A Battle Lord’s Heart Read online

  The questions were now being asked almost unendingly. How many had attacked the compound? How had they managed to breach the walls? What weapons did they use? Who had survived? Who hadn’t? Would there even be any survivors?

  Were the Bloods still present? Or had they moved on? What had they done to the compound? What had they done to the people living there? What had they done to the soldiers defending it?

  What had they done with the Battle Lord?

  By that evening Atty had come out of her trance. Many were surprised to discover she remembered saying she’d smelled smoke, but she became upset when she couldn’t give them any more details. That night she couldn’t sleep, and spent hours standing in the middle of the roadway, gazing into the distance, as if she could see the compound. Or force herself to sense another clue, another hint of what they would find there when they arrived.

  Or learn what had happened to the only love of her life.

  Despite the distance, their sense of urgency never wavered. Mastin kept the caravan quickly moving so that they traveled the long miles and longer days in record time. As they grew closer to the small valley where they knew Bearinger sat, they were beset with a growing odor. The air soon became thick with the rancid stench of rot and decay.

  And smoke.

  Coming over the last rise, every man stared or shuddered in horror at the remains of the once beautiful compound lying below. Small fires continued to burn, sending choking tendrils of black ash and smoke spiraling upward into the sparkling blue sky. Overcome with what they were viewing, they advanced cautiously toward the main gates that, like the rest of the reinforced walls, were no more than burnt stubs, most less than six feet high. All of the centralized buildings were gone, torn down or collapsed from the inferno.

  Outside the walls, the bodies of Bloods littered the ground. The scene of gruesome carnage was exacerbated by the small clusters of vultures feeding here and there on the dead. From the decayed conditions of the carcasses, MaGrath determined they had fallen at about the same exact time Atty had announced their attack that evening in the lodge.

  They paused in front of the partially-open main gates. Atty climbed out of the wagon and slowly began to walk into the city that was eerily quiet. Quickly the others dismounted and followed her inside.

  Inside the compound, the horror was even greater. The bodies of Bloods, soldiers, and the inhabitants of Bearinger were scattered about like chunks of slaughtered cattle. Multi-colored ichor, mixed with splotches and pools of red blood, was splattered across the ground, on walls, on wagons, on posts. For as far as anyone could see, not a living creature or person was left standing in a citadel of what should have been over three hundred people, not counting the troops D’Jacques had brought.

  The amount of savagery evident was indescribable.

  Several soldiers vomited at the sight and stench. MaGrath, Mastin, and Renken kept close behind Atty as she stepped over the hacked torsos and separated body parts strewn everywhere. She moved purposefully but without any true direction. She kept her bow in front of her, nocked with an arrow already drawn and ready.

  Even the animals had not been spared. Many of the compound’s horses lay in huge, meaty chunks. Some bore teeth marks in the hacked flesh.

  Sections of armor gleamed like jewels from hell amid the human remains. Stained red pieces of metal reflected the sunlight, and many of the soldiers blanched at the knowledge that their own friends, family members, and battle mates had been wearing them when they left Alta Novis.

  It was Renken who paused as he surveyed the unbelievable, unforgettable destruction. “Something’s not right here!” he called out to the others.

  Mastin stopped. “I can feel it, too. Sorcher?”

  “Here, sir!” the lieutenant called out a few yards beyond. The soldiers had fanned out, looking for possible survivors, although it was evident to everyone there would be none. As badly as the bodies had been mutilated, it also didn’t seem likely they would be able to identify many of the dead. “Nothing!” he yelled in answer.

  Glancing at Atty, Mastin saw her heading toward a nearby tower that lay on its side just inside the demolished east wall. His trained eye noticed that this part of the structure appeared to have borne more of the brunt of the battle. The fallen tower had not just been burned, but it had been chopped like firewood, as well.

  “They came over the east wall,” he announced loudly. A quick glance over his shoulder gave him a quick indication of where his men were located. When he turned back around, he saw Atty throw down her bow and fall to her knees the same moment the others did. All three men reached her simultaneously as they saw her digging frantically in a pile of dirt and rubble. A keening whine was coming from her as she bent over to retrieve whatever it was that had caught her eye. Sheathing his sword, Renken dropped beside her and reached in to help her, pulling aside charred sections of wood and bloody chunks of meat and flesh he didn’t want to examine too closely for fear of recognizing them.

  “Oh...God!” Her soft, agonized cry raised the hairs on the back of MaGrath’s neck as he leaned over to see what she had found. His stomach tightened to the point of pitching him forward into the devastation to vomit what little he’d eaten. Light-headed with fear, he prayed she hadn’t found what he knew she had.

  Slowly, her whole body shaking uncontrollably, Atty drew Yulen’s sword from under the pile of human refuse. Bracing her body against it as she clutched the bloodied hilt, she began to weep in loud, raspy sobs.

  MaGrath fell to his knees. His legs would no longer hold him up as he stared at the sword he knew had been Rory’s, and which had been passed to Yulen after his death. Which would be passed to Yulen’s unborn son—

  “Sir!”

  The call seemed to draw everyone’s attention to Flacker standing a few yards beyond them. The soldier had a look of disbelief on his face. He leaned over and pulled on something, propping it up for the rest of them to see. To MaGrath’s surprise, the horrified oath he heard came from his own mouth.

  It was the head of Yulen’s big gray stallion. Only the head remained, removed at the chest like some bizarre wall trophy. The reins and bridle dangled from the gaping mouth.

  A scream overhead came from a predatory hawk, hungry for an easy meal, but not trusting to land as long as the men were gathered below. Death, weighing heavier than the air they were breathing, was so palpable, it seemed to threatened those who had ventured inside the compound to claim its victims.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here!” one of the men yelled out. His voice trembled. The others felt equally spooked, equally uneasy, and it was evident they wanted to remove themselves from that place as quickly as possible.

  “Head out!” Mastin yelled back. “Call a retreat!” Taking another step toward where Atty remained kneeling and clutching Yulen’s sword, he held out a hand and begged her, “Let’s go, Atty. There’s no one left alive here.”

  Blue-gray eyes reddened with tears flashed at him. “No. I have to find what’s left of him. I won’t leave until I do.”

  “Atty.” MaGrath tried to reason with her. “Atty, there’s nothing left to find. And even if we did, we wouldn’t be able to reasonably identify the remains. Atty—”

  “No.”

  “Atty, listen to me.”

  “No.”

  She hoisted herself to her feet, using the sword to lever her bulkiness. Turning to face them, she took two steps backwards and raised Yulen’s sword with both hands, keeping the gory point at eye level.

  “I’m remaining here until I find proof. I...I have to find proof. Do you understand? I have to!”

  MaGrath cursed under his breath. Her emotional upheaval was too dangerous for the welfare of her baby. Regardless of where they stood at the moment, he knew he had to get her calmed, if not in a reasonably less agitated frame of mind. And searching amid a field of dissected body parts for ones that looked like they belonged to her husband was not going to help matters.

  “Atty, yo
u have to think of the baby,” he said in what he hoped sounded like a soothing tone of voice. God knew he was about ready to fall apart at any second.

  Yulen! Oh, dearest God in heaven, Yulen! What were you forced to endure?

  “Your son is part of Yulen. You created him together. Don’t lose him now. Not after all you’ve gone through. Not because of this. Think of what Yulen would be telling you if he were still alive, Atty,” MaGrath pleaded with her. “Protect that part of Yulen that’s still alive in you. Let’s get out of this place and go back outside the walls. At least long enough so we can come up with some plan of action.” He shuddered, reaching for her as well. “I promised Maddy we’d bring him back. Trust me, Atty. We’ll find him. But, right now, come with me.”

  Atty continued to hold up the blood-encrusted sword as she took another half-dozen steps backwards, afraid to stop looking when they’d already found his horse and weapon. Her back bumped up against the side of the fallen tower, and she pressed herself along the scorched wall of the lookout station.

  As many soldiers would later retell of that day, no one knew the wounded Blood was lying in wait in the nest. Atty never felt its presence, never anticipated it, and they figured it was because her immense grief had blinded her to it being in hiding. All they remembered was the screeching shriek made by the leathery creature as it reared up behind her, grabbed Atty by her thick length of braided hair, and pulled the Battle Lady backwards, bending her over the wall of the lookout. Drawn over the narrow ledge, her feet flailed uselessly as Atty struggled to right herself. Unable to scream, she reached behind her head with one hand, hoping to pull her long hair out of the thing’s clutches, but she couldn’t reach it. Neither could she reach her Ballock.

  The Blood glared with obsidian black eyes at the men who stood frozen in stunned terror. It was Renken who managed to break out of fear’s hold first, and he started to rush the creature when it lifted its other taloned hand and proceeded to bring it down across Atty’s exposed throat—effectively slicing it open to the spine at the least, decapitating her at the most.

  From somewhere inside her, a soul-wrenching yell came out of Atty’s mouth. She hadn’t lost her grip on Yulen’s sword, and with a burst of adrenaline, she grabbed the hilt with both hands. As she saw the razored claws descending, Atty lifted the heavy weapon and continued to swing it upward and over her head as she screamed in anger. The finely honed edge sliced through the creature’s hand and buried itself halfway through the Blood, cleaving into its neck and chest at an angle.

  As the sword ground to a stop in her hands, Atty released it and twisted out of the thing’s dying grasp as she fell away from the lookout to tumble to the ground. A heartbeat later, MaGrath was clutching her in his arms, and they shuddered together in the aftermath.

  Infuriated with himself, Mastin barked out orders, and the men scattered to check for other possible survivors in hiding. When MaGrath helped the dazed woman to her feet and began to lead her out of the compound, the Second was near tears, realizing how badly he’d messed up. The encounter had been too close. Cursing himself, he tried to apologize, but a dark glare from the physician shut him up.

  It was Renken who stayed behind long enough to retrieve her longbow and the sword from the dead Blood, double checking to make sure the creature could not give them any more trouble before carrying the weapons back to the entrance of the compound where he returned them to the nearly unconscious Battle Lady.

  To him, it seemed fitting that her husband’s sword would remain faithful to his love, and help her to destroy the thing before it destroyed her. Even after the man’s own death, his spirit continued to watch over her and protect her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Harsh Discoveries

  “Take five, men, before we go in and start making sense of the dead.” Mastin rubbed a hand over his face, then pulled it away to discover he was shaking as if he were palsied. He refused to glance back at the unspeakable nightmare behind him. Not just yet. He needed another moment to gather himself, and to steel his nerves before leading his soldiers back through those smoldering doors to begin the grisly task of searching for recognizable pieces of their men.

  For recognizable pieces of their Battle Lord.

  The funeral pyres would be many in Alta Novis when they returned.

  He walked over to where MaGrath sat huddled on the ground next to the wagon, tightly holding onto Atty. She was rocking in his arms, her eyes wide and unseeing as a tiny, high-pitched moan came from her throat.

  “Cole, get my bag.”

  The Second flinched at the iron-like command in the physician’s voice. He retrieved the leather satchel containing the man’s medicines from the back of the wagon and handed it down to him. MaGrath snatched it from the man’s hands and released Atty to search for something to calm her down.

  Her next movements were precise and unanticipated. Seeing her whipping out her Ballock, Mastin’s first instincts made him scream in fear.

  “Oh, God, Atty! No!”

  But what he’d dreaded she would do never happened. Barely giving him a glance, Atty reached around and grabbed her thick braid. Without a second thought, she started to slice through the rich, glossy length, hacking at it, sawing the razor-sharp blade back and forth, until she’d cut the entire piece off at neck level.

  Everyone stared at her in mute, stunned surprise. Her trademark hair with its long, luxurious thickness they had seen the Battle Lord fondle and smooth and comb with his fingers countless times was now gone, until all that was left was a short crop of dark blue, wispy, ragged curls that ended below her ears.

  Forcing herself to draw deep breaths, Atty tossed the braid at Mastin, who caught it and flushed a dark red. “Never...again,” she rasped. “No one, and no thing, will ever be able to do something like that to me again.” Turning back to MaGrath, she buried her face in the man’s shoulder.

  Speechless, Mastin carefully rolled the nearly yard-long braid into a neat ball, then tucked it into his saddlebag. The Bloods had claimed another victim, only it would take a little while longer before she succumbed to her wounds. Calling out to his lieutenants, the soldiers were re-gathered and given their orders to begin the task of claiming the dead.

  Fortune helped the physician lift the now unconscious woman into the back of the little wagon. MaGrath had managed to give her a sleeping potion, and in her exhausted state, Atty had gone under quickly.

  “She’ll be out for at least a couple of hours,” MaGrath said. “I only gave her a small amount, more to keep her calm than anything else.”

  “We’re going to need you out in the field,” the Mutah hunter told him.

  MaGrath nodded solemnly. As the compound’s physician, he knew every soldier’s body almost as intimately as the men did themselves. He would be able to identify scars, tattoos, birthmarks—those marks which would tell him which of the dead belonged to Alta Novis. Most of all, he would be needed to help them identify the Battle Lord. “I can’t leave Atty alone,” he told the Second. “She might wake up while we’re still in there.”

  “I’ll remain with her,” a voice behind them said.

  Both men turned around to see Renken standing on the other side the wagon. It took Fortune only a second to make his decision.

  “Atty allowed him to ride with us and help guard her back. I trust him.”

  Dark brown eyes stabbed the ex-mercenary, and Renken felt his skin crawl. The doctor was not a man to cross. “I’ll yell if she comes to,” Renken promised.

  The physician relented. Quickly the pair hurried, if reluctantly, back into the destruction. Once they were gone from sight, Renken moved to the rear of the wagon where he could keep a better eye on their surroundings. And on the Battle Lady.

  To the northeast a bank of dark gray clouds was forming. A storm was building, gathering strength to blow another foot or more of snow across the land. Already the wind was picking up slightly in anticipation.

  Renken’s gaze swept back to the woman
lying on her side in a semi-fetal position. Other than that day when he’d first arrived at Alta Novis, this was the closest he’d physically been able to approach her. If he reached out, with little effort he could touch her boot.

  She was taller than she first appeared. The Battle Lord was a good six foot two or three, Renken’s own height. Many times he’d seen D’Jacques rest his chin or cheek on the top of his wife’s head when she leaned against him. Renken guessed it was her puckish nature and joie de vivre that made her seem more petite and delicate. A deceptive description, he quickly discovered. The woman could kill and gut a two hundred pound wolverine without batting an eye, but she was reduced to a helpless kitten if she raised D’Jacques ire. Or his desire.

  He sighed noisily and scratched the several days’ growth on his face. God, if he could only find a woman even remotely like her.

  For the next hour the soldiers hunted diligently. A blanket was laid out near the main gates, and already Renken could see some partial bodies lying there, awaiting the time when they’d be wrapped securely for transportation back home. But none of them were of the Battle Lord. Three sections of his armor had been found in the same area where they’d discovered his sword. When Renken questioned one of the sub-lieutenants how they could be certain it belonged to him, the man explained that the armorer had engraved the last name of its wearer inside each piece as it was being made, since each section was specifically fashioned to fit just one owner.

  Renken picked up one of the pieces they’d placed on the blanket behind the wagon. Yep, up near the edge of the shoulder cap was the single word: D’Jacques.

  Mastin walked up to drop another sword on the pile of weapons. Renkin motioned to him. “Hey. Look at this.”

  The Second paused and glanced over before heading back inside. Holding up the piece of armor, Renkin fingered what was left of the leather strap used to buckle it on. Blood, once red but now a sticky brown, had soaked into it.