She made it to her feet, running before she was even fully erect. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, and she ducked just as the sword crashed through the air over her head. The fire scattered, sparks leaping to the trees and there was a harsh and guttural scream that abruptly cut off in a gurgle. Reena did not need to look back to know that someone had just died.
“You don’t want us, you don’t want us!” Warrin shouted. “That man there; that is Liam and the girl is his only child!”
Traitor! Reena heard Warrin’s scream of fear and then the heavy thud of steel meeting bone. She ran faster, branches whipping across her face. Her wrap fell to the ground and she held her pack more tightly. The things in it were all that stood between her and death in the woods. It contained every possession she had ever owned and likely ever would.
An arrow hit the tree she was running past. Bark flew, and a raven screamed, banking sharply as it came toward the earth. There were more screams from the direction of the fire. Her heart throbbed in her chest and she zigzagged across long tree roots that had risen up out of the ground, just waiting to trip her.
She screamed when a hand grabbed her and yanked her up by her hair. She was tossed over a horse, face down. Her breath left her lungs in a long whoosh and her ribs ached. Her fists came up and connected with the tough armor and leather worn by the man behind her on the horse.
He hit her, his hand leaving a trail of fire running down her cheek and into her jaw.
She grabbed a section of his cloak and twisted it around his neck, hoping to strangle him. He punched her in her back right where her lungs were. She lost what little air she had been able to regain and slumped down onto the horse for a moment while she tried to think.
His knees, above the leather thongs that laced up his legs, were bare. Her nails were sharp. She dug them into his skin and he screamed in pain and rage. Savage joy burst through her, and next she bit deep into his thigh. His hand twisted into her hair in retaliation. Her scalp burned and tingled, her eyes watered from pain.
She fought on, she could hear the other soldiers laughing as she did, could hear them jeering and cheering. One soldier drew closer, close enough for her to see Liam lashed onto his horse.
“You should have tied her!” The soldier whose horse carried her father shouted.
Reena managed to roll over and sit up, shocking all of them, especially the one she was riding with. Her bottom was on the horse’s shoulders and both her legs dangled off one side. She gripped the horse’s mane with desperate fingers and lashed out with a hard foot. It struck her father’s captor on his jaw. Her foot ached through the thin leather of her handmade shoes and her toes cramped. The soldier snarled angrily and she tensed, waiting for the blow.
It came, but not on her body. He struck Liam, hard. Blood spilled down the side of his horse, mingling with the blood already staining the animal’s sides. Terror and rage twisted her emotions every which way.
“Do that again and I will kill your father while you watch.”
The words defeated her. Liam was unconscious, his eyes closed and his head bobbing with every step of the horse. Reena wanted to weep but to weep in front of these men was something she would never do. She stared stonily at the horse carrying her father as it wound to the front of the column of soldiers.
“You need to sit differently or you will fall off.”
His voice was soft, deep and warm. She dug her fingers deeper into the horse’s mane and retorted, “Before I can jump you mean?”
“If you jump they will trample you with their horses. It would be a terrible way to go. Your father is the prize. It’s too bad they know he is your father, they are going to use you to wound him far deeper than a sword could.”
Tears stung her eyes. She swallowed hard. “That traitor Warrin,” she whispered. “May the gods take no pity on him.”
His hands were gentle as he lifted her and said, “Swing one leg over. Have you ever ridden a horse?”
“No.”
“You are going to be very sore tonight,” he actually chuckled. His chest was strong and his arms were too. His legs pressed against her hips; she could feel the muscles in his thighs moving, and a strange heat came to her face. “What’s your name?”
“Why do you care?”
The wind grew stronger, screaming as it struck the trees and shook their branches, making a sound that sent chills down her spine. It sounded like bones dancing, like the denuded skeleton she had seen once, as a child, dangling from a hanging tree.
“My name is Praxis.”
“Your name is bottom sucking soldier.”
He laughed, silently. Neither of them spoke above a bare whisper. Reena knew he could be killed for talking to her kindly, and she wondered why he was doing it. Why take such a risk? The horse moved below her and she began to drift away, her body grew stiff and sore and her worry over her father was overshadowed by exhaustion and stress.
Her eyes dropped closed and her head nodded. Praxis spread his cloak open slightly, not noticeably but just enough that she had some protection from the harsh weather and she went to sleep, tumbling into darkness as the sky turned to indigo and lavender.
Chapter 2
When she awoke it was full dark. The horse had stopped moving and she was bitterly aware of what Praxis had meant when he said she would be sore. Her inner thighs, under the rough leather pants she wore, were chafed almost brutally raw.
Praxis told her to get down. She stared off the horse’s back at the ground, wondering just how she was supposed to do that. Praxis solved the dilemma by grabbing her by one leg, flipping it to the side and shoving her head. She went down in a crumpled heap. Her aching legs were unable to support her for long seconds and the other soldiers laughed. Hatred for them grew in her heart, and intensified when she saw the one who held her father remove him from the horse and lash him to a tree.
She started toward Liam but Praxis stopped her, his gauntleted arm barring her way. “Make yourself useful. Start a fire and cook dinner.”
More laughter. She glared at him. She was not a slave! She was free! Her eyes went back to Liam and she saw that his eyes were open, just slightly. He winked at her and nodded. He wanted her to do as she had been told, but why?
She saw why. The werebane grew lush and thick under a tree. To people in the city it was foreign, out in the Outside it was only seen in the deep woods. Most had no idea of what it was or what it could do. So, they wanted her to cook for them, did they?
Her stomach trembled. She had never killed anyone although she had seen death up close more times than she liked to remember. She knelt on the ground and began to dig a pit for the fire. Someone kicked her, a hard blow to the ribs. Through the pain she heard Praxis say, “Never kick a dog when it’s down, the gods do not approve,” and the laughter that followed.
Her vision lured. The wind froze her hands and body. Her fingers shook as she started the fire and she wanted to warm himself at it, but she was not allowed to for long. There were small bags of foodstuffs tossed down at her knees as well as a battered cooking pot. She opened the bags to see dried meat and grain, a small packet of salt and loaves of hard bread. The worst things were the now cold rabbits that had been taken from Warrin’s camp.
She tore the meat from the bones, broke the bones and set them in the water that she poured from a bag into the pot. The pot began to boil and she added grain and salt, wincing at the waste, and hunks of the rabbit—leaving only a tiny bit of it in reserve.
The werebane was easy to gather, and nobody even noticed. The soldiers were too busy laughing and congratulating themselves for having captured Liam. Liam was the Outlaw that everyone wanted to capture. He was famous, and the soldiers were sure they were going to be richly rewarded upon their arrival back in the city the next day.
Reena made a big show of sampling the savory smelling stew and got exactly the results she wanted. One of the men roared in anger and kicked her, knocking her nearly into the fire.
“She touched our food!”
Praxis said, “Of course she did. She is cooking it. Be glad she tasted it, that keeps you from having to worry if she poisoned you.”
Reena could not look up. She was afraid her face would betray her. Her breath stuck in her throat and her nerves tightened. Did he know? Had he seen her gather the werebane? If he had, why had he not warned the others? Had he seen and just thought she was adding something to the pot because she liked the taste?
The men gathered their eating utensils and took the pot from the fire, letting it cool as they finished making camp. Reena looked up to see the soldier who had captured her father looking at her with a speculative gleam in his eyes that she did not like. She looked away.
“What do you think she would fetch in the auction?”
Praxis answered, “I’m sure she would spark a bidding war Nero. Why?”
Nero, that was the name of the man who had humiliated her father. She hoped he ate from the pot first. “Because I hate to see that kind of sweet flesh go to waste. Perhaps we could convince the Governor to allow us to sell her rather than execute her.”
Praxis said, “That will never happen and you know it.”
Nero snorted. “Maybe not but it would be worth a try.”
The soldiers sat near the fire. Their faces leaned close over the pot. Reena’s blood pounded in her ears. She could not watch. They were people, regardless of what they also were and she was about to murder them all. She stared at the banked-down fire, seeking some sort of solace from it, but there was none.
One of the soldiers grunted and she heard the sounds of chewing and swallowing. A single tear slid down her cheek but she dashed it away. A long gurgle and rattle sounded out and one of the soldiers gasped then another choked.
“What did she do?”
Reena rolled to one side, already anticipating the blade that swung for her head. The wind whistled past her cheek, the blade sang loudly but she kept her head, literally. Nero stood over her, his sword still raised. He had been well trained, but he was still just a man and she kicked him right between his legs, pistoning her own leg up into that sensitive area.
Nero collapsed, his face gone red and his eyes squinted almost shut. One soldier staggered through the campsite, his fingers clutching at his throat. He fell into the fire and his screams rang loudly through the air. Reena scrambled to her feet, determined to escape.
All the soldiers but Praxis and Nero were dying. It was hellish, and gut wrenching. Nero would recover soon, so she ran to her father, her fingers fumbling at the bonds. Praxis was at the edge of the bushes, staring at her and for the first time she realized how handsome he was.
His thick wheat hair had been cut short, and his skin was as gold as the small highlights in his hair. It was too dark to see his eyes but she thought that they might be blue. His body in the white, red and gold uniform that he wore was thick and solidly muscular but not bulky.
Nero came after her again. She ducked behind her father, her fingers working at the ropes until the edge of the sword went to Liam’s throat. “Come out of there girl. I will gut him like a pig. Do you hear me? There is nobody here who will stop me.”
Reena knew he was not lying. She came out from behind Liam. She felt him lean against her, his warmth a reassurance, a silent approval. She had done all she could, and it was plenty. The smell of the man burning rose into the air, thick and nauseating. The other soldiers who had eaten lay where they had fallen, their faces contorted in death.
Nero took the blade from Liam’s throat and put it to hers. The cold steel lay against her flesh, a direct threat she could not deny or escape. Her breath stilled, her limbs shook—a fine trembling that made her afraid she would fall down. His eyes were filled with hatred, anger and an enjoyment that made her know exactly how much he really wanted to kill her.
“If you kill his daughter he will make sure we don’t take him to the city. Imagine how pissed the Governor will be if he manages to kill himself before we get there,” Praxis said softly.
Reena could not look away from Nero’s gaze. It was so hostile, so filled with a longing she recognized as blood lust. He killed not because he was a soldier, but because he liked it. “She killed our command Praxis.”
“All the more reason to take her to Arutela. Let her face the crowd at the Arena.” Reena was tempted to just jerk her head, to let the blade take her life. That was a mercy compared to what would happen to her in the Arena, and she knew it. “Perhaps the Governor will give her to you Nero, as your slave. That would be a fit punishment, would it not?”
Why had she ever thought he was kind? She wanted to kill him, kill them both. Why had they not eaten? Had Praxis seen her putting the werebane into the food? Did he know what it was? Had Nero been suspicious or just slow to the pot?
The steel left her skin. A tiny bead of blood ran down her neck, stained her collar. The wind cracked against her skin, stinging like a slap. Nero backed away, his voice tight with anger.
“I hope the Governor puts you up for sale if he does not give you to me personally. I will buy you even if it bankrupts me and I will kill you so slowly. You will wish you were dead long before you are.”
“You will die before she does,” Liam said. “You have my word.”
“Your word,” Nero spat out. “The word of an Outlaw is a lie, and nothing more. Praxis, get him up. We go to the city tonight.”
“The horses are tired.”
“Well, I guess it is a good thing we have spares now. I am your commander Praxis, don’t you forget it.”
“I have not.” Praxis turned away. The last thing Reena saw was the hilt of Nero’s sword coming toward her face.
**
She woke to a pounding headache and the sun. How long had she been out? She was not sure, all she had were hazy memories of a horse moving below her, darkness and trees, the whinnies of tired horses and the sound of the rain as it began again.
She rubbed her eyes and stared ahead, unable to believe what she was seeing. They had never ventured this close to Arutela, ever and so she had never seen the great wall that wound around it, nor had she ever seen the tall statues of the gods and goddesses. She had seen rough- hewn facsimiles in many of the temples in the villages of the Outside but none of them were like the graceful, marble sculptures that adorned the wall and gates.
There was a shout and the gates opened. There was a long line of people waiting, some on foot and others on horseback or in carts. They were allowed in one by one, the guards at the gates questioning all who wanted to enter.
Reena stared up at the gods and goddesses. There was Diana! And Mars! She looked over to see a statue of Pluto and another one of Mercury. Mercury, of course, was directly over the gates and many raised a hand to him as they passed below his gaze.
The guards stepped forward when Nero announced who he had as prisoners. There was avid curiosity in their faces. One of them asked where the rest of the squad was and Nero said they were dead, they had been lost in battle.
Lost in battle? They had been dumb enough to eat werebane! Reena felt a mutinous need to sing that out but Praxis tightened his grip on her, and she stayed silent. She was actually stricken into silence; she could not have spoken. All of her life she had lived Outside, and now here she was, riding through the main thoroughfare of the city!
Everywhere she looked buildings lifted their heads to dizzying heights. Temples of the purest white stone, their carved columns decorated with bouquets and wreaths, sat everywhere. The scent of incense—strong and perfumed—rose over the streets.
People dressed in multi-hued robes walked or ran or rode past. She saw a littler, a long conveyance carried by four strong men, lurch past and the gold curtains that enclosed it swung open for a moment, revealing large pillows and a woman reclining against them.
Her stomach filled with flutterflies. What was this? The houses on the main streets were magnificent structures as large as the grand temples, smaller houses crowded the hills that
rose above the main street. Beggars and sellers of wares cried out to them, a little boy with a wooden sword ran beside the horse yelling at Praxis that one day he would be under his command.
Praxis tossed the boy a coin. He caught it and grinned before vanishing. Women, most of them wearing robes so thin it was almost possible to see right through, lounged on the steps of the pleasure houses, their hair hanging to their shoulders in clean shining waves and their white skin glowing like pearls.
Reena put a hand up to her dirt and blood-crusted face. One of the women saw that gesture and laughed, elbowing one of the women next to her. “If we see you here honey we will strip that sun glow right form your face, no worries!” the woman cried and Reena blushed, turning her eyes away from their bared skin and lovely robes.
A man ran up to them, holding a pair of sandals thonged with silver and small sparkling jewels. “For the lady Sir?” he asked.
“She’s no lady,” Nero snarled and hit the man with his horse’s rump, sending the peddler into an overflowing gutter.
Reena’s eyes went to her plain hand-sewn leather shoes and clothes. Wearing robes was impossible for those who lived as Outlaws. There was no warmth in them, and were impractical. Instead they wore breechlets fashioned of whatever skins they could tan and cobble together. There were no sewing materials on hand so the breechlets were cut so that the outside seam was the only thing that needed fastening. Small holes punched into the leather and threaded through with rawhide lacing kept them closed on the leg. They were cut to fit in the crotch, but since they were basically just doubled over leather with more of the crude fastenings on the right hand side they were baggy and often shapeless.
Shoes were made the same way. Leather was cut to fit and fastened by means of rawhide drawn through small holes cut into the hides. The clothes worn by the people around her made her all too aware of just how ragged and dirty and primitive her clothing was.
That made her angry. How dare they make her feel ashamed of what she had fought to earn? Life as an Outlaw meant eking out an existence and nothing was ever free. Nothing.
Call to Arms (The Girl In The Arena Book 1) Page 2