WINDKEEPER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "Except maybe Hern," Teal corrected.

  "I wish Hern was here now. He’d know how to handle him," Legion sighed.

  "Do you think we ride for Serenia tomorrow?" Thom asked.

  "No," came a firm voice from the trees.

  The men looked up to see Conar standing behind them. His mouth was a thin, straight line and his hands were clenched into fists by his side. There was a hardness and a brittleness in his voice, a foreign firmness to the set of his jaw that brooked no argument. He turned his fierce gaze on his brother.

  "We ride for Serenia within the hour, A’Lex," Conar snapped. "I have a surprise for the Princess Anya Wynth!" He headed back toward the picket line.

  "I like not the gleam in his eye, Legion," Teal remarked as Conar strode away, his head erect, his spine straight.

  Standing up slowly, Legion ran a weary hand through his graying hair. "You’d best get used to it, du Mer. Something tells me it’s going to be there for a long time!"

  Chapter 21

  * * *

  "Damn you," Conar snarled, jerking cruelly on Seayearner’s cinch, making the animal sidestep in surprise. He cursed his horse, hitting it with the flat of his hand on the high flanks. "And damn you, too, you black piece of shit!" he spat as he took a firm grasp of the pommel and swung himself into the saddle. He put spurs to his horse, something he had never done before to any animal.

  The steed shied, arching high into the air in stunned protest. But as its heavy hooves struck the ground, Conar urged it forward. The horse dug deep into the frost-laden grass and shot toward the roadway at a fast gallop. Seayearner cleared a small clump of bushes in one smooth leap before thundering down the dirt pathway.

  As the wind rushed past, blowing his hair wildly about his head, Conar knew in his heart he held no blame against Liza. She had fulfilled her bargain to him ten times over. She had loved him, and loved him well; giving him all of her, holding nothing back. And she had kept her promise to leave him when the time came; and leave him, she had. She had never once denied her going. It had always been there between them. He had just never taken her seriously.

  No, the blame did not lie with Liza.

  "Damn you, Anya Wynth, to the deepest crag in the Abyss," he ground out between tightly clenched teeth.

  The blame lay squarely on the deformed shoulders of the bitch crouched at Boreas Keep, ready to slurp him under her wretched body and devour what was left of his life. He could feel the wet, slick, hideous feel of her hands on his flesh and he shuddered. He would be at the bitch’s mercy unless he put her in her vile place as soon as he reached the keep. And he intended to do just that. He would not let her paw at him, slither over him, trailing slime in her wake. He would make her pay, and pay dearly, for the loss of the woman he loved.

  In his mind, he could see Liza, smiling, laughing, teasing him. The thought of her in the arms of another man, laughing, smiling, teasing, drove him nearly insane with a jealous rage. It made him want to scream.

  It was almost an hour before he slowed his pace enough for the others to catch up. Seayearner could not keep up the pace Conar demanded, and horse and rider had fought for the bit. Seayearner had won in the end, doing nothing to improve his master’s mood.

  As the others joined him, the young Prince didn’t speak in greeting or acknowledge them in any way. Legion was close on his right side; Teal on his left. The twins rode slightly behind, and to the flanks of du Mer and A’Lex.

  "Are you planning on riding all night?" Legion inquired, turning his head to gaze at his brother.

  Conar’s stony profile let the man know he was in no mood for idle chitchat. His frosty stare was colder than the air around them as he glared at the road. He moved out ahead of Legion and Teal, for the track was just wide enough to accommodate one horse at the time as they came to the bend in the roadway.

  With no warning, and coming with blinding speed, Thom was knocked unconscious from a sharp blow to his head. A wickedly aimed caltrop opened a long gash along the back of the man’s skull. Thom tilted sideways off his big roan stallion and toppled to the ground in a heap.

  Rayle opened his dark eyes wide, and gasped, his hands going to his throat where a quarrel buried itself in his windpipe. The Elite Captain gurgled and a stream of bright crimson bubbled from his lips. He pitched to the ground beneath the hooves of his own steed. Rayle Loure was dead in a pool of his own blood.

  "Take the bastard alive!" one of the murderers shouted as they rode down from the high dunes bordering the roadway. "They want the Prince alive!"

  Conar’s head snapped around at the shout and he saw two of his men down. He glanced up at the eight men who were skidding down the dunes, sand tumbling away from the flying hooves of their massive mounts. In a flash, he was able to make out three men carrying crossbows already drawn; two others brandished maces. The other three waved heavy broadswords as they drew down on the Prince and his men.

  "Conar!" Legion shouted, spinning his horse around. "Ride out!" He leaned forward over his horse and started back toward the place where Thom and Rayle Loure lay on the ground.

  Teal jerked on his horse’s reins, forcing it up the sandy incline. The horse lost its footing in the soft grass along the base of the smaller dune as the gypsy fought to get his steed out of A’Lex’s way.

  "Guard his back, du Mer!" Legion yelled as he shot past Teal and his floundering horse.

  Du Mer kicked his stallion in the ribs and blocked the roadway between his Prince and the eight men bent on taking him. He looked back at Conar once, saw the wild gleam of battle in the young man’s face, and groaned.

  "Get out of my way, Teal!" the young Prince shouted as he urged his horse toward du Mer.

  "Get out of here!" Teal yelled, his attention on Conar. "Get out of here!"

  The men attacking them were desert nomads from one of the Hasdu tribes. Their flowing white garments and turbans claimed them as such. Their weapons gleamed in the mid-morning sunlight, and their thick-bodied horses had been bred for speed and endurance. As fighters, the Hasdu were a formidable force.

  "Teal, watch out!" Conar screamed.

  The nomad had his weapon looped to his left wrist and his arm came up, the mace snapping forward on its tarnished link of chain. Teal took the blow high on his right arm, yelping with the agony. Conar saw him tumbling backwards from his horse, but there was nothing he could do.

  "You son-of-a-bitch!" Conar yelled. With a savage snarl, he yanked his sword from the scabbard slung over his back and bent low in the saddle, kicking Seayearner forward with his heels. He rode down on the first man, drawing back his arm and, with a mighty sweep of his weapon, lopped the head from his foe’s body. The backward swing of the heavy sword took a mortal bite out of the mace-wielder before the man could leap off his horse and out of Conar’s way.

  Legion was having difficulty getting his sword free of the chest of the man he had just impaled so he didn’t see the blow coming that knocked him off his horse. He hit the ground hard enough to crack his teeth together and he spat a mouthful of blood as he rolled to his feet.

  "Don’t kill the Prince!" someone shouted above the din of horses’ hooves. "Wound him if you have to, but take him alive!"

  "Legion, watch yourself!" Conar shouted as he galloped toward his brother.

  Throwing his leg over his steed’s neck, Conar slid to the ground beside Legion and pulled his brother’s sword free of the dying man who had at last tumbled from his horse. He tossed it to Legion.

  Placing himself at Conar’s back, Legion brought up the blade in time to deflect a blow headed for his chest. He lunged forward under the attacker’s arm and his blade buried into the man’s midsection.

  "Better odds wouldn’t you say?" Legion quipped, dancing away from one of the three surviving attackers.

  "Aye," Conar had time to answer before one of the men came at him with enough force to knock him to the ground. His attacker stabbed downward toward his shoulder with the curved blade of a scimitar. Conar ma
naged to roll away in time, and the man’s gleaming steel dug a furrow into the sand only inches from Conar’s left cheek. Lashing out with his foot, the young Prince kicked the man in the groin and sent his opponent doubling over in pain.

  "I’ve never liked nomads," Conar snarled as he brought up his own blade to skewer the man like a shish kebab.

  "Conar, be careful!" Legion snarled as the Prince stumbled against him.

  Legion’s adversary had no real proficiency with his blade, his expertise lay with the crossbow he had had to abandon at such close quarters, but he more than made up in sheer determination what he lacked in skill.

  Conar, however, had a more formidable foe. The broadsword he wielded with a heavy hand connected hard with Conar’s parries and each one of the robber’s hits landed squarely on Conar’s sword. The Prince felt the shock of them all the way down his lighter weapon.

  The nomad smiled. There were great craters in the man’s oily, sweaty face above his beard, and his hair, now loose since his turban had been knocked off, was lank with grease. A stench like spoiled meat rolled off his heavy body and made Conar’s eyes water as he came close enough for the young Prince to get a good whiff.

  "I’ll take you alive, Pretty One," the nomad whispered as he circled Conar. His black gaze swept over Conar, lingered on the young man’s crotch before coming back to lock with the pale blue eyes. "But you’ll regret it."

  Conar was being slowly backed up to a stand of gnarled trees that lined the roadway. He knew he couldn’t last long with his back to the shrubs, but he couldn’t get around the man facing him. Every sidestep he took, the heavy-set man followed, edging Conar ever back toward the trees.

  "Getting tired, pretty boy?" the nomad asked. He feigned a thrust at Conar and laughed as the young man stumbled, his ankle twisting in the loose sand. "I’ll let you rest. After I nick you a time or two, I’ll let you lay down and rest." A smile of victory eased over the nomad’s bearded face. "For awhile, anyway!"

  Lack of sleep and the emotions that had drained him were playing a heavy toll on Conar’s defense capabilities. His anger was slowly dwindling with his supply of energy and adrenaline. He stumbled again, his blade catching his opponent’s down the cutting edge as the man sprang forward. He felt the man’s sour breath on his cheek as they came face to face.

  "I’m going to take you, pretty boy," the nomad whispered. "As you took my Master’s woman!"

  Conar’s forehead crinkled with confusion. What woman was the nomad bastard speaking of? He’d taken no Hasdu tribes-woman. Had never even seen one to his knowledge, unless…

  Liza’s ethereal beauty flashing across his mind and Conar stumbled once more, nearly falling as he unknowingly spoke her name aloud.

  "Call your whore if you like." The nomad laughed. "See what good it does you, McGregor." He lunged forward with lightning-quick speed, his blade flashing in the early morning sunlight.

  Conar tried to push away from his opponent only to come up hard against the twisted trunk of a scrub pine. Shock flitted across his face and he tried to twist away from the nomad’s arcing blade as it loomed toward him. He miscalculated and the sharp blade ripped along his thigh, scratching a furrow in his flesh. He felt the pain all the way to his toes.

  The nomad grinned. "By the Prophetess, I missed." The nomad chuckled, and danced away as Conar lashed out at him. The attacker brought up his blade. "Do not worry, McGregor. My Master, himself, wishes to relieve you of that offending growth between your infidel legs!"

  Conar groaned, the pain stinging and burning. He threw himself to the right, violently twisting away from the man’s blade pushing toward his crotch. His left knee struck the nomad’s wrist and the blade flipped up, jagged forward and pierced the tender flesh of Conar’s side, opening a wide, deep gash just under his left ribcage.

  "Fool!" the nomad hissed. He backed away, his eyes stunned by the damage his blade had caused.

  Conar stumbled forward, landing heavily on his right hand as he lost his balance and fell to the sand. He pushed himself up and dug his toes into the ground to get away from the man behind him. Grabbing his left side, he winced in pain, feeling the warm gush of blood flooding over and down his breeches. He was badly wounded and knew it. He was bleeding profusely from his thigh and his rib. He gained his feet, turned, and began to stumble backwards, away from the advancing man. He met the nomad’s unwavering stare and something inside him seemed to give way.

  His sword arm throbbed from the blows he had countered and his head swam from the loss of blood. He glanced toward Legion, saw his brother triumphing over his own opponent. Saw Teal struggling to get up and Conar said a quick prayer of thanksgiving. Caught sight of Thom as that man tried desperately to remain standing on wavering legs. Both Thom and Teal were alive, he thought with relief. That was good.

  He looked into the face of the nomad and thought he saw death emblazoned on that dark countenance. He swung his head toward Legion, saw his brother rushing forward, knew Legion would kill the man who was about to kill him. He flinched as he stumbled again, pain flooding his entire being. His breath was low and shallow, agony to draw into his aching lungs. His head hurt miserably. His heart beat so fast he thought it would burst.

  "Stop struggling, McGregor," the nomad said as he put out his hand to grab Conar. "You are bleeding badly."

  "Let go," Conar hissed, pulling away. Then the earth tilted beneath him and he fainted, whispering the one name he thought of as a talisman to ward off evil…"Liza."

  Chapter 22

  * * *

  Bright shafts of sunlight stabbed into the room, sending agony through his eyes and jarring his brain into a million pieces of fragmented pain. He tried to turn his head from the sunlight, but his neck wouldn’t obey. Hot sweat dripped down his temples and into his hair. He could smell his own fetid body odor and it made him ill. His throat was so dry that, when he tried to speak, only a whisper came out. Footsteps echoed on the plank flooring and a face swam into his vision. Squinting, he tried to make out who it was, but the effort was too great. Something wet was laid across his forehead and he tried to force himself awake, but he drifted back into a hot, troubled sleep.

  "Legion?" Storm Jale, one of Conar’s Elite Guard called softly as Legion laid the cool rag on Conar’s forehead, "how is he, Sir?" Jale entered the room dressed in full battle gear, his sweaty face red from the weight and cumbersome heat of his leather armor.

  "Badly hurt, but he’ll live," Legion told the man, but there was grave doubt in his voice. "We’re watching him closely."

  "The King sent eight of us to guard him. We’ve reports other nomads have been seen nearby. Another four Elite will come to take Rayle’s body home later today." Storm’s face twisted with pain. Rayle had been a good friend. "His wife gave birth to their third son just yesterday morn."

  Legion flinched. "I didn’t need to hear that." He took the rag, wet it again in the basin of cold water beside the bed, and laid the cloth on his brother’s fevered brow. "How’s du Mer?"

  Storm shook his head. "Mad as hell because Thom won’t let him come in here. I hear you had quite a time with Teal."

  "We had to tie the little bastard to his bed. Thom was in no mood for his foolishness and rather enjoyed trussing up du Mer like a feast goose. Being whacked on that big pate of his did nothing for the man’s good humor. He had a rather nasty headache and couldn’t remember who he was for awhile there." Legion wet the rag again and wrung it out. He glanced up as Storm took the rag out of his hands.

  "Rest yourself, awhile, Commander. I’ll do this." Storm gently placed the wet cloth on the young Prince’s brow. "Has he awakened yet?"

  Legion ran his hands over his tired face and spoke through his fingers as he rubbed his mouth. "I don’t think so. He mumbles and his eyes open every now and then, but I don’t think he’s aware of what’s going on. It’s been four days and that gods-be-damned fever is no better. We talk to him, bathe him in iced water, dribble broth down his throat." He put down his
hands and slumped into the chair by his brother’s bed. "But he hasn’t responded to anything."

  "He will," Storm said with confidence.

  "Does his father know how badly he’s been hurt?" Legion asked and saw Storm shrug his broad shoulders.

  "When you sent word there had been trouble, His Highness was mad as hell. He thought you guys had been up to no good. When the second messenger arrived with the news of Rayle’s death and His Grace’s injuries," Storm said, glancing at Legion, "I’ll wager he knew the trouble had been fierce enough to warrant protection for the Prince. He took precautions by sending us."

  "I’d like to know just who it was that wanted Conar so badly," Legion answered, leaning back his head. "The man who wounded him so gravely had orders to bring him in alive."

  "Did you get to question the bastard?" Storm asked, frowning.

  "We questioned him, all right. He died screaming, but we got no answers."

  "He was a Hasdu, wasn’t he?"

  "Aye, but there’s so many different offshoot tribes, we’d be hard-pressed to find the right one." He let out a tired breath. "Besides, they might have been hired by someone else."

  "I doubt they’ll try again, Commander," Storm assured him. "No harm will come to him now."

  "I hope you’re right, Storm," Legion sighed, his words slurring as he began to fall asleep. "I pray you’re right."

  * * *

  Down the hall from Conar’s room, Thom Loure swatted Teal’s hand away from the doorknob. "Get your ass back in that bed, du Mer!"

  "I want to see him, Thommy," Teal protested and tried for the knob again, only to find himself picked up bodily and handed to another Elite.

  "Keep this jackass in his room!" Thom bellowed and fixed Teal with a steady, menacing glower. "You’ll do yourself more harm. That gods-be-damned shoulder is broken, du Mer!" Thom put a hand up to his head. "And you’re making me hurt again, fool!"