A Battle Lord’s Heart Read online

Page 13


  Paxton was vaguely aware of the growing sound of screaming and thunder. Horses were bursting from the woods all around them. Armored riders on horseback, brandishing swords and taking on the Bloods, literally cut them down where they stood or ran.

  Arrows were raining all around, flying fast and thick. Once the men were released, he shouted for them to grab anything they could find to use as a weapon. Several snatched large rocks, tackling a nearby Blood to the ground before pounding its head into pulp with the stones. Paxton raced for the bonfire for a length of burning wood. Hefting a long branch that felt a little like his own sword, he started running toward the grove of trees, toward the Battle Lord.

  Before he’d taken a dozen steps, a figure stepped out of the woods a few yards away. She continued to fire arrow after arrow, and her targets continued to drop. Paxton’s figure floated through her range of vision, and she hesitated, lifting her face from her bow.

  “Warren!”

  “Atty?”

  He found himself suddenly wrapped in the woman’s arms. He squeezed her as tightly as he was able before she pulled back from him.

  “Yulen?”

  “This way!” He turned and continued to run toward the apple grove.

  Atty spotted her husband before Paxton had the chance to point him out. She stopped, aimed at the ropes suspending him overhead, and fired, slicing through the thick cord. Yulen’s blood-drenched body dropped into Paxton’s waiting arms.

  She shook her head, focusing all her skills, all her attention, on what she had to do next. “Take him over there!” she yelled at the soldier above the noise of the attack. Paxton turned to see a small trail leading from the clearing. “Liam’s waiting for him!”

  “What about you?” he cried out, hoisting the Battle Lord over his shoulder.

  “Don’t worry about me. I have a score to settle.”

  Giving him a push, Atty watched her husband being carried away. He was still alive. She knew it. She could feel it. She would take him where he could recuperate, and she would love him through the worst parts. He would recover, even if it took months or years.

  But before that happened...

  Atty stepped back into the clearing and crouched, waiting. She could feel all of her senses coming alive as Atrilan, the huntress-warrior, staked a claim to her body. To her far right she could feel a fellow spirit take her back. Fortune would protect her while she sought her prey.

  “Atty!”

  Her head jerked up as Renken wheeled his horse around and pointed behind him with his bloody sword. Rising to her feet, she turned to see the reptile-looking Blood with its vest of flayed human skins standing by the bonfire. It was tapping the blade of a dagger in the palm of one hand. And it was staring directly at her.

  “D’Jacques!” it called out.

  Atty faced it, every nerve singing. In her belly, she felt a slight movement, and a split-second of fear burst through her. “Not now!” she urgently whispered to her unborn son. “Mohmee has to save your father. Please. Not now.”

  As if hearing her and understanding her need for him to be still, the babe ceased moving.

  “D’Jacques!” the Blood screeched again.

  All about them the soldiers of Alta Novis ceased their slaughter to watch the Battle Lady’s face off with the creature. Even with the numbers in the Bloods’ favor, having sheer determination, skill, the need for survival, and the surprise advantage had rapidly shifted victory in the other direction.

  The Blood army was all but nonexistent now. This leader with its human vest knew that. The Battle Lord had been absconded, but his Battle Lady stood a few yards away. Vulnerable. And with child.

  “You destroyed us today, D’Jacques, but you haven’t destroyed all of us. We will be back.”

  “So will we,” she promised it. Her bow remained by her side, even with the nocked single arrow, and the Blood began to wonder if it might have a chance.

  “Eventually we’ll overcome you,” the creature boasted. “We heal faster. We reproduce faster. We are the superior race.”

  Atty lifted her chin. “Show me.”

  A chilling wind swept over them. Both adversaries rocked on their heels in its wake. They stood, eye to eye, neither one moving. Neither giving ground.

  Faster than the eye could follow, the snake-like Blood lifted the dagger by the blade and flung it with deadly accuracy.

  With deceptively calm movements, Atty raised her bow and let the arrow fly.

  Barbed tip met steel, to ring in the freezing air like crashing bells.

  The Blood stared in disbelief as Atty slowly pulled another arrow from her quiver, never taking her eyes off the creature. “I am unarmed. You would kill me in cold blood?” it hissed.

  “Yeah,” she breathed, and fired. The arrow ripped through the Blood’s chest with a wet, hollow sound. The point poked out from its back. Staggering backwards, the creature somehow managed to remain on its feet.

  “Go ahead. Kill me. Your man will die anyway,” the creature swore.

  “Nope.” She took two casual steps forward as she pulled another arrow and fitted it against the string. Her movements were deliberate, smooth, and determined. There was no hesitancy in what she intended to do. And no remorse.

  “He was weak, but I had great fun with him,” the Blood laughed. “I crushed his heart.”

  “There you’re wrong,” Atty informed him, drawing a bead.

  “How?”

  “Because he left his heart inside of me before he left. And I’ve kept it safe until he needs it back. Now, say ‘ahh’.”

  As the Blood stared at its death, his jaw dropped obligingly. Atty pulled even further back on the bow and released her third arrow. There was a gurgling noise as the shaft came to a stop half-in, half-out of the back of the thing’s throat, the fletchings fluffed around its mouth.

  Still, it refused to die. Mortally wounded, the Blood reached up with both hands and tried to jerk one of the arrows free. Swaying on its feet, it hissed through its pain while Atty pulled a fourth arrow from the quiver slung across her back. Without warning, the creature shrieked and flung itself toward the woman. Its arms reached outward, clawed hands extended, hoping to tear her apart at the throat and belly.

  She let it get closer before she sent her final shot into the left eye socket. The force was so great the side of the creature’s head exploded, sending chunks its brain and skull into the air. Bits of matter and blood hissed as they flew into the bonfire. The Blood leader whirled halfway around from the impact before collapsing in the dirt in a heap.

  Slowly, Atty walked away from the squirming, dying Blood, never glancing back to check to make sure it would no longer be a threat. She didn’t have to.

  Around her, the soldiers of Alta Novis, both prisoners and rescuers, turned and followed her into the woods as the bonfire continued to crackle and burn brightly.

  By the time the snows arrived, not a single Blood from the original amassed army was left alive.

  Chapter Fourteen

  West Crestin

  Atty climbed into the back of the wagon as the blankets were being distributed to the survivors. She pulled Yulen into her embrace and settled next to him. Come hell or high water, she wasn’t budging.

  MaGrath crawled in on the other side of the Battle Lord as Fortune took the reins. “Now where?” the Mutah hunter asked.

  Flakes were falling faster. If they remained immobile much longer, they would soon be covered. “West Crestin,” she told him.

  Fortune gave her a disbelieving stare. “Atty, are you sure? There’s nearly two hundred Normals with us!”

  “Fortune, it’s Yulen’s only hope!”

  He needed no further urging. She was right. It was the closest chance of shelter out of the weather, not to mention additional medical help. Slapping the reins, the wagon lurched forward. The rest of the men slipped into formation. Every man, save a small handful, were riding double.

  “How far is West Crestin?” MaGrath asked her.<
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  “I’m not quite sure. I wasn’t that observant on our way over here. Fortune, how far do you think it is?”

  “Maybe a couple of hours,” he estimated.

  The physician nodded and bent over his task.

  Renken watched the doctor carefully work as he examined the extent of D’Jacques’ destruction. He knew very little about medicine. Even less about the inner workings of the body. Yes, he could sew up a wound or set a broken bone, but other than that he was as ignorant as was possible.

  However, he also knew how close this man was to death simply by looking at him. The Bloods had done their worse to him, yet somehow the Battle Lord was managing to cling to life. Renken’s eyes went to the woman lying beside him, cradling him against her breasts, sharing her body heat the same way she’d shared her body and her love last night. Undeniably, she was the reason why the man continued to fight for every breath and every heartbeat.

  “Atty. Atty.” MaGrath shook his head. “Oh, God, there’s so much damage.”

  “You’ll save him,” she stated convincingly. “We just know it. He has faith in you, and so do I.”

  The physician glanced up at her. “When did he tell you that?”

  She licked her lips. “Just now,” she confessed.

  “You’re in touch with him? He’s aware?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Sweet Jesus.”

  They moved as quickly as they could through the forest. This part of their journey hadn’t been made easier with the earlier passing of four hundred pairs of feet. Mastin had a dozen men stationed in front of the wagon, hacking away at the growth with their swords, clearing a way for them. Fortune promised a trail would be showing up pretty soon as they forged ahead.

  A mile passed. And another. One hour merged into its twin.

  Then, suddenly, they were on a road. It was overgrown with dead weeds and rutted, but a trail nonetheless. Fortune turned the wagon and urged the little bay mare to go faster. The army increased its speed, now that they were in the open.

  The road dipped and curved, almost aimless in its meanderings, finally rounding an outcropping of shale and limestone.

  And there it was.

  Fortune pulled up and waited for Mastin to halt the troops behind them. “What now, Atty?”

  “Advance slowly.” She gazed up at Mastin riding along her side of the wagon. “I’ll talk to them, but we can’t hide anything. They need to see all of us, understand? No surprises.” At his nod, she tenderly lay Yulen’s head on her pillow and got to her knees. She seemed oblivious to the wide patches of blood staining her shirt and pants.

  Within seconds the challenge went out. “Ho! Strangers! Identify!”

  Stopping the wagon, Fortune got out to help Atty out of the back. Leaving her weapons behind, she advanced confidently. Once she had placed adequate distance between herself and the troops, she called out, “West Crestin! My name is Atrilan D’Jacques! Of the compound Alta Novis! I am Mutah!”

  Silence.

  A minute passed, stretching into two.

  “Ho! Strangers! State your business!”

  “We survived an attacking Blood army! My husband and his troops need medical assistance immediately!”

  “Your troops are Normals!”

  Turning on her heel, Atty stalked back to the wagon, reached underneath the planking running behind the buckboard, and drew out Yulen’s sword. She heard gasps from the rescued men and remembered the last time many of them had seen his weapon had been during the massacre at Bearinger. Walking back to where she’d previously stood, she raised the weapon over her head, hilt-up, in the sign of peace. “I seek the Three Laws of Equality!”

  This time a different voice called out to her. “State your name again!”

  “Atrilan D’Jacques!”

  “Of Alta Novis?”

  “Yes.” Inspiration hit, and she added, “The last time I was here, though, I was Atty Ferran from Wallis. Does that make a difference?”

  Silence was her answer.

  The wind blew stronger, bringing larger flakes with it. The sun had gone down, and it was growing almost too dark to see the walls of the compound, much less the sentries posted at the top.

  A small door suddenly opened in the wall, and a man dressed in a full-length fur coat approached her. He carried only a lantern. Seeing he was unarmed, Atty dropped the sword. She didn’t recognize the man who stopped mere feet away. He peered closely at her and her blood-soaked clothing, finally raising the lantern closer to her face. “You are Atrilan D’Jacques of Alta Novis?”

  “Yes. My husband is Yulen D’Jacques. He is that compound’s Battle Lord. He had gone to defend Bearinger from the Bloods, but they overran the com—”

  “You are from Wallis?”

  Atty paused. “Yes.”

  “You are the Mutah huntress warrior married to the Normal battle warrior, who forged a treaty with Wallis?”

  “Yes.”

  He turned his head and glanced past her at the men standing silently in the gathering shadows. It was then Atty could see the ridge of quills running down the back of the man’s neck.

  “How many of you are there?”

  “Two hundred. Half need immediate medical help, including my husband. We all need refuge from this blizzard.”

  He looked back at her. “Only Mutah know of the Three Laws of Equality. Do I have your word your men will not seek to harm us?”

  “My word,” she promised.

  “Very well.” Glancing upward, the man swung the lantern five times. Almost immediately the huge double doors began to swing outward.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  The man motioned toward her distended belly. “The Three Laws will apply the moment you set foot inside.” Having done his job, he disappeared back through the little door in the wall.

  Atty quickly picked up the sword and hurried back to the wagon. Fortune helped her up.

  “What’s the Three Laws of Equality?” MaGrath asked.

  “I’ll tell you later. Cole!”

  “Yes?”

  “Tell the men this is a Mutah compound. I’ve given my word no one will be injured or harmed, but that applies to both sides. Should any of us harm someone in the compound, I will be the one punished. Let them know that.”

  “I think they already know,” MaGrath drily said.

  Fortune urged the wagon forward. The troops formed in ranks of three, and they entered the compound of West Crestin that, a year ago, only two of them had even known existed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sanctuary Found

  Paxton was standing outside the small apartment when Mastin walked up. The Second took in the Lieutenant’s bandages and the way the man’s shoulders drooped. Paxton had been through hell and back. It was a badge of honor the man would forever wear, and one that Mastin would never envy.

  “How are you doing, Warren?”

  The man nodded. A darkness still crept around his eyes. Nightmares would continue to haunt him for God knew how long. But he was free. And alive. He had everything to be thankful for, and it all centered upon the small figure waiting for them inside.

  “Better than some.” Reaching out, he grasped his superior by the upper arm. The two men had always been close friends ever since they were young boys going to school together. And had entered the academy together to become part of the Battle Lord’s troops. The gesture was second nature. “Thanks, Cole.”

  Mastin nodded toward the door. “Have you been in yet?”

  “No. I was waiting for you.”

  “Any word on D’Jacques?”

  This time Paxton shook his head in answer. Taking a deep breath, Mastin knocked twice on the wooden door, then opened it.

  The tiny living room held only a single straight-back chair and two stools, all of which were parked in a semi-circle in front of the blazing fireplace. Atty was sitting on one of the stools in a way where she could see anyone entering the apartment. She never moved or made any gesture to s
how she was aware of the two soldiers as they entered the apartment and came to a halt across from her. A long moment went by. Then she softly said, “Have a seat.”

  Gratefully the two men took the other two seats. Mastin opted for the stool before the Lieutenant could object. Normally the subordinate would bow to his superior and allow the man the chair. But this time Paxton understood why he was given the straight-back. He tried to muffle the low groan as he sat. Mastin’s veiled glance mirrored the man’s pain.

  Atty remained staring at the flames dancing across the logs in the fireplace. The apartment was small, even for Mutah standards, but she had insisted on the simple two bedroom dwelling. With Yulen ensconced in the infirmary, she didn’t have need for anything big and fancy, despite the Elders’ urging to take an apartment more suited for someone of her stature.

  But Atty had held firm as she thanked the Council for their offer. MaGrath would be spending the majority of his time caring for the Battle Lord. She would also be spending as much time as she could over at the clinic. All she and the doctor needed was a place to sleep and refresh themselves.

  It was evident that in the short few hours since their arrival Atty had not taken the time to see to her own comfort. Her tunic and cloak were still smeared with Yulen’s blood. The slender hands lying limp in her lap were also coated with gore. A patch of dried blood edged her left cheek and jaw where she had obviously brushed back her hair.

  The bulge of her belly was pronounced in the flickering light. From the way she was sitting it was clear she was uncomfortable but too exhausted to get up and go into the bedroom to lie down. She had just come in from the clinic a few minutes ago and had sought the warmth of the fire first thing.

  When she finally lifted her face toward them, they were surprised by the sadness in her eyes. Immediately Mastin grew alarmed.

  “Yulen...”

  Atty sighed loudly. “He will live, but his wounds are severe. Liam thought they might be too great to survive, but I won’t let Yulen leave me.” She shook her head slowly. “I won’t let him. Not now. Not yet.” Her gaze took in Paxton’s appearance. “How are you faring, Warren?”