Crystal Moon

by Elysa Hendricks

  thought possible. “And if you are injured or killed, what becomes

  of Aubin’s child? Does he die with you?”

  Indecision flashed across Laila’s face. She placed her hands

  protectively over the swell of her belly.

  Sianna rested her palm over the back of Laila’s hand and

  was surprised by the flicker of life she felt within Laila. “He

  deserves the chance to be born. To have his mother there as he

  grows. Don’t throw Aubin’s gift away to avenge his death.

  With his last words, Aubin spoke of the babe the two of you

  had created, knowing his brother would stay his vengeance

  until the birth. Perhaps Aubin believed by then you would have

  convinced Kyne of your innocence.”

  Laila jerked away from Sianna’s touch. Her gaze turned

  hard. “Why are you so convinced of my innocence? You barely

  know me. Perhaps I did betray Aubin. Power is a heady wine,

  and DiSanti nursed me on the brew. He would have me rule at

  his side.”

  “No. There is no evil in you to do such a thing. You loved

  Aubin. I’m sure of it.”

  “Then you are a fool.” She turned her back to Sianna. “I

  love no one and nothing. DiSanti beat love out of me years

  ago.”

  “Then why are you so angry over Aubin’s death?”

  As if in pain, Laila’s shoulders hunched forward. “Aubin

  was mine until I chose to let him go. DiSanti stole what was

  mine. He will pay for it,” she rasped. “Now leave me. I tire of

  your questions. My mind is set. I ride with Rul Cathor and his

  men on the morrow. I will take my chances on my identity

  being discovered. As you said, my pregnancy will protect me—

  at least for a time—from Cathor’s wrath. As long as DiSanti

  dies first, I will be content. Tell Cathor the truth now. Protect

  yourself. You have my blessing.”

  “Just one more question.”

  “Very well, but then be gone.”

  “Did you write to Aubin asking him to meet you at the

  Lyon’s Head tavern?”

  Even before she heard Laila’s whispered “No,” Sianna

  knew the answer.

  Fourteen

  Though the pale, emaciated form on the bed no longer held

  his beloved father’s spirit, his physical presence gave Timon

  comfort. Breath rasped through King Dracken’s toothless, slack

  mouth. Chewing nika rotted a person’s teeth along with his

  brain. Timon gently wiped away the spittle from the king’s chin.

  How often in the last two annum had he sat at his father’s

  side and begged him to wake from his nika-induced stupor.

  Pleaded for advice and answers to the dilemmas facing him?

  But the only time his father stirred was when his body’s craving

  for the drug that had destroyed his mind set him to screaming in

  agony. Then only a mouthful of the harmless looking leaves

  eased his pain and let him drift back into whatever limbo he

  found peace.

  Timon strode to the window and gazed out over the castle’s

  quiet courtyard. Hours before, DiSanti and his loyal personal

  guard had left for their rendezvous with Rul Cathor. The outcome

  of that meeting worried Timon. If DiSanti escaped Cathor’s

  trap, there would be no doubt in his mind as to who had betrayed

  him. With only a few of the remaining palace guard loyal to

  DiSanti, Timon didn’t fear for his own well being. As he waited,

  his own guard were securing the palace.

  Even if DiSanti regained control of the palace, he needed

  Timon too much to do more than threaten and bluster. And his

  father would probably embrace death. But what of his mother

  and Thomasa?

  None of Timon’s spies or informants had been able to

  discover where DiSanti had hidden the two women. Timon could

  only pray Rul Cathor would be successful. If not, Thomasa and

  his mother might pay the price.

  Had he been foolish to put his faith and trust in a man he

  didn’t know? A man declared an outlaw by the Council. A

  Council controlled by DiSanti.

  Rul Cathor hadn’t been to court since the death of his

  parents six annum prior. Eight at the time, Timon remembered

  little of the Cathor family or the tragedy and scandal surrounding

  their deaths. He knew that year heralded the beginning of

  DiSanti’s rise to power and his father’s decline into nika

  addiction.

  He gripped the stone sill. What choice did he have? Cathor

  offered him his only option other than meekly submitting to

  DiSanti’s dictates.

  If Cathor succeeded, the battles would be far from over.

  DiSanti was but the head of a large and ravenous beast. The

  death throes of a headless sardak could still kill.

  How soon before he heard?

  A soft rap at the door heralded his manservant with his

  morning meal. Though food did not interest him, Timon ate. He

  had much to do to prepare. Whatever the outcome of the

  encounter, this day DiSanti’s rule of Dramon ended.

  ***

  Swirls of thick mist hung over the mountain valleys. Dew

  clung to the courtyard’s meager vegetation and slicked the

  paving stones beneath the restless feet of the waiting quinar.

  Scents of milling animals, unwashed men, wood smoke and

  hastily cooked morning meals flavored the cool air sour and

  sweet. Dawn barely lit the sky as Kyne mounted Hakan. They

  must leave to set the trap for DiSanti. Time grew short, but

  only fools traveled the mountain trails in the dark.

  In the grey morning light he watched as Hamon, his second

  in command since Graham’s injury, readied his troop of fifty

  men for departure. Though stout of heart and filled with courage,

  they were a ragtag bunch made up of mostly old men and

  beardless lads. The few men of fighting age stood out like early

  autumn leaves on a summer’s landscape.

  Swords and daggers flashed in sun’s first feeble rays.

  Thanks to the raid on the supply caravan, at least all were well

  armed. Did he have enough men to carry his plan through to

  success? They desperately needed the element of surprise on

  their side. If DiSanti reached the rendezvous point before they

  did, they were lost.

  Je’al said DiSanti believed his story of outlaws, but DiSanti

  was a cunning adversary. Though told to come alone, how many

  men would he bring with him? Enough, Kyne was sure, to defeat

  what DiSanti would think to be a small band of desperate men.

  Outlaws were common throughout Dramon since DiSanti’s rule

  began. Any man faced with the starvation of his family might

  turn to thievery, but most died before they became adept at it.

  With luck, DiSanti would discount the risk and come with only

  a few soldiers.

  Hamon was a good man, strong and brave, but he did better

  following orders than giving them. Kyne would miss having

  Graham at his side during the coming encounter. Both for his

  strong arm and for his solid counsel.

  Kyne frowned as Je’al rode up beside him. Though a far

  cry from the pathetic bundle of skin and bones who’d arrive
d

  just the previous morning, the lad couldn’t be well enough to

  ride into battle.

  Before Kyne could question the lad’s strength, Je’al said,

  “I am fine, my lord. You have need of every man.”

  “And woman.” The woman Lisha urged her mount between

  Je’al and Kyne’s, and lifted an eyebrow as if challenging him to

  object.

  Other than a general dislike for women in battle, Kyne had

  no valid objection to her presence. He nodded his agreement.

  “You proved your worth in the caravan raid. I welcome

  you at my side.”

  A slight easing of her tense stance was her response.

  Since their return he’d not seen her around. With her face

  and hair washed and combed, her trim, full-breasted body clothed

  in fresh garments, she was a handsome woman. Something

  about the clean lines of her face struck a familiar cord in Kyne’s

  mind. Clear blue eyes met him stare for stare without flinching

  at his scrutiny. She held her full lips in a tight, unsmiling line.

  The rising sun caught blue glints in her short, black hair.

  Sianna ran out into the courtyard, Warda charging at her

  heels. She grabbed Hakan’s bridle.

  “No, Kyne. She cannot go with you.”

  Startled, the quinar reared and yanked Sianna off her feet.

  With a growl, Warda lunged at the quinar. In panic Hakan swung

  his massive head and half-reared. His feet beat a tattoo on the

  stone pavement. Sianna dangled in air. Only her grip on Hakan’s

  bridle kept her from falling beneath his flailing hooves.

  Blood thundered in Kyne’s head.

  Before he could react and control his mount, she murmured

  a few words, and the beast settled down. Her feet touched the

  ground, but Kyne’s heart still raced. Warda crouched at her

  side, fangs bared, eyes focused on the still nervous quinar.

  “Are you mad, woman,” he gritted out, not willing to risk

  startling Hakan yet again by shouting. He leaned down, wrapped

  an arm around Sianna and hauled her across his lap.

  He braced himself for a reoccurrence of their strange

  emotional connection, but nothing happened. Instead of the relief

  he knew he should feel, he was disappointed. Still, her fear and

  agitation communicated itself clearly to him. Her slender body

  quivered in his arms, her breathing as fast and erratic as his

  own.

  Gripping his coat front to maintain her precarious balance

  on his lap, she squirmed around until she faced him. He shivered

  as the cold of her fingers sliced through his thick shirt. The feel

  of her soft, round buttocks grinding into his groin stirred an

  unwilling response from him. He almost missed her next words.

  “Lisha cannot ride into danger. You must forbid it.”

  With her now safe in his arms, he nearly laughed at the

  command in her tone, but was oddly hesitant to humiliate her in

  front of his men by calling her on her arrogance in giving him

  orders. Silence had fallen over the troop as they waited to hear

  the rest of the conversation. Kyne considered dismissing them

  and moving the women to a secluded area, but before he could

  act, Lisha spoke.

  “Sianna. This is not your concern.” Anger and warning

  rang in Lisha’s words. “I am my own master. No man commands

  me. Do not meddle in this.”

  “Someone has to. You are too reckless for your own good.”

  The argument sounded like one of some standing, yet how

  could that be, Kyne wondered. The two women had met just

  days before and hadn’t been together at all that he knew of

  those few days. What went on here?

  “Lisha has already proven herself a capable warrior. Why

  shouldn’t she ride with us?” he asked.

  “Because....”

  “Sianna.” Lisha’s low growl stopped whatever Sianna had

  been about to say.

  She glared back at the other woman, defiance obvious in

  her mutinous expression.

  Both women were good at giving commands, but neither

  seemed willing to take them.

  “Well?” Kyne prompted. From the look of Lisha’s set,

  angry features, a war waged within her.

  For a moment her mouth quivered and her eyes moistened,

  then her shoulders went rigid and she whirled her mount away

  from them. “I ride with Rul Cathor,” she shouted. Her quinar

  reared up at her command. “Who rides with us!”

  Battle cries filled the air. Men whooped and hollered. The

  quinar went a little mad, adding their raucous screams and

  stamping feet to the commotion.

  One arm occupied holding Sianna, Kyne struggled to

  restrain Hakan from following suit. He barely felt her shudder

  of despair as she clung to him, her cheek pressed to the hollow

  of his throat.

  The women’s argument forgotten in the excitement of

  pending battle, the troop went on with its preparations.

  “Keep her safe from harm, my lord,” Sianna whispered.

  “She cares not what she risks in search of her vengeance against

  my father.”

  “Tell me why she should not ride with us, and I will

  command it.” Why did he feel the urge to fix whatever was

  wrong in this woman’s life? If not his enemy in fact, she was

  his enemy’s daughter. Her distress should not weigh heavy on

  his shoulders.

  “I cannot. She must follow her own destiny, but if she suffers

  an injury or...death, only the Eternal One could forgive me for

  my silence, for I never will.” She raised tear-filled eyes to his.

  “I can only beg you to guard her with your life.”

  “I guard all my people. Is this stranger so important to you?”

  “Yes.”

  Je’al moved closer and spoke. “The troop is ready to leave,

  my lord.”

  Kyne nodded and reined Hakan over to the edge of the

  courtyard where Katya stood. He let Sianna down. Cold touched

  him at the loss of her warmth against his chest. His arms and

  his heart felt empty.

  “Keep a close watch while we are gone,” he told Katya. “I

  doubt DiSanti has knowledge of our fortress, but I would take

  no chances.”

  “It will be as you command, brother.”

  In the last few days Katya had changed from a petulant,

  angry child to a woman. Now she faced him as an equal,

  confident in her strength and knowledge, but mature enough to

  admit her limitations and accept guidance and command from

  one with more experience. Determination shone in her golden

  eyes. How like Aubin she looked. Pain mingled with pride in

  Kyne’s heart.

  She smiled, and the resemblance to Aubin faded. While

  Aubin’s smile burst with the radiance of Sol, Katya’s was the

  soft glow of a waning moon.

  “In my absence I charge you with the care of the castle

  and its people.” He glanced at Sianna, who stood at Katya’s

  side.

  She followed his gaze. “I will protect all.”

  “Moon stones! Sons of water worms!” Graham’s deep

  curses burst from the castle followed by his body carried on a

  chair by two
lads. “Clumsy oafs! Do not jostle me so.”

  Several feet away the lads stumbled. The chair thumped to

  the stone paving. Graham’s face went white. The chair creaked

  ominously. He groaned.

  Katya scowled. Sianna’s eyes widened, and her fingers

  flew to her lips. Both women rushed to the fallen giant’s side.

  They fluttered like sparrows around a downed quinar.

  “Fool,” Katya yelled.

  “Have a care for his legs,” Sianna fussed.

  “Take him back to his bed.”

  “Leave me be, you knocked-kneed, ham-fisted moon

  blights!”

  Heads swiveling from Katya to Sianna to Graham, the lads

  turned and bolted into the safety of the castle. Graham slumped

  in the rickety chair.

  Kyne dismounted and came to his side. At his quelling look,

  the women fell silent and took a step back. If only they obeyed

  his other commands so easily.

  “Apologies, my lord. I had no wish to detain you, but I

  would say my farewells,” Graham rasped.

  Bending down on one knee, Kyne clasped Graham’s

  shoulder. “It is I who owe you an apology. I should have come

  to you before I left.”

  “Would that I could ride at your side.”

  “You will for our next battle.”

  “Pray to the Eternal One there is no next battle, my lord. I

  grow too old for fighting. I weary of the clash of swords and

  find myself wishing for quiet days beside a warm hearth, children

  and pups playing at my feet.” His heated gaze stole to Katya.

  Color slashed across her cheeks seconds before she whirled

  and disappeared into the men and quinar milling in the courtyard.

  Graham’s shoulder sagged beneath Kyne’s hand. Kyne

  smothered a grin. Graham and Katya’s game of advance and

  retreat amused him.

  “Have patience, my friend.” Kyne stood and glanced at

  the rising sun. Apprehension trickled down his spine. “I must

  leave now.”

  Graham sighed and nodded. He turned and bellowed into

  the castle hall, “Come back here, you weak-willed, puling pups

  and carry me to my bed!”

  “Farewell, friend.” Kyne quickly swung into Hakan’s saddle

  and pulled the beast around.

  Sianna bustled to Graham’s side. Though she said nothing,

  Kyne could feel her gaze like a warm summer sunbeam on his

  back as he herded his troop out of the courtyard and down the