Allegiance Sworn (A NOVEL OF THE LIGHT BLADE)

by Kylie Griffin

  Blood pounded through his veins. The insane hunger for another taste of her mouth tempted him as nothing else ever had. He grit his teeth and battled it, every muscle aching at the enforced command to do nothing until he had mastered his body. He concentrated on quelling that desire, determined to regain control of himself. But his thoughts kept returning to the defining moment.

  Merciful Mother, he’d kissed her. A demon.

  He hadn’t been sure he could, but he had, unwilling to let her challenge go unanswered, and—here he balked at the thought—he’d found pleasure in the kiss.

  He’d experienced desire for a Na’Reish demon. So hot and intense reason had gone south, just like the blood in his veins. He was semihard just from kissing her, aching with every beat of his heart.

  And he craved more.

  That fact drained the blood from his face. He sucked in another breath. How could he feel all that for her? Her goading couldn’t be used as an excuse. He was an adult, not some juvenile pressed into a silly dare.

  Why had his body betrayed him?

  But what shocked him more was the realization that she’d enjoyed their kiss, too. He’d kissed enough women to discern when one reacted out of obligation or passion. Her fervent response equaled his.

  Even now the touch of her fingers where she gripped his arms through his shirt burned. Merciful Mother help him if her intent ever changed and she decided to do more than hold on to him.

  Arek shook his head. He wasn’t ready to deal with any of this. Not now.

  Lifting his gaze, he found Imhara watching him, her purple-hued gaze glittering, intent, thoughtful. Slowly she stepped back, putting more space between them, and he let her go. It was the sensible thing to do. His hands shook. He shoved them deep into his pockets.

  “Well, this certainly changes things.” The sultry note in her voice reawakened the need he thought he had under control. Heat surged into his cheeks. Ruthlessly, he suppressed it.

  “What do you mean?” His voice rasped out the words. She wasn’t going to dissect the incident, was she?

  Imhara raised an eyebrow, her expression bright with awareness, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking, and she probably did, given that he had trouble controlling the scents his body gave off.

  “I was prepared to use the contingency plan.” Her admission wasn’t the answer he expected. “But you’ve just proved Rassan was right and I was wrong.”

  “About what?”

  A satisfied smile curved her lips. “You’re ready to be my slave.” Her eyes glittered with hope and excitement, and something else he couldn’t identify. “There’s a lot to cover, but we have a few days while we cross over Skadda Pass. Time enough for you to learn the basics of being a slave, and if you commit to the role, we might just stand a chance.”

  Arek blinked then frowned. Their kiss had convinced her?

  The sense of rightness he’d felt while ascending the stairway to the wall returned, a reassuring feeling he grabbed onto with everything he had.

  He let out a short, sharp breath. This had to be the path She wanted him to tread. He might not like it, but it would help keep him focused.

  “Just to put your mind at ease, Light Blade”—Imhara’s voice held a thread of amusement—“for perception’s sake, we’ll share a bed, but I’m not willing to take on all of Na Kaal’s proclivities.” Her smile twisted to something more bitter, tinged with a shadow of sadness. “I’ve done quite a few distasteful things to maintain that reputation, but forcing you to be my bed-slave is a line I won’t cross. On this you have my Lady-sworn oath.”

  Strangely enough, something in her voice convinced him. Why she hadn’t pursued what had happened between them, he had no idea. That she hadn’t was a relief, and he felt a grudging respect for her judgment call.

  It still felt odd hearing a demon invoke the Lady’s name, yet Arek nodded. “And you have mine to see this plan through, whatever it takes.”

  Chapter 18

  “WEATHER’S coming in!”

  The call carried over the crunch and grind of iron-rimmed wheels on stones. Arek glanced up as one of the transport beasts he walked beside snorted and huffed, its harness rattling as it worked to pull the loaded cart behind it.

  Skadda Pass was no longer visible, instead dark gray clouds billowed around the summit, obscuring the snowcapped peaks. The eastern slope across the glacial valley remained bathed in midafternoon sunlight, but the caravan was headed northwest, toward the ominous clouds.

  “Move closer together!” Half a dozen wagons ahead, Rassan sat astride his Vorc, leading them along the mountain trail. As the order was called down the line, he flipped up the hood of his cloak to shield himself from the headwind he’d be turning back into once he set out along the trail again. “We’ll make camp at The Overhang.”

  Arek hoped the site would provide some shelter from the elements. For the better part of the day, it’d been a sunlit, steady trek through the undulating foothills heading north along the steeper slopes of the Skadda Mountain Range. With the higher altitude came a drop in temperature, and everyone had donned warmer clothes or cloaks.

  The thicker, more densely wooded forests of the foothills were absent and had been for half a day. Instead stunted alpine trees grew in haphazard patches on the gray, rocky ridges, most on the leeward side of spurs instead of the windswept slopes. Scraggly bushes clumped together where they could, their gnarled roots forcing their way into every crack and fissure on the rocky ground.

  The trail though was wide and well worn, safe enough for wagons, but little protection against a snowstorm if they were caught out in the open, and the heaviness of the clouds ahead and the icy scent in the air foretold snow.

  “Let’s pick up the pace, Second!”

  The hail came from farther down the line. Rassan raised a gloved fist in acknowledgment.

  The sound of claws grating on stone had the transport beast letting out a snort. Arek reached out to pat its shaggy head as the heavy odor of Vorc musk filled his nostrils on the next gust of wind. The transport beast issued a low-pitched rumble.

  “It’s all right, girl,” he murmured, empathizing, none too comfortable with the predator’s presence, either, even though he’d seen all the riders muzzle them before the trip started.

  The Vorc-Rider drew level with them.

  Imhara.

  No, she was Na Kaal.

  Rassan’s parting instruction when they’d left the Kaal fortress had been to practice using the titles assigned to every Na’Reish so that when they began their role-playing it would be second nature.

  The black-clad figure seated on her mount certainly looked like a Clan Na. The leather armor buckled around her torso bore the Kaal emblem—a mountain peak with a crescent moon—the green and silver colors hand painted into the design. Her sword hung in its scabbard strapped to the pack on the back of the saddle pad, but a dagger lay sheathed on her belt and another protruded from the top of her knee-high leather boots.

  Arek ran his gaze over her profile, free to study her unobserved. With her hair pulled back into a tight plait, it fell halfway down her back. The style accentuated the proud line of her jaw and neck, her demon markings clearly visible until they disappeared beneath the collar of her undershirt.

  The unconscious but graceful way she moved and adjusted to her mount’s gait spoke of a lifetime in the saddle. Her Na’Hord responded to her commands with easy acceptance, something he hadn’t had the chance to see back at the fortress. She was a leader well respected, and it explained, too, the aura of self-confidence he’d seen when they’d first met.

  Black breeches molded to her long legs as she rose in her stirrups and peered ahead. Dark brows veed downward and her black lips flattened. Unlike most Na’Reishi Lordlings who preferred the comfort of travelling in a warm wagon, she’d remained on duty with her Na’Hord.

  Arek wondered just how many other Clan Na’s patrolled their caravan aware of everything that was happening rather than relying
on periodic reports from their Second. Very few, if he went by what he’d observed while on border patrol in the past.

  “A snowstorm, Na Kaal?”

  One eyebrow rose at his use of her title, but she made no comment. “Within the hour.” She resettled in the saddle, and with an easy twitch of the reins, guided her Vorc closer.

  “Will it delay us long?”

  She gave a half shrug. “It depends. If this wind keeps up, it’ll blow over and move southward through the valley in a matter of hours. Even if it holds us here overnight, being one of the first storms of the season, it should start to thaw once the sun rises.” Deep violet eyes flickered in his direction. “You don’t come from a mountainous province?”

  A casual question asked in a cautious tone, as if she were unsure how he’d take a personal inquiry.

  Arek couldn’t see the harm in answering. “My duties took me to places in the mountains, but I grew up on the plains.”

  Her gaze returned to the jagged landscape. “It can be wild and extreme, particularly in the worst of seasons, but you should see it in late spring–early summer, when all the wildflowers and new growth appear on the slopes. So different to the barrenness you see now. Like any place, it’s not so bad once you learn how to read the weather.” Genuine warmth infused her voice. A gloved hand pointed to the clouds ahead. “See how the vapor rises and rolls forward along the leading edge of the storm? That tells me a warm wind pushes it from the Gannec side of the range, probably originating from the Chomi Desert. With the cooler weather here, the clouds are drawn over the mountains.”

  It wasn’t dissimilar to the rainstorms he was more familiar with. Heat from the plains built the thunderclouds while the cooler tree-lined hills and water in Sacred Lake directed its path.

  “Does the cold season stop Meelar and his slave-raiders?” he asked.

  “In the dead of winter, Skadda Pass can be closed for several weeks. At other times, there have been those of his ilk who’ve ignored my warnings about leaving a crossing too late in the day or season. Out-of-season snowstorms do occur. It’s usually the next party who discovers their bodies on the trail and learns from their mistake.”

  A hail from the head of the caravan drew their attention. Arek stepped farther out on the trail to see what was going on.

  Ahead the road curved east, taking advantage of a natural cut in the side of the mountain, and formed a shelf wide enough for wagons to turn around in. The overhanging rock face towered above them, while the slopes above and below were peppered with trees, the thickest groves he’d seen since the foothills.

  “We’ll be well protected here tonight. I’ll be glad to get out of this wind.” A satisfied grin stretched Imhara’s lips, one he couldn’t help but share. The heat of a fire would be welcome indeed. “If you look along the rock wall, you’ll see iron rings hammered into it.”

  For beasts or humans? Although he didn’t ask that question aloud, not really wanting to know the answer. Instead, “So, this is a regular stop?”

  “It’s the only place to camp once you begin the trek over the pass, coming or going. Ahead there’s more open ground; most of it’s bare rock or screes. No place for a caravan to halt even in the best of weather. The winds up here can be dangerous. After this the valley narrows. It’ll take another few hours to reach Skadda Pass, and then we’ll be riding single file, after that we start the descent into Gannec territory.”

  Wagons were beginning to position themselves in a circle on the wide shelf.

  Imhara kneed her mount forward. “When we finish setting up camp, meet with me, and we’ll go over what you know about the Na’Reish and fill in any gaps you may have.”

  The gaps most likely referred to slave etiquette. Arek nodded and turned, intending to help the driver position his wagon, when he heard a high-pitch whine pass overhead.

  Imhara’s Vorc howled. Arek swung around, adrenaline surging through him, expecting to see the predator in attack mode. It lunged away from him, shaking its head, fighting to tear the reins from Imhara’s grasp. When it couldn’t, it tried to turn toward its back leg. She fought to control him.

  “Ambush!” Rassan’s warning cry echoed around the campsite.

  Arek dropped into a crouch as something hit the rocky trail and ricocheted off to the side of the road. A feathered shaft buried itself into the dirt barely an arm’s length from him.

  Arrows!

  More struck the campsite, some piercing the wagon’s canvas covers, others the supplies strapped to the sides. People leapt from the seats and scrambled under the bases for cover. Arek ducked behind the wheel of the wagon. He joined the driver who was already crouched there, then peered up at the tree line, searching for the archers and a way to reach them.

  How many were there? The trees offered them perfect cover and concealment. A quick look around showed the enemy’s fire had concentrated on the lead wagons. Arek’s gaze narrowed. Not so many as he first thought. Maybe three or four archers.

  Imhara’s Vorc howled again. Keeping below the height of the wagon, Arek swiveled on his heel. Two arrows protruded from the thick muscle of the Vorc’s hindquarters. In swift succession another pierced its throat then its chest. Its howl turned into a strangled gurgle. Imhara jerked in the saddle then clutched at her thigh. A feathered shaft poked through the fingers of her glove.

  Another arrow struck her chest armor and deflected off. A third impaled her upper arm and knocked her to one side. Grimacing, she fought one-handed to remain in the saddle, but her feet had come free of the stirrups.

  Her mount stumbled backward with her shifting weight, perilously close to the edge of the trail and the steep wooded hillside. Its wounded leg buckled. One back claw slipped, grating the lip. It scrabbled for purchase.

  “Imhara!” Rassan’s shout came as she and the animal disappeared over the edge in a spray of pebbles and stones.

  Chapter 19

  AREK’S stomach knotted at the look on Imhara’s face—horrified disbelief—the moment before the Vorc slipped and they both tumbled over the edge of the roadway. It was the same emotion he’d experienced the day he’d watched Kalan take a Na’Reish blade in the gut. He’d seen it coming but been unable to stop it happening.

  Just like now.

  A swift glance at Rassan revealed he was too involved with the ambush to be in any position to help. Who knew how long it would take to fight the enemy off or if they would succeed.

  Heart pounding in his chest, Arek turned to the wagon driver. “Quick! Your gloves!”

  “What?” The sandy-haired human stared at him as if he’d gone mad.

  “Give me your gloves!”

  The man stripped them off. “Why?”

  With no time to answer, Arek pulled them on. He sprinted to the spot where Imhara had gone over. Boots skidding on loose gravel, he dropped to his stomach and peered over the lip of the trail. A vulnerable position with the archers, but he ignored the crawling sensation between his shoulder blades.

  Merciful Mother! A sickening scar of missing rock and chunks of soil marred the slope before something heavy had smashed through the tree line over a hundred feet below. A few stray rocks and pebbles still rattled down the hillside.

  Could Imhara have survived the fall? The hillside wasn’t a sheer drop, but it was steep enough, studded with trees and bushes, perhaps enough to slow her momentum, if she’d been thrown clear of her mount.

  If not . . . Lady of Light, he’d seen the injuries a fallen war-beast could inflict on a rider. Most had been fatal. Vorc were as heavy and solid an animal as them. A shiver worked its way down his spine.

  Sucking in a deep breath, Arek launched himself over the edge. He dug his gloved fingers and heels of his boots into the earth to control the slide. Already loosened, more clods of dirt dislodged with his descent. He watched them skip and bounce ahead of him. Some shattered into clouds of dust as they struck once too often, some vanished into the tree line.

  Enough debris had built up at the end of
the scar to create a mound. He flung himself sideways and hit hard enough to drive the wind from his lungs. Better that than broken legs. Rocks and dirt cascaded over him. Gasping and coughing for breath, he covered his head until the worst of it was over.

  Slowly, Arek looked up. The heavy scent of fresh earth filled his nostrils as his breathing steadied. A quick glance back upslope reassured him nothing else would tumble down on top of him. Faint war cries drifted on the cold breeze.

  With a swift pray to the Lady for Rassan and the others, Arek rolled to his feet and headed into the stunted alpine forest. The Vorc lay ten feet in. It rested against the trunks of several trees, neck snapped by the fall. The coldness curling in his gut intensified.

  “Imhara?”

  Arek worked his way around its tail end, using the tree trunks to combat the slope of the ground. One more step and he stared at where he’d anticipated finding her broken body, and blinked when it wasn’t there.

  Pulse beating hard, he scoured the ground for signs of her. “Imhara!”

  Only the sound of the wind whistled through the forest. How in the Lady’s name had she walked away from a hundred-and-fifty-foot tumble with two arrows in her? Built stronger than humans, the Na’Reish could take more punishment to their bodies—broken limbs were rare, their bones heavier, denser; he’d seen that time and again on the battlefield—but injured internal organs bled and incapacitated them just as easily as humans.

  Arek shook his head and peered around the forest. With the overcast conditions, shadows of gray obscured everything. Precious moments slipped away as he untied Imhara’s pack from the dead Vorc. If she were alive, he’d need some of the items contained within. He slung it and her sword belt over his shoulder, then began searching for her trail.

  At the base of a nearby tree, he discovered drag marks and chips of tree bark scattered on the moss, as if someone had used the trunk to pull themselves upright. And there—he stretched out his fingers to trace the clear outline—the heel of a boot. Farther on, a rock stained with a bloody handprint.