Sarina's Barbarians

by E M White

  Zacharius frowned. “I’m no fortuneteller, elf.”

  Zacharius looked to Markus, the one who’d been at Sarina’s side longest. “Sarina has never come up against something like this. Not these kinds of odds.”

  Markus joined Zacharius’ dismal expression. “Whatever Gracus told Sarina about this Magnus and his army…” He stepped to the edge of the cliff and stared out. “He wasn’t telling us everything.”

  Vadric knew he was thinking the same thing as the rest of them up there, that Sarina was in over her head, that this was not the battle they’d been sold to fight. The half-orc began pacing while the others stood stone-still in their worry.

  Now Zacharius was staring back toward their camp, probably thinking of Sarina and what to tell her.

  Markus was rubbing the braids of his beard, harder than he usually did, like he was going to pull them out of his cheeks.

  Only Onäs, the newcomer, would be naive enough about Sarina to say out loud the question they were all thinking. He said, “Perhaps Sarina should step back from her position of command.”

  All three turned toward Onäs.

  Markus put up a face, but his anxious eyes betrayed him.

  Vadric didn’t even try hiding it.

  Onäs knew immediately he’d suggested something anathema to this group.

  But no one was rushing to refuse it either.

  He stood up straight and added, “Why not you, Markus? Get us through this. Get her through this. You’ve more experience commanding soldiers than Vadric and Sarina combined.” He looked to Vadric. “No offense.”

  Vadric felt like his legs were stuck in the rocky ground beneath them. “I’m not the one who’s going to chop your head off for suggesting such an idea.”

  But Vadric still couldn’t say no to it.

  The violent urge to keep Sarina safe, to win the battle, was as strong as the desire to see her succeed as his new commander. Was it possible to ask the less-experienced princess to step aside? Just for this one battle?

  Vadric said, more to Markus than the others, “If we find out Gracus lied to Sarina, I’m gonna kill him.”

  Markus spoke lowly, deep in thought. “Said that same thing before, Vadric.”

  Vadric and Markus looked to each other. But neither found solace in the other’s anxious eyes.

  Akimi

  13

  Sarina Addresses The Town

  Sarina was pacing the north end of Tias’ palisade, the cool morning come and gone, the vengeful heat of the sun now making up for its earlier weakness. She gripped the top of the high wooden fence. She rubbed the harsh points where the townsfolk had sharpened the pickets in some delusion of defense. She told the elders of Tia who’d gathered to meet her, “I’m not here to lie.”

  The majority of the town garrison was there too, in their useless leather armor.

  “I’m as straightforward as they come, so you better get used to it.”

  A hundred or so villagers hung well beyond, trying to gain a glimpse of the barbarian princess who was supposed to save them. But who, they’d all decided, could not.

  She said, “This karnog marching now with his host of savages, he’s not coming to bargain.”

  Telling the truth isn’t going to make them feel better, that’s to be sure.

  She glanced to her left and right, where Markus and Vadric were standing atop the palisade with her, one on either side. Even though her captains were her trusted advisors, even her lovers, they bore the same worried expressions as the townspeople below her. They were, she noted, having a hard time looking her in the eye. That was extremely unusual. But she got the message.

  Onäs was up there too, next to Markus. He was the only one of her men offering any encouraging glance. Point for Onäs.

  At the edge of the crowd below, Akimi was standing in her black, sable fur mantle, mostly skin and legs in all this heat. So pretty. So tirelessly supportive.

  None of them had much chance to talk things over in the preceding hours. And Sarina absolutely loathed not knowing the minds of her consorts.

  She’d already rallied armies to kill or be killed for her. Worse, she’d argued tribal policy with men three times her age—and sometimes even succeeded. She’d even offered the eulogy at her mother’s funeral when she was only eight. Sarina was no stranger to speaking to groups of people. But today was different. She was explaining the likelihood of their destruction. A monster was coming to these people’s lands, coming to blacken them, coming to claim them. And the monster was more horrendous than any of them could’ve expected.

  Sarina was gripping the wood of the palisade because—she couldn’t believe it herself—her hands were trembling. She was not going to let anyone see that. The sun was burning into her forehead. Sweat ran down her cheek. Already, she felt the trickles of it running inside her tunic, down the backs of her bare legs. Thank Uthril Akimi’s sweet little, encouraging face was down there to look at.

  “Maybe you’re thinking right about now,” she said, raising her voice, trying to power through all the bad thoughts spinning around in her head, “that it’d be better to wait for the Imperial Legions to arrive. And yes, now that we know the true magnitude of Magnus’ army, word has been sent.” The eyes of the elders bore a glaze of defeat, staring uselessly at Sarina. “But there’s not going to be any waiting. We can’t. I promise. They cannot get here in time.”

  She held out a hand toward Big Markus, and he took it. Then she reached for Vadric, who stepped up to her side too.

  She squeezed their thick palms, as hard as she could. It felt like she was clinging to their calm. Like she was holding on for life.

  She glanced down at Akimi, who was clasping her hands at her chin, her eyes red-rimmed with worry.

  She tried affecting an even tone, but her throat tightened with every word, “If you wait behind this gate, Magnus Sinn will destroy Tias.” She forced a swallow. “And everyone in it. If I wait with you behind this gate, trying to hold out, I will die along with you. And that’s not going to happen.” She paused when she heard her own voice waver again.

  Dammit, Sarina.

  Be strong.

  For them.

  Failure isn’t an option.

  Nor is weakness.

  She was their leader. And she was going to find a way to turn that beast of a karnog away from this town. Perhaps she couldn’t defeat him head-to-head on the battlefield…

  His goal couldn’t be this town. Could it? Surely he’s looking for new lands. Farther south. Like the others who’ve come before. Running from the Vile Influx far to the north.

  Everyone was staring at her. She was getting lost in her own thoughts.

  No.

  Not lost.

  She was figuring out a plan.

  Perhaps she could make Magnus swerve…

  She put her palms on the lower backs of her two captains. She ran her fingers among the dense muscles that helped keep them standing so tall, so proud, even in the face of this terrible new foe. Yes, they were afraid. She was afraid. Worse of all, it was starting to show. But that didn’t mean she would stop doing what she was born to do.

  She would take these powerful men, point them in the right direction, and turn them loose. And together they would, despite the odds, dominate the battlefield.

  It’s just figuring out what direction to point them, that’s the gamble. That’s where the fatal mistake lies.

  She and Markus and Vadric, the three of them together, they would always joke, “As long we fight like we fuck and fuck like we fight, nothing can come between us.”

  She wondered if they were going to get a chance to really prove that once and for all. She put her arms around their waists, sliding their warm skin, sweaty and tender from the heat and worries of the day.

  From her place on the palisade, she told the fearful townspeople who’d come to hear nothing else from her but the truth, “Tonight we’re going to move half a league north. Into valleys. And by doing so, I promise all
of you, I’m going to keep Magnus from coming anywhere near Tias.”

  Markus and Vadric looked down at her, a bit astonished.

  Even Onäs looked around Markus’ huge shoulders at her. He actually looked impressed.

  Bet they didn’t see that coming.

  Then again, neither did she.

  Holding onto two of her favorite men, her deadly champion behind her, with her mage out there somewhere no doubt watching them all, with Akimi down there urging her on with her deep gray eyes, she felt the trembling leave her hands.

  She took a deep, measured breath.

  And for the first time since grabbing that messenger outside the bath, Sarina felt like she had some control back.

  Which was, win or lose, just how she liked it.

  14

  The Kiss

  Sarina and Onäs were hiking up the backside of the hills surrounding the winding road, north of Tias. In the dying light of evening, the blue blossoms of foxflowers danced among their steps. The serene air, gently blowing down the slopes from the west, tickled their skin. They were alone. Finally.

  Sarina hadn’t spoken of a reason for getting away, hadn’t yet told him that she’d be giving him orders he would despise. The first time she gave him orders he hated, they needed to be alone.

  Their strides slowed down as the sun’s muted light dropped away. But upward they continued climbing, side by side. Maybe they’d even make it to the summit?

  She’d tell him there. At the top. She wasn’t sure how he’d react yet. If he took it too rough, she didn’t want to reprimand him badly in front of Big Markus and Vadric. Or even Zacharius and Akimi.

  Onäs had a reclusive side. And it could get him in trouble if she let him.

  So did she, he insisted, have a reclusive side, if she’d “ever fucking slow down.”

  If they reached the top before the sky went completely dark, she’d hoped they could also view the broad plateau whereupon Sarina was hoping to initiate the next day’s battle.

  Now she doubted they’d get there in time. The way Onäs was dragging them down. Maybe she was letting him. Maybe she wanted to slow down. With Onäs, his reclusive side rubbing off on her, she liked the idea of getting away. Even for an hour. Which was all the time she could spare for him.

  They didn’t even say much.

  In her slower pace now, she could admire her champion more than she’d allowed herself to do in the past.

  She studied his striking, chiseled features. Those long ears with the tips wrapped in delicate tattoos. The three mysterious scars, wounds from blades no doubt, striping his cheek and temple. His long eyebrows that extended almost to his hairline. And of course, his full, luscious, and totally kissable lips.

  But this was the first time she knew—without the slightest doubt—that he was admiring her too. At the same time.

  She watched his thighs bulge and contract as they pumped. The crisp lines of his abdominal muscles, decorated by the stark lines of the elven tattoos about his waist, twisted and swelled as he moved. Only his fur mantle covered his shoulders, but she could imagine the power they covered.

  As always, he carried his scabbard in his right hand. Which meant he was always less than a half second from drawing with his left, from being able to defend her life with deadly force. She might not admit it out loud, but she was definitely learning to like that.

  Onäs wasn’t brawny and bulky like Markus. Definitely not animalistic like Vadric. Not as sleek as Zacharius. But he had a male power that was, now that she was allowing herself to study it more, intoxicating.

  What was it?

  She wouldn’t let it go until she could put a finger on it.

  She remembered the ferocious speed and flourish she’d seen in the Bolzhiem arena—and she felt her heart flutter right then and there at the memory.

  As they climbed even higher, she pulled her blonde curls behind an ear and peek over at him. She did this a lot. Half the time, she’d catch him staring. She kept having to resist the urge to reach out and touch him. To measure the power of his strides. To finger the lines of his tattoos. To test the softness of the furs on his shoulder. Which was ridiculous. She was a princess. He was her retainer. She could touch him however and whenever she pleased. Mostly. Now she was resisting. That was the telling part.

  Also, they were both speaking softly to each other this evening. Keeping each other close, almost shoulder to shoulder, with the low tones of their voices.

  Not even any stars nor moons were emerging above the high cloud cover to judge them.

  Sarina was well aware that the eve before battle usually brought a horny fire to her body. Like a fox in heat, Vadric would say. The anticipation of violence conjured a need to burn through the restlessness, to test the limits of her coming aggression, to make love. So…there was that too.

  They reached a shelf of boulders. Onäs jumped up to take the lead. The jingle of his buckles danced in her hers. The grunt of his leap rumbled her tummy.

  He crouched low, set his sword on the ground, and extended his long, muscled hand down to her. He grinned and his gorgeous eyes, the color of raw iron, sparkled in the last of the evening’s light. They both knew this was a decisive moment, when the head-strong, obstinate commander would either take his helping hand…or step aside it.

  She obviously didn’t really need his help. But she wanted it. She felt his fingers in her own. Felt them close on hers. She looked from their shared grip to his piercing eyes, half closed from the width of his smile.

  Sarina didn’t leap up immediately. She was a tactician. And she knew the power of timing.

  Hand in hand, fingers rolling against the intricacies of each other’s skin, they did not move.

  Sarina was no coy maiden. She did not dip her chin. She did not flutter her eyelids. Instead, she stared into the majestic gleam of his gaze. And held it.

  “You would have looked at me like that earlier,” he said, still smiling broadly, “I would have been in that bath with you in a heartbeat.”

  She pulled on his hand, and he swept her up.

  She landed next to him, chest to chest.

  Neither let go.

  “Is a pretty smile from a pretty girl all it takes to topple Onäs Grimblade?” She looked up into his eyes, searching their depth for a place to grab onto, to throw herself upon.

  Onäs touched the loose curls of her hair with his free hand, tucking some behind her ear. “If all you were was a pretty face, would I be ready to die for you?”

  Sarina pinched her face at him. But she couldn’t hold it. She felt like she was losing her breath, like she couldn’t hold her lips closed. So close to his…

  She said, “I pay you to do that. Don’t I?”

  He hummed. “Your father.” His gaze was moving across her face, like he was chasing the last of the fading light along the soft details of her skin.

  “Well then?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t plunge headfirst in the bath with you because your father said so. But here we are.”

  Sarina felt his warm breath falling to her face. “And no bath nearby.”

  His warmth was swirling about her, pooling inside. And deep down, she felt the slow ache begin to build, to crave that warmth he dispensed upon her.

  Was it time?

  Hadn’t she known since watching him fight in the arena, seeing his swift skill, seeing his restraint, seeing his exquisite control of his own body and—yes!—everyone around him?

  She said, “You have an empathy…”

  He backed off a few inches. He replied, “A curse at times.”

  “You use it like a weapon.”

  He lessened his grip on her hand. His cheeks slackened ever so slightly. He blinked a few times. And then picked up his blade and turned up again to the top of the hill. He said over his shoulder, “Captain Markus and Zacharius are coming.”

  Sarina turned downhill to see the hefty barbarian and her mage a thousand paces below, hiking a straight line toward them. They were h
ard to make out in the low light, but she knew their gait better than anyone. Except for Onäs, it seemed.

  Suddenly, a heartache filled her chest. A tenseness wrapped around her stomach. She had a thirst no water could quench. She put out a hand. “Onäs.”

  He stopped and turned. He looked at her outstretched arm and raised his eyebrows. Then their eyes met.

  He seized her hand and pulled her to him. With force.

  She heard his sword hit the ground.

  Their chests collided, and he wrapped his bare arm around her lower back and held on. Both of their mouths fell open. He didn’t wait for them to regain posture before he pressed his lips, strong and full and luxurious, onto hers.

  She planted both palms upon his broad cheeks, her fingertips at the edge of his eyes and the delicate lines of his eyebrows, at the tender rise of his long ears. She held on for dear life.

  His arm at her waist pulled her in tighter. Her limbs spasmed with the lightning pulses of excitement that exploded outward from her abdomen all the way to her fingers.

  Their lips fought for new purchase over and over, sliding and tugging upon each other. She could have held on forever.

  Could we do it?

  She slid one hand behind him, up his back, grabbing onto his muscles, then dragging her fingertips downward.

  Right here?

  Right now?

  She imagined how far Markus and Zacharius had to go to reach them.

  Ten minutes.

  Maybe eleven?

  It was dark enough.

  He moaned quietly into their kiss. And the sound sent a wave of wetness down below. She gasped, mouth wide open, at the sensation.

  Dammit, we could do it.

  We could do it quickly!

  She slid her fingers around to his front, felt the rolling squares of his abdominal muscles, felt the edge of his breeches. She could sense the heat, the hardness, just below her fingers. The surging ache in her willed her to grab him—down below. To pull on him. To squeeze him. To know the wild feel of his cock—and then that dizzying ache would go away.