Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles, 1)

by K. F. Breene

  “I’ve already tried,” Sterling said as he rolled his sleeping mat. “Her tracks go to the brush line. I lose them after that. It is like she climbed the tree and jumped from branch to branch—without breaking any branches in the process. I’ve searched a wide circle and can’t find a trace.”

  “She’s had a lot of experience hiding,” the Captain said with indifference. “If she doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be.”

  “Can’t you search with your head, or whatever it is you do?” Sanders asked quietly. “I remember her mentioning that a time or two.”

  “I’ve tried. I can get so far comfortably, but when I push the power gets slippery and implodes. She’s gone. We move on.” He walked away, ending the conversation.

  Sanders looked at the ground a long time. He didn’t like it, that was obvious, but when he looked back up at Marc, he was resigned. “She has made her choices and there isn’t much we can do about it except not like it.”

  Marc nodded. “But the others would’ve wanted to say goodbye.”

  “So would we all, but it’s not in the cards. C’mon, pack your gear. We’re moving out.”

  It was a long walk back. Leilius was constantly looking in the trees, disbelieving that s’am was really gone. He said he had a feeling. She wouldn’t have left them. He knew she hadn’t left—not for good. But when the Mugdock attacked on the way back, they had to fend for themselves. She didn’t pop out of the trees to help, and she didn’t look to be saved. Not that she ever did, but the fantasy of saving the lady in distress was always in their thoughts. Why else would a man want to be a hero, except for the rewarding kiss?

  As they walked into the gate, they were greeted with cheers and smiles. The Captain was the big hero, as always, and he and a few of the other older, more handsome Commanders and Lieutenants were swarmed with pretty girls batting their eyes and throwing their scarves. Leilius puffed up his chest, trying to be noticed, but they were in the back and too young for any real attention. Not that Marc cared; he hated being the center of attention.

  He went to his house where his family fawned over him. His stupid sister picked a fight, like she always did, and his stupid brother had used all his stuff while he’d been gone. But even though he settled in that night without his own swarm of girls, and even though he had his family close, and even though it was like every other night, something was missing and the effect was like a hole in his chest.

  He wondered where she was. And if she’d ever come back.

  Chapter 51

  Shanti sat in the shade of a Cypress Tree, looking out at the valley below. Rolling hills covered in golden grass rose and fell around the sleepy town below. She could just make out a small horse carriage full of green vegetation, plodding toward the town’s gate on shaky wheels.

  She’d walked away from Cayan and his people two days ago, cutting cross-country the fastest way possible. Left in the middle of the night like a coward. Like the coward he refused to call her.

  She scoffed to herself as she brought her elbow up to her knee, squinting into the morning sun.

  Thinking with her fear, he’d said. Well, he’d been right. Problem was, she didn’t even know what she was afraid of, anymore. Or, more aptly, what she was afraid of most. Was it going on and proving she was actually the Chosen? That this burden she carried would only get heavier and more intense, finally crushing her under the weight? Or maybe her fear was of succeeding and learning that her people were found by the Graygual. That they were dead, or worse, slaves. Or what if she wasn’t the Chosen, like she suspected? If she was going all the way to the Shadow Land only to be killed at the hands of strangers?

  All those fears she’d carried throughout her entire journey. From one town to the next, those fears had kept her company. Through the pain, and the loneliness—through the doubt, and the famine—she’d relied on what she knew. Fear, and loss.

  Yes, she was ruled by fear. He was right. But no more now than she’d ever been. It didn’t change her duty.

  A ghost of a remembered kiss pressed her lips. Her palms tingled, remembering the feel of Cayan’s hard body. Remembering the flutter of her stomach as his gaze delved into her. The spices from his Gift tickling hers. Her power’s mate, wanting to mix and swirl, surging…

  Shanti batted at the grass and pulled herself to her feet.

  Fine. Yes. He was right, the meddling ass-- she was afraid of more loss. Of watching her Honor Guard, boys she was helping shape into men, sliced alive by the Graygual. Of watching the city that brought her back from the dead crushed by a flood of the Graygual army. Of staying and letting that handsome bastard try and convince her she could love again, and then having him ripped away. The pain of Romie was diminishing with the final stages of loss—she couldn’t go through something like that again. It was best to freeze the part of her that could feel, and focus solely on her duty.

  Shanti started down the hillside to the town below. She was doing him a favor—all of them a favor. Tomorrow she’d release a large blast of power, making sure she raised eyebrows and created rumor, in order to draw Xandre’s focus to her location. With just a release of power from one person, traveling alone, the rumors of a second power, if there were, would be quelled. Cayan and his city would be in the same danger they were before her, and she and him would be even.

  But that was for tomorrow.

  Tonight she wanted a hot meal, a bath, and a bed.

  She jiggled her satchel. The sound of coins rang out, bringing a smile to her face.

  “Thank you, Cayan, for sleeping much too soundly.”

  She might’ve been a coward operating on multiple layers of fear, but she could still sneak and steal with the best of them. And now he knew.

  Shanti kept her head down as she neared the Inn in the center of the town. Dusk was just starting to settle. She would’ve preferred staying closer to the outskirts, in case she had to leave in a hurry, but without options, she’d settled for keeping her head down with dirty, somewhat matted hair. With pretty bar maids and hopefully dancing girls around the common area of the Inn, she doubted anyone would grow interest in a slightly stinky stranger—she’d just have to wait to bathe before bed.

  The smell of baking bread greeted her as she pushed through the rustic door, seeing the common room open up before her. It was somewhat large for the size of the town, with wiped down tables dotting the dining area. To the left sat a small stage, perfectly equipped for a juggler or performer of some kind. A small and empty dance floor was in front of that. The bar hugged the back wall, occupied by a large man making lazy circles on the countertop with a grayish rag.

  She weaved in and out of the tables until she got to the back, tucking herself into a darker corner, giving her visibility of the room, but hopefully masking her somewhat from others. She left on her cloak despite the heat of the room, and kept the hood over her light hair. Her coloring would stand out in this town—she didn’t need trouble tonight. Or questions.

  “Hello miss.” A busty maid with wide hips walked up, a cheery expression on her face.

  “I’ll need a hot meal and a bed and bath for the night. Can you arrange this?” Shanti dusted the table with three silver pennies.

  “Oh, O’ course Miss, yes O’ course. Wouldn’t you be needin’ the bath first, though, Miss? I can bring the meal to your room…”

  Shanti almost agreed—it was a good idea to remain unseen. The problem was, she needed to know what she was potentially walking into on her continued journey. She needed to hear news of the Graygual advancement and any other important gossip, no matter how farfetched. Common rooms were excellent sources of information since men would gossip about even the most absurd things. If she left, she’d continue to be walking blind.

  “No, a meal first is fine. Thank you,” Shanti answered.

  “Sure thing, Miss.” The woman bobbed in a sort of curtsey, and then bounded away.

  Shanti watched the woman head back toward the kitchen, stopping by the bar. The b
artender, a rugged, aged man with grizzled eyebrows and graying hair looked her way. A shot of adrenaline pierced Shanti’s stomach at his prolonged stare. Assessing stare.

  She shifted her gaze, trying to show lack of concern, and looked out over the tables. Two were occupied, one with three heavy-set men all wearing travel stained garb, and the other with two similarly travel stained men, the one closest with a sword peeking out of his tunic. The door swung open, emitting a grim man with a balanced walk and his hand on a bag at his side.

  Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the bartender glance toward the man walking in, but his gaze didn’t linger. Instead, it swung to her again before turning to his left—the same area the bar maid had exited the room. The kitchen, probably.

  A moment later, as the new man was settling down to a table one away from hers, the bartender lumbered over with a plate of food and a cup, his large stomach covered with a dirty apron. He set down her food on the edge of the table and stood back some, surveying her.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly, gaze flicking up to his stomach before back down to her plate, indicating she was comfortable and he could move on.

  He didn’t budge. Concern drifted away from his body, showering her. “We don’t get much women through these parts,” he began.

  “I’m just passing through. I’ll keep to myself.”

  He shifted, resting his weight over his right leg. The gray rag dangled down his thigh from where it was looped through his apron string at his waist. “You got some finery on you. That cloak weren’t made from no scraps. The thing is, it’s gotten a bit rough through here. It’s no place for someone without protection—‘specially a woman. I’m not telling you your business, but it might be wise to stay in your room ‘n find someone to travel with.”

  “I don’t remember this area being so rough…” Shanti let the statement trail away, really hoping that was true, and also hoping for a little more information.

  The bartender glanced at the man occupying the nearest table. He leaned in to her a little, lowering his tone. “Got trouble passing through this way pretty often of late. Army men, though they seem a little scruffy for any sort of organized outfit, causing trouble. Word is, they’re looking for a woman. Fair haired, violet eyed woman…”

  Cold washed through Shanti as the man paused. He lowered his voice as he continued with, “Word is, she was rumored to be with some rich folk a while ago. She was a part of a big battle not that far East of here—a few guys got out. Ridin’ through here like the Devil was herding them. Spreadin’ stories. Tall tales, I reckon. A woman and man with some sort of power. I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout that. I’m an honest man—I ain’t got no time for tall tales. But people talk. Army men are askin’ around. Women wandering around by themselves get picked up. Disappear. Now, I ain’t trying to tell you your business, but whatever color your eyes, you’re a woman, and these guys ain’t no good. Best to steer clear.”

  Shanti stared at her food, her stomach churning. “And these stories—they involve a man?”

  The bartender looked around again, shuffling closer until he was right up at the edge of the table. His tone was low and words nearly a whisper. “The man that woman was traveling with, yes, ma’am. Not sure if she still is—haven’t heard. But this man--word is, he attracted the attention of that army I hear all kinds of stories about. Wiped out one of them cities those Inkna took over. Like I said—a couple people got out. Rode through here—nearly killed the horse with exhaustion. Way I hear it, Inkna were interested in his city—and you know what happens, then…they move in. No one stands in their way. Well. It’s said someone did. He held his ground, then he shows up at the Inkna city and wipes them out? Him and a violet eyed woman?” The man tilted his head in a telling sort of way. “That kinda thing calls attention, make no mistake. I reckon the Inkna’ll have more interest now. And they have backing. The Inkna don’t like to lose. People are saying that man might be able to stand in the way of that ol’ Being Supreme…”

  The man’s voice hitched and he glanced around hurriedly, as if saying the name would call attention to himself. Not able to help spreading gossip, though, and probably happy to have a listening ear who hadn’t already heard the information, he continued on in the same deathly quiet voice. “They say if anyone, you know…could stand in the way, it’d probably be that man. Him and that violet-eyed girl. Word is, they tore through that Inkna town. Tore right through it. Took down all that mind-power. Now, I don’t know—this is all tall tales. But I do know that no one has done that before. No one I’ve heard of, anyway. Got them all nervous.”

  The bartender backed off a bit and grabbed his rag. “Now, like I said, I don’t know. These are just things I heard. I only know what comes through these doors. Tall tales, usually, like I said. But a lone woman is the worst kinda thing, regardless. She’ll get nabbed, sure as I’m standing here. You best stick to your room, and then find someone to travel with.”

  Shanti tilted her head in thanks, her throat closed up with suppressed emotion. Of course, it had been silly to think they’d killed everyone in that battle. Stupid to think no witnesses could’ve escaped. Inkna were cowards. Most of the people the Graygual commanded were—that was the thing about fighting because you were forced to; you didn’t stick around if you didn’t have to. And glowing eyes were the telltale sign of the Gift, no matter the potency. Cayan would’ve been noticed before he even made it into the stronghold. Plus, no one person could’ve held her own against that many Sarshers. Not even her.

  Shanti’s heart sank as the bartender moved away quietly. A release of power here would paint a big target on her location, and it still wouldn’t help Cayan. If the Graygual didn’t move in for his power, the Inkna would move in for his riches. It was only a matter of time.

  But to help him, she had to get the Shadow People to her side.

  Guilt settled into her stomach as she pulled her plate to her. She should’ve better trained him when she had the time. She’d been afraid of his might. Of what he could become. Also, she’d been wary of how her power acted with his, and how she felt when it did. She’d backed away, ever the coward, and now it left him vulnerable.

  The roast mutton tasted like sand in her mouth. She forced the food down, needing to keep her strength up. Regardless of her failings to Cayan, tomorrow she would have to continue her journey, hoping Cayan started building his forces; hoping that would buy him time. Buy her time. The prophecies said that the true Chosen needed to lead the Shadow People out of the Land of Mists. That only the true Chosen could grant the world’s salvation. She needed to fulfill her duty.

  She needed to continue her journey as planned.

  Refusing to sigh, or to feel the pang of discomfort from her decision, she pushed the haze away and honed back in on her surroundings. It wasn’t a time for remorse—she was without protection again. Without Cayan at her side and his men at her back. Alone meant surviving.

  A group of three men entered the common room together, having a glance around. Travel stained like everyone else, these men had hard bodies and shifty eyes. One with a beard glanced at her, his brow furrowing. He did a sweep of the rest of the room, before following his mates in her general direction. Another of the men, a barrel chested man with dirt on his cheek and killing in his eyes, sighted her before glancing to the table next to her. The third man glanced at her as well and then to the empty tables in her area.

  She must’ve been in their usual seat, and though she felt wariness from them as another person might scream-sing their favorite song, they didn’t count her as a threat. In fact, they took the table next to hers along the wall, probably happy to be next to the dirty woman hunkering in the shadows instead of any of the other rough looking individuals carrying an array of weapons.

  “Oh, I didn’t tell you. They saw him again,” the man with a beard was saying in a low tone as he took the seat closest to Shanti. He didn’t bother sparing her a second glance. None of his party did, in fact. Which w
as a good sign. They were worried about their own troubles, and didn’t want anyone else’s.

  “Who? That fella calling himself the Chosen?” the barrel chested man asked.

  All other noise in the room ceased to exist as Shanti honed in.

  “No,” the bearded man answered. “He’s headed to the Shadow Lands, I hear. The Chosen, I mean.”

  “What is that damn thing, anyhow?” the third said, a wiry man with quick hands, by the look of him. “All I hear anymore is about how they finally found the true Chosen. These are the same people who got some idiot calling himself the Being Supreme or some damn thing—“

  “Shut up!” the man with the beard hissed, glancing at the next closest table. The solitary man didn’t even raise his eyes from his plate. “You’ll get strung up for saying a thing like that.”

  “All’s I’m saying is, they got some war lord, right? What do they need with this Chosen person?” the wiry man said in a loud whisper.

  “He’s supposed to be able to control the Shadow Land.” The man with the beard didn’t hide his shiver. “Why any man would want to mess with those people, I don’t know.”

  “I hear they eat their dead,” the robust man whispered in a disgusted tone.

  “No, they eat those they find wandering on their island. The Chosen is supposed to tame that. The Being Supreme wants that army for his mercenaries, it’s said.”

  “Don’t know why,” the robust man leaned on the table. “They’re a bunch of savages. They’d just go wild and kill the army they were supposed to fight for.”

  “Instead of desert it, like you?” the wiry man smirked, earning a loaded warning delivered in an icy stare. The wiry man put up his arms in surrender. “Not that I blame you, I’m just sayin’ is all—“

  “Well don’t say nothin’, you hear me? If they find me, I’m as good as dead. Torture, too. They’ll slice me up in front of a cheering audience. I’ve seen it. And you, too, for being with me. Best to steer clear from that whole lot.” The robust man hunched a little more, dipping his face.