Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles, 1)

by K. F. Breene

  Shanti worked her blade, staying in the shadows of traders’ stalls or animal housing as much as possible, jumping out to surprise an Inkna and slice him through. Until suddenly there was a concussion of silence. The air got as thick as molasses, drifting between clashing swords and sweating men.

  Cayan’s men screamed, scrubbing at their eyes, or chests, or other parts of their body. Cayan, sword bloody, standing amid a circling of dead enemy bodies, turned around in helplessness, knowing what was happening, but not knowing how to stop it. His gaze found and locked on Shanti, his mind dragging her focus toward him in desperation.

  She swatted away his scrabbling, their deeper link still prevalent, and fell to her knees, eyes closed, trusting in Lucius’ blade. Her mind registered the pain and suffering of Cayan’s men at the north end of the open compound. The Black Shirts’ reach wasn’t far, but it was potent, the Gifts more like torturing devices than weapons. It was lucky, it meant they took longer to kill.

  Shanti honed in until she could feel cold malevolence, a professional detachment with edges of pleasure radiating out of weak minds. Fire welled up in her from this horrible use of their Gifts. Of the joy they took in torture and killing. They minds were twisted with it. Corrupted.

  Wasted.

  Cayan riding her, she took a pause of two more heartbeats; she monitored the way their minds connected, ten in all, a link boosting their power similar to Cayan and hers. But not boosting it overly much. Probably only a couple like-Gifts. It hurt their effectiveness.

  As if delicately picking apart a spider web, she dissected this link and followed the trail into their heads. Hello, vermin.

  She lingered, gathering her strength. With one massive outpouring, she speared, flashing through the weak minds in one stroke. Screams ripped from throats before bodies dropped to the ground in crumpled heaps.

  When she opened her eyes, she found Lucius in front of her, his body grimy and sweaty, blood splashed across his rippled arms. A pile of bodies lay around them, blood oozing on the dirt floor, reaching for her knees. To her astonishment, Sterling was behind her, protecting her back, heading off a rush of men.

  The Inkna had realized she had the Gift. She had just made herself the number one target.

  A moment later Shanti was up on her feet, sword whirling, working through the men trying to get a piece of her. The eyes of fighters in red shirts balked, not expecting a Gifted to also know how to fight.

  She almost yelled surprise!

  Ten paces to the left an Inkna raised his sword with the intent of putting it in Tobias’ back. Shanti snatched a knife from her belt and threw, sticking him in the neck before the blade swung down. Tobias whirled around, seeing the dead man slide before looking up with wide eyes, but Shanti was already focused on the next.

  “Beware the black shirts!” she yelled as loudly as possible between slashes of her swords.

  Chapter 42

  “They have a Sarsher,” a Black Shirt yelled at Betty. “He is powerful.”

  “We have many! Bring him down!” Betty screamed back.

  Sanders had never actually seen the man ruffled. He must be nervous.

  “He took down a Cospe.” Black Shirt stared at Betty through the haze, his voice wavering, trying to hide fear.

  “Then they must have more than one, you idiot! Send out more of our Sarshers. Bring him down! Why do you laugh?!” Betty screamed at Sanders.

  “It is not a he, and you are all gonna die.”

  Chapter 43

  Shanti felt invigorated. Her body thoroughly warmed up, she laid into the enemy, punishing them for taking Sanders and his men. She was covered in blood and working her way toward a large building at the south end of the compound. Leilius had disappeared into the building, closing in on Sanders’ whereabouts. Attackers came at her in a steady stream, those closer to the outcropping of buildings more skilled and experienced than those in the outer parts of the city. They were protecting their leader. Who must be with Sanders.

  She longed to meet him.

  Sterling was still with her, protecting her as Lucius was doing, probably staying in case more Black Shirts arrived. Just when she was about to head into the building through a large archway, a large throb of stinging power slapped at her shields. Lucius and Sterling sank to their knees, eyes closed up in pain, swords clattering to the ground as their bodies bowed.

  A swarm of red assaulted her, swords flicking by her head so fast she could barely get out of the way. The pulsing power pounded at her shields, distracting her, trying to break through.

  Through her power-mated connection with Cayan she dumped a fervent plea, needing help. She couldn’t even spare enough attention to look around for his location, such was the press of enemy.

  She blocked a strike, kicking out, crunching a knee and slashing at an arm. Another sword barely missed her head. Yet another made a shallow slice down her arm. She whirled, gearing up for a widespread mental assault, lacking the time to search for just the Black Shirts. It would severely reduce her energy level, making her less able to confront whoever had Sanders. But it would save her life.

  Power gurgled up and blossomed out, at the edges of her command, ready to lash out.

  And then Cayan was there, slashing through a wall of enemy to reach her, a pump of power boosting her, swirling their strength to the brink. His blade spun so fast it was hard to see, his strength and skill easily dominating four to his one. He slashed through a red shirt, then turned, knocking another with an elbow while he sliced through a third’s face. Turning back, he stabbed a man in the eye with a magically appearing dagger before turning to Shanti’s back and taking out someone else.

  Together they cleared their attackers in minutes, cleaving and slashing and stabbing through eyes or hearts or guts, all the while feeling the steady pressure of a cluster of minds focused on theirs, beating down, pounding and pulling and pushing, trying to work past their defenses.

  In between strikes and slices, swords glinting as they swished by her head or narrowly missing her body, Shanti pinpointed a cluster of twenty or so men, hiding off to their right, focusing all their energy on Shanti’s location. They still did not know about Cayan.

  “To the right, Cayan!” Shanti shouted, thrusting her sword through the gut of a red faced man, then stepping back as the body fell to the ground. “Cover me while I ta—“

  Pain blossomed in her leg, cutting off her speech and momentarily causing her to stumble. She ducked under her sword as a downward strike threatened to cleave her head in two, metal clashing. Ignoring the throbbing pain from the gash, she forced herself back up, realizing that time was running out. There were too many for just her and Cayan, and no one else could get close without the radiating pain from the cluster of Black Shirts dropping them to their knees.

  A thick surge of gooey fear shot through the link from Cayan. He turned to the right, rage now taking over logic. His eyes glowed like a beacon in the failing light. He put his hand on the back of Shanti’s neck, sweeping her mind and power toward him like dust toward a broom. He mentally wrapped around her, cushioning her in a protective embrace, threading into her, sinking deep, becoming one, power swirling in wide, broad bands, billowing out, arching up, and waiting for his command.

  Then, unthinking, just reacting, he gave it.

  A pure pulse of energy rocketed out from their two bodies, powers matched and equal, one specializing in finesse, the other now realizing he had something else. A raw, uncompromising punch of knock-down strength. He didn’t crunch or twist or stab. He DESTROYED.

  The cluster of minds couldn’t even scream out the pain. They were trapped in it. It thundered into their bodies, shaking and twisting them into gnarled things that could no longer be recognized as human. Other Inkna, standing with swords or knives, trying to bring them down while they were caught in the mental bombardment sank, screaming. Those on the outskirts yelled until they were hoarse, bashing their heads into walls to escape it. Wave after wave of teeth chattering
power surged out, pounding the Black Shirts and anyone unlucky enough to be in the way.

  Shanti could imagine what people saw: Cayan standing in the wake, a strong man clutching to him a fierce looking woman, pillars amid the destruction they wrought. The ground was littered with bodies in red uniforms, blood oozing from eyes or ears, faces screwed up in agony as their life blinked out, eyes staring blindly at the sky. Behind a screen twenty spans away lay a pile of bodies wearing black uniforms, their minds dead.

  It was then that Leilius stopped. His mind registered sorrow and hurt and panicked impatience. He had found Sanders—or at least learned the location. Shanti still couldn’t get a reading on Sanders’ mind, which worried her.

  “To me!” Cayan boomed.

  Shanti stepped away but turned to him, a question in her eyes, her hand on Lucius’s shoulder, helping her Chance up.

  “Go. I need to give direction, then I am right behind you,” Cayan said with a nod.

  And she was gone.

  Chapter 44

  “What was that?” Betty’s voice had a slight tremor to it.

  The metal door to the cell was open. They had propped Sanders up on a chair, tied in so he didn’t fall off. Three Black Shirts stood around Betty. Littered on the ground were Steaphen and Jasan. They looked dead but their chests were rising and falling. They were breathing but it was shallow. Barely hanging on. Like him.

  “There are two,” someone answered. “They can Join.”

  “We can Join!” Betty shouted. “Take them down!”

  “They took down all eighteen of the Sarsher. At one time. They are too powerful!”

  “Eighteen… No one has that kind of power! There must be more. Where are the archers?”

  “You sound worried,” Sanders mumbled. He couldn’t feel his body.

  “How many?” Betty was in his face, pushing at his chest with a knife. It pricked his skin. He knew this because his chest was bare and small dots of blood welled up where the knife touched.

  “Well, there’s the girl. And it seems she has trained the boy. So—” His body wracked in a cough. When he regained his breath he finished with: “So you’re fucked.”

  “Stop laughing!” Betty screamed.

  Chapter 45

  Shanti descended the stairs two at a time. She could feel Sanders now. Pain, misery, he was flirting with death, barely hanging on.

  Anger so hot she couldn’t control it welled up from deep within her. All the pain from the last year was resurfacing, and she was about to put a face on the man responsible for killing her love. Not the same man, surely, but it didn’t matter. They were all the same as far as she was concerned, and he would pay.

  “Two running up. Kill them!” she hollered.

  Sterling was in front, Lucius behind. She had inherited another Chance. Sterling was thoroughly on her side because he trusted she was thoroughly on his. His loyalty now encompassed her, and it was a deep well of loyalty indeed. Cayan had picked some good officers. Not that that was a surprise.

  “Lucius, three running after. Let me know if you can’t handle them. At the end of the stairs we go right.”

  “Yes, S’am,” Lucius said.

  Sterling didn’t understand the title so he just grunted.

  They turned the corner; Shanti didn’t have to do anything with her Chances on the scene. Cayan was making his way down with five others. Sanders was dwindling further still. Two others were dying at his feet. Four enemy surrounded him that were the walking dead, they just didn’t know it yet. Sometimes she loved breaking the bad news.

  “Sterling, two more headed your way. They will appear around the corner in three…two…one—“

  The first got an arrow, the second a knife punched through the gut and ripped upwards.

  “Turn left.”

  The tunnels were well kept and scrubbed, but dark. It was below ground, so there were no windows. No natural light. Hopefully Sanders wasn’t half mad already.

  Rage bubbled. She still had to make it out of here, so she couldn’t expend all her power. But oh Elders, she wanted to. She wanted to take the enemy’s sanity apart by threads and light each one on fire.

  “Right,” she barked. “Now peel away.”

  Sterling did exactly that as she walked into the large room. There was a row of cells, the low light getting trapped in the crannies of the stone walls. The smell of sweat and urine accosted her. She stopped in front of the first cell and felt a piercing in her shoulder, something glancing off bone. If she wasn’t so enraged it probably would’ve hurt.

  Sanders was on a chair, completely naked, blood oozing down his chest from four different points. It looked fresh. He was filthy and covered in his own waste. His eyes were half open and unfocused, his mouth was turned up in a laughing grimace, and a wheeze that could have been soft laughter bubbled out of his mouth.

  A man in a white shirt and gray slacks stood behind him holding a knife. To the left, a line of three men in black shirts battered up against her shields.

  “Well, well, what have we here?” Shanti’s voice was a sharpened blade, rage so white-hot it turned her stomach to fire. Her eyes devoured the cold eyes of the man in the white shirt. “A Master Executioner. I wondered if I would find one of you here.”

  His eyes went wide. “You lived.”

  “Sanders, how are you doing?” Shanti asked seriously.

  “Oh, swimmingly.” His voice was a thick, hoarse moan. “Thanks for coming. The party was just getting going.”

  “Lovely, you still have your wit. That’s nice. Did you scream for them?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Would you like them to scream for you? Or is quicker better?”

  “Black Shirts can die quick, but I would love to hear Betty’s singing voice before I die.”

  Sterling stepped to her right, doing something to her shoulder. She couldn’t feel it. The rest of her arm was going numb.

  The guy who Sanders called Betty stepped forward to stick the knife in his neck. Shanti grabbed his brain in a claw-like grip and held him, paralyzing him. He made a surprised gurgle. She tsk’ed. “Now, now. Don’t you want to see who is the better man? You or him? You couldn’t make him scream. Do you think you can hold out as well?”

  She turned to the Black Shirts, all with white, fear-drenched faces. They were still working at her shield. “There is no point in that.” Her voice was soft. Melodic. “Your power is nothing.”

  She stabbed, ending them quickly, per Sanders’ request. They each gave a shriek before falling to the earth. Lucius stepped in and grabbed onto Sanders, laying him on his back and checking him over.

  Shanti stepped in as well, careful not to step on the men lying at her feet, unconscious. She slid a chair from the wall, its feet screeching against the stone floor. Her focus glued to her new little mouse.

  “So,” she said, trying to force her anger back so she could focus. She opened her shields for a taste of his unique power. What she felt rocked her.

  He wasn’t strong by any means. Not even a quarter of her power. To be effective, he had to be extremely close or touching. But it was the nature of the Gift that was startling. It was why he held the position he did. He could feed a person their worst nightmare through emotion. It was an imprint of emotion from a memory. Regardless of whether the memory came from him, her, or someone else, it felt so real. But this horrible maggot had a real memory with which to torture her. He was replaying the intense joy at someone under his command slowly sticking a knife into Romie’s gut, and drawing it upwards as two people held him down. She felt the life crushing pain of that knife blade slowly working up his sternum, and incredible loss, knowing he’d never see the love of his life again.

  He had been thinking of her as he died.

  Grief so fresh it bled washed over her, threatened to drown her reason. “You were there.”

  It was so quiet she could barely hear her own voice. “You must be Sturgane. I wondered if I’d ever meet you. How unlucky for you
that our paths should cross. And what a truly remarkable Gift you have. I am almost speechless with the pain. But you see, I have lived through a great deal of agony in my life, much caused by you, it is true, but I am excellent at tucking it away. Your disgusting little Gift will not cause insanity in me. At least, not before I end your life in the most painful way humanly possible.”

  “He died whispering your name.”

  “Pouring salt in the wound, as Xavier would say.” Shanti took a ragged breath, her mind trying to shut down. But not yet. She still had work to do. She had Sanders to avenge. She had to tend to the living before she could join the dead. “In order for your power to be effective, you need real memories. Otherwise, it is a generalized tool that weakens the spirit instead of crushing it. Interesting. You aren’t a little mouse at all, are you? You are a filthy rat. I wonder if I will hold up. I certainly don’t want to; I will be honest about it. That is very, very unlucky for you.”

  She felt Cayan’s hand on the back of her bare neck. His voice was soft and full of shared sadness, his presence still deeply entwined in her head, as he said, “We haven’t much time, mesasha.”

  “Do you hear that, filthy rat? You will get a quick job. It seems your circle of gods partially feel sorry for you. Or maybe they wish to punish you themselves. So, where shall we start?”

  Chapter 46

  Sanders felt his body gently dabbed. Well, it might’ve been stabbed for all he could feel, but he liked to think Lucius was being careful. He saw the Captain above him, his hand on the girl’s neck, his body bent over her protectively. He was yelling at someone about a knife in her shoulder or some such thing.

  Sterling was leaning over him, his eyes a worried mask. “What ails you, Commander? I see no serious wounds.”

  Only Shanti would know how to fix him. If it were possible. So why ruin the moment? “Ssshhhh, I’ve been praying for this. Let me hear her revenge on him. I want to hear him scream. Don’t let the Captain restrain her.”