Warcry

by Elizabeth Vaughan

  “Devoted One,” Lara said, her voice cracking. “Do not leave. Please stay within the castle until we can arrange for your safety.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Iain said with obvious relief. “Deacon Browdus can bear word to the church. We must—” Iain frowned. “Where is Browdus?”

  Heath cursed. The man was gone, and there was no telling where he’d slipped off to.

  Iain started again. “We must honor Drizin and arrange for his internment. I would also offer to conduct the rites for Lord Othur. In addition, tradition requires that I witness the birth of your child.”

  “Walk with me, Devoted One,” Anna said. “I’d talk with you.”

  “Gladly, dear lady.” Iain offered his slight arm, and Anna took it gracefully.

  “Mother, I will come to you,” Heath said.

  “When your duty is done, son,” Anna said firmly. “He would want it so.”

  “I, too, would go,” Lara said with a sigh.

  Keir swept her up into his arms. “Then we shall go, my wife.” Without another word, he headed into the castle with Rafe, Prest, and Yveni right behind him.

  Heath looked at the emptying courtyard and at Durst’s body. “You’ll see to this?” he asked Detros.

  “Aye,” Detros said. “Been some time since we’ve had a traitor executed. You did the right thing, Heath.”

  Heath felt suddenly sickened by it all. Durst’s death would not bring his father back.

  “Time was, we’d put the head on a pike and hang the body in a cage below it,” Detros continued. “But the Queen’s a gentle lady and she might not—”

  “No.” Heath ran his fingers through his hair. “Put it in the stable and cover it. We’ll decide in the morning.”

  “What should I do with this?” Amyu asked, holding up the hilt of the Sword of Xy.

  Heath opened his mouth and then stopped dead, looking around with a frown.

  “Where is Atira?”

  CHAPTER 30

  HEATH’S STOMACH CLENCHED IN FEAR. “WHERE’S Atira?” Heath demanded again as Amyu stared at him.

  “I don’t know,” Amyu said. “I saw the tall blond swing at your back as you ran past, and Atira attacked him. Last I saw, she was forcing him back out of the throne room—”

  Heath bolted through the doors toward the throne room.

  The hall was filled with people aiding the wounded and dealing with the mess. “Atira,” Heath bellowed, causing heads to turn.

  There was no answer. Heath strode forward, searching the faces of the injured. Atira was a warrior, she wouldn’t be—

  “She ran that way.” A thin hand pointed at the tower stairs.

  Kendrick was leaning against the wall, with one of the healer apprentices looking after him. “That way,” he said, his voice cracking. “She was a fine figure in that dress, let me tell you. Running right after young Lanfer’s ass, a fine sight.” The old man sighed. “If I were younger—”

  “What?” Heath demanded.

  “Lanfer fled up the tower stairs, and she followed,” Kendrick said. “That’s the last I saw of her.”

  Heath cursed and ran for the stairs. He pelted up them as fast as he could, overtaking Lara and Keir and their guards. Yveni and Ander shifted to let him pass. Keir paused on the steps, Lara in his arms, and lifted an eyebrow. Rafe and Prest were above him on the steps, waiting.

  “Atira,” Heath paused for a breath. “She’s chasing Lanfer somewhere in the castle.”

  Yveni and Ander drew their weapons, as did Rafe and Prest.

  “You’ll need help,” Keir said. “We’ll—”

  A tone like a huge bell sounded, a long note that seemed to hang in the air. For a breath, Heath thought it was church bells.

  But this was no bell. The tone pulsed through the stone walls, and the tower trembled with the sound. Heath froze, feeling it in his very bones.

  He wasn’t the only one. Everyone else was still, as well, eyes wide.

  The tone held. Heath couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

  The Plains warriors, including Keir, turned as one and looked in the same direction as if they could see past the stone walls of the castle.

  In the direction of the Plains.

  Then the tone was gone.

  Keir staggered slightly, and Heath moved up to help him cradle Lara even as he struggled to pull air into his lungs.

  “Keir?” Lara asked. “What was . . . Oh Goddess.” Her face contorted with pain.

  “Help me,” Keir said as Lara writhed in his arms.

  Heath moved in, taking some of Lara’s weight. “Lara, what—”

  “The babe,” she groaned. “I think it’s—”

  Keir recovered his balance swiftly. “We need to get her to our chambers and summon Eln. You take Rafe and—”

  “No,” Heath said, waiting to make sure Keir was steady on his feet before he stepped away. “Lara’s safety comes first.” His stomach clenched again, but he knew what he needed to do. He glanced up the stairs and back at Keir. “I’ll wait until you’re both safe in your chambers. Come. Swiftly.” Heath led the way, calling for any guards within hearing. He glanced over his shoulder at Keir. “What was that?”

  Keir shook his head. “I do not know. But something has happened at the Heart of the Plains.”

  “Good or bad?” Heath asked.

  “I wish I knew.”

  HEATH’S CALLS HAD BROUGHT PEOPLE RUNNING, and he’d sent guards for Anna and Eln. The Queen’s chambers were filling with various lords and officials. In addition, white-robed noble ladies came to assist, carrying cloths and bedding, some by the fire, adding wood and setting water to boil.

  Anna bustled in as they arrived, dressed in her normal kitchen garb, a clean apron over her girth. It eased Heath’s heart to see her looking so normal.

  “The bed’s ready, Lara, whenever you feel it’s right,” Anna said as Keir attempted to set her on her feet. “We’ll get you out of that dress . . .”

  Lara wobbled as she tried to stand, hunching over slightly, her teeth clenched.

  “It helps to scream,” Keir said.

  “Another trite—” Lara gasped and then cried out as she clung to Keir. She sucked in a breath, looking up at him in surprise. “Oh. It does.”

  “Men in the birthing chamber. I don’t like—” Anna started to fuss.

  “No,” Lara said as Anna and a few of the ladies started to help her undress. “Keir stays.”

  Heath left, not willing to be drawn into the argument. Lara was in good hands. He needed to find Atira.

  In the outer chamber Marcus was making kavage. Amyu was there, as well, changing into tunic and trous. Rafe and Prest were fully armed, and Ander and Yveni were by the door.

  Yveni gave Heath a nod. “I’ll be changing and on-guard outside in a moment.”

  “Sure you have to change?” Ander asked, eyeing her in her dress. “I would enjoy—”

  “Don’t even think about it.” The black woman shook her head as Heath slid out the door. “This protects nothing. And trying to walk in all this cloth!”

  Heath slid out into the hall to find his men spread out. “Lanfer’s still on the loose. Check anyone going in or out.”

  The “ayes” faded behind him as he trotted back to the stairs, looking for any sign of Atira’s passage. Heath frowned. Lanfer wasn’t stupid, and he’d be fleeing like a rat. Why would he head up instead of out?

  At the stairwell, he went up again, deciding to try at least two more flights before starting to search the floors.

  His reward was one of Atira’s slippers lying on the stairs.

  “Kill the bastard, my love, or I will kill him for you,” Heath growled as he drew his sword and started up the stairs.

  ATIRA AWOKE TO PAIN AND FOUL, HOT BREATH on her face.

  She kept still, trying to sort out what had happened. Someone was moving around near her, breathing heavily.

  Lanfer. She had chased him . . . up the tower, fighting on the stairs . . .
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  A toe poked into her hip, trying to roll her over. She went with it, keeping her eyes closed, letting herself sprawl out on her back as her skirt twisted around her legs. There was a strangled gasp from above. The stupid dress . . . At least it would keep him distracted for a moment.

  So, a head blow. Lanfer must have gotten one in and taken her down.

  A sound, then, of ripping cloth, and then a hand gripped her wrist. She opened her eyes just enough to see Lanfer preparing to tie her hands, her sword on the ground close by.

  Atira brought her legs up, feet together, and kicked out. Caught by surprise, Lanfer went sprawling.

  Atira scrambled up, grabbed up her daggers, and moved back until the back of her legs hit stone. She glanced over her shoulder and gasped as fear swept through her.

  Up was bad. Down and out was terrifying.

  Atira reached out a hand to grab the edge of the low wall. She could see clear to Liam’s army camp and beyond, maybe even to the Plains themselves. She understood now the terror she’d seen in some of the warriors’ eyes when they’d described the top of the tower.

  She jerked her gaze away and looked for her enemy. Lanfer’s face was still swollen and bruised, but otherwise unhurt. He laughed as he drew his sword and backed up, kicking the wooden trapdoor closed. “Now it’s just us, my lovely.”

  As he spoke, she took the time to take in the area. The tower was built into the mountain, and its top was a halfcircle, with the low wall running all around. Large baskets stood at intervals along the walls, with bees hovering around them. And over all, the mountain towered above them, its craggy walls stark and unforgiving. There was a faint breeze that teased her hair, still tied up on top of her head. Other than the head blow, she was unhurt. Her sword in one hand, she reached for her dagger, still in its sheath, and drew it.

  No rocks, no obstructions except the door that Lanfer had closed. A good place to have a fight, except for the down part. Atira smiled at Lanfer and brought her weapons up. “There will be no backstabbing here, city-dweller.”

  “The only backstabbing will be with my co—”

  ATIRA CHARGED HIM, FEINTING A BLOW TO HIS chest. He parried her blow, easily blocking her dagger, but was not prepared for her body weight. She forced him back and slammed him into the stone of the mountain, their swords caught between their bodies. Lanfer grunted in pain.

  She pressed his dagger to the wall and used her hips and legs to brace. They struggled, and she tried to bring her blade up toward his neck. But Lanfer dropped his dagger and reached for her.

  Atira jumped back, retreating carefully, watching her opponent. Hand-to-hand would be fatal. Lanfer had strength and weight on his side.

  Lanfer claimed his dagger and advanced toward her. Atira circled then, unwilling to have down at her back. Her skirts swirled around her legs, and she cursed the cloth.

  Lanfer rushed in, his sword high, leaving himself open. Atira went for a chest blow, ready to parry the dagger, but recognized his feint too late. His dagger came at her face. She dodged, blocking it, but knew she’d made a mistake.

  Lanfer struck her shoulder with the hilt of his sword. Atira heard the crack of bone, felt the incredible pain. Her arm dropped; her sword clattered from her useless hand, and she fell to her knees, overwhelmed.

  Lanfer crowed and grabbed her hair. Atira still had her dagger, and she stabbed up blindly, but Lanfer caught her wrist and bent it back. Lanfer yanked her head around, and the movement jarred her shoulder. Atira’s vision went black. Consciousness ebbed, and Lanfer had her wrists bound before she could think clearly.

  She breathed deep and fought to stay aware.

  Lanfer was on her, using a dagger to cut the leather thong that kept her dress on. He was chortling to himself as he stripped away the cloth and started to fondle her breast. He had his other hand buried in her hair with a tight grip, keeping her head tight to his hip.

  He hadn’t seemed to notice she was conscious, and she wasn’t exactly sure she was. Reality seemed to spin, and she was sick to her stomach.

  He was panting now, and reaching for his trous. Working himself up for more to come.

  She swallowed her nausea and waited. When he was . . . distracted, she’d—

  His cock came out, and she blinked. “That? You’re going to rape me with that?”

  Lanfer looked at her in shock, his face distorting in rage. His grip eased, and she rammed her head into his crotch. Not enough of a blow to cripple, but enough to make Lanfer stagger back.

  Skies above, that hurt. Atira slid back along the floor, then managed to get to her feet. The floor rolled with her, and she staggered again, catching the dress with her foot. Her hair was starting to get loose, and it fell into her eyes. She yanked at the bonds on her wrist, but pain danced through her nerves at the slightest movement. Her anger had gotten her on her feet, but that strength was starting to ebb.

  Lanfer was howling with rage, and she saw him coming. She thought to brace against his rush but went for a kick to his crotch instead. After all, it was just dangling there . . .

  Her foot made contact, but not right on. Lanfer let out a whoop of air and fell.

  But the impact knocked Atira off her feet. She managed to fall away from Lanfer, and used her feet to slide herself farther away until her back met stone. She was blind from the pain, certain that her arm had been ripped off. But she used the low wall to stand. Lanfer was still down, clutching himself, rolling in agony. She drew a steadying breath and started rubbing the bindings against the stone. With any luck. . .

  A tone filled the air, as if a chorus of singers sang one note, a long note that seemed to vibrate in her bones. The sound shivered around her, freezing her soul. The very stones under her quivered with the sound. The Plains . . . something was happening on the Plains.

  Ignoring her peril, she turned, leaned on the cold stone wall, and looked toward the Heart, hearing a summons in that sound that hovered in the air. Atira blinked, clearing her eyes, trying to shake her hair from her face. The action made her stomach roll, but she could see . . . could see . . .

  In the far distance, a shaft of light like a silver needle shot into the sky.

  It pulsed, bright and powerful, and she knew it emanated from the Heart. She squinted, trying to see, but the needle was so bright, it hurt to look upon it. Something was happening, something—

  Lanfer brought his arm around her neck and jerked her back. His dagger flashed bright before her eyes.

  “Bitch,” he whispered.

  Atira struggled, but he had her tight, and she could not breathe. But damned if that was going to stop her from fighting him. She wiggled her hands around, trying to find purchase against his doublet. The stiff golden threads were rough against her fingers.

  “Small, am I?” Lanfer whispered. “We’ll see about that.” He breathed heavily in her ear. The dagger vanished before her face, and she felt him slide the blade along her hip, between the skin and the dress.

  “I’ll just cut this, shall I, and bend you over, and we’ll see who’s small. We’ll see whose—

  Atira struggled to breathe, to see, but the pain was draining, and she was damned tired. It would be so easy to just—

  Heath’s voice whispered from nowhere, “Kill the bastard, my love, or I will kill him for you.”

  Heath. Skies, she loved him.

  Lanfer was busy trying to hold her and rip the skirt. Atira shifted her weight to one foot and hooked his with the other. With a grip on the fabric of his tunic, she threw her weight back.

  Lanfer roared out as he lost his balance just long enough to release the hold on her neck. Atira sucked in air as she stumbled, almost falling. But she managed to right herself and run to the other side of the tower.

  Lanfer gave chase, and he pinned her so that her back was bent over the low portion of the wall, her head out over the edge.

  Atira struggled, but he’d wedged himself between her legs. He yanked her up by the hair. Her head throbbed, the pain was o
verwhelming, and her stomach ached. Still, she bared her teeth at Lanfer. “Heath’s longer, and thicker. You’d not satisfy any wo—”

  Lanfer punched her, splitting her lip, snapping her head back.

  Darkness rose, coming to claim her. She felt her legs go out from under her, felt herself fall to the floor. She should be afraid, but what flooded over her was regret. And a desire to see Heath one last time, and tell him . . . tell him . . .

  From somewhere far away, Lanfer laughed. There was a blinding pain on the side of her head, then the darkness was complete.

  CHAPTER 31

  HEATH DIDN’ T NEED TO SEE THE SECOND SLIPPER as he ran up the stairs. He could hear the sounds of a struggle above him. He hurtled up the remaining stairs, put his shoulder to the trapdoor, and burst through without stopping.

  Lanfer had Atira pinned to the wall, naked, her hands bound behind her back. Her dress was in tatters, and her breasts lay bare. Lanfer’s trous were undone. He’d startled the bastard, and Heath ran forward, fully intent on running him through.

  Lanfer yanked Atira’s head back and placed his dagger on her throat. “Stop,” he croaked.

  Heath stopped just paces away, breathing hard, his weapons ready. “Let her go.”

  Atira was limp in Lanfer’s arms, her eyes closed.

  “Why don’t I just take her while you watch,” Lanfer taunted. “These Firelander women sleep with anything, or so I’ve heard. I’ll just—”

  “Durst is dead,” Heath said. “Executed by the Queen’s command. Your followers have fled or died or surrendered. Do the same, Lanfer.”

  Atira groaned, blood at the corner of her mouth. Her bruised and battered face twisted with pain. But there was a flash of rage beneath her eyelids.

  “Never mind,” Heath said, unable to suppress his fury. “I will kill you for what you have done.”

  Lanfer laughed, an ugly, deep sound. “Watch how I—”

  Atira turned her head to the side and retched all over him.

  Lanfer recoiled, dropping Atira, taking the dagger away from her throat. She slid down to sprawl at his feet.