Allegiance Sworn (A NOVEL OF THE LIGHT BLADE)

by Kylie Griffin

  Arek nodded slowly. “I’m beginning to realize that.”

  “My actions . . . Touching you as I did . . . I did not deliberately set out to arouse you—”

  “I know.” He cut her off. “You were goading Yur.”

  Even now he could still feel the ghost of her lips, the heat of her tongue pressed against the skin of his arm, and the lingering warmth of arousal.

  “I won’t avoid touching you if the situation calls for it.” Imhara’s gaze remained steady. While he was sure he made no sound or action, her expression pinched tight. “Perhaps taking you into Na’Reish territory isn’t the best decision.” She shook her head. “I need to think on this.”

  She shoved the books she’d been holding back on the shelf.

  “For the moment, let’s leave it.” When she turned back to him, her smile was forced. “Rassan should have seen Yur and his Na’Hord off by now. We’ve a lot to accomplish between now and the end of the week. We could use your help.” Her smile became more relaxed, warmer. “Consider it a chance for you to mix with and get to know more of my Clan.”

  Chapter 14

  “WHO’D have thought you’d be doing this two weeks ago.”

  “What?” Squinting against the late afternoon sunlight, Arek peered up at Rassan, who stood in the back of the box wagon. He hefted his cargo onto the tailgate. “Loading crates? I’ve done it a time or two.”

  The Na’Chi warrior grinned as he took the box, stacked it, then threw rope netting over the load. “I was referring to you working side by side with Na’Reish Clansmen.”

  Arek grunted. “I suppose not.” He moved aside to let a young female deliver her crate.

  In her teens, the girl stood eye to eye with him, her height and large-boned build well suited to lifting boxes twice the size and weight as the one she’d just deposited on the wagon. Having only ever witnessed Na’Reish strength on the battlefield, seeing so many engaged in the mundane chores of everyday life took some getting used to. The girl met his gaze, gave him a shy smile and a nod, then headed back to the storeroom.

  “I assumed most of the chores would be done by humans,” he admitted.

  The last three days disproved that assumption. Even now, almost thirty people wandered in and around the dozen box-and-flatbed wagons, carting boxes, bags, baskets, and crates filled with trade goods, food, and supplies from storerooms and the fortress. Everyone capable assisted, young or old, human, Na’Chi, and Na’Reish.

  The preparations reminded him of the hawkers and traders who visited the Farmers Market at Sacred Lake. Only the purpose differed.

  Arek half shrugged. “It’s definitely not what I was expecting.”

  “Good.” Rassan tossed him the edge of the rope netting.

  Arek began tying it off, unsurprised by the Na’Chi’s succinct reply. At first he’d believed Rassan’s task had been to guard or monitor him, and while the warrior had never said anything or enforced restrict measures, he had little doubt Imhara’s Second would act if he threatened any Clansman.

  Other than just spending time with him amidst mixed company, more often than not the warrior left him to his own observations and thoughts or to converse with other humans as he liked. Were their situations reverse, Arek doubted he’d have been so generous or allowed him such liberty.

  As he hitched the last tail of the netting, the sound of iron-rimmed wheels rumbling over hard-packed ground and the excited chatter of children snagged his attention. Three more wagons, filled with children of varying races and ages, entered the courtyard. Drivers directed the shaggy transport beasts to pull up alongside the stables.

  One after the other, children slid off or leapt over the edges of the wagons. Their actions reminded Arek of dirt-burrowers abandoning their nests. Some raced into the stables, others ambled along at their own pace. Within a minute the first group reappeared carrying sacks of grain and sheaves of hay. Another chore shared.

  Arek wiped sweat from his cheek on the shoulder of his shirt. The number of wagons and quantity of supplies hinted at an extended stay. “So, how long will this Enclave last?”

  Rassan leapt off the wagon, his boots thudding on the ground as he landed. “About a month, but with the Clan Challenge and associated extended festivities, it’ll be closer to two.” He secured the tailgate, then dusted his hands on the thighs of his breeches. “Among the Na’Reish, the Enclave is used to foster allegiances or establish new ones. Some forge trade alliances, others choose more permanent ties through bloodlines.”

  “Like Savyr’s move to mate Imhara at this Enclave?” Imhara had shared Yur’s message from the Na’Rei with her Second that morning at breakfast. “Was this something both you and Imhara expected?”

  “Yes.” The tall warrior’s grim grin reflected his displeasure. “Although I expected Savyr to move on this much earlier.” His smile turned cynical. “The Enclave can also be a time to settle old grudges.”

  “Through the Clan Challenge?”

  “Sometimes, although most bouts in the arena are fought to enhance the reputation and social status of a Clan or individual.” Arek nodded. That fit with what he knew about Na’Reish culture. “And any grievances settled outside it tend to be of a less honorable nature.”

  Arek shot him a sideways glance. “Yur made a point of asking if you were attending this year.”

  “He would.” The dry response was at odds with the Na’Chi’s sparkling violet eyes. “Last year I defeated him to win the Clan Champion title.”

  “A Na’Chi warrior beating Savyr’s Second, a full-blood Na’Reishi?” Arek couldn’t help but laugh. “If only they knew, eh?”

  “Indeed.” Rassan’s grin widened. “I took great pleasure in claiming the title.”

  The sound of cracking and splintering wood came from the stables. A high-pitched cry—a child’s scream—shattered the moment. More cries filled the air.

  A chilling howl, echoed by several others, all too familiar, froze the blood in Arek’s veins. “Vorc!”

  Rassan hissed a curse and spun on his heel. “The children!”

  His shout mobilized everyone in the vicinity. Arek joined the crowd rushing across the courtyard. Children, eyes wide and faces etched with terror, stumbled through the open double doors.

  Rassan scooped up a young girl who’d fallen in the panic. He passed her to the nearest adult. “Get these children to safety!”

  Another howl rent the air. Growls and frantic scratching sounds, claws on wood, pulled Arek up short, just outside the stables. How many of the creatures were free? He peered around the doorway, his nostrils filled with the musky scent of Vorc and pungent odor of droppings.

  “Shavesh ka ris!” A hoarse, adolescent shout came from within.

  Squinting against the darkened interior, he counted a dozen stalls within. Thick-boarded, high walls kept the Vorc contained; the beasts were unable to climb—their only weakness. Bundles of hay were abandoned on the floor. Sacks sat where they’d been dropped, some split open. Grain scattered across the ground.

  Two youths, both Na’Reish, faced off with a Vorc, a full-grown male, gauging by the height and thickness of its shoulders. Beneath the bristly coat, bulging muscles rippled as it advanced, its claws churning up the hard-packed dirt floor as if it were butter.

  Both youths stood close to six feet, their heavy-boned builds puny in comparison to the animal. One bite with its sharp fangs or slash with any foreclaw would kill them. Thankfully the foreleg spurs were mercifully capped. The boys wouldn’t be poisoned by a strike, but they were still in danger.

  “Shavesh ka ris!” The one on the right dared to move forward, arms raised, a courageous action given the precarious situation. “Shavesh ka ris!” His voice broke on the second command.

  The Vorc lowered its pointed snout, and the upper lip curled back to reveal long fangs dripping with saliva. It stalked left, its body language anything but submissive to the boy’s directive.

  On the straw-covered floor, where the Vorc once stood,
a third child lay motionless on her side, an arm’s length away from the remnants of a broken stall door that hung by one hinge. An ominous dark stain pooled beneath her.

  Arek sucked in a sharp breath and searched the stable for a weapon. A pitchfork leaned against the wall, a dozen steps away. He edged around the stable door.

  A large hand gripped his shoulder and hauled him back. “Your scent will only provoke the beast.” Rassan’s deep voice was pitched low.

  “It’s about to attack them.”

  “I know. Vorc-Masters with me.” Several Na’Reish clansmen and women pushed through the crowd to join the Na’Chi warrior. “All humans stand clear! Someone get Nayvia and the other healers.”

  Footsteps shuffled then pounded away to follow his order. Rumbling snarls lifted the hairs on Arek’s neck. He eyed the pitchfork but held his position by the open door as Rassan nodded to his Na’Reish clansmen. They entered the stable together, their advance slow and steady.

  “Kula veh—be calm—kula veh—” The Na’Chi’s voice remained low but firm. The Vorc’s attention shifted to him, its small, slitted eyes gleaming with feral intelligence. “Don’t move, Rooke.”

  The dark-haired youth who’d tried to confront the Vorc gave a jerky nod. “Yes, Second.”

  “You did well to stop the animal leaving the stable.” Rassan’s hand signal sent three of the six Vorc-Masters closer to the boys. “But now we’re going to position ourselves between you and the male. Only then do I want you and Ori to retreat outside. Is that clear?”

  “Yes.” Relief made his voice shake. “It all happened so fast, Second. Leasha said that the bolt wasn’t latched properly on the stall door. She went to close it and I guess the male scented her. He broke through to get her. I think she’s hurt bad. I can smell blood. Lots of it.”

  “Nayvia’s coming.” Another hand signal and a line of clansmen finally stood between the boys and the Vorc. It surveyed each of them with a slow turn of its head, nostrils twitching. “Back off now . . . slowly.”

  Scuffling footsteps and soft voices came from behind Arek, but he ignored them, holding his breath, to watch as the boys retreated, relieved both had the presence of mind not to turn their backs on the animal.

  “Shavesh ka vaag!” Rassan reinforced his order with a downward hand motion.

  At the commanding order, the Vorc’s ears drooped and the rumbling growl ceased. Rassan repeated it. The male lowered its barrel-like body to the ground. Two of the Vorc-Masters converged to muzzle it and clipped a chain on its collar.

  “Get him locked in a stall.” The warrior turned toward the entrance. “Is Nayvia here yet?”

  “Yes, I’m here!” The crowd gathered by the open doorway parted to let the elderly healer through. “Bring Leasha into the light. Hurry! I can sense her strength fading.”

  Rassan scooped the unconscious human child into his arms and brought her to where Nayvia was waiting with three other people.

  “Put her on the ground in front of me. Quickly!”

  Arek stepped back to give them room to work. Nayvia tore the shirt open and exposed the claw wounds. He winced. Four vertical tears shredded the girl’s abdomen. The head injury—a large, bruised swelling on her temple—was the least of their worries.

  Nayvia ignored the cries of dismay that came from those watching. She placed her hands over the raw wounds and pressed hard, eyes closing. Dark red blood welled through her fingers and escaped past the sides of her hands.

  Rassan backed away, coming to join him at the edge of the circle. The flecks in his eyes were a bright yellow, and his black lips were flat with tension. His tanned face was pale, the uneven pattern of spots running down either side of it more prominent because of it. Blood stained his shirt and hands, but his gaze remained on those kneeling over the child.

  Arek’s gut churned with the knowledge that her chance of surviving such severe injuries was slim. He glanced around at the people gathered, wondering where the girl’s parents were. Had anyone gone to inform them?

  “May the Lady help them both,” he murmured.

  A sudden spike of power came from the elderly healer’s direction. While he wasn’t attuned to her Gift as others in her profession were, he could sense its crisp, warm resonance. Her power rivaled Candra’s, the Master Healer at Sacred Lake.

  The furrows on her brow deepened. “Link with me!”

  Her eyes remained closed, but the other healers who accompanied her—a human man of middle years, and two female Na’Chi—moved closer to form a semicircle behind her. The man placed a hand over Nayvia’s then clasped hands with one of the women. She copied his actions and so did the third woman.

  Others came forward to join the small group, hands grasping wrists or shoulders, forming a bizarre web of linked bodies.

  Arek shot Rassan a sideways glance. “What are they doing?” he whispered.

  “The man to Nayvia’s left is a siphon.”

  “A what?”

  “A siphon.” At his shrug, the Na’Chi elaborated. “He can draw energy from any Gifted and channel it to where it’s needed. Jomas is one of a dozen siphons here in the keep. Nayvia may have the expertise and skill but not the time or energy required for such a complex healing. With his help, she can tap into as much as she needs.”

  At the edge of Arek’s awareness, the buzzing resonance escalated to a powerful thrum. It reached a crescendo then held steady, the sensation rasping at his senses but not in an unpleasant way.

  No one spoke. Long moments passed.

  “Look!” Rassan murmured, his lips curving upward.

  Blood no longer seeped through or from under Nayvia’s hands. It actually darkened, congealed, and the edges of the gashes sealed together as Arek watched.

  He’d witnessed serious wounds being healed before but nothing like this. Even with only a basic knowledge of treatments, he knew a wound couldn’t be closed without repairing the internal injuries first. Infection was an all too virulent danger.

  What usually took several sessions to heal was happening in a single treatment. Candra, nor any of other provincial healers he knew, had ever mentioned one of their Guild members having the Gift for harnessing energy like Jomas. No one had even suggested it was possible.

  How long could Jomas and Nayvia utilize the skill? Were there any limitations or drawbacks to using Her Gifts in such a way? Was it confined to assisting healers or could it be used in other areas? How many Guilds would covet the chance to learn more about this?

  Arek glanced to Rassan. “I’ve never seen a siphon before. What other Gifts do your people have?”

  “There are some who work with animals, others are able to manipulate the elements, all to varying degrees and depending on strength and stamina . . .”

  “Manipulate the elements? You mean air, fire, and water?”

  “And the weather as well as the earth.”

  “Earth?”

  “The shifting or loosening of soil, rock, sand, and snow.” Here Rassan grinned. “It comes in handy during planting season when new fields need to be cleared of old tree stumps or large rocks.”

  The potential of such Gifts and the knowledge that could be shared . . . Arek shook his head and glanced around the circle of people with new eyes. With the destruction of so many history annals, the extent of the damage done by generations of corrupt Blade Councilors became even clearer.

  What other Gifts did this Clan have that humans had lost track of thanks to people like his grandfather, Yance, and Corvas? How could his grandfather have been so blind as to conceal such incredible information? How many more lives had been lost by his duplicity and betrayal? Sour acid rose and burned in the back of Arek’s throat.

  “Enough.” Nayvia’s soft order broke the silent. The pulsing energy cut off. Her shoulders slumped and one of the female healers caught her. The older woman lifted her head. “Leasha needs to be taken to the hospice.”

  The youth, Rooke, hovered close by, his violet gaze dark with shadows. “Leasha wil
l live, won’t she?” His voice wavered—worry laced with fear at losing a friend.

  Arek recognized the emotions, felt them as if they were his own. Disbelief, anger, utter helplessness, fear—he’d experienced it all watching Kalan fall, impaled by a Na’Reish dagger during the rescue mission gone wrong. The only difference in their situations, he didn’t know if his friend had survived.

  A weary smile curved Nayvia’s lips. “With time and care, she’ll be fine.”

  Rooke’s expression brightened. The solemn tension broke as someone cheered. Chattering began as Leasha was taken away to the hospice. Blessings were called out to the healers; almost all offered praise and thanks to the Lady.

  A Na’Reish clansman with the same hair coloring and facial features as Rooke pushed through the crowd to embrace the youth. A human woman joined them, hugging them both, tears trailing down her cheeks.

  Relieved parents, happy to see their child unharmed.

  Nayvia accepted help to rise to her feet before being embraced by several people who’d helped form the healing link. The Na’Reish male standing beside him and the Na’Chi on his left began sharing their impressions of the event.

  Arek stared once more around at those gathered, listening to conversations filled with so much warmth and respect for the healers and those who’d helped save Leasha. For one bizarre moment, if he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he was back at Sacred Lake amongst friends.

  But he wasn’t.

  He stood in a Clan fortress in Na’Reish territory. No demon he’d ever seen had shown such concern or care over the life of a human. Varian, Lisella, Zaune, and the other Na’Chi had hidden from them, knowing their lives were forfeit if they were ever discovered. Humans hated and feared them, for centuries.

  Yet here they’d worked together to save the life of a human child. Full-blooded demons shared their lives with humans and half-bloods. Old, young, Na’Reish, human, and Na’Chi, yet no one seemed to notice, except him.

  A frisson of energy skittered over his skin. Arek released a shaky breath and rubbed his face with both hands.