Allegiance Sworn (A NOVEL OF THE LIGHT BLADE)

by Kylie Griffin

  Lady’s Breath—Arek released a slow breath—Imhara had walked from the fall. A wave of relief made him pause by a tree trunk. He frowned. Why such an intense reaction? He shook his head. That could wait until later.

  Injured and losing blood, he doubted she could move particularly fast. Her tracks headed downhill toward a gentler incline where the spur leveled out.

  He would find her. Eventually.

  But now his greatest concern came from two other sources.

  The first—the imminent snowstorm. If he couldn’t locate her before it hit, they’d both be at the mercy of the elements. Not a death he particularly relished.

  The second—the boot prints marking the earth next to Imhara’s bloody handprint. Although tall, Imhara’s feet weren’t that wide. Nor were there two of her.

  Someone else was hunting her.

  * * *

  “HER tracks lead into the gully!” A deep-voiced hail jerked Imhara out of a doze. “The scent of her blood is fresh!”

  While the wind carried the words to her, she knew her pursuers were close, perhaps at the edge of the tree line where the slope flattened out. Where she’d tripped when her boot had caught on a rock, then fallen. She’d left a trail even a blind ground-burrower could follow.

  Fleeing on instinct hadn’t helped, but it’d been the only option open to her when she’d heard them searching for her after the fall. She’d meant to stop only a moment to gather her strength and her breath, and plan her next move. But the pounding in her head made thinking impossible, so she’d closed her eyes, hoping it would help.

  She grimaced, recognizing the symptoms. Head injury, exhaustion, or blood loss—any or all were probable. She couldn’t afford to be incapacitated by any of them right now.

  Huddled against the side of a boulder, she pressed her cheek and shoulder against its gritty surface.

  “They’ll kill you when they find you, Imhara,” she panted. “Do you want that?” With a grunt she straightened. “No. The Lady helps those who help themselves.”

  But she couldn’t ignore the warm stickiness soaking her right breeches’ leg all the way down into her boot. Her arm didn’t feel much better. The heavy iron odor of fresh blood filled her nostrils. The sleeve of her shirt stuck to her skin from wound to wrist, and the back of her hand bore a bizarre pattern of drying blood.

  She grimaced. The tumble down the valley wall had snapped the shafts of the arrows off and driven the heads deeper into her flesh. They had to come out.

  Blood and dirt caked her clothes, so using them as bandages was out, and cauterizing the wounds to stop the bleeding required a fire. How much time did she have before her trackers found her? Probably not enough to complete that procedure.

  “If she gets away, the Na’Reishi will have our heads.”

  “She’s wounded. How far can she get?” The second voice rose and fell in volume as the wind shifted. Two males pursued her. Both unfamiliar. “We’ll find her unconscious somewhere.”

  Imhara’s lip curled. Such arrogance, holding a conversation while tracking someone they presumed was helpless.

  Which Clan did they belong to? Who had sent them? She issued a soft grunt. Any number of names could top that list, for myriad reasons. She’d made plenty of enemies over the years. Why had they chosen to attack now?

  And what had happened to the others? The caravan? Had they survived the ambush? Had anyone seen her fall?

  So many questions, and no answers.

  No idea if help was coming or if her Clan lay slaughtered up on the roadway. Was she the lone survivor, just like the time she’d lost her family? A shiver worked its way through her.

  Imhara issued a breathless laugh. An iciness tangled with the nausea in her gut. Her laughter became ragged gasps.

  Don’t lose it now! The thought was a vicious command.

  Gritting her teeth, she pressed her injured arm hard against the rough surface of the boulder. Searing agony shot from her shoulder to her wrist.

  “Lady’s Breath!” The hoarse curse ripped from her throat.

  She panted, waiting for the pain to abate. Shivers racked her body. At least the panic had subsided.

  “Come on, Kaal! Too many depend on you to give up now. You’ve felt like Vorc crap after training. You’ve been wounded before.”

  Not this badly.

  The small voice at the back of her mind was hard to ignore when it was right. She crooked cold, stiff fingers over the edge of the boulder and glanced up at the overcast sky. It was still bitingly cold but the wind had dropped. Snowfall was imminent. Could her day get any worse?

  “This blood is fresh!” Stones clattered on her back trail, too close. “She’s headed that way.”

  When Imhara glanced behind her, she saw two Na’Hord warriors round the bend in the gully. With a grunt, she pushed to her feet, uncertain if pure Kaal stubbornness or desperation fueled her.

  “Whatever works, Imhara,” she muttered. Head swimming, she clung to the boulder and waited for the world to steady. “You breathe. Your heart beats. Move!”

  Inhaling hard, she scanned the ground ahead. Her options were limited. Traverse the slope and go up. That required too much energy and a body not handicapped by her injuries. Returning the way she’d come meant meeting her pursuers more quickly.

  So, that left continuing on into the narrow head of the gully.

  A dead end.

  She snorted quietly. Quite appropriate, given the confrontation to come.

  Shrubs and a few boulders littered the ground ahead, chunky sentinels that would provide her with interim way stations as she headed for her end destination—a ridgeline of rock—the most defensible piece of ground she could reach in the time she had left.

  Gritting her teeth, she took a halting step, then another, and another.

  “See, there she is!” Imhara didn’t bother turning at the triumphant announcement. She lurched from one boulder to the next, her legs shaking. “What did I tell you, Garsh?”

  “Where are you going, Na Kaal?”

  She ignored the hail and low-pitched laughter of the two males but welcomed the hot rush of adrenaline as her temper sparked. It helped her cover the last several feet. Breath coming in ragged gasps, she leaned against the cold, hard wall.

  Behind her, gravel crunched underfoot. Her nostrils filled with a heavy acidic odor.

  Predatory excitement.

  Any further sign of weakness would increase their confidence. She turned, her armor scraping against the rock face. Every vibration shot straight through her wounded arm like slivers of glass. Biting back a moan, she drew her dagger from her belt and pushed away from the wall.

  “Looks like there’s some fight left in her yet, Garsh.” Satisfaction oozed from the Na’Hord warrior on the left. His dark purple gaze gleamed as it flickered to the weapon she held. “A futile effort, Na Kaal. I’ll grant you a swift death, if you drop your blade now.”

  “My life is worth more than that.” Anger cut through her weariness and pain. “You’ll have to work for it.”

  “Will we now?” He grunted and folded his arms. “You’re looking a little pale and unsteady on your feet.”

  “And that isn’t dirt staining your breeches.” His companion chuckled. “She’ll be lucky to scratch us with that dagger in her hand, Jedir.”

  “Bold words, Na’Reishu.” She widened her stance, teeth clenched hard to hide the pain of placing weight on her wounded leg. “Come closer and let’s see if I can stick a few holes in you to let out all that hot air.”

  Garsh’s mouth tightened and a gloved fist clenched, as if he wasn’t used to being spoken to by a female in such a manner. Imhara’s mouth twitched. He probably wasn’t.

  “You boast loud for a warrior”—she injected all the contempt she could muster into her tone—“but you lack the courage to follow through.”

  The Na’Reisha’s face flushed a dull red and he took a step toward her. Jedir threw out an arm to stop him. The look he shot Garsh was scat
hing.

  “Clever.” His chuckle wasn’t pleasant. “We were warned you had a mouth.” His glare turned on her and narrowed. “Rest assured we’ll teach you the proper use of it before we’re through with you.”

  “You can try.” Imhara eased into an offensive stance. “And fail, like all the others.”

  Garsh’s gaze widened then flickered to Jedir. Had no one told him she knew how to fight? What arrogance. And a mistake.

  The two Na’Hord warriors took their time closing in on her. Jedir stood over seven feet tall, all brawn and muscle, more than capable of wielding the heavy sword sheathed at his waist. No inexperienced youth, not with the gray streaking his temples and the dark hair pulled back into a single ponytail at the base of his neck.

  His segmented armor ranked him as Garsh’s superior, perhaps a Commander. She frowned, looking between the two warriors. Neither chest plate bore a Clan symbol or distinguishing colors. Given the nature of the ambush, it didn’t surprise her that they’d want to keep their identity a secret.

  Several inches shorter, Garsh was the leaner warrior of the two. His sharper, more rugged features and paler mottled skin pattern definitely relegated him to the lesser ranks. Jedir’s lackey, used to blindly following orders. His gaze kept darting back and forth between her and his superior the closer they came, his hand resting close to the hilt of his sword.

  She kept most of her attention on the taller warrior. Jedir would make the first move.

  “I’m going to enjoy this.” As if his words were a signal, both warriors drew their swords and Garsh rushed her, a war cry erupted from his throat. Temper, ignorance, or nerves, she didn’t care, he’d betrayed his intent.

  He swung his sword. She ducked, lip curling. It cut through the air overhead. She rolled to his right, blade slashing low. It sliced deep into the back of his unprotected knee. Cloth, flesh, and tendons. His cry turned into a howl.

  Pain shot through her thigh as she staggered to her feet, the move lacking her usual grace. His blood warmed her hand, the metallic scent of it rich and thick.

  Garsh lay on the ground, clutching his leg. Hamstrung and handicapped. To get anywhere near her, he’d have to crawl. Whoever these Na’Reish gutter dwellers were, they were learning that a wounded female Vorc had nothing on her. Her mouth kicked upward.

  “Fool!” Jedir’s disdainful tone matched his expression. “I told you not to underestimate her.”

  His purple gaze locked on her. Promised retribution burned there. Her heart pounded harder.

  In one fluid motion, he leapt straight at her. She hurled herself over the nearest boulder. The metal of his blade screeched on stone. She landed in a heap on the other side. The jolt awoke every bruise and ache. Her head swam. The burst of adrenaline hadn’t lasted long.

  “Get her good, Jedir!” Garsh’s hoarse shout vibrated with excitement.

  Footsteps crunched on gravel. From the corner of her eye, Jedir’s sword glinted. She rolled away. His blade bit the ground beside her. She rolled back, throwing all her weight onto it. The studs on her chest armor caught it. The blade bent but didn’t break.

  Mother of Light! She drove her dagger at his leg.

  His boot lashed out, connected with her wrist. Her weapon clattered away among the rocks. His hands fisted in her hair and the edge of her armor, then jerked her upright before slamming her onto her back. The impact stole her breath. She reached for the dagger in her boot.

  Jedir stepped on her wounded arm. She screamed. Her vision grayed.

  “Don’t faint on me, female.” The agonizing pressure on her arm eased. An openhanded slap stung her cheek. “I want you conscious. Garsh will want to hear your cries when I take you.”

  Imhara blinked up at him, processing his words. She couldn’t let this happen. She wouldn’t let it happen.

  “Then, when I’m finished with you, you’ll taste the sting of my blade.” His gaze gleamed. “You’re going to bleed, one slice at a time, and feel your life drain from you.” The warrior crouched, placing his sword to one side. It was within reach. “I wonder what will give me greater pleasure? Your body? Or your death?”

  Imhara willed her numbed arm to move. No matter how much she wanted them to though, her muscles refused to work.

  Fingers of ice speared her heart. “No!”

  An insidious heaviness weighed all her limbs. She had no strength left to fight. Jedir’s lips peeled back from his pointed teeth in a cruel grin. Coldness edged his mocking laughter.

  “Oh, yes.” He smoothed a blunt nail down the side of her cheek, then his fingers gripped her jaw hard enough to bruise. His other hand closed around her throat. “Now, let’s teach you your place.”

  A charge of energy buzzed Imhara’s senses.

  Lady’s Breath, this was it.

  A shadow loomed behind Jedir. “I think not, demon!”

  Chapter 20

  USING a two-handed grip, Arek plunged Imhara’s sword deep into the heavily muscled shoulder of the Na’Reish, where the edge of the armor exposed the skin of his neck and proved most vulnerable. With it went the whole force of his Gift, the power burning through the blade hotter and faster than he’d ever felt before.

  The Na’Reish warrior jerked upright, his black lips stretched wide in a soundless scream. His body convulsed.

  He wouldn’t touch Imhara again. There was no honor in the way the arrogant bastard had taunted her as she lay helpless on the ground, threatening her with rape and a slow death.

  Too many others had suffered the same fate. Arek’s fingers tightened on the hilt of the sword as the faces of his mother, Light Blade sisters and brothers, farmers, crofters, traders, and others, flitted through his mind in vivid, agonizing detail. Every outraged cry, every scream of terror, every plea for mercy with none given, the realization of their deaths etched in their faces in their final moments—echoes of the past reflected in Imhara’s stunned expression as she’d stared up at her opponent.

  But then the Na’Reish saw battle only in the terms of winning and losing. Conquering or enslaving. The strong dominating the weak. Jedir’s intention had been to demonstrate his power in the basest way possible. Because he could.

  A behavior Arek had witnessed too many times to count. Cold gratification filled him as the demon’s gaze glazed over. Planting his boot against the leather-plated armor, he yanked the sword free. The demon toppled over. His body hit the ground with a satisfying thud.

  “There’s another. . . .” Imhara’s warning held barely a thread of sound. Small, white flakes of snow drifted down as he knelt beside her.

  “He’s dead.” Arek cast a glance to where the second demon lay flat on his back, staring up at the overcast sky. His Gift had poured into Garsh just as fiercely as it had with Jedir. “I just wish all Na’Hord were as easy to kill as him.”

  Her brow furrowed, her gaze clouded with pain and confusion, and it dawned on him then what he’d just said. Technically Imhara was also Na’Hord, but for the first time since he’d met her, he hadn’t viewed her as such. How . . . When had that happened?

  Arek cleared his throat, put aside the sword, and began unbuckling her armor. She’d be more comfortable without it. Dints and scrapes decorated it, and one buckle strap had already torn free, testament to the torturous tumble she’d taken.

  “If he hadn’t been so focused on the fight between you and Jedir, he might have seen me approaching.” He motioned to the foliage on the valley wall. “I only had that thin line of shrubs for cover.” Tossing her armor aside, he unslung the pack on his shoulder. Pulling out a shirt, he began tearing it into strips. “You did well to take him down as fast as you did.”

  A smile ghosted her lips. “Thank you . . .”

  “He underestimated you.”

  “Many do.”

  Arek made a noncommittal sound. He’d listened to her threaten Garsh yet never thought she’d take him on. But then she hadn’t known he was nearby. She’d acted and taken the offensive, believing herself to be alone.
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  Just like a warrior.

  Just as he would have.

  How she’d ever found the strength to avoid Garsh’s killing blow—he shook his head—no human would have been able to move like she had with those wounds.

  What would it be like to meet her on the training ground? He suspected he’d enjoy the challenge of facing her, warrior to warrior.

  “Underestimating you seems to be a habit of most males”—and here he met her gaze—“myself included.”

  His wry tone coaxed a smile from her. “Like those two, some learn too late.” Her mouth quirked. “Although I believe there might be hope for you yet, Light Blade.” His own lips twitched as her expression grew somber. “Thank you for saving my life.”

  Her gratitude reignited his awareness that he’d just killed two demons to save one. Something he thought he’d never do.

  He grunted. “Seems like we both had a hand in that.” He wadded a strip of material into a pad. A snowflake touched down on the back of his hand. “The weather’s closing in. Let’s get you tended to.”

  The uneven spots of her skin markings stood out in stark relief against the paleness of her skin. Her lips actually looked more gray than black. How much blood had she lost? He pressed the pad to the wound on her thigh.

  “Arek, the arrowheads have to come out.”

  His gaze lifted to hers. Her eyes were glassy but level. Snow peppered her hair and face. He brushed it from her cheeks and forehead, careful to avoid the dark bruise and bump on her temple. Her skin was cold to the touch.

  “I’m no healer, Imhara. I could do you more harm than good.” He placed his fingers against the pulse in her throat. Rapid and shallow. “We need to get you back to the caravan.”

  He put another pad against the wound on her arm.

  “The snow’s getting heavier. We’d never make it back in time.”

  A thin layer already coated the ground and the surface of every boulder. Gray clouds obscured the top of the valley. The premature arrival of evening would inhibit travelling even if the snow wasn’t present. With both, the temperature would drop fast.