Allegiance Sworn (A NOVEL OF THE LIGHT BLADE)

by Kylie Griffin

  Where had these Na’Reish come from? Their segmented armor was black, the design on their leather chest plates a stylized mountain peak with a crescent moon. They weren’t the boat-master’s warriors. They belonged to another Clan.

  Behind him, footsteps pounded on the ground. Arek’s lip curled. Well, he had sworn to die trying to kill these bastards, as many as possible. With them believing he was a crofter, the element of surprise was on his side.

  Heat surged through his body, a yell of defiance broke from his throat as he swung round and dropped into a fighter’s crouch. The first Na’Reish warrior took him to the ground in a bone-jarring tackle.

  Arek twisted, using every shred of strength he had to avoid being pinned. He thrust upward with the dagger. The blade sank into the mottled flesh under the jaw of the demon’s throat. Hot blood sprayed over his hand. The metallic stench of it assailed his nostrils. His Gift rushed through the blade. The demon convulsed. A heartbeat later he lay dead.

  Pushing the body from him, Arek rolled to one knee. Something heavy hit him from behind, hard enough to knock him to the ground and the breath from his lungs. Strong fingers wrapped around his wrist, the one holding the dagger, and squeezed. Flesh crushed against bone.

  Arek grunted. Once, twice, his hand was slammed against the ground. Pain shot through his fingers. His grip loosened around the hilt. A third assault knocked the dagger away. It skittered across the sand, then his arms were wrenched behind his back.

  “Cease struggling, Light Blade,” hissed a deep voice. “And you’ll live.”

  Arek tried bucking his opponent off, but the Na’Reish was solidly built, heavy-boned and muscled. A hand grasped a fistful of his hair and pushed his face into the dirt. Grit and sand stuck to his sweaty cheek. Leather armor creaked as the demon shifted forward. The musky scent of sweat and the minty odor of crushed needle-leaves overpowered the odor of blood.

  “Meelar’s warriors are too busy restraining the others, they don’t know what you are—” An angular face framed by jet-black hair slicked back into a ponytail appeared in the corner of Arek’s vision. Pale black lips peeled back from white teeth. “But they will if you don’t control your power now.”

  The sounds of fighting faded as the Na’Reish’s warning penetrated. Icy disbelief raked down Arek’s spine. If the warrior had sensed his Gift, why wasn’t he tearing his throat out? What game was the Na’Reish playing at?

  “I’m prepared to die for my people,” he panted. “Death by your hand or the boat-master’s makes no matter, demon!”

  His hair was released.

  “It’s not your death I seek, Light Blade.” Rope secured his wrists once again. “My Clan needs you to live.”

  A cold tendril snaked and tangled in Arek’s gut. He’d heard too many stories of what human-slaves were forced to endure and seen too many atrocities to back up those tales to willingly submit to enslavement.

  Images of warriors and friends he’d lost during battle, their throats ripped out as the demons fed on their life-blood, filled his mind. With his identity as a Light Blade revealed, did the demon intend to keep him alive just to taunt him before finally killing him? It would be consistent with the type of behavior he’d witnessed from the Na’Reish in the past.

  Heat whipped through Arek’s veins, as scorching as a smithy’s furnace. He fought to twist free, uncaring that the rope binding him stripped more skin from his wrists.

  The demon’s weight shifted again. “Lady of Light, if you won’t cooperate, then I’ll take that choice from you!”

  Lady of Light?

  Demons didn’t believe in a human deity.

  A sharp blow behind his ear sent him tumbling into unconsciousness.

  * * *

  “WHAT’S this, Na Meelar?” Imhara called, as she handed the reins of her Vorc to the mounted warrior beside her. She slid from the riding pad to the ground, ignoring the low bow directed at her by the Na’Reishu deckhand. Instead she walked straight toward the dock where the Meelar was only now coming ashore. “Seems like you’re having trouble controlling your slaves?”

  The boat-master’s head snapped up, his broad-cheeked face slackening in surprise. “Na Kaal. You’re early.”

  Early enough to catch the Na’Reishi slaver in an awkward moment, and from what she’d seen on her approach to the riverside dock, Meelar and his warriors had lost control of what should have been a manageable situation.

  The red stain coloring the brawny boat-master’s face wasn’t sunburn, and his tight expression conveyed his desire to berate her for catching him at a disadvantage, but rank had its privileges. A small smile twitched the corners of her mouth. The slaver might belong to the same caste as her, but as Clan leader she outranked his second-birth.

  Meelar ran a hand through his black hair, smoothing the dark strands back in a nervous gesture. “I wasn’t expecting you for another two hours.”

  A move designed to keep him off balance, something she did with every visitor to her province, and more fortune to her to have witnessed his blunder. While taking advantage of his humiliation didn’t sit well, it was required to survive the power plays and constantly changing politics within the ranks of the Na’Reishi. Any show of compassion would be deemed a flaw, one to be exploited.

  “It seems some of your cargo have made it across to the other side.” Imhara waved a gloved hand toward the river, where three humans were scrambling out of the water on the opposite shoreline. She swallowed her smile and arched one eyebrow high. “Can my Na’Hord assist you in recapturing them?”

  Meelar’s gaze jerked in the direction she indicated, then slashed back to her. His dark brows dipped hard and low while his lips pressed into a thin line. Did he resent her offer of help, or the style of clothing she wore?

  After more than a score of forays through her province, he should have been used to her eccentricities by now, but then, in his world, Na’Reish women seldom wore leather breeches, shirts, or vests. Even fewer sported swords on their belts, and as far as she knew, she was the only one able to wield a blade. Or a dagger or throwing knives . . . or any other weapon her male counterparts cared to train with or brandish.

  While other Na’Reish women depended on their males to look after them, her father had made sure she could look after herself. Thank the Lady he had.

  His training had helped her stay alive the night their family had been attacked. Five years later, the murderer remained unpunished. Heartache burned in her chest. She pushed back the memories and sucked in a deep breath to control her emotions. Now wasn’t the time or place.

  Necessity was a cruel mistress, yet without her hard-learned lessons, she wouldn’t wield the power or possess the reputation she did now. She didn’t care if other Na’Reish disapproved of her style of dress, or gossiped about her lack of a mate or how she flaunted convention with her conduct. All that mattered was that they held a healthy fear or respect for her as Clan Na, leader of the Kaal.

  “No need. My warriors are capable of tracking a few stray humans.” Meelar’s refusal came as no surprise. He whipped a hand at his boat-crew. “Take half the Na’Hord across and hunt them down!”

  His underlings scrambled to obey. Imhara rested her hands on the hilt of her sword and turned to survey the terrified huddle of humanity by the stockyards. By the look of their coarse-woven clothes, they were farmers or crofters.

  All in good condition, males and females in their prime. How many of them would live to see another moon? Half their number? A quarter? Her mouth flattened and she swallowed against the bitterness rising in her throat. The Na’Reish valued their animals more highly than they did their slaves.

  Imhara smoothed her expression into something more neutral as Meelar turned in her direction. “Almost five dozen,” she mused. “Impressive raid.”

  She glanced toward the dead Clan warrior sprawled on a blood-soaked patch of sand. Another body lay over by the stockyards. Meelar’s warriors weren’t known for their complacency, yet the humans had
secured a weapon. How had they managed that?

  Rassan, her Clan Second, crouched above one of the humans. He made short work of tying the man’s ankles. Her eyebrows lifted. As scout, and first to arrive at the clearing, perhaps he’d witnessed the outbreak, but why had he felt it necessary to get involved in the melee?

  With an ease that belied his brawny six-foot size, Rassan rose from his crouch. His thick biceps flexed as he dusted off his hands and readjusted his weapons belt. Standing eye-to-eye with her, yet nearly a foot shorter than most Na’Reish warriors, he made up for his lack of height in skill. His reputation of being one of the most lethal fighters in the twelve Clans was well earned.

  To any who watched, he seemed to have dismissed the unconscious human, but his dark violet gaze locked with hers and gleamed with an intensity that prickled the hair on the back of her neck. Something about the man on the ground interested him.

  Imhara flicked a quick glance downward. A shock of dirty blond hair obscured her view of the human’s tanned face. Lying there, his arms bound, the man looked like a stripling youth next to the warrior, but then any human male would. Yet Imhara surmised the farmer would equal Rassan’s height.

  Underneath the sweat-stained shirt, broad shoulders fleshed with lean muscle tapered to a flat waist. A pair of worse-for-wear breeches covered long legs, the threadbare hems brushing midcalf.

  There was strength in this man; he was no stranger to hard work, but while the skin exposed below his breeches was dirty, it was a shade lighter than the tone on his arms, neck, and face, almost as if he’d once worn boots.

  “I’ve delivered almost four hundred slaves to the Na’Rei in the last three months.”

  Imhara turned her attention to Meelar. His tone suggested their Na’Reish leader would be impressed by his success. Savyr’s demand for blood-slaves had risen and so had the bonuses for those who provided excellent service. There was a good chance Savyr might reward the slaver, lifting his standing among the ranks of the Na’Reishi.

  “Have you heard why the Na’Rei needs so many?” she inquired.

  Meelar shrugged. “Some say that Savyr is preparing for war with the humans.”

  “It would explain why he’s called for a full Enclave.”

  The meeting was set for the new moon, just over a month away, as the first snows were due—an unusual time for a Clan-Na gathering. It was also interesting that the Enclave coincided with the rumors of an alliance between the human Blade Council and a band of Na’Chi, the half-breed offspring all Na’Reish preferred to deny existed.

  “Perhaps he’ll inform us of his war plans then,” Meelar commented.

  Imhara grunted. Did Savyr intend to invade human territory during winter? It was a hard time to wage a conflict of any sort but certainly harder for those being attacked.

  If war against the humans loomed, then it would explain why he’d also increased the Clan tithes. Missives sent from neighboring provinces complained of the losses of skilled crafters, slaves, and produce.

  His letter to her had asked for regular access through her province using the slave-route. Patrols using Skadda Pass and Whitewater River were offered a fast, easy route in and out of human territory. The forest on both sides of the border provided cover for them as well as Meelar’s slave-raids.

  Power through geography—the Kaal Province could play a major role in Savyr’s plans, and she wasn’t above taking advantage of her position if it meant ensuring the safety of her people. The impending Enclave would force her to adjust the time line of her plans, but she was nothing if not flexible.

  Another of life’s hard-learned lessons. She fisted a gloved hand, satisfaction souring fast like her mood. It was time to end this charade with the boat-master.

  “I expect the usual ten percent tribute, Na Meelar.” She stabbed a finger at him as he took a breath to protest. “Regardless of whether you recapture those escaped slaves or not.”

  Imhara held the boat-master’s gaze until he tilted his head in submission. She nodded for Rassan to begin choosing. At least six humans would be saved this day. She wished it could be more, but demanding a further tribute would draw attention to her actions. Best play it safe. For now.

  “Have your warriors finish their auction preparations swiftly.” Tattooing the slave-mark on the others would take a couple of hours. A swift glance at the sun made up her mind. “Your slave-train should make it through the pass by dusk.”

  Meelar’s purple gaze lit with surprise then more disapproval. “My Na’Hord have been away on this raid for almost two weeks. They’re hungry and tired and would appreciate the comforts of a soft bed, food, and entertainment.”

  Demanding Clan hospitality was justified, but she had no wish for company, not with new humans to introduce into her fortress. They’d been frightened enough, and their transition into their new lives would be delayed if their captors stayed overnight.

  Imhara pointed with her chin toward the corralled war-beasts. “I’ve supplied half a dozen head to make transporting your cargo across the mountains simpler. Quicker.”

  Meelar would be unlikely to provide the humans with blankets during their trek, so they would most probably sleep beside the docile beasts. The animals’ shaggy coats would provide them with warmth at night as the caravan made its way into Gannec territory.

  “Their saddlebags are well provisioned with supplies for your journey through the mountains. Consider them a gift, an alternate source of Clan hospitality.” She waved a hand. “I’d advise you to be through the pass by dusk. I don’t have to tell you how unpredictable the weather can be in the ranges.”

  A month ago, the boat-master’s Na’Hord had been the ones to find the frozen corpses of a patrol who had left travelling through Skadda Pass until too late in the day. They’d been caught in a freak, late-summer blizzard.

  Meelar’s lip curl was just short of a sneer, but she suspected he’d heed her warning. He executed a shallow bow. “Until next time then, Na Kaal.”

  Imhara returned to her mount, leaving Rassan in charge of securing the small group of humans she took as payment for the slaver’s access through her territory. Her mouth twisted. Meelar would write it off as part of the trade.

  Vice. Exploitation. Reputation. Power. Everything she abhorred about her race but was forced to perpetuate to ensure the survival of her Clan’s legacy. She shook her head. Their ancestors would turn in their tombs to see how ingrained corruption was within Na’Reish society now.

  Imhara leaned against the side of her mount, inhaling the strong, heavy musk of its coat, a soul-deep weariness weighing her shoulders down. Lady’s Breath, so many relied on her.

  She shivered. How much longer could her Clan go on living this double lifestyle? How much longer could she? Yet discovery would condemn every one of them to death.

  “Na Kaal.”

  Rassan’s deep voice came from behind her. She took another deep breath and turned. Deep violet eyes flecked with the faintest yellow met hers. His head tilted to one side, silently questioning.

  “We’re ready to leave,” he reported, his voice reflecting none of his concern for her. His worry warmed the coldness inside her, gave her the strength to focus.

  “Then let’s go.” Her smile was strained. “Double-time.”

  She mounted and settled into the saddle on her Vorc. Meelar’s warriors were already dividing into groups. One to tattoo and register the humans, another to saddle the war-beasts in preparation for their journey over the mountains. The deckhands were securing the slave-boat for the time they returned to complete another raid-and-run.

  Imhara dug her heels into the sides of her mount, eager to get away from the river. She caught the gazes of two of her Na’Hord, and nodded sharply. They peeled off and disappeared into the forest to begin their task of following Meelar, making sure he left Kaal territory.

  She glanced toward Rassan and his unconscious passenger, impatient to finish their journey now the unpleasant task of dealing with the boat-master
was over. She wanted to get back to her fortress as quickly as possible and find out what her Second found so fascinating about the human draped across the saddle of his mount.

  Chapter 3

  “A Light Blade warrior?” Imhara stopped short of the thick wooden door of her bedroom. Her heart began to race.

  Whirling on her boot heel, she stared at Rassan, all thoughts of settling the new arrivals into their quarters and the myriad tasks still awaiting her attention at her desk in the library gone from her head with his startling revelation.

  She frowned. “But he was dressed as a farmer.” There’d been no armor, no boots, no Lady’s amulet around his neck. “Are you sure?”

  “I felt the power of Her in him. He used it to kill Meelar’s warriors. The way he used the blade, the moves . . . he’s had training. He’s no crofter or latent Gifted.”

  In the flickering light of the lantern hung on the wall by her door, half of Rassan’s face was darkened by shadow, and the effect served to reinforce the seriousness of his claim.

  “You’ve never doubted my Gift before.” His mouth curved into a wry smile. “Why start now?”

  Lady of Light, if he was right, then this human could be the key to Clan Kaal’s survival, the answer to her prayers, especially given the timing and content of Savyr’s last missive.

  The Clan gathering wasn’t the issue. She’d attended many over the years, but the subject of her status as an unmated female was now on Savyr’s agenda; not that she’d revealed this to anyone yet, least of all Rassan.

  After her parents’ death, she’d expected pressure to mate. The why wasn’t too hard to figure out. Savyr made no secret of wanting Kaal Province and sole access to the slave-route. She had her suspicions about who had murdered her family, but there was no doubt in her mind that Savyr had given the order.

  After four years of fending off every Na’Reishi Lordling and anticipating and dreading when the Na’Rei would force the issue, the wait was over. One order from him to mate and a refusal would mean her life, and the lives of every man, woman, and child—human, Na’Chi, and Na’Reish alike—in her Clan.