How many demons lived within the citadel? Sacred Lake was populated by nearly ten thousand, the largest city in human territory. This placed looked big enough to hold twice that. It made the Kaal fortress look like a crofter’s settlement.
A shiver crept down the length of Arek’s spine. Its design, its defenses, its size all shouted impenetrable. Intimidate your enemies and remind your allies just how powerful you were. Quite an effective psychological tactic, especially given the dominating nature of the Na’Reish.
The trait personified Savyr. And he was venturing into the heart of his territory?
Arek could hear his grandfather questioning his judgment, and if he were honest, all good intentions and vengeance aside, a small part of him agreed. Walking into a nest of shadow-winders voluntarily portrayed a degree of insanity. One couldn’t expect to come away unscathed.
Yet, by the Lady’s Grace, another Light Blade had survived Savyr’s fortress.
Kalan.
Captured, tortured, and believing himself without allies, he’d prepared himself for the Final Journey. Annika’s appearance and offer of a bargain too good to refuse had seemed like divine intervention.
Arek’s lips ghosted with a grin. The Lady had certainly blessed both of them that day, though neither knew it at the time. Faith and hope had prevailed.
He inhaled a slow, deep breath. He could only pray for the same. While his circumstances for entering Savyr’s fortress differed from Kalan’s, unlike his friend, he wasn’t walking alone into the side-winders’ nest.
The challenge—and that’s what he had to view it as, albeit the most demanding one of his life—was not just his. Every person who’d volunteered to accompany Imhara were all committed to whatever journey She’d set them. And like any warrior heading out on patrol, the more information he could glean about his task, the better.
Arek glanced to his travelling companion, the same man he’d borrowed gloves from during the ambush. “Jawn, what are all those tents outside the fortress?”
“It’s where the visiting Clans camp while the Enclave and Games are on. Most of the events are held inside the fortress, but there just isn’t enough room to house us all.”
He nodded. “I know the names of the Clans and their emblems, but how do I know which one is camped where?”
“See the colored flags flying above the pavilions?” The sandy-haired man gestured with his chin. “The two shades of brown belong to the plains-dwelling Tanea. The gold is the Vos from the north, the red with the blue is Huriken. . . .”
As Jawn identified each one, Arek committed them to memory. A minicity in itself, the sea of canvas extended the length of the fortress wall and toward the western side, and straddled both sides of a river that emerged from beneath the wall of the fortress and meandered its way into the forest.
“We’ll be one of the smallest campsites here.” Jawn flicked the reins against the transport beast’s back, clucking his tongue to urge it to keep up with the wagon in front. “Necessity, given what we’re attempting to do this time.”
While the driver kept his voice low, Arek still glanced around, checking on the position of Veht’s Na’Hord. The nearest Vorc-Rider was two wagons back, and four Na’Reishu warriors walking beside the wagon ahead were too deep in their own conversation to take any notice of two humans talking.
Near the head of the caravan, Commander Veht rode alongside Na Kaal, Rassan a respectful Vorc length behind them. Other than sharing the same tent at night, Arek had seen little of Imhara during the day, kept busy with tasks, mentored mostly by Jawn.
Not that he minded. Serving at the last three meals, he’d overheard snippets of the demon regaling Imhara and her kin with tales of his exploits. Veht reminded him too much of some Blade Councilors. How Imhara or Rassan found the patience to endure the arrogant bastard over the last few days was beyond him.
When they reached the outskirts of the city of tents, Veht and his Na’Hord took their leave.
“Thank the Lady he’s gone.” Jawn’s sentiments were reflected in the way Imhara rolled her shoulders, as if to relieve them of tension. “Some days it’s good to be a slave.”
“So, given the choice then, you wouldn’t be a man of rank, Jawn?”
The man snorted. “I’ll stick to farming. Good honest work.”
“Indeed it is. The only diplomacy involved is making sure the dirt-hogs get their fair share of mush.”
Jawn chuckled, his weathered face creasing. “Sounds like you’ve had experience.”
“My father’s parents lived on a croft.” Arek’s mouth curved upward. “As a child, I used to spend each summer with them and help them with the harvest. Hard work but there’s something to be said for seeing the fruits of your labor at the end of the day.”
Simple but satisfying times. Compared to Davyn, his paternal grandparents had been so laid-back and relaxed. The only expectations placed on him had been to complete the never-ending daily chores of farm life. Looking back, those weeks had provided respite from Davyn’s high expectations and ever-present bitterness, and were some of the fondest memories of his childhood.
“Killing for a living, even in the service of the Lady to protect others, wears on a body,” Jawn commented. “Nothing says you couldn’t change the way you live. Perhaps farming might be something to consider for the future if you liked it so much.”
Arek grunted with the suggestion. He’d spent so long knowing exactly the path his future would take that he’d never entertained any other. Couldn’t. For the moment, his destiny remained set.
Jawn pointed with his whiskered chin at a clearing at the end of the curving roadway. “Looks like our campsite ahead.”
As they continued to travel along the edge of the mass campsite, daily activity stopped, demon and human alike. The Na’Reish—mostly male warriors—watched openly. As Imhara drew level with them, all offered her clenched-fists-to-chest salutes and bowed heads. Humans went to their hands and knees and stayed there even after she’d ridden by.
Arek caught his mentor’s gaze and raised an eyebrow.
“They show respect to the whole Clan, not just Na Kaal.” The older man kept his voice to a murmur. “It’s better to show too much than not enough. Once the last Kaal has passed, they’ll resume their chores.”
A good fifteen minutes later, and three more similar displays of behavior, the caravan rolled to halt in an area recently cleared. Forest bordered one side, the imposing fortress wall another, while the third consisted of a line of Clan Sharadan tents.
The Kaal caravan circled the very edges of the cleared land, and Rassan called everyone to a halt.
Jawn pulled on the brake and tied off the reins. “Unpack everything and pile it beside the wagon, then we’ll head over and help set up Na Kaal’s pavilion.”
Arek gave a nod, but before leaping off the wagon to help, he glanced out over the place he’d call home over the next few weeks. Everywhere he looked there were demons—eating around campfires, emerging from tents, engaging in conversation, exercising in small groups—it was hard to spot a human.
Arek inhaled a slow breath, hoping to ease the knot in his innards. Was this how Annika had felt the first time among them after arriving at Sacred Lake? Had the other Na’Chi experienced the same frisson of anxiety skating the length of his spine?
The humans he did see had their heads down, going about whatever task they were assigned, bodies hunched as if they were trying to avoid notice or make themselves as small a target as possible. He frowned.
“If you keep glaring over at the Sharadan camp like that, Arek, you’ll make yourself a target.” Jawn’s soft comment drew his attention downward. “Just concentrate on the task at hand.”
Arek joined the man on the ground. “Is it how you cope with this?” He waved a hand at the hubbub beyond their camp, then steadied one of the barrels being untied. “Doesn’t seeing other humans scuttling about like they’re afraid of their own shadow, scraping and bowing out of fear for their
lives bother you?”
Jawn shot a brief look over his shoulder toward the Sharadan camp, then met his gaze, his steady, level. “Of course it does. But what purpose would it serve to protest? And you can guess what would happen if I tried to intervene.”
Arek had no trouble imagining it, yet frustration still twisted in his gut. “Then how do you ignore it?”
“I play my part in Imhara’s plan. By doing that, I protect my family and friends, the ones I left behind and those who are here with me.” Compassion swirled in the depths of his gaze. “Focus on that, do whatever it takes, no matter the cost.”
“I have done . . . and I’m ready to do . . . whatever I need to bring Savyr down.” Imhara’s words that night of the Clan feast, her sentiment now echoed by Jawn.
“I know you’re used to helping others, but this isn’t the time or place. Not here, not now.” The statement brought him back to the present. “Little comfort, but what I said, does it help?”
“Yes.” A wry smile twisted Arek’s mouth. “I don’t like it, but I understand.”
He set to work emptying crates from the back of the wagon.
* * *
A commotion loud enough to penetrate the heavy canvas walls of her pavilion halted Imhara’s discussion with Rassan. Voices raised in volume, although not in anger, drew her to the entrance.
Emerging from the tent, she peered around the campsite. Everything seemed normal. Her Clan were engaged in a variety of activities. Some, including Arek and Jawn, were by the central campfire cooking the evening meal, others were in small groups scattered around the wagons.
Most had stopped what they were doing to peer toward the Sharadan camp to where the noise seemed to be coming from. The steady hum of voices was drawing closer.
She shot a glance at the warrior stationed outside her tent. “Barrca, what’s going on?”
The blond-haired Na’Chi shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, Na Kaal.”
A crowd emerged from between a row of tents, a writhing mass of Na’Reish, warriors and civilians alike, but what caught Imhara’s attention was the moving flag hoisted above them.
All black, the fluttering pennant sported a shield with two crossed daggers threaded in gold.
Adrenaline surged through her. “It’s Savyr!”
Beside her Rassan uttered a curse. “What’s he doing here?”
Wandering the camps on foot wasn’t the Na’Rei’s usual habit. A missive or a personal visit from Yur with a summons to attend a meeting was more his style. Ignoring the request was done at your own peril. What had prompted him to make a personal appearance?
“Looks like we’re about to find out,” she murmured.
A cohort of black-armored Na’Hord pushed the crowd back with long staves. The first figure to appear on the cleared pathway was Urkan Yur. He wasn’t dressed in full leather armor like the warriors, yet the cut and style of the finery he wore projected an image just as impressive.
But the Second was nowhere as intimidating as the Na’Reishi striding behind him. Savyr Gannec was huge, just over seven feet tall, towering over many of the Na’Hord gathered around them. The latent power in his wide shoulders and thick, bulging biceps couldn’t be concealed by the long-sleeved shirt or loose-laced vest. There was little evidence of him entering his fifth decade. He carried himself with the ease and confidence of a warrior half his age.
Hair the color of obsidian had been pulled back into a tight cue, the severe style emphasizing the strong lines and natural markings running down the sides of his face. Dark brows framed a predatory gaze that missed nothing. A gaze that searched the crowd and settled on her.
The surety and superiority in his slow smile was as lethal as the dagger sheathed in his belt. His look sent shivers skittering down Imhara’s neck.
“Na Kaal.” His deep voice carried, like the rumble of distant thunder. “Welcome to Gannec Fortress. We received word only this morning that your caravan was attacked by brigands. It’s good to see you made it here safely.”
Who had informed him of the attack? Veht? He hadn’t sent a messenger on ahead of the caravan, so he couldn’t have arranged for an audience with the Na’Rei so soon. Scouts though could have easily spotted their approach once they’d crossed into Gannec territory and reported to Savyr. What details had he been given of the attack?
Imhara kept her expression impassive. Polite. His public show of concern seemed sincere, but the crawling sensation across the middle of her back indicated otherwise. More likely he wanted to see if she’d survived the assassination attempt unscathed.
Deception and perception.
Politics and power.
The deadly game she’d been forced into playing five years ago.
Burying her dislike deep, Imhara stepped forward to meet Savyr.
By the Lady’s Grace, this would be the last time she had to participate, and despite the danger, she intended to prevail and create a new life.
For herself and her Clan.
Chapter 24
“NA’REI, you honor us with your visit.” Imhara sank to one knee, head bowed, and watched from the corners of her vision as the others joined her in the traditional greeting of respect. After an appropriate amount of time, she rose, but everyone else remained on their knees. “Your concern for my welfare is humbling.”
Savyr’s smile never changed but his gaze narrowed as it swept over her. “You are unhurt?”
“I’m fine.” No way she was going to tell him about her injuries, and unless he wanted to reveal exactly what he knew and how he’d sourced the information, she doubted he’d pursue the subject. “A few of my kin were wounded, but thanks to the timely appearance of Commander Veht and his Na’Hord, my Second was able to dispatch the brigands quickly.”
“It’s fortunate Commander Veht came along when he did, then.” Savyr’s gaze narrowed farther, yet no flicker of emotion or odor betrayed his true thoughts on the subject. “I’d like to hear the details of his involvement, but there’s another matter I must discuss with you.”
A smooth change of topic.
Imhara gestured to her pavilion. “Shall we go inside where we can be more comfortable?” There were too many interested observers milling around. Was this tactic deliberately engineered? She wouldn’t put it past him. “If you’d sent advanced notice of your arrival I could have had a meal prepared specially.”
Savyr waved a hand. “This won’t take long.”
“Then accept my Clan’s hospitality, such as it is.”
So, whatever he had to say, he didn’t want an audience. Interesting. Was it the discussion or her reaction he wanted to remain confidential? He preceded her into the pavilion while Yur ordered his Na’Hord to take up positions around the camp. The Second followed a moment later.
She caught Jawn’s attention. “Break open a barrel of our best wine. Accompany it with fruit, bread, and cheese.”
During the initial planning sessions, she and Rassan had discussed the unlikely odds of Savyr putting in a personal appearance in camp. Nevertheless a contingency plan had been designed, but she’d never anticipated having to use it.
Yet, while all her people had volunteered to fulfill certain roles, Imhara still hesitated.
“Is there anything else, Na Kaal?” Jawn’s soft inquiry reminded her time was ticking away.
As much as she disliked extending Clan hospitality to the men who’d killed her family, refusing to would be seen as an insult, a complication she couldn’t afford. Yur would never accept her gesture of generosity, but Savyr might.
She met the man’s gaze, her decision tasting like ashes even as she gave the order. “Inform Yrenna her services will be needed.”
The man bowed his head. “Yes, Na Kaal.”
Her people scrambled to their feet to follow her orders. Imhara shared a look with Rassan as they ducked through the flap held open for them by Barrca.
The table, where she’d expected Savyr to sit, remained unoccupied. Instead the Na’Reishi
leader had made himself comfortable on the cushions in the open living area. Yur settled down beside him, leaving the pillow to Savyr’s right for her.
Her Second remained standing just inside the interior wall, and for a moment she envied him. His task, to supervise the service provided by Jawn and his team, while mundane, held much more appeal than joining the two warriors.
Yrenna and two other humans entered carrying bowls and towels draped over their arms. All three women were dressed in the simple thigh-length tunic of servers. One halted at her side while the other two attended to Yur and Savyr.
Imhara dipped her hands in the water. “The Kaal Clan welcomes you both to our home.” Both warriors inclined their heads and copied her actions. The final words stuck in her throat, yet she forced them out. “Our hospitality is yours to enjoy.”
Taking the towel, she wiped her hands dry, then unable to delay any longer, she joined them on the cushions.
The blond woman at Savyr’s feet pressed her forehead to the floor. “If it pleases you, Na’Rei, this slave would be honored to serve you during your visit.”
“I don’t recall seeing her with your caravan before, Na Kaal.” He relaxed backward onto his cushion. “Is she new?”
“A recent acquisition from one of Na Meelar’s forays into the southern provinces.” A half-lie. Yrenna had been taken from her village and brought across the border over a decade ago. When the slaver had revealed she’d been destined for an Isha, a bed-slave auction, her father had rescued the thirteen-year-old girl.
“The quality of Meelar’s goods has been exceptional of late.” Savyr’s appetite for young, human women was hardly a secret. At barely half his age, Yrenna catered to that taste. “Remove your tunic.”
Yrenna rose. In one graceful movement, the young woman caught the hem of her garment and pulled it up and over her head.
Allegiance Sworn (A NOVEL OF THE LIGHT BLADE) Page 18