Under a Warrior's Moon

by C. L. Scheel

"Captain! What have you done?"

  He turned to face the girl and began moving toward her, sword poised. It occurred to him that he was turning against every honorable oath he had taken about not harming the defenseless, only this girl was not defenseless.

  Meri lifted her chin defiantly--her eyes were ageless, full of corruption and ancient evil. "You will die horribly, Captain Mar'Kess. The Holy Sister will not take this offence lightly."

  "I will take that risk," he answered grimly, still moving toward her.

  "You will yield, Captain. All must conform. It is inevitable."

  "I will when Verlian Summons me."

  Holding the sword in two hands, Mar'Kess drew it back over his right shoulder. A mere girl stood defiantly before him with her back against the dank wall, not ten inches from the point of the blade. Her once pretty gray eyes were now pale and consumed with the rot that had set within her.

  "For Lady Falla," he said quietly and drove the blade into her throat.

  MAR'KESS FLED down the darkened, grim corridors of Gorendt Keep past Kitarisa's rooms. Dawn was not far and he prayed he would be in time.

  With every footstep he was certain he could be heard. His chain mail clanked noisily and his own heavy breathing sounded like a roar in his ears.

  Across the wide expanse of the cobbled yard, Mar'Kess' horse waited patiently near the gate. From the dark safety behind his horse, he glanced upward at the north tower. There was no light in the window, giving evidence that the occupant still did not know about the two dead women.

  White Sisters in Gorendt? Was it possible? Was this the real reason Kazan had wanted Princess Kitarisa to go to the Catacombs? And Lady Falla?

  Mar'Kess wasted no time swinging into the saddle and heeling the bay around and out of the courtyard. He was fortunate the smaller yard was not guarded, not like the great yard at the front of the Keep. The smaller one was only used as a service entrance for the soldiers, tradesmen, or merchants and at this late hour, there were no guards on duty.

  Captain Mar'Kess rode through the silent city, hurrying past the darkened shops and homes. The horse's hooves clattered loudly on the cobbled streets and he marveled at how the Talesians had gotten out of the city unheard and unseen.

  At the last gate, the north gate, he saw the fluttering torches where the last guards waited to question anyone who might be traveling in and out of the city, particularly someone on a strange late-night ride. It was then Mar'Kess realized he was not wearing his green and black surcoat or any other marking to display his rank.

  "Halt!" the young guard barked. There was only one man on duty. He looked neither bored nor sleepy, but fresh and alert--a textbook soldier attentive to his duties.

  "Where is the other guard?" Mar'Kess snapped, immediately resuming his authority over the man.

  The guard thrust his torch up and peered into Mar'Kess' face. "First Captain! Sir! He...He is resting--it is my turn at the watch."

  Mar'Kess nodded. "Had you not been informed I would be leaving through this gate? I had sent specific orders to be relayed to all the gates."

  The guard blinked, confused. "I received no such orders, sir."

  "Then there has been a breakdown in communication from the duty officer. I will speak to him when I return. Until I do, you are not to record my leaving through this gate in your log. Is that clear? To do so would be in direct defiance of the Prince Kazan's own orders. Are you taking my meaning, soldier?" Mar'Kess warned ominously.

  The guard snapped to attention, the torch trembling in his left fist. "Understood, sir!"

  "Good. You will not mention this to the other guard. The prince's life depends on your silence."

  Mar'Kess did not wait for a reply, but spurred the bay through the gate and northward to find a band of Talesians.

  THE BRIGHT HALF-LIGHT of the moon was enough to guide them deep into the northern woods above Gorendt, toward the Talesian encampment. Kitarisa's brown gelding struggled bravely to keep up with the two other horses, but once they were in the deepest part of the forest, Assur slowed them to a cautious walk.

  She should not have been surprised but the sound of approaching horses moving through the forest startled her. It was Brekk and the others who had been waiting for them.

  "Which way, my lord?" Brekk asked.

  "It is said a Wrathman can track a fish in water. We may not be able to outrun them, but maybe we can make them think we have. The Catacombs are east, Riehl is north. If I were a Wrathman, I would expect you to take the princess north to Riehl. We ride west for a time and then north until we reach Nattuck."

  Glad for the order in which the horses fell, Kitarisa planted herself firmly behind Assur and Brekk with Del and Jarad behind her. Kuurus and Sherlin took the lead, while the young Courronus brought up the rear. She was convinced that they were either cats or owls. With an unfailing sense of direction, Kuurus headed west through the blackest of Gorendt's woods as easily as if they were on an afternoon ride to a picnic.

  Kitarisa overheard Assur discussing the recent events to Brekk in low tones and every once in awhile, when the moon shone through the trees, she could see him nodding in agreement.

  It wasn't long before Assur reined back to ride alongside her.

  "I am sorry you had to leave your friend so quickly. She seemed a kind lady and loyal to you. I pray Verlian she will be blessed."

  "Lady Falla was the only friend I had, the last reminder of my mother. I shall miss her."

  "Perhaps one day you will return and see her again."

  Kitarisa shook her head. "No, my lord. Gorendt will always be a place of unhappy memories. Most of my life has been full of bitterness and hatred. I am sorry to leave Falla, but I will never return."

  She could not see him nod, but knew by his silence he was agreed with her.

  "I have not taken the opportunity to thank you for helping me...again. It seems you are always saving me from something. I hope I can repay you in some way. You have been more than generous. I want you to know I will not hold you to your oath. I will release you and return the pearl. It is not necessary to...I mean, you do not have to..." she finished lamely, embarrassed.

  "Kitarisa, I have no intention of renouncing my oath to you. A Talesian does not take a blood oath lightly. Only if you wish it will I do so. As I said, I have paid your bride-price. I will have to earn your affections."

  She did not know what to say to him. Lady Falla had whispered the very same thing--to let him win her heart. Curious that Falla did not say for her to win his heart. Kitarisa did not even know if she really wanted anyone's affections, particularly Assur's. He was so...disturbing.

  Assur turned his attention from her to Kuurus, calling for him to pick up the pace.

  Kuurus acknowledged the call and put spurs to his horse's flanks. They surged forward, due west, toward the great wall of the Adrex while the faint, milky threads of dawn touched the eastern sky.

  THREE MEN KNELT before the pacing, white-haired figure--her white robes lashed about her with each abrupt turn and the incredible cascade of ice-white hair trailed down her back nearly to the floor like a shimmering veil, following the angry movements of her skirts.

  Kazan shifted uncomfortably from one knee to the other. He disliked this groveling business, particularly in his own private chamber, but he had no choice. To arouse Malgora's anger by something as trivial as disrespect, especially at this moment, could be painful, even fatal.

  He did not understand Malgora's wrath. Kitarisa was gone--not to the Catacombs as he had hoped, but to the barbarians. What if they told the Ter-Rey that she had abdicated? The document was signed, sealed, and witnessed. Even the High Prince would be unable to remand that document.

  Kazan's plans would proceed as he had arranged. The Maretstani girl arrived in a few days and the betrothment announced. He would make sure Alor and Dahsmahl were joined as soon as legally possible. Then Riehl would be his. All the splendor and power of that great city in his hands--the great trade vessels loaded wi
th the treasures of their finest artisans, sent down the Sherehn to Maretstan and beyond to the southern tribes, only to return with gold and silk, wine, and rich carpets--and more importantly, the swords –- swords that were said to be finer that any Siarsi blade.

  Trade ships would also bring the great crossbows from farther east than the Barren, beyond the Oduns, from a land Kazan himself could only imagine in his dreams.

  And if Riehl refused Alor and Dahsmahl? There were fifteen thousand Maretstani warriors determined to see their princess properly placed on a throne worthy of her status.

  Kazan glanced across to his right, beyond the man kneeling next to him--to the Wrathman, pious and smug in his long gray robe and surcoat, his hands folded demurely over his belly. He was neither intimidated nor ill at ease kneeling before the enraged Reverend `Fa. His small, deep-set eyes shone in a kind of ecstasy--the man fairly trembled with it.

  Kazan fought the temptation to sneer, careful to avoid Malgora's sharp eyes. He bitterly resented being treated like some schoolboy caught in a prank and now forced to endure her pitiless humiliation. Or punishments. Malgora could inflict pain, a pain so horrible, you begged to die.

  The young guard between him and the insufferable Captain Syunn, could have been no more than twenty--young and eager, ready to fight and die in the glory of battle. He would assuredly die, but not in glory.

  Malgora stopped her pacing and faced the three of them.

  "It is fortunate for you that the Divine Medruth has infinite patience. I am but her handmaiden, her `fa, but I will try and demonstrate her patience in this matter. However, I will have my answers." She glared at the three of them. "Two of my faithful have been wrongfully slain, butchered like sheep. Kitarisa has fled along with their slayer to the barbarians, who will in turn relay the news of her abdication and of our presence to the Ter-Rey."

  She turned on Kazan. "How long do you think you can hold back the deluge of Talesians that will sweep out of the Adrex?"

  "With all due respect, Holy Sister, the barbarians will not have enough time to journey to the west, raise an army, and return in time to stop us. Alor will sit on the Falcon Throne and fifteen thousand Maretstani will be garrisoned in Riehl Keep. Winter is fast upon us, Holy Sister. They will not get through."

  "His Highness is quite correct, Holy One," Syunn interjected. "And, if my men are permitted to capture these barbarians, then who will be left to tell the Ter-Rey? Who will miss seven barbarians? If the Ter-Rey inquires...well?" Syunn shrugged. "Winter is upon us and the marglims are hungry."

  Malgora smiled at her favored captain. "The Divine Lady has once again shown her wisdom through you, dear Captain. It is a pity you were not born to rule, however, your talents are best put to use as our champion. Very well. You shall take the faithful and track down these animals; do with them as you will, but their leader, Assur, is not to be killed. You will not force him to submit. Bring him to me, as with the one called Mar'Kess. That one, I shall deal with personally!"

  "And the princess?" Syunn asked, casting a sly glance at Kazan.

  "You have served long and well, Captain. Even the faithful deserve a reprieve. And, you are a man. You may have the princess since she has outlived her usefulness to me."

  "Holy Sister..." Kazan started to protest.

  Malgora turned on him, her clear eyes hard as ice. "You have no voice in this matter, Kazan. It was you who cast her off and I seem to recall it was your idea to have the girl killed at Sherehn Keep. Your concerns should be with your army and your precious weapons."

  Kazan bit his tongue and kept silent. Unfortunately, the detestable woman was correct. So be it.

  Malgora smoothed the folds of her gown, mastering her anger. She then focused on the young guard kneeling between Kazan and Syunn. She smiled at the warrior's defiant gaze and rigid bearing.

  Kazan felt a brief stab of remorse for the luckless young guard. They were all the same at first--angry, resistant and willful. Such strength, but Malgora used them up so quickly.

  "And now, soldier," she said, lifting his chin with cold white fingers.

  The warrior jerked his face away from her touch, revolted. His hands had been tied behind his back to prevent any possible chance of him striking her, but the loathing in his eyes could not be contained.

  "Your Captain Mar'Kess passed through your gate last night, is this true?"

  Silence.

  "Your loyalty to the captain is commendable, but it is misguided. I will warn you once. Tell me what I wish to know, or I shall call for the Affliction."

  "I do not disobey orders, especially to a witch!"

  Both Kazan and Syunn sucked in their breath at the young man's words. Angering this woman was worse than foolishness, it was fatal.

  "Perhaps if I were to persuade him?" Syunn offered cautiously.

  Kazan flinched and looked away. The guard was as good as dead.

  "No, Syunn. This one must learn his obedience to Medruth, firsthand. I will ask you again, soldier. Did Mar'Kess pass through your gate?"

  Boldly the young warrior met Malgora's malevolent gaze. "No."

  Her lightened eyes closed as she raised one pale fist over her head. The air became static, dancing around her shimmering hair. From her lips came words, unknown and evil. Her voice rose, crackling, sharp and cruel. Only one word was intelligible: Medruth.

  Her hand swooped down on the kneeling guard, grasping his temples between her fingers. Kazan swallowed hard as he watched the tell-tale signs of the excruciating pain shooting through the young soldier's skull and down the column of his spine. He was not allowed to collapse but held upright, firmly within Malgora's grasp.

  Kazan knew the guard would not last long. He could not escape the fire in his lungs, or the white-hot needles in his brain. The warrior looked up into Malgora's face and gagged on a scream. Her eyes had turned from icy-gray to black, glittering obsidian orbs with no white, no pupil or cornea. The blackness of those eyes sucked at the guard's soul, pulled at him, emptying him of any desire to resist or defy her. Her voice had become a hideous, devouring shriek from which there was no escape.

  "WHERE DID HE GO?"

  The young soldier struggled to stay upright on his knees, but Kazan knew he longed to collapse, to die. Blood ran from his nose into his mouth--he choked on it. He did not have the strength to look away from those horrible eyes.

  "Tell me!"

  Kazan felt his stomach contract. The soldier would not last much longer.

  "Obedience! You will be obedient!"

  "North," he gasped, almost sobbing.

  The response did not bring the blessed relief Kazan knew the warrior craved. His agony was not over. Pain rattled at his torn lungs, throbbed in his head.

  Do anything, boy! Say anything!

  Malgora released her grip on his head.

  "Who are you obedient to, young man?"

  The guard wavered on his knees, his head lolled back. Even the effort to open his eyes was an obvious agony.

  "Medruth," he whispered through bloodied lips.

  Malgora stepped back, triumphant. The cord would not be necessary. The guard lay dead at her feet, soaked in his own blood.

  She glanced at the sickened Kazan.

  "Get rid of this," she snapped. "Then leave me and attend to your armies and your worthless children."

  Kazan hastily scrambled to comply. He wondered how he was going to keep this soldier's violent death a secret. He would have to think of something. Maybe marglims, as Syunn had suggested.

  It never occurred to him that he was performing a task only a servant or another soldier would have done. He dragged the guard's ruined body out of the chamber, eager to get away from Malgora and the groveling Syunn.

  WITH HER NORMAL eye color restored, Malgora again turned her attention to Syunn. It pleased her that he had remained to share in her triumph, however modest.

  "There was little strength in him, Syunn. He broke like a twig in the wind. I discovered only a fragment of
information. Mar'Kess did indeed pass through his gate and headed north. It was just before dawn. He will go to the barbarians, of course."

  She paused to compose herself.

  "Take the faithful, find the Talesians and do as you have been told. But stay sharp. This Assur is strong and resourceful. He will not be easy to find or capture."

  "You need not worry, Holy Sister. They cannot hide for long. The wisdom of Medruth is with us, leading us to wherever they may go."

  The captain rose and shook out the folds of his cloak. He bowed to Malgora, placing his right palm over the white serpent on his left breast.

  "You shall have your barbarian and the murderer in three days, Reverend `Fa."

  "Medruth blessings be with you," she intoned, holding one white-taloned hand over his bowed head.

  Syunn departed, leaving Malgora to mull over the events at hand. She turned to the blackwood table and picked up the deadly sharp saddle knife. It lay across her left palm as she ran her fingers over the gleaming flat of the blade. Such a beautiful weapon--but then all weapons, particularly those of such exquisite power must be used with care and great skill. In the hands of an amateur, the knife was only the instrument of a butcher.

  Malgora had been surprised at the strength of Lady Falla's resistance. The Affliction had to be called several times before Falla revealed everything about the brave little mission on Kitarisa's behalf. The lady's will had been strong, almost unbreakable. But, breaking a Talesian warrior would be even more difficult. Malgora smiled at the thought. They were magnificent, and so much power in them. Using that power correctly would be the challenge.

  Malgora touched the mark stamped deeply into the bright steel. Siarsi steel. She had to admire it--a beautiful mark struck into the steel to proclaim a bold prince, a fierce warrior, and a proud house--the rose and sword, encircled by a crown.

  She clutched the knife triumphantly.

  "Soon, my brave lion, you shall wear my collar."

  Chapter 11

  WHEN THE SUN reached its highest point, Assur allowed them to stop and eat a light meal. It gave Kitarisa time to worry over Lady Falla's gelding. He was a lady's horse, much shorter than the Talesians' towering war animals and his struggle to keep up with them was beginning to show. She stayed close to Nika, allowing him to munch on the last of the summer grasses. She rested a fond hand on his neck while he nibbled around her toes. A simple, quiet creature, much like Lady Falla herself, with a brave, loyal heart.