A Battle Lord’s Heart Read online

  “What does that look like to you?”

  Mastin’s eyes narrowed, and he reached out to finger it with bloodstained gloves. “It’s ragged.”

  “Yeah. That’s because it was chewed apart. Those things chewed his armor off.”

  Mastin’s face went a shade paler, and he turned and walked back into the compound without further comment.

  Laying the piece down, Renken glanced over at the two blankets spread on the ground. One held various swords and weapons the men were recovering from the site. Another had a pile of armored pieces. He swallowed hard. It was the third blanket containing the body parts MaGrath had identified as belonging to some of the men from Alta Novis that sent a chill down his back. After years of being a mercenary, he had developed a pretty thick hide when it came to death and destruction. But the aftermath of what he was seeing here from the Bloods was making him sick to his stomach.

  For the umpteenth time he checked the Battle Lady. A coldness suddenly swept over him. She was...different. Narrowing his eyes, Renken shifted modes. The skilled eyes of a seasoned mercenary raked over her to spot what had alerted him. She took another shallow breath—

  Renken raced for the main gates where he could alert the nearest man. “Atty!” he yelled, needing no further explanation, and rushed back to the wagon. Behind him he could hear the word pass, until presently he heard the sound of running feet.

  “What?” MaGrath panted, gasping for breath.

  Renken pointed toward the still unconscious form as the others joined them.

  The physician gave her a cursory glance, and turned back to Renken. “I thought you were signaling us that she was waking up,” the man loudly exclaimed.

  “She’s not asleep,” Renken curtly corrected him. “Look at her, Doc. She’s sensing!”

  There were several gasps behind him, but Renken grimly smiled to see the look of incredulity on the doctor’s face. For the barest of moments everyone’s mind wondered as to what she could be sensing—when the answer nearly knocked them over.

  Her sallow complexion had changed. A pink flush now infused her, giving her face an almost normal, rosy glow. Atty took another hitching breath, and to their astonishment her hand lifted. Slowly, cautiously, almost reverently. Reaching out as if she could touch...

  A bright wail of anguish tore from her lips. Several of them jumped in their skins at the sound. Before he was aware of what he was doing, Renken edged around to the side of the wagon and lifted her into a sitting position. Atty’s hands flexed once, twice, and she reached outward imploringly as her wail formed into a single word.

  “Yuuuuuuulllll!”

  “Oh, sweet Jesus, she’s deranged!” someone stated in a shaky voice.

  “Shut up!” Renken barked. The soldier returned the icy stare but did as he was told.

  Slowly, Atty raised her hands to her face. Her whole body jerked spasmodically. Finally, a tiny voice came from behind quivering lips. “Cole?”

  “I’m here, Atty,” the Second was quick to answer, moving closer to where he could hear her better.

  “Gather the men. Now. We’re heading west.”

  “West?” Mastin repeated, hoping he’d heard her right the first time. “Why?”

  Atty lifted eyes now haunted with images only she could see. She was aware of them, aware of where she was, aware of what surrounded them, yet her gaze remained inward, stubbornly refusing to let go of the thin, impossibly tenuous thread of her connection.

  “He’s alive, Cole. Yul. He’s...alive!”

  No one questioned her sanity. No one questioned the insanity of her orders. To a man, they gathered their weapons and supplies, and in less than five minutes they were in exact formation, ready for the go-ahead.

  “Which way, Atty?” Fortune called out. Renken sat at the reins as the Battle Lady leaned heavily against him. Weakly, she pointed toward the forest on the other side of the roadway.

  Mastin signaled them forward. The soldiers advanced over the wide, rutted lane, toward the dense growth. But as they neared the tree line, they could see where a distinct path had been trampled in the wake of the Bloods’ retreat. Boldly, the battalion entered the forest.

  The path was irregular and not difficult to track. “It’s as if they never expected to be followed,” Fortune half-whispered.

  “Of course not,” MaGrath hissed.

  “But this is wrong. All wrong,” Renken insisted, thinking aloud. “There’s more to this than we’re seeing.” He turned to the woman sitting with her head on his shoulder. He caught of whiff of her scent and the slightly minty smell of her hair. His stomach tightened. “I’m right, ain’t I, Atty?”

  She lifted herself into a sitting position and clutched her pillow closer to her abdomen. “They’re on foot. They can’t move as quickly as we can on horseback. We’re already starting to gain on them.”

  “Where are they heading, Atty?” Mastin asked from where he rode to the left of the wagon.

  “I don’t know,” she confessed softly. She shuddered slightly, but she remained awake. Awake, but sightless, as if all her energy was directed inward to focus on their single goal. Their ultimate, top priority.

  “He was unconscious,” she suddenly blurted out. “That’s why I didn’t feel him. He’s...he’s confused. He’s hurt.” She jerked unexpectedly, and a tear ran down her cheek. “Oh, God, they hurt him so terribly.”

  “Why did they take him prisoner?” Fortune questioned aloud. “Since when do Bloods take prisoners?”

  “Not prisoners,” Atty corrected him. She blinked, and it was as if a veil dropped from her face. She turned a bright, clear, if somewhat sad pair of eyes in her friend’s direction. “There’s nearly a hundred of our men with them.”

  “What?”

  “What?”

  Not realizing he’d pulled up the mare and stopped the wagon, Renken was surprised when Atty reached over and slapped his hands. “Don’t stop this caravan!” she heatedly ordered. The ex-mercenary was quick to obey.

  “Repeat what you just said,” MaGrath asked her. Behind and before them, the soldiers’ strained to hear what she had to say.

  “The Bloods are dragging almost a hundred of our soldiers along with them. But Liam, they’re not being taken as prisoners.” She paused to swallow hard. “They’re being taken as food.”

  Every man shivered in the wake of her admission, then waited to hear more, but Atty leaned back against the man holding the reins and closed her eyes. As twilight darkened the wood, Mastin finally called a halt. “We have to rest if we’re going to make any progress tomorrow,” he announced. “Atty, how far behind are we?”

  She shook her head. “Not far. They can’t move too fast with the number of prisoners they’re having to deal with. And it’s harder progressing straight into the woods. We’re in their wake. They’ve done the hard part, clearing the path for us.”

  “Still, I don’t like being out in the open like this,” the Second noted.

  “We may not have to be,” Fortune said as he stood up in his stirrups and sniffed loudly. Sitting back down, he smiled at Atty. “Bumblebee, bumblebee,” he sing-songed lightly in a teasing tone.

  “Tell me what you hear and see,” she automatically answered, then started.

  “Or, in this case, smell,” the Mutah hunter clarified.

  She turned to stare at the man. Slowly the old Atty could be seen pooling back into the blue-gray depths of her eyes. It was like watching life reemerging, filling her with hope and purpose.

  Carefully, with Renken’s arm to steady her, Atty stood up in the little wagon and tested the air. MaGrath was quick to notice how subtly she slipped into her hunter’s mode, and the knowledge gave him hope. This was the Atty he knew. It was like a ray of sunlight to his frantic soul to see that side of her reappear.

  “Bear. We’re in bear country.” She looked to Fortune for confirmation.

  “And where there’s bear, there’s bear caves,” Fortune explained to Mastin. “I bet we can find
a den or two that we can fortify for the night. Give me and a couple of your men a few minutes, and I’ll lead you to them.” He glanced back at the woman opening her mouth to volunteer. “Not this time, Atty-cake. You stay here and keep that connection going. This won’t take but a few minutes.”

  Mastin peeled off two men to follow the hunter further into the dense underbrush. MaGrath turned to Atty with a silly grin spreading over his face. “Atty-cake?”

  For the first time in days, she returned a small smile. “It was what my parents often called me when I was growing up. You know, ‘pattycake, pattycake, baker’s man’? Well...Atty-cake.”

  “Of course, you having an inexhaustible sweet tooth wouldn’t have anything to do with it, either, would it, bluebell?”

  To his delight, she grinned. “Maybe,” she admitted, elaborating no further.

  As he promised, Fortune quickly returned and directed them back the way he’d gone. Within minutes the battalion happened upon a large clearing surrounding a tall, rocky abutment. The entrance to a small cave lay close to ground level.

  “It’s abandoned, or else I would’ve found an animal hibernating in there this time of year. It’s large enough to comfortably fit Atty and a couple more. The rest of us can form a semicircle in front of it.”

  Mastin agreed. They would be able to create a reasonably safe sanctuary with the abutment at their backs. It was the best they could do under the circumstances. He called for the men to set up camp, and the soldiers wearily dismounted to follow orders.

  With only a quick breakfast and no lunch to sustain them, the men were already being pushed to their physical limits, not to mention their emotional limits as well. Yet they knew they were heading into something infinitely more dangerous than they could ever imagine.

  They had no doubt that their Battle Lord was still alive. And with Atty’s proclamation that nearly another hundred of their fellow soldiers, friends, and kinsmen alike were also alive, it was more than enough to keep them going for as long as they needed to.

  Fortune managed to snag a fox, which he cleaned and cooked over the open flames of their small fire in front of the cave. MaGrath had taken up residence with Atty, and the Mutah hunter and Renken had assumed positions right outside the cave entrance. As the meat dripped fat into the fire, the two men glanced up when the doctor and the Battle Lady joined them.

  “How do you feel?” Renken inquired.

  Atty tucked a stray strand of hair over her ear. Her fingers encountered air, and for a second she paused in surprise before she remembered she’d shorn off her locks. “Drained.”

  “How’s the baby?” Fortune asked.

  “Active. Unrelenting. Tory owes me a big apology.”

  “Oh?” he chuckled. “Why?”

  “She conveniently forgot to let me in on this part of being pregnant. Not only do I have to be uncomfortable, but I have to be a human punching bag, too.”

  It seemed the air around them grew cooler, cleaner. Fresher. This was the old Atty. Their sassy, feisty Atty. She was completely in control of herself, and her spirit was quickly rising back to the surface. It was enough to give them all hope.

  “Atty. Tell them what you just told me,” MaGrath urged.

  Taking a deep breath, she glanced around to see where a large majority of the soldiers had gathered around to hear her. Those left on the fringes were posted on guard duty, but knew they would be given the specifics when she was done.

  “Yulen is alive, but seriously injured.” She clasped her hands in front of her and hunched as far over as she could with her rounded belly. “The reason I couldn’t sense him before was because he was unconscious.” She hesitated, searching for her next words. “There had to have been nearly a thousand Bloods descending on Bearinger. It was hard to get a more exact number in the darkness, but the troops managed to decimate a goodly number of them. There’s barely a little over three hundred of them left, and most of them, if not all, have some sort of injury.”

  “Tell them about our men.”

  She nodded slightly. “They’re being given water, but nothing else. Like the Bloods, they’ve suffered. They’re hurt. Bleeding. Many are suffering broken bones. Some are missing limbs. A few have critical wounds. They’re being herded like cattle in ropes. By the end of the day a couple will have fallen.” Atty paled, but managed to continue. “Those fallen are eaten.”

  Several men swore softly at the news.

  “And the Battle Lord?” Del Ray inquired.

  Her reaction was immediate. A cloak of despair appeared to drop over her face and shoulders, and Atty lowered her face for a minute in order to compose herself.

  “They know he’s the Battle Lord,” she told them in a barely audible voice. A shudder ran through her. “The Bloods are keeping him separated from the rest because they’re afraid he would rally the men to attack. They—” She flinched as if she’d been slapped. “They torture him in front of the men, hoping to destroy him and the men’s spirits. They’re venting their anger and hostility on Yulen but they’re keeping him alive. They don’t want him dead. Not yet. They want him alive as long as one soldier remains on his feet. But when the last of our troops are gone, then they’ll kill him outright.”

  She raised her hands to bury her fingers in her short hair. “He’s trying...so hard...not to have me know the extent of his agony and pain, but he can’t hide it all from me.” Lifting her face, her eyes had turned a dark, smoky gray from what she’d seen. From what she’d learned.

  “Does he know we’re here? That we’re coming after them?” Mastin softly questioned her. “Have you told him?”

  Atty nodded slowly. “He knows, but he’s not letting the men know. He’s afraid they’ll let it slip, and that’ll force the Bloods to backtrack. As long as he remains mute, we’ll be able to get close enough to formulate an attack strategy.” Looking directly at Mastin, she added, “He’s counting on you.”

  The Second gulped audibly. “Tell him we’ll be able to handle it.”

  “Are you mad?” Fortune exclaimed, startling them with his outburst. “There’s more than three hundred of them! We’re barely a third of that.”

  “But we’re a healthy, fully-trained battalion, and we have the element of surprise,” Renken informed him. “In addition, there’s nearly a hundred of our troops in their possession. Right now the Bloods believe they’re in the clear after razing Bearinger. They have the Battle Lord in their midst, and they’re set for food for the winter. Plus, a large majority of them are still suffering from the wounds they received in this last battle.”

  “As are the men they’re holding hostage,” Fortune was quick to remind him.

  “True,” Mastin stepped in. “But our men are trained. Honed by the Battle Lord’s training sequences to be as keen as the edge of a sword. When the time comes for us to descend on them, once the hostages see us and realize what we’re doing, they’ll grab anything they can get their hands on to fight. Or, if they can’t find a suitable weapon, they’ll use their bare hands.”

  Renken glanced down to see that Atty had touched very little of her meal. He opened his mouth to admonish her lack of appetite but she beat him to it. “I know I should eat more,” she tearfully said, “but I don’t feel hungry.”

  “You’ve hardly eaten anything all day. Would you like it if I put a little jam on that bread to make it more palatable?”

  Atty gave him a surprised yet curious stare. Giving her one of his slow grins, Renken got to his feet and went to fetch the small jar of blueberry jam he had hidden in his saddlebag. Handing it to her, he admitted, “You’re not the only one with a sweet tooth.”

  She stared at the jar before opening it. “Berta will have your hide when she finds out she’s missing a jar of her best preserves from her pantry.”

  “Actually, she’s missing three.”

  Their eyes locked for a second. Suddenly Atty started giggling and gave him a shove with her arm and elbow. Renken glanced up to see three men giving him
identical astonished looks. But it was the intense gratitude evident on their faces that gave him that feeling of accomplishment.

  He belonged now. Not completely. Not just yet. However there would no longer be any doubt in anyone’s mind where his loyalties lay.

  Chapter Twelve

  Deepest Love

  It was her soft whimper that awakened MaGrath from sound sleep. Aching from sore, overused muscles, the physician wearily rolled over in his sleeping bag to find Atty slowly writhing in her sleep. Her face was contorted; her breathing was becoming shallower and more rapid.

  No, he quickly corrected himself as he rose to a sitting position. Something’s happening.

  Her bedroll lay next to his in the small, cramped confines of the shallow cave. After they had eaten, she had quickly fallen asleep, exhausted beyond measure from the day’s events.

  Watching her, MaGrath tried to see what would be causing her to act in such a manner. Perspiration beaded on her face and neck, yet the night was cold in anticipation of the coming storm.

  Throwing back the corner of the bedroll, he checked on the baby, but there was nothing there to alarm him. Then why is she acting like this? he questioned himself as he felt his alarm rising. She’s acting as if she’s in great pain.

  His eyes widened into disbelieving pools of shock as another possibility came to him.

  Or making love.

  The physician continued to stare down at her, unsure as to what to do, but frightened by what doing nothing might entail. Leaning over to whisper in her ear, he called her by name. A quick glance over his shoulder reassured him no one else was aware of her behavior. He called to her again.

  Slowly her eyes opened. In the distant glow of the fire, he could see her eyes were swimming in tears. And torment.

  “Liam!” Her lips formed his name, but so softly he couldn’t hear her. He bent his ear closer. “Liam...he’s...he’s in such agony!”

  “What’s happening, Atty?”

  She arched her back. Her arms came up, stopping in midair, and she spread her fingers.