Blood Warrior

by Lindsey Piper

  “Sacred,” she whispered. “Sacred place. The land and sea. The . . . the Mother.”

  “The Mother? You can’t be sure.”

  “Tallis, it’s breathtaking. The blend of woman and the Dragon.” She stared up at him, her certainty increasing with each blink. “Yes. She’s here.”

  Powered by an instant flush of adrenaline, Tallis jumped clear of the bed and began to suit himself in sturdy clothes and his leather jacket. It would serve as waterproof outerwear. His seaxes were the last. He strapped them around his waist using the cheap scabbards they’d used for trade.

  “If they’re here in Scotland, Pashkah will be with them, too,” Kavya said. “I won’t let you face him alone.”

  “What?” Tallis spun as he snapped out the word. “You’d rather go? I can kill the bastard and be done with it. He won’t ever threaten you again. What could you do but make yourself vulnerable for him to do his worst? I won’t let that happen.”

  “You could just as easily be killed. Make me a widow on the same day we married? I’m going with you to see this through. He’s my brother and I despise what he’s done to my life. I’ll be there to see him fall so I can sleep—finally, Dragon be—finally sleep.” She was out of bed now, dressing with the same efficiency. “And Chandrani. I’m not leaving her to be used and butchered. I will not.”

  Tallis was a mass of anger and confusion, especially when he realized that she’d donned the ceremonial garment he’d leveraged her into buying in the Johari Bazar. “Forget it,” he said with a crude curse. “You’ll freeze to death before we get there.”

  “This isn’t an idle choice, and it’s not for dancing girls or playing dress up. It’s what Indranan women wear when they call out a sibling. The only time my clan doesn’t wear white while in mourning is when we commit the murder ourselves.”

  “That’s why you resisted.”

  “Yes. And why I ultimately gave in. I knew I’d need it someday.” She lifted her chin. “I’m going, I’m wearing this, and you’ll stop arguing with me if you want to help. Tallis, please. Show me where that madman has Chandrani. Bring me your family’s Dragon-forged sword. I’m done running, hiding, hoping. I want my people back, and I want a life—a life with me and you, where I’ll never fear anything but the day when the Dragon takes you from me.”

  Tallis stood there for a trio of heartbeats, but in that time, he took in an incomprehensible amount of detail. She’d braided her hair, although streamers curled out from the hasty plait. The midriff-baring outfit took on ominous beauty now that he knew its purpose. Her breasts were crisscrossed by the heavier purple fabric, and covered with flowing layers that would catch the wind off the North Sea. The purple and orange skirt was muted by the single nightstand lamp, but the bronze medallions gleamed, catching light at every angle.

  “The medallions. What do they say?”

  “By the gift of the Dragon, I earn my Self.”

  His chest was heavy, burning, too tight for breath. He would slaughter Pashkah without thought—no matter who’d been responsible for his dreams. It didn’t matter at that moment, when Kavya meant to take on her brother. “If you want that sword, you let me wield it.”

  “It’s my responsibility!”

  “To take his insanity into yourself? No. If you believed in what we shared last night, you’ll let me do this. Killing him will be my pleasure, and doing so won’t drive me mad. Tell me the same could be said if you did the deed.”

  Her hands were clasped so hard that her knuckles were uneven and bone white. “Hold the sword. Take his head. But you’re not leaving me here.” She lifted her head and revealed eyes as blatantly vengeful and powerful as he’d ever seen. In that moment, he would have sworn he was standing before a Pendray woman on the verge of letting loose the full strength of her fury.

  “My family is coming with us. No way are we walking into some nest of Guardsmen with three swords and your skirt flapping in the wind.” He touched her chin, kissed the bridge of her nose. “You’ll distract me that way, my Kavya.”

  But then it was all business. He stormed through the castle, banging on every door. He didn’t know which were occupied, so he made a hell of a racket.

  “Wake the dead,” he called, using a centuries-old call to arms. “Gather the ancients. Pull sword from scabbard and bathe blades in red. Trouble has come to one of our own.”

  Kavya was his wife now. She had joined his clan by blood and love. If his family cared for him at all—no, if they maintained years of honor that extended beyond their affection or bitterness—they’d close ranks, too. There was little the Pendray did better.

  Within fifteen minutes, his groggy siblings had assembled. Dawn’s palest light gave extra contrast to the shadows in that rummage sale of a kitchen, but his family stood ready for war. Modern clothes were layered with armor, from chain mail to modern Kevlar. Rill stepped forward and extended her hand toward Kavya. “For you.”

  Kavya took the metal collar. Although he hid his shiver, Tallis was reminded of the collars Cage warriors were forced to wear during their captivity. The damping properties nullified their gifts until the collars were deactivated for bouts. It had been a relief to rival few in his life when he’d seen Nynn and her lover freed of those shackles. No Dragon King should ever be restrained, made human in abilities if not in biology.

  “It’s to protect you,” Rill said. “Dragon-forged swords can cleave most metal with a single stroke. Not this. You get one chance. After that, his blade will slice through the collar and your neck.”

  “Why have we never heard of these?” Kavya asked. “They would be nearly as prized as the swords.”

  “Every clan has secrets.” Smiling, Rill’s voice held a malicious edge of pride. “It’s made from the smelted remains of Dragon-forged swords mixed with lesser metals. We’ve made do with what more powerful armies left behind.”

  Tallis could practically see protests forming on Kavya’s tongue. She’d find some stubborn reason to put the collar on someone else, keep a different person from harm. On some level she must realize the importance of her own safety—how vital it was that she not be part of creating a thrice-cursed murderer—but her naive optimism was still so strong.

  Tallis made the decision for her. He snatched the collar from her hands and tossed her loose braid out of the way. After a swift kiss on her nape where his teeth marks were bright and sensual, he snapped the lock. Her elegant throat was concealed by the shine of unearthly metal, which bore a resemblance to the pale glow of a Dragon-forged sword.

  He kissed her on the temple and gave her bare arms a squeeze. “Consider it a wedding present from my family.”

  “And this, big brother,” said Serre, “is our present to you.”

  With both hands on the hilt and the tip point toward the floor, Serre held the family’s millennia-old Dragon-forged sword like the tribute of a peasant to his liege.

  Tallis took the weapon and tested its weight. Power unlike any in the universe surged through into his skin, his bones, his cells. The Dragon lived in him when he held that amazing weapon—the real Dragon, not a vision co-opted by a nighttime demon. Their Creator would spin in fury right alongside Tallis’s berserker, which was more than ready to protect its woman.

  “Is all forgiven then, Serre?”

  “We’re still family.” His little brother offered a lopsided smile that made Tallis’s heart pinch. It was like looking in a mirror and seeing a younger, less jaded version of himself. “And family is a benediction for all manner of sins. Unless you’re Indranan,” he said tightly, glancing at Kavya.

  “Then it means a death sentence.” Her words should’ve been listless and resigned, but edgy violence pulsed from Kavya. She was ready. Tallis was proud, and relieved that she would have no regrets. “And I’m not dying today.”

  —

  So that was the color of his eyes.

  Kavya knew it was an absurd realization, just as she knew she should be frozen through and through as Tallis ha
d warned. Yet the fire in her belly kept her warm, and the sight of the North Sea crashing onto the craggy rocks of the northern Scottish coast filled her with peace. She would never know the deep secrets buried in her husband’s soul. Now, however, she knew that his eyes matched the waters of this sacred place. She’d been right. They were the color of an ocean she’d never seen. Frothy, white-topped waves reminded her of the silver flecks adorning each strand of his wind-tossed hair.

  The family followed her and Tallis as they climbed the jutting shores and followed a path to the west. An hour passed. Then two. She kept her attention focused on Tallis, lest she telepathically give away her approach. Pashkah’s pet monkeys would obviously be able to sense an oncoming party of Pendray, all dressed to the hilt in armor and mean intentions, but perhaps her presence could be hidden until the last moment.

  So she banked the temptation to reach out to Chandrani. To see if her friend still drew breath would be the equivalent of a scream in Pashkah’s ear.

  She watched Tallis as he walked with unrelenting strides, each the same distance and intensity no matter the terrain. She had to hop and pick her way across craggy shoals just to keep up. His family was equally fleet of foot as they protected her back. This was their territory, just as the Pir Panjal had been hers.

  When Tallis stopped and held up a hand, Kavya’s lungs seized. Didn’t work. For a panicked span of seconds, her mind was trapped in a vessel that wouldn’t move, couldn’t move.

  Then it was gone. She was clad in either the last garment she would ever wear, or the last garment she would ever wear with family yet in the world. That responsibility and grim reality renewed her strength. She was growing more powerful with each passing moment, as if the overnight gift of Tallis’s fight and strength had seeped from his gracefully muscled body into hers.

  “Beyond this rise,” he said. “It should be the boulder you saw. I need you to climb up. Stay low. Signal me if I’ve got it right.”

  Kavya nodded and moved to go.

  Tallis took her hand. Rather than kiss it or bid her good luck—sentimental things a husband might offer his wife—he unsheathed one of his seaxes and pressed it into her palm. They shared a tight smile. That was more fitting. Equal sentiment, but with deadly purpose.

  “I’m beginning to like how you Pendray think,” she said.

  The climb up the rise was arduous. She wasn’t cold, but her knees felt the sharp pinch of rock. A fingernail sheared away. Her stomach closed into a tighter ball until her guts were made of stone. She was calcifying, becoming part of that sacred place. It wouldn’t have been a bad place to spend eternity, with a view of the ocean the color of Tallis’s eyes. Only, she wanted the real thing even more. She wanted his eyes every day, gazing down on her when she awoke, burning her with their intensity when they made love. On some evening yet to be, she’d position a mirror in front of their faces when he took her from behind. She wanted to see the sharp blue glow of his eyes when he bit her nape.

  A shudder worked across her shoulders. She clasped the hilt of his seax with even more assurance. Pendray territory. A Pendray weapon. A Pendray husband. She was ready to crawl out of her skin with the need to do violence.

  His family. She was drawing from his family. Not their gift, as the Sath did—known derisively as Thieves, temporarily stealing the powers of other Dragon Kings. No, Pendray had unlimited stores of confidence in battle. They were disrespected as a backward clan, but they knew how to fight. Hand to hand, weapon against weapon—nothing and no one equaled them in sheer ferocity. She relished its beat in her blood.

  At the top of the rise, she lay low across the ridge, belly to rock. As Tallis had described, the distant boulder was shaped like an ancient Neanderthal goddess, all rounds hips and curvy stomach and heavy, ripe breasts. Yet touches of the Dragon were everywhere, in the lick of a serpentine tongue, the potential carnage of hooked claws, and the slanted eyes that would protect or threaten, depending on who looked upon that mystical formation.

  It was the rock formation from her dream.

  The Mother of Clan Pendray. Their symbol of the Dragon.

  Down in its shadow waited the villains she sought. The eight Guardsmen surrounded Chandrani. Pashkah paced in a wide circle around the ensemble. He’d reach the twelve-o’clock position and turn back the other way. Clockwise. Counterclockwise. She’d forgotten that particular quirk of his, a similar means of sorting thoughts and maintaining calm that Kavya used when clasping her hands. His brown hair was covered by a heavy brocade headscarf, the tail of which whipped in the salty sea wind.

  He wore purple and orange and winking medallions that promised he intended her death just as much as she needed his.

  Without looking away, she signaled the others to join her. Tallis was by her side in a matter of seconds. The pulse of his fury had tickled her back and arced down her thighs, even while he waited at the base of the rise. When he lay on his stomach beside her, he was like a wood stove left unattended, burning, pulsing, until it flamed with heat enough to melt the metal trying to contain the fire.

  She grabbed the hair at the back of his neck. It had been shorter there when they’d first met, but weeks of travel meant she could find a passable grip. “I need you, Tallis. Tell me you’re in there.” She yanked his hair again, then shot him a wicked smile. “I’m not Pendray, so I’m not playing by all of your clan’s rules. Forget a one-way claiming. I’m biting your nape one day. This will be mine. Do you hear me?”

  A growl pushed out of his throat, his chest, his soul. “You think that’ll calm my fury, goddess?” he asked, rasping, as if invisible hands pressed on his larynx.

  “No, but you’re replying with more than single words. I need you, Tallis. Thinking as well as culling. You’ve seen what he can do and what pain he can inflict. Your family has no idea.” She kissed the back of his neck, before smoothing his wild hair into place. “Tell me who you are and why you’re here.”

  “Protect my family, rescue Chandrani, keep my wife safe, and rid the world of a Dragon-damned piece of shit.”

  “Tall order.”

  “Big sword.” He matched her tight smile before adjusting his grip on the weapon that hummed with as much power as he did. His eyes glowed mean and vital. “Now let’s go.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY

  Tallis’s surge down the crest toward the foot of the Mother followed a pattern woven into the fabric of his people’s memories. The high ground. Swooping in like raging locusts intent on feasting. How dare they invade our homes? Threaten our women? Disturb this sacred place?

  The only way a Pendray knew how to cleanse sacred places was to wash them clean with the blood of strangers. Enemies.

  He accessed his gift more quickly and with more certainty of purpose than he’d ever been able. Halfway down the slope, he was no longer Tallis. He was a Pendray warrior, content in the knowledge that his family roared behind him with equal rage.

  The Guardsmen were fast. Tallis gave them that much. The Indranan weren’t known for being great physical warriors, but this lot was well trained in swordplay and had the advantage of telepathy. Tallis was already too far gone for their wizardry to reach him. What felt like mental bullets pinged off his thoughts. He’d wrapped Kevlar through the folds of his brain. The closer he got, the more quickly those bullets fired. He kept running, until he was a man without legs; he was a roiling storm cloud of anger so intense that his mind was wiped of all but two words.

  Kill Pashkah.

  Honnas was by Tallis’s side when they charged the nest of men dressed head to foot in black Indranan armor. Swords lifted, the Guardsmen seemed ready. The pitiful nature of their defense said they definitely were not. When Serre joined his brothers in the fray, he did so as a monster contained within the body of a young man in his prime.

  Blood surged through Tallis’s body. Consumed him. Overwhelmed higher function. He was only turn, thrust, duck, spin, hack. They had taken on greater armies. They had taken on men with greater
courage. And they had fought for the safety of their families. No opponent suffered more when stoking that enormity of purpose.

  “They barely know how to wield a sword,” Honnas said on a laugh.

  By Pendray standards, Tallis’s older brother was right. The Guardsmen had grace, yes, but their determination to see an attack through to its bloody conclusion was lacking. Had they relied on telepathy so much during their raid of Kavya’s followers? Did these men have any real substance when it came to physical fighting?

  With a low swing of his seax, he struck a Guardsman’s foot from his leg. The man crumpled. His bravery was admirable in that he tried to keep fighting from his kneeling, crippled position. Tallis raised the Dragon-forged sword as a threat. The Guardsman’s face melted into white, streaking fear as he dropped his weapon and rolled onto his back, bare hands lifted in surrender.

  Might as well be dead.

  Perhaps something of Tallis’s higher thoughts remained, because he experienced a flash of pity. Any Pendray would have branded the man a coward. But what did this Indranan have worth fighting for? Without children to nurture and protect, very few Dragon Kings knew what sacrifice meant anymore.

  Tallis knew. He’d seen Nynn and Leto rip open the world trying to find the people they loved, and to find each other. He was that lover now. He would die before he let anything happen to Kavya.

  Then die.

  Pashkah’s psychic strike lanced down Tallis’s vertebrae. His spine was a lightning rod that conducted pain through his entire body. He dropped to the rocky, sea-damp earth. His skull bounced off a mossy patch mere inches from a rugged upthrust of rock. Agony registered on all levels. Physically, his head throbbed as if it had been cleaved like a fresh melon. Mentally, he was a sizzle of fried nerve endings and thoughts mashed into a sickly soup. All of the layers that made him Tallis blended until they were screaming ghosts. Every victim. Every time he’d ever shed blood or taken a life. A lava flow of memories rolled over him.