The Battle Lord's Lady

by Linda Mooney

  They were three days ahead of him. He would cut that lead to two days. Two days. A lot could happen in two days. Funerals could be held in two days. Grief, however, lasted forever.

  He couldn’t begin to explain the unbearable ache that engulfed him after they took Atty away. He tried to remember how he felt when his father had died. As much as he had loved the man, it couldn’t compare to the pain he felt now, pain that wouldn’t stop suffocating him.

  Sleep wouldn’t take him. The sheets still smelled of her. Her pillow was a poor, faint comfort in his arms. Even his dreams, when he could escape into unconsciousness, betrayed him.

  By some miracle had she survived? If she had, would she come back to him? Would he be sent word she was alive and whole? Through the sobs that wracked him, he condemned himself for allowing himself even that small shred of hope.

  No. She would not have survived the trip back to her home. Piron George had known it. So had the others. No, when they finally arrived back to the compound, they would hold her funeral. Vaguely Yulen wondered if they buried or burned their dead.

  It was on the second day of his self-imposed exile that he’d stumbled across Atty’s empty quiver. Somehow it had gotten lost under the bed, probably inadvertently kicked there during the scurrying to get her prepared for the ceremony.

  He’d taken it to the window to examine it closely. He finally found the extra compartment she’d spoken of. It was inside at the bottom of the quiver. He lifted the leather flap and found a small ball of thin filament, the wire she’d used to fasten the fletchings to the shafts. There were no more barbs. She’d used the last of them in their skirmish with the Bloods.

  He jerked on one of the long leather lacings tying the skins of the quiver together. It popped off with a snap. On it he strung the wedding ring she’d briefly worn, then tied the whole thing around his neck. It only helped a tiny bit, but it helped.

  That night he had gone out to the parapet and looked out in the direction where the Mutah army had retreated. The sentry on duty recognized him but left him alone. When a brisk wind suddenly blew in, he turned to look at the pennant snapping on its cable.

  But I was aiming for the center of the stars, her voice echoed in the hole in his soul.

  Lowering his head, he quickly made his way back to his room while he could still hold back the tears.

  It was on the third day that Yulen came to realize there would be no end to the empty abyss relentlessly swallowing his sanity. He had to know, had to find out, one way or another, even as his heart told him his journey would not end happily.

  No, not happily, but it would end. Finally and definitely end. Once he saw her body. Or her grave. Or whatever memorial they would erect in her name, in her honor.

  And then, when he got back to Alta Novis, he would also erect a small memorial in her name. He’d put it somewhere out of the way where he could go and remember her. Most likely in a quiet, tree-shaded place. She would have like that, he told himself.

  * * * *

  Mastin kept to himself during their ride to Wallis. The Battle Lord said very little. He had the most difficulty sleeping at night, so that by the third day of their journey the man was clinging to reality by a thread.

  It was by the middle of the fourth day when Yulen left the main road and began to follow the almost invisible path that would take them to the Mutah compound buried deep within the woods. It was several hundred yards into the forest when he stopped his horse and dismounted, motioning for Mastin to do the same.

  “Cole, this is where we part company,” Yulen began.

  “Sir, pardon me, but this is also the most dangerous part of our journey,” Mastin dared to argue. In just the one sentence, the Battle Lord had spoken more words to him than he had in the past four days.

  “I will not risk your life,” Yulen continued. “Stay here and wait for me.”

  “For how long?”

  Sighing, Yulen ran a hand through his hair. For some reason Mastin smiled. It was the first familiar gesture he’d seen the man make in days.

  “If I’m not back in two days’ time, try to make it safely back to Foster City. But, under no circumstances are you to follow me to Wallis. I’m giving you direct orders, Cole. Do you understand?”

  The Second swallowed hard and nodded. “Yulen?” he dared using his leader’s given name. To his surprise, the man simply turned and waited to hear him out. “You know we’re praying for her.”

  A muscle twitched above the Battle Lord’s right eye. Otherwise his face remained blank. “Thank you, Cole,” he replied softly. Getting back on his stallion, he headed back down the trail, never looking back, and never noticing the tears that were coating the Second’s face.

  * * * *

  As his horse dodged thorny bushes and other obstacles, Yulen kept a lookout for the clearing that would open up to the compound. He knew without a doubt he would be spotted by their lookouts long before he arrived at their gates. In fact, they probably already knew of his arrival.

  It was an hour later when his horse found the road to Wallis. Giving the animal its head, he peered through the trees, watching for the walls of the compound to loom up out of the forest like they had the last time he’d been here. Back when he’d been the enemy in full armor, mercilessly slaughtering any Mutah, regardless of whether they were men, women, or children. Yulen grimaced at the memory. No wonder Atty had tried to kill as many of his soldiers as possible.

  “Ho! Stranger! Identify!”

  He looked up to see the sentry standing near the small tower at the edge of the compound. The gate he was seeking was a few more yards down the road.

  “I am Yulen D’Jacques, Battle Lord of Alta Novis! Husband to Atrilan Ferran!” he called back. “I come in peace!”

  The sentry appeared confused, briefly disappearing from the catwalk. Popping his head back over the wall, he called back down, “Remove your weapons!”

  Slowly, and with great, elaborate motions, Yulen got down off his horse and removed his weapons belt. Holding it out at arm’s length, he dropped it in the dirt, keeping his hands raised high so they could see he was defenseless.

  “Advance, Battle Lord!”

  As he got closer to the gate, which had now been opened to him, Yulen could see a crowd of curious faces already gathering behind the walls. Overhead a small line of armed men were also filling the walkway. Stepping over the small threshold and into the compound, Yulen searched the sea of strange and unusual faces for one he hoped would be there...knowing it wouldn’t be, no matter how hard he prayed.

  “D’Jacques?” a surprised voice greeted him.

  Yulen turned around. “Piron George. May I have your permission to lower my arms?”

  The elder leader gestured to a soldier standing nearby. The man patted Yulen down, making certain he carried no hidden weapons. Giving the leader a nod, George also nodded to the Battle Lord. “I told you not to come here,” the elder said in a tight voice.

  “I know. Forgive me, but I had no choice.”

  “What do you mean you had no choice?”

  Around them, both curious and angry faces pressed closer and closer, and for the first time Yulen began to wonder if he’d made a sound decision by coming here.

  “Is there some place we can speak privately?” he asked George.

  The elder swept the courtyard with his eyes before motioning for Yulen to follow him. Together they started toward a small building. Yulen recognized specific landmarks, now very visible and distinct in the sunlight. There was the row of lemon trees, now bearing little green balls of fruit. And across the way, over to the left...

  The bright, sharp knife of pain turned relentlessly in his heart. It was the shop where he’d kept Atty captive that night. The shop where he’d watched her shiver from cold and agony as she tried to sleep. The shop where he’d exposed his back to her as he removed the ropes from her wrists.

  The heat of tears flooded his face, and Yulen was forced to stop momentarily to try and clea
r his head. When he glanced back up, George was staring at him.

  “Are you not well, D’Jacques?”

  “I’m fine. Where are you taking me?”

  The man turned and continued walking. “To our Council of Elders. If you’ve come this far, it’s only right you were passed judgment.”

  As they continued through the courtyard, Yulen couldn’t help but notice little, familiar things that made Wallis seem just like any other compound. Children played from ropes suspended from tree limbs. Women were gathered around a market stall, gossiping or arguing over the price of the wares. Two men were laughing over tankards of drink. All of them ceased what they were doing to stare at the Cleaner being led toward the building near the back of the compound. All of them turned to follow, to see what would be done to the man who dared to invade their home for the second time.

  Just outside the door leading into the council chambers, Yulen spotted something carved into the bole of a massive oak a few feet away. The scratching was large and crude, and obviously done by a child’s hand.

  Atty’s tree.

  He felt himself go light-headed. Turning a pale face to George, he watched as the older man nodded. “Yes. She got quite a whipping for defacing that tree. But so far she’s the only one who’s ever been able to climb all the way to the top.”

  I said up. Surely you used to climb trees when you were a boy.

  The knife in his heart twisted a bit more.

  The building was quickly filling up. Apparently council meetings were community events. George showed Yulen to a chair at the front of the room, prominently displayed before a low table. A row of seven chairs sat behind the table.

  Yulen sat quietly, lost in his thoughts as people stared openly at him. He was aware of the angry looks many of them were giving him. He knew what they were saying in heated whispers.

  This was her family. They had been part of Atty’s life for all of her twenty years. Their love and friendship had nurtured her.

  Yulen began to understand the enormity of his actions, especially the despair he must have caused when he had literally kidnapped her from her home. Beaten senseless, tortured, and kidnapped.

  It was a miracle she had come to love him.

  From out of nowhere a man barged into the room and pounded up the aisle, heading directly for the Battle Lord. Yulen recognized the intent on his spotted face and knew without a doubt he had a weapon. Throwing up his arms to try and block him, Yulen was unprepared for the knife to slash downward inexpertly, plowing through his collarbone, across the center of his chest. It was a shallow cut, even though it bled profusely. He hadn’t expected to be attacked in this manner. Then again, he berated himself as three men grabbed his attacker and pulled him away, these people were farmers and laborers, not trained soldiers.

  “Darium! How dare you enter this room when it’s under the white banner!” George shouted angrily.

  “He murdered my sister!” the man shouted, and struggled against those who held him back.

  “I murdered no one in this encampment,” Yulen told them. The cut burned, but it wasn’t a serious wound.

  The man he remembered as Pike gave him a saddened expression. “Maybe not, D’Jacques, but your men did. The men under your command, who followed your orders. That makes you just as guilty.”

  Yulen nodded. “You’re correct. I’m sorry.”

  By now the room was filled to capacity. People stood along the walls, and many more waited outside the open door, listening. The council finished seating itself as George clapped his hands for attention.

  “This is not meant to be a regular meeting. We are gathered to hear this man out, and to pass judgment on him if we feel it necessary. I would like to begin by asking you, Yulen D’Jacques, Battle Lord of Alta Novis, why are you here?”

  The room grew quiet, filled with an air of expectancy.

  In a soft voice, he told them. “I came to learn what happened to Atty. To my wife.”

  He knew his confirmation would bring about a reaction within the crowd. Up until now their marriage would most likely have been considered a rumor, if not a flat-out lie. It took a full minute before George could calm the audience down.

  Yulen kept his eyes on the council and away from the crowd. It would only take one person to misread the look on his face or in his eyes to start a full-scale revolt.

  George got to his feet to address the people. “Twoson confirms this man’s statement to be true. Atty willingly took this man to husband. There was no coercion.”

  Again the noise level rose, but Yulen sensed a change in mood. He knew without a doubt these people were wondering now what kind of man he was to have captured the heart of their beloved warrior. He, a Cleaner, and she, a Mutah.

  George re-took his seat. “D’Jacques you said you wanted to know what we’ve done with Atty?”

  The Battle Lord nodded, already feeling the sick dread sinking into his stomach.

  “We’ll tell you what happened to her,” Vogel hissed. He jumped to his feet from where he sat behind the table and shook an accusing finger at him. “You destroyed her! Before you came here she was our greatest hunter. She was our benefactress. She kept us from starving these past few winters. And then you came along with your swords and your hatred of all things not normal, and you took her away. You may not have killed us outright, but by forcing her to leave, you condemned us all the same!” His words were sharp, acidic, and full of disgust.

  “What more do you want from us?” George asked darkly. “Haven’t you done enough?”

  “May I at least...see her?” Yulen began. His lungs were refusing to draw air. Breathing was becoming painfully difficult. Before he could ask whether or not her body was still intact, a council member he didn’t know got to his feet as well.

  “You’ll see nothing,” he hissed, his slitted eyes narrowed in hate. “Go back to where you came from, Cleaner! Before we declare the treaty void!”

  George nodded, adding, “You’re walking a very fine line, D’Jacques. Go now, before the men take up their arms again, and I can’t stop them from marching back to Alta Novis.”

  Shakily, Yulen got to his feet. Silently the people lined along the wall filed out, allowing him to walk unescorted out of the room. Taking another glance at Atty’s tree, he took a deep breath and began to head for the gates of the compound as the crowd watched from a distance. The slash across his chest stung, but the bleeding had stopped. His blood- and sweat-soaked shirt clung to his skin.

  When he reached the gates, a sentry opened them for him. It was at that moment Yulen realized the only reason he was able to walk out of Wallis and return to Alta Novis relatively unscathed was because he had been Atty’s husband. The man she’d given her heart and her body to. By allowing him to live, the Mutah were honoring her.

  His horse was grazing by the side of the trail where he’d left it. Picking up his weapons belt from the dirt, he buckled it back on and climbed into the saddle. He rode away without another look back, although two hundred pairs of eyes watched his departure—many of which were filled with unshed tears.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Revenge

  Yulen felt rather than heard the presence come up behind him. Sighing deeply, he bent his head over his tankard and opened his eyes. “If I’d wanted company, I would have gone downstairs.”

  “Sooner or later you’re going to have to come out of this hole you’re digging,” MaGrath told him.

  “It’s my hole. If you want one, you can dig it yourself.” He took another swallow of beer, but the liquid suddenly tasted bitter on his tongue. Yulen grimaced.

  “I would appreciate it if you would turn around and face me. I need to speak with you about an important matter,” the physician insisted. A note of irritability was evident in his words, but it didn’t seem to phase the man seated by the window, gazing out over the compound.

  When the Battle Lord didn’t respond, MaGrath walked over to stand closer. “Yulen, your mother and I posted our
banns outside the lodge doors this morning. In three days we’re going to exchange vows and become husband and wife. She needs you there with her when we do. I need you there as well.”

  “Give Madigan my heartfelt congratulations. You, too, Liam. You both deserve some happiness. It’s been a long time coming,” he told him in a low voice.

  “But will you be there with us?”

  MaGrath watched the failing light cast darker shadows on the ones already etching Yulen’s face. It had been two weeks since the Battle Lord had returned from his trip to Wallis, and since that time they had been forced to watch the man slowly sink into a state of deep depression. It didn’t take a mind reader to know that either he hadn’t been able to view Atty’s body, or he’d never gotten a definitive answer.

  Either way, he’d been refused his closure.

  “Yeah. Yeah, Liam. Tell my mother I’ll stand with you.” Finally turning to look at his friend, Yulen added, “But don’t expect me to join in the celebration afterwards.”

  MaGrath sighed. “Fair enough.”

  Moments passed in quiet as Yulen finished his drink and MaGrath listened to the sounds of the compound preparing for the night. Out the window, in the distance, he could see lights bobbing through the courtyard like fireflies.

  “You know, Liam...we’ve been wrong all these years.”

  MaGrath held his tongue. Yulen had said practically nothing since his return, and had made no one privy to his thoughts or experiences at Wallis. He’d only allowed the physician to dress the cut across his chest without explanation as to how he got it, although MaGrath had an faint idea once Mastin told him the Battle Lord had returned with it after leaving the walls of the Mutah compound.