Allegiance Sworn (A NOVEL OF THE LIGHT BLADE)

by Kylie Griffin

  She was right. Getting back to the caravan wouldn’t be possible. He muttered a curse.

  “Please, Arek.” Imhara’s hand lifted; her fingers caught the sleeve of his arm before dropping to her stomach when he stiffened. “Leave them in and I die.”

  Na’Reish were tough. He’d witnessed it on the battlefield and Imhara had proven it, surviving a fall that should have killed her, and two assassins.

  He still hesitated though. In his time on patrol, he might have sewn up a cut or two, but her wounds were a lot more serious. Could she withstand his rough field surgery? Yet what choice did either of them have?

  “Having second thoughts?” she asked, her question drawing his gaze back down to her.

  He frowned. “About what?”

  “You made it clear you wanted me dead.” Her lips twisted into a pained smile. “If this was your plan all along, then why did you stop Jedir?”

  “You believe I want to kill you?” Shock stiffened his spine.

  “What am I to think when you hesitate?”

  “Lady of Light, regardless of how I feel about you, up on that fortress wall I gave you my oath to help you.” Despite his anger, he peeled the wadded pad from her arm with care. “I hesitate because I don’t know how strong you are, how much blood you’ve lost, or what other injuries you have that I can’t see. I worry about cutting into you with a knife because of the pain I’ll cause you and whether you’ll survive.”

  He reached across her body to yank the dagger from the Na’Reish demon’s belt. Snow was falling faster. In better circumstances he’d use flame to clean the blade before using it on anyone, but there was no time to build a fire.

  “I’ll take out the arrowheads.” He squeezed the hilt of the dagger. “But only because I have no other option.”

  Two quick cuts and he peeled her sleeve away from the wound. Blood oozed from around the stump of the arrow shaft. Gently he probed the underside of her arm. No broken skin. The head hadn’t gone through. He’d have to dig it out. He grimaced.

  “This isn’t going to be pretty. You ready?” There was no reply. Arek glanced up, wondering if the silence meant Imhara had lost consciousness, only to discover her dark violet gaze fixed on him, her frown now thoughtful. “What?”

  “I’m sorry for misunderstanding your intentions. It’s a comfort to know I have nothing to be scared of when you remove these arrows.” Her fingers flexed as if she wanted to reach out and touch him, but she held back. “Thank you for your concern.”

  A solemn reply, her admission of fear the last thing he’d expected and not a particularly comfortable thought, especially when she’d always projected such confidence and strength.

  Sure, he’d imagined retribution for the time she’d fed from him that first night in her room, and he’d probably alarmed her with his recent Na’Hord comment, but much had altered since then.

  “Do whatever needs to be done, Arek. The outcome is in the Lady’s hands.” Imhara inhaled a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

  Such trust loaded into two simple words. He doubted he’d have put his life in her hands in a similar situation. Her courage shamed him.

  Stripping off the driver’s gloves, and before he changed his mind, he clasped her hand. “May She give us both the strength to see this through.”

  Her fingers tightened on his, trembling. Exhaustion or fear? Her lips parted, as if she was going to speak, but instead she offered him a wan smile and a nod.

  Arek bent to the task of removing the first arrowhead. He worked as quickly as he could, aware that Imhara made no sound other than an initial intake of breath when he first probed the wound.

  Her courage steadied his hand. He could offer her no less. The metal barb came out with relative ease after a minute or two, but the one in her thigh took much more effort.

  By the time he tossed the second arrowhead into the snow beside them, Imhara had passed out. As swiftly as he could, he bandaged her leg and bundled her in the cloak he pulled from the pack.

  After washing his hands in the snow, he pulled the driver’s gloves back on, needing their warmth. Every breath exhaled became a frosted cloud. They needed shelter and a fire. Fuel wasn’t a problem; he could backtrack to the tree line at the end of the gully. Debris lay aplenty at the base of the trees, protected from the wet snow by the branches overhead. But where could he leave Imhara?

  He searched the landscape. A quick walk to examine the dead end brought a smile to his face. The ridge of rock and two boulders formed an enclosed area on three sides. The outward slope of the wall deflected the snow away from the shelter.

  If he worked fast, he could make a lean-to roof and block the fourth side with a woven wall of branches. Once snow covered the roof, it would provide more insulation against the cold. They’d have a dry, warm place to spend the night.

  With a prayer of thanks to the Lady, Arek relocated Imhara and their meager supplies to the sheltered area. As an afterthought, he stripped both demons of their armor and clothes. The extra layers would prove useful as the temperature dropped. Then he dragged the bodies to the other end of the gully. Predators roamed the mountains. While the snowstorm might deter some from venturing out, there was no need to tempt fate by leaving the bodies close to where they sheltered.

  Dumping the armor and weapons near the shelter, Arek hung on to the belts. They’d help with carting the wood. Aware that the afternoon light and visibility was dimming fast, he broke into a jog and headed out of the gully.

  * * *

  “COME on, Imhara, wake up!”

  The distant voice intruded on her sleep.

  “Imhara, open your eyes. . . . Look at me.”

  A warm hand touched her cheek. She stirred and leaned toward it.

  “That’s it. I saw your eyelids flutter. You can do it. Come on, wake up!”

  Coaxed by the voice, Imhara struggled to consciousness, but it was like wading through swamp mud. Her eyelids felt glued shut and everything felt heavy.

  The first look at her surroundings ended up being a blurred image of light and darkness. Quite disorienting. She blinked, a deliberate lid-to-lid meeting, and the world jumped into focus.

  She stared at a thick canopy of tree branches. A forest? Couldn’t be, even though she could hear the wind beyond the limbs. The limbs lay at right angles to one another, crisscrossed over and under. No forest grew like that.

  “I see that you’re admiring my handiwork.” The soft voice was familiar.

  “Arek?” The husky croak came from her throat.

  The Light Blade warrior leaned over her. “I’m here.” Flickering light played hide-and-seek with shadows on his face, but she could see lines of weariness and tension bracketing his eyes and mouth. “How do you feel?”

  “Thirsty.” She swallowed against a dry throat. “Tired.”

  A grunt, then, “The thirst I can help you with but you can’t go back to sleep.”

  A hand slipped beneath her head, his solid support a stark contrast to how weak she felt. A canteen pressed against her lips. Cool water filled her mouth, just a sip. Mother of Mercy, it tasted good.

  “More?” She nodded at the question, wincing as her head began to throb. “Headache?” This time she whispered an affirmative. “I’m not surprised. You have a dark bruise and bump the size of a jamet’s egg on your left temple. It’s why I woke you.” Dark blue eyes peered into hers, checking. “Your eyes look all right.”

  He lifted the canteen to her lips again and let her drink. Her stomach cramped and an intense wave of hunger washed through her. Recognizing it for what it was wiped away the last traces of her lethargy.

  Blood-need.

  Imhara gulped another few mouthfuls of water but craved something much richer, hotter, and thicker in texture. Several hard swallows and she kept the water down. Licking her lips, she tasted the salt of her own sweat. A poor substitute. Only feeding to replace what she’d lost would help her heal. And there was only one way to satiate it.

  With a turn
of her head, her cheek brushed the sleeve of Arek’s shirt. She closed her eyes and inhaled, letting his scent fill her. An earthy blend of heated male and the outdoors mixed with the faintest trace of human blood.

  Her nostrils flared and saliva flooded her mouth. Only a single layer of cloth separated his skin from her mouth, her teeth. It wouldn’t take much to tear and shred it. She could feed.

  Imhara shuddered and fisted the blanket, fighting the primal response.

  “You’re cold.” Arek shifted, letting her head rest against something soft as he moved away from her. She opened her eyes to see him placing wood on a small fire.

  The rock walls around them provided a much-needed distraction. “Is this a cave?”

  “We’re still in the dead end gully, in a shelter, part natural, part built.”

  The space was small, barely big enough for both of them. Kneeling by the fire, Arek’s blond hair almost touched the roof. Within a foot of her blanketed feet was another wall, this one also made of woven branches. The base had two armor chest plates tied to anchor it into the ground. The thick leather would keep snow and draughts out, while a small hole near the top drew out the smoke of the fire. Dead needle-leaves strewn across the floor kept the damp of the ground from them.

  Despite the warmth coming from the flames of the fire, Imhara shivered again. This time she was truly cold.

  The colder she became, the more intense her hunger would be.

  Light, not a good combination.

  Closing her eyes, she released a slow breath and added concern to her list. Not for herself, but for Arek.

  “Imhara, stay awake, don’t go back to sleep.” His tone was light, cajoling, but the acrid odor coming from him betrayed his concern. His compassion made for a welcome change from bitter hatred.

  “It’d probably be better if I did.”

  “Why say that?” She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud until he responded. “I might not be able to wake you next time.”

  Grimacing, she opened her eyes to stare at the fire, listening to the flames crackle and snap as they consumed the wood, and wished she could crawl among the embers. The cold racking her body was bone deep.

  “I’m just so tired.” The truth, enough for the moment. Beneath the cloak, she flexed her good hand, trying to get warm. Perhaps the hunger pangs would ease if she could do that.

  Arek placed more fuel on the fire, then returned to sit beside her. He nodded in the direction of the woven wall. “The armor worn by those Na’Reish don’t have Clan markings on them. Nor could I find any on their weapons. Did you recognize them?”

  “No. And we can assume none of the archers will be wearing anything identifiable, either.” She shifted to look up at him. “Arek, what happened to the caravan? The others?”

  “I don’t know.” The flickering shadows darkened his twilight eyes to ebony. A small frown creased his brow. “The first few wagons were pinned down. Rassan was calling orders to your Na’Hord when we saw you go over the edge of the roadway. I was the closest, so I went after you.”

  Only a few had fallen under attack? That hinted the ambush had been sprung too early. While steep, the hillside above The Overhang was accessible. Any wagons near the bend that hadn’t reached the campsite were in a position to take advantage of that. Her Na’Hord could climb the slopes and work their way around to the forest from there. Rassan would have that knowledge.

  “There were three, maybe four archers.” His firm lips thinned. “Your Vorc took half a dozen arrows. You took two and your armor deflected a third. They were determined to kill you.” Darkness stirred in his gaze, and a bitter heat crept into his scent. “The taller one, Jedir, mentioned they’d been warned about you. That means someone else ordered this ambush.”

  “Assassins for hire.”

  “You say that so calmly.”

  “It comes with the territory, Arek.”

  “I suppose it would.” He blew out a short breath. “Will Rassan kill or capture the archers?”

  “I doubt any will let him take them alive.” Another uncontrollable shudder ripped through her. Merciful Mother, would she never feel warm again? She tried to snuggle deeper into her cloak.

  Arek’s hand smoothed over her forehead, his palm furnace-hot. A quick tug and his hand delved beneath the edge of the cloak and found hers. “You’re wearing two extra layers of clothing, the air is warm from the fire, and you’re still a block of ice.” His frown deepened. “You could have cold-sickness.”

  Unlikely.

  Should she reveal the true reason?

  Imhara chewed her lip. No. Not unless she had no other choice. Arek had enough to worry about without an added complication.

  “I’ve seen healers give hot drinks to those affected by it. We have water and fire but nothing to heat it in.”

  “It’s all right.” Her chattering teeth distorted the words almost beyond recognition. “You’ve done as much as you can.”

  “No, I haven’t.” He grimaced, then his expression hardened and blanked, all except his eyes. The deep blue within blazed, heated, and the pupils dilated.

  A familiar odor of spice filled her nostrils. Arousal. There was no mistaking it in such close quarters. Her pulse beat harder and a shiver raced down her spine.

  What was he thinking?

  With a sharp inhalation, he pulled the cloak from around her and helped her to rise into a sitting position. “Not everything.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Warming you up.” He shifted, moving behind her to lean against the wall. Her eyebrows lifted, but his answer made more sense when he slid his long legs either side of her and cradled her back in against his chest. One arm curled around her waist to steady her as he tucked the cloak back in around them both. A muscle in his jaw flexed and his scent dissipated, as if it had never existed.

  Lady’s Breath, even with three layers of clothing between them, Arek’s body heat reminded her of being next to a smithy’s forge. It was almost painful on any exposed skin. She shuddered and smothered a groan, soaking it in.

  He covered her hands with his. Calloused fingers began to massage hers, surprisingly gentle, stimulating the skin until blood rushed into them, making them tingle and hurt. Her arms were next, his hands stroking then moving in slow, circular motions up each limb, avoiding her wound, working on the muscles he could reach across each of her shoulders without leaning her forward.

  Imhara relaxed into his touch. It felt good. This close to him, she couldn’t escape his scent. Tangy wood smoke blended with the subtle odor of spice. Not as strong as before yet present once more.

  She took a slow breath in through her nose, letting it fill her lungs, savoring it, mulling over what it meant, and found she had to bite the inside of her cheek to contain a smile. Ever since that unexpected kiss between them, she’d been wondering what it would be like to feel his hands on her again. Now she knew.

  The ache building inside her wasn’t just a reaction of her cold limbs responding to his warmth, and she took a moment to enjoy the sensation. She should feel perturbed finding pleasure in his touch, and for wanting more, but couldn’t resist being selfish just this once.

  And no matter how much Arek wanted to deny it, he was far from immune to her. An attraction between them existed. Willing or not. She understood his dislike for her, his need to resist, she even respected his struggle, but couldn’t help wonder what would happen if he dared to accept what was growing between them. She expected it would be explosive, much like their kiss had been.

  Flint to tinder.

  Oil on flame.

  The raw promise of passion; the provocative images that flashed into her head almost took her mind off her hunger.

  Almost.

  “You’ve stopped shivering.” Arek’s breath hit her forehead in warm puffs, his voice husky. “Warmer?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  The hunger had subsided to a tolerable level, but more concerning was the insidious lethargy swamping he
r senses. Sudden and swift, it was hard to resist. Her head dropped back onto his chest and her eyes closed of their own accord.

  “Don’t let me sleep.” Lady help her, her body would shut down if she did. She blinked hard. “I have to stay awake. Talk to me.”

  Her plea sounded slurred.

  “When we arrive at the Gannec fortress, how do I tell all you Na’Reish apart?” Beneath her ear, Arek’s voice rumbled in his chest. “Each Clan has a crest, but how do I differentiate between the castes?”

  Her sleep-fuzzed mind took her a moment to process his question.

  “Look at the way we dress.” She pointed her chin at the armor opposite them. “Garsh’s clothes, his weapons and armor. Simple styles. Worn. Basic designs. He was probably once Na’Reisha, the working class, and then joined his Clan’s Na’Hord. A male’s status improves once he becomes a fully trained warrior. He becomes Na’Reishu, and any mate or blood-kin are elevated with him.”

  “Jedir was also Na’Reishu?”

  “I assume so, although he definitely held some sort of rank, maybe a Commander.” She wet her lips. “You’ll have no trouble discerning which of us are Na’Reishi. Males wear Clan markings and colors on their armor or their finery. Any females with them will be kin or of the same status. You’re either born into the rank or take it by force.”

  “And Na’Reisha are the working class?”

  “Menial labor and grunt work are left to human-slaves, but Na’Reisha are tradesmen, merchants, other skilled workers such as tutors. Some remain in that caste all their lives, some are demoted to the rank because of age, lack of connections, disgrace, or disfigurement. Most try and improve their status by joining the Na’Hord or earning the favor of others in a better class than them.”

  The hypnotic flickering and dancing of the flames drew Imhara’s gaze. Her eyelids grew heavy again.

  “How do Na’Reisha earn favors?”

  A gentle squeeze of her hand and the question centered her. She forced herself to focus and answer. Arek asked question after question and, while she knew he was doing it to keep her awake, the queries weren’t random. He was methodical in the topics he chose, seeking clarification and details when needed, then going back over the information to check his understanding.