for a new path. So at each opening, if a single print showed, I took the path. If double prints showed, I went past the fork in the tunnel.

  I paused to explain this to the two men behind me, hoping to ease their minds, but their expressions did not appear in any way relieved in the flickering light of the torches. They clearly preferred the open land to crawling about in caves. If I ever had to do this again, I was going to bring miners with me rather than a roofer and a fledgling sailor. Although, I wished from the bottom of my heart that I would not have to
pass this way ever again.

  We moved along as quickly as the path allowed and stopped only when our torches flickered out at last, first mine, then Fadden’s, then Lison’s. We had no way of knowing whether day or night ruled outside, but we decided to rest. We ate and drank again, then settled down for the night.

  I dreamt of Batumar, his strong arms around me, his warm lips on mine, only awakening to Lison lighting his second torch. I felt refreshed. Mayhap morning had come, mayhap not. It did not truly matter.

  “Let us move on.” I wanted to see Batumar outside my dreams. I lit my own torch, then peered behind Lison. “Where is Fadden?”

  “He was gone when I woke, my lady. He has probably gone to do his…” Lison looked away then cleared his throat. “Morning business.”

  Which I also had to do, so I moved back until I found a suitable crevice where I could relieve myself, then kick gravel over my leavings.

  I returned to Lison, and we waited in the flickering light of our torches for a while. Then we shouted. “Fadden! Fadden!”

  No response came.

  We waited a good long time, but Fadden never returned.

  “Think he is lost, my lady?” Lison’s voice filled with tension.

  The same tension stiffened my muscles. “We should go find him.”

  “He knows the signs to follow.” Lison stepped into my path. “He will catch up. My lady, we should not delay.”

  I could not deny the truth of his words. And yet…

  I filled my lungs with stale, musty air. “Fadden!”

  The single word echoed down the narrow passage behind us. I had no doubt it carried far. If Fadden was anywhere near, my voice should reach him, and, in turn, his own response should reach us as well. But as the echo slowly died away, no answering call came.

  Lison and I waited another moment, then another and another. Then we move forward in silence, our hearts heavier than our bundles—although we did leave Fadden’s share of the food behind, should he find his way back.

  I walked more slowly than the day before to give the man a chance to catch up. Lison and I stopped sooner for our midday meal than we had to. We spent more time on eating the small meal than we should have. But Fadden never reached us.

  Once we could wait no longer, we packed up our bundles and moved forward again, then turned down a new passageway in the rock. Here, I could smell the distant stench of sulfur.

  “Remain close,” I whispered to Lison, gripping my torch tighter.

  I said no other words for a while, nor did he, as if he too, sensed that silence was best for this part of our passage.

  I felt as if invisible eyes were watching me from up ahead, barely out of reach of the light my torch threw on the walls. I was peering forward, trying to see what waited for us, my attention so focused on the darkness that I did not notice when Lison fell back.

  I was about to turn into yet another new tunnel when I realized I was no longer hearing his footsteps behind me. I spun at once. He was not there. Nor was he anywhere near. I could not see the light of his torch, and the passageway was long and straight behind me.

  He had been with me at the last turn, of that I was certain. But after that… Where could he have gone?

  “Lison!” I whispered his name. Mayhap his torch had gone out and he was not as far behind as I feared.

  No response came.

  “Lison!” I shouted.

  Nothing.

  I sat and waited, the light of my torch a fragile dome protecting me from the darkness and what might lurk ahead. My heart beat against my rib cage. Blood rushed so loudly in my ears, I might not have heard Lison now even if he walked up to me.

  He did not.

  The flames flickered, reminding me that I had but one torch for each day I had to spend in the cave. If I waited here too long, I would have to finish the journey in complete darkness. And I would not be able to find the exit, if I could not see the handprints.

  I called for Lison one more time, said a prayer to the spirits for both him and Fadden, then stood and moved forward with a heavy heart. At every noise—made by my own feet dislodging some small rock—I jumped. Up until then, I had only to watch for danger ahead. Fadden and Lison had my back, they would have alerted me if danger threatened from that direction. With their loss, the passage seemed even more frightening, in part at least because I had only the light of one torch now instead of three.

  I hurried. I watched for the signs that showed the right path. Yet I still lost my way.

  I kept looking for the bloody handprints, but I could no longer find any, had not seen any for a while. Should I backtrack? The path still angled up. I had to go up the mountain to Karamur. I prayed I was moving in the right direction.

  I walked until I tired, then I walked some more, until the torch flickered out at last. Only then did I stop for the night, if indeed night had descended outside. I wished for Lison’s and Fadden’s steady breathing. I could hear nothing other than my own panicked gasps for air.

  I thought I sensed movement ahead, then suddenly behind me. Then something touched my face, and I shrieked, only to find that a lock of hair had slipped from my braid.

  My eyes closed, but I could not fall asleep.

  For a while, I prayed to the spirits for their protection, then I thought of Batumar, hoping thoughts of him would calm my fears. But calm would not come, nor sleep, so I hunted for my flint and lit my last torch. Then, comforted by the circle of light around me, I did sleep a little.

  When I woke, I called for Lison and Fadden again, in vain. Where were they? I could not bear the thought of them lost in the mountain, yet I could not go back for them either.

  The path ahead of me still inclined upward. I walked on.

  Spirit be strong, heart be brave.

  Spirit be strong, heart be brave.

  By the time my stomach growled for its midday meal, I knew I was hopelessly lost. I had not seen any signs since the day before. And even if there were some waiting for me ahead, it would not matter now, for as I sat to eat, my last torch sputtered out. I was all alone, in the thickest, most complete darkness in the world.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  (Batumar)

  “I swear the damned road stretched since the last time I came this way. How can it be that we are still not at the end?”

  Batumar rode at the head of the long column of soldiers, in the saddle of the horse he’d traded for his manyinga so he could lead a quicker, leaner advance force. His right arm hung useless by his side. He paid no mind to the pain. He thought of little but reaching Karamur in time—before Tera exited the cave and walked into the castle. Before the enemy could capture her.

  The gods help him, if anyone harmed her—

  “How is the arm, my lord?” Tomron asked, riding alongside with a pierced thigh.

  “It would be better if the Lady Tera was here,” Batumar responded.

  Riding behind him, the young Guardian of the Gate, who was now missing a finger, inquired, “You would let her heal you, then?”

  And weaken herself? “Nay,” Batumar said and nearly smiled. He simply wished her at his side. Everything was better when Tera was with him. He needed her, and so did the rest of the men.

  Somewhere behind him, well out of sight now, rode Prince Graho with a broken collarbone, leading the bulk of their army—some four hundred soldiers. Lord Karnagh brought up the rear. He had suffered no injury in the last battle, but he was missing his sword arm already. They had not a whole man among the four who led the troops up the North Road.

  At least the army had grown yet further. A group of forty or so roving Kadar warriors joined them after hearing the last battle. They had been living in the forest, attacking smaller Kerghi units who passed by.

  Batumar shifted in the saddle. “The Kerghi we cut down will not be the last group of mercenaries we will meet on the road. There will be more and more clashes the closer we come to Karamur.”

  Which was why he had made the forward force a f
ormidable one-hundred men. Instead of the entire army stopping daily for skirmishes, his one hundred rode ahead. They would clear the road of any enemy troops, so the main body of his army following later could march on uninterrupted.

  “We lost only a dozen soldiers at the creek,” Tomron commented.

  “Winning a battle is not the same as winning the war.” Batumar kept his gaze on the winding road. “A dozen clashes where we lose a dozen men each, and we have lost a third of our army.”

  He watched for the scouts who were riding yet farther ahead. He needed to be better prepared for the next attack than they had been for the last one. But the clamor, when it sounded, came from the rear.

  Tomron twisted in his saddle, wincing as his thigh muscle pulled. “Three riders on Shahala horses,” he reported. “Should we stop?”

  “I will not waste time. But go see what they want.”

  “Aye.” Tomron turned his horse around and rode off at a gallop.

  He returned but a short while later, with three men. Batumar held back a groan as he recognized Koro among them, the young man from Sheharree who had insisted he had once been Tera’s suitor.

  Batumar supposed some maidens might find the youth handsome, but he was no rider. He was breathing hard, as if he had run a race.

  “Lord Batumar.” Koro stopped to gasp for air and to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Something akin to triumph glinted in his eyes. “I brought the Shahala healers.”

  Batumar looked over the pair of exhausted Shahala who had come with Koro. “Two of them?”

  They were covered in dust and sweat, but did wear the healers’ white robes. Each had a burlap sack of herbs tied to his saddle.

  Koro sat up straighter. “Twenty.”

  Twenty was not a bad number. “And what did the Elders have to say to that?”

  “They did not approve. But the younger healers wanted to come nonetheless.” Koro cleared his throat. “Only most of them are not as learned. Some are still apprentices.”