“Marry me instead of Theo. I’ll even kill him for you if you wish, although it will be much more entertaining if you do it yourself.” Stephan leaned across the table, the ghastly light from his pale eyes flashing like blades. “And for that, my lovely High Queen, I want to taste the blood on your hands each time you kill.”
Horror roared in her ears and she swayed. Shadow threatened to overwhelm her, the Shadow always waiting for her to stumble, to relax her guard for just a moment. Blood and darkness already stained her soul, but she would never murder for the sole desire for blood. Would she? Would all the killing— even in self defense— add up over the years until she was as corrupt as Theo and Stephan both?
Her father tugged on her arm, trying to remove her from the room, but all she could do was stare at the hunger on Stephan’s face. Stare and wonder if the same foulness would someday twist her soul as well. She tightened her fingers on the sword, adjusting the hilt in her sweaty palm. She must kill him before he touched her.
If she killed him, she would lose everything. King Challon would never support her claim for the High Throne. Even the full might of Allandor’s Guard could not stand against Crown Prince Theo if the North Forest and Pella both supported him.
She was good with a sword, but not that good. Eventually, the assassins would succeed. Without enough allies, Allandor would be razed to the ground.
Stephan licked his lips, and she shuddered. Desperation squeezed her throat and lungs so tightly she couldn’t breathe. There had to be some other way.
Blessed Lady, help me!
Sergeant Fenton charged into the room and went to one knee before her. “Captain, Dalden Bay is under attack by the Sha’Kae al’Dan!”
King Valche tightened his grip on her arm and pulled her toward the door. “What, here? The barbarians haven’t left their Plains for generations!”
Stephan came around the table toward them. “I brought three hundred of my finest soldiers with me.”
Yanking her arm free, Shannari gripped the sword before her with both hands. Stephan didn’t carry a sword and his men waited outside. She could eliminate him in one blow. “Get out of the way, Fenton, so I can end this.”
The grizzled Sergeant looked into her face and paled. Instead of moving aside as she ordered, he stood and took position before her.
“Shannari, please.” Stephan smiled, holding his hands up before him soothingly, well away from the jeweled dagger at his waist. “Accept my troth and I’ll drive these barbarians from your land. Then we’ll march to Shanhasson and the High Throne will be yours. My life on it.”
Fenton drew his sword free, his voice carefully polite. “You will refer to her as Princess Shannari or the Lady’s Daughter.”
Stephan sneered. “You call her Captain, do you not? We ridicule the Allandorian Guard for letting a woman lead them.”
“She is the finest Captain in the Green Lands. Under her leadership the Guard has never been defeated, yet we’ve certainly defeated your pitiful excuse for an army numerous times. Remove yourself from Dalden Bay, or I will personally skewer you and save her the trouble. My life on it.”
Mocking her with a full court bow, Stephan exited through the opposite door, but tension still screamed through her body. Shannari rolled her shoulders to loosen some of the strain. One enemy retreated but would inevitably regroup with the Crown Prince, while a foreign army advanced on her country.
Waiting until she could no longer hear the Duke’s retreat, she turned to Fenton. “How bad is it?”
“Bad, Captain. Two hundred barbarians mounted on massive warhorses. I don’t know how long our infantry lines will hold.”
“I expected trouble, but not from the south.” King Valche rubbed a hand over his weary face. “How many troops did we bring?”
“Five hundred.” Sheathing her sword, she headed for the door with Fenton. Ordinarily she would scoff at the odds. Fenton did not exaggerate the Guard’s fame and success. If he was worried, then they faced one hell of a battle. “I want the front line doubled with half our men in reserve behind them.”
“Shannari, please, don’t lead the Guard today.” Shedding his normal regal reserve, King Valche clutched her hand. “If you’re killed in battle, the Green Lands are doomed.”
“You made me Captain, Father. You enabled me to learn and practice strategy and battle techniques all these years. You’ve never tried to keep me out of battle before.”
King Valche sighed heavily and released her. “I’ve just been reminded of exactly how twisted our enemies are. You’re precious to the Green Lands, but you’re my daughter, first. Lady help me, I wish I could spare you from all danger.”
Shannari smiled grimly. She needed no one to remind her of her responsibilities as the Blessed Lady’s Last Daughter, let alone the father who had drilled her ceaselessly in politics and strategy ever since she could remember. “If Allandor falls to barbarians then all our work over the years is for nothing. I know my duty, Father, perhaps better than you. I’ll do what I must.”
No matter the price.
* * * *
“Have you ever seen such green grass?”
Shaken to silence, Rhaekhar, Khul of the Nine Camps of the Sha’Kae al’Dan, could answer his nearest Blood with no more than a nod. Instead of rolling hills of tall golden-brown grass, startlingly brilliant green fields stretched as far as he could see, dotted here and there with squares of rich black earth. As brightly colored as the emerald memsha about his hips, the grass must also be flavorful. His warhorse took every opportunity to snatch a muzzle full each time he loosened the reins.
“Even the air smells strange and foreign,” Varne continued, a frown creasing his forehead. The other eight Blood fanned out around them. “I hope we don’t tarry long in these Green Lands.”
To his left, Gregar asked, “Where, Khul?”
“In a dream.” Rhaekhar cleared his throat, his mouth dry. He never knew which would be quicker, Gregar’s mouth or his blade, so the last thing he expected was solemn reverence on the Blood’s face. “I saw bright green grass like this in a vision from Vulkar nearly twenty years ago.”
A trick of the sunrise made flames dance in the Blood’s dark eyes. “A green valley with a special tree?”
Rhaekhar’s heart pounded so loudly that his ears roared with rushing winds. He never forgot the wondrous things he’d seen as a fifteen-year-old lad camping alone in the foothills of Vulkar’s Mountain. Details of the dream had faded over the years, but the sense of hope remained with him always. “A tree with a bone-white trunk and leaves both black and red.”
The Blood rode closer, his low voice pitched for Rhaekhar’s ears alone. “And the lake of fire in the heart of the Mountain?”
Squeezing his eyes shut, he saw again the fiery lake, smoldering black rock, and the Great Wind Stallion wreathed in flames. “Aye.”
“What did He give you?”
Glancing again at Gregar’s serious face, Rhaekhar hesitated. He’d never told anyone but Kae’Shaman about the vision’s promise. Besides, it was the Dark Mare, not Vulkar, who showed him the green fields, shimmering white walls and the garden inside where he would find his own beloved. “A Rose.”
The Blood smirked, his eyes flashing as he lightly touched the wicked six-inch knife sheathed on his hip. “All I found was my ivory rahke.”
“Where is this thing?” Varne demanded.
“I don’t know exactly.” Truth be told, Rhaekhar almost despaired of ever finding the Rose. The permanent dwellings lining the bay before them didn’t resemble the protective white walls of his dream. “I suspect I shall find the Rose somewhere in these Green Lands.”
“I would rather have Gregar’s rahke.” Varne stole a longing glance at the blade on the other Blood’s hip. “I shall win it from you yet.”
Gregar laughed softly. “I would take the Rose in a heartbeat.”
“You speak of a woman?” Varne gave the other Blood a dark look of irritation. Gregar only laughed. “Khul
, I don’t know who you might find here, but surely you don’t expect to take an outlander woman home to the Plains. There’s already enough dissent among the Nine Camps. An outlander woman would split the Sha’Kae al’Dan asunder!”
Rhaekhar tightened his grip on the reins, but he couldn’t dispute the Blood’s words. His enemies were quite vocal in their disapproval of this journey to the Green Lands. Bringing home an outlander mate would be like oil cast on wildfire. “The Great Wind Stallion promised me a love like no other. The Rose of Shanhasson will be my Khul’lanna. I simply must find her first.”
Drawing rein, Gregar nodded toward a force amassed against them outside the village. “If the approaching outlanders are any indication, Khul, all you will find at this time is a kae’don.”
Rhaekhar shaded his eyes to estimate how many outlanders gathered against them. Easily ten fists of men awaited his warriors’ charge. “Great Vulkar, they’re on foot!”
“There will be no honor in this kae’don,” Varne muttered gloomily.
Even with their greater numbers, the outlanders had no chance on foot, not against the na’kindren. Higher at the withers than the outlanders stood tall, the warhorses would crush them beneath churning hooves until the ground ran red with blood.
“I almost feel sorry for them,” Gregar said, shaking his head. “Let us finish this quickly, Khul, so you may find your Rose.”
CHAPTER TWO
A little battle is good for the blood!
Kneeing his stallion forward, Rhaekhar pressed the ragged line of outlanders even harder. His golden warhorse plunged and another outlander screamed as he disappeared beneath the massive hooves.
The raw, thick scent of blood and death filled the air, and his warriors whooped with pure battle joy. Dodging a wild, desperate thrust, Rhaekhar slipped the point of his sword through the shoulder joint of the closest outlander’s metal clothing.
The man dropped his sword and ran, glancing back over his shoulder, only to be trampled from the side by one of the Blood. Gregar’s eyes flashed with dark pleasure as he saluted Rhaekhar with his sword.
More outlanders turned and ran, discarding their swords on the field. One man cowered on the ground, his arms over his head, wailing like a lost child. All across the green fields, the outlanders’ defenses trembled and shattered in the wake of powerful na’kindren.
Disgusted, Rhaekhar shook his head. What honor could his warriors expect to find against these pitifully inferior outlanders? They knew nothing of honor. Killing them was a wasteful blood sacrifice, bringing no glory to the Great Wind Stallion.
Rhaekhar decided to end the battle without further delay and reined Khan toward the outlander leader. Only this man’s determination had prevented the outlanders from scattering within moments of battle. Mounted on a small pony, the leader might provide at least some entertainment in this kae’don.
Sheathing his sword, Rhaekhar drew the smaller blade on his hip. The outlander deserved at least some honor in death, so he would sacrifice the leader’s blood with rahke only.
With fiercely bared teeth and punishing hooves, his warhorse shouldered through the panicked outlanders. They parted like silk, giving him a clear path to their leader. Khan reared, screaming a challenge.
The outlander’s red pony shied and squealed with terror. Another outlander on foot grabbed the leader’s leg and gestured frantically toward the village. Rhaekhar expected the leader to drop his sword and gallop to safety like his men, but he adamantly shook his head. The two outlanders argued briefly, but the one on foot finally nodded. He sheathed his sword, stood aside, and shot a fierce glance at Rhaekhar.
The outlanders’ leader raised his sword, his gaze steady. Rhaekhar nodded back respectfully. Good. The leader understood the challenge and accepted. Some small honor might be found in this kae’don after all.
The leader leaned forward and the red pony charged.
Anticipation surged in Rhaekhar’s veins. Khan laid his ears back and pawed the ground, waiting for the signal to attack, but he held the snorting warhorse in place with a firm hand on the reins.
Stretching out well beyond his defenses to compensate for his inferior mount, the leader swiped at Rhaekhar’s chest. He easily leaned aside to avoid the blow. It would be ridiculously easy to slit the leader’s throat as he galloped by, but Rhaekhar stayed his hand. He wanted to see exactly how much heart this outlander might have.
Pivoting, Khan struck viciously with both front hooves. The weary pony stumbled and fell to its knees, and the leader flew out of the saddle. Tucking his head, he rolled and thumped across the torn ground. He struggled to his feet and pushed off the metal covering his face.
Rhaekhar’s heart raced, and his hands clenched on the reins so hard his stallion reared again. Great Vulkar, a woman!
A black braid as thick as his wrist tumbled past her waist. She stared up at him, her dark blue eyes shining with fierce determination. Even defeated, unhorsed and unarmed, she stood before him with more courage than any of her men.
Facing insurmountable odds. Battling his warriors when she had no hope of victory. Challenging him, Khul of all the Nine Camps, with a glint in her eye and pride in her heart.
Such courage— he had never seen her match.
Emotion crashed through him. Bands of iron tightened about his chest until he could barely breathe. His whole body resonated, tuning toward her with vicious, single-minded joy. He’d found her at last.
Sucking in a long, deep breath, he sought her scent over the rawness of mud, blood and terror. Too far away to identify her from the remembered dream. Still, heat twisted his gut, muscles tightening, bracing for battle. Surely she was his Rose, but he could not know for certain until he stood close enough to breathe her scent.
Twenty mounted men galloped out of the village and slid to a halt behind the woman. She walked toward them, and blinding panic nearly sent him charging after her. How could he claim this outlander woman for his own when he knew nothing of her customs?
The nine Blood rode close, Gregar and Varne on either side of him as usual.
“Will another outlander step forward in challenge?” Varne asked. “Or do you think they’ve had enough?”
Irrational yet adamant, every instinct urged Rhaekhar to haul her up on Khan’s back and gallop for the Plains without delay. “It matters not. For her, I’ll fight them all one by one if I must.”
* * * *
“Please, Captain, ride for Rashan,” Fenton pleaded. “Let me take your place in the surrender.”
Defeated. Under her leadership, the Guard had never lost. Until today.
The morning sun had barely climbed midway into the sky, yet sweat trickled down her spine. Her arms were so tired she feared she wouldn’t be able to lift her sword again. All her plans, all the years of careful political maneuverings, all for nothing. “You know I can’t, Sergeant. I’m responsible for our soldiers. I led them, and I failed them. It’s my duty and my right to stand in their place.”
“It’s your duty to live!” King Valche retorted. “Lady only knows what these barbarians will do to you if you surrender to them. Think, Shannari! Think of the Lady’s Green Lands devastated by plagues, war, and famine. You’re the Lady’s Last Daughter. You must not die!”
“What else can I do?”
“I agree with Fenton. Someone must take your place. You can’t do this!”
Fury raged through her, and she clenched her hands into fists. “I will not run! How could I ever sit on the High Throne and demand the full respect of our people if I did such a thing?”
“Sweet Lady above, what if they don’t execute you? What if they torture you first? Or rape you? Please, Daughter— ”
Her stomach rolled queasily. “They could have slaughtered us to a man without even breaking a sweat. You saw how easily their warlord waltzed through our lines. I was foolish enough to accept his direct challenge, and he toyed with me. He could have killed me at any time, but he acted honorably. Besides, I can’t bel
ieve Our Blessed Lady would abandon us. Father Aran said She heard my prayers this morning.”
“What are you going to do?” King Valche’s voice broke with his sorrow. “What can I do?”
“Pray for me. Keep the faith that Our Lady will intervene. Otherwise, I’ll do my best to die with honor.” Choking back her tears, Shannari turned and walked toward the waiting barbarians. She fought another battle now, to keep her shoulders squared, her chin high. She refused to reveal how much the fearsome barbarians intimidated her. There was nothing she could do to hide her shaking hands.
The barbarians watched her approach with hooded eyes and fierce expressions. All of them were well over six feet tall— giants by Green Land standards. The warlord’s implacable face was carved from granite and he gripped a vicious dagger at his waist.
Halting before the warlord, she held her sword as loosely as she dared in her sweaty palm, blade down. She’d never seen such magnificent warriors before, and their horses were equally impressive. She didn’t know how to fight massive warhorses that plowed over her infantry. If she lived long enough, she would rectify that deficiency in the Guard’s defenses.
The warlord stared back at her, his golden gaze strangely intense. His long brown hair was intricately braided at each temple, heavy with colored beads and rings. The only clothing he wore was a green cloth wrapped about his hips, leaving his legs from mid-thigh completely bare.
His immense chest gleamed like polished bronze in the sunlight, crisscrossed with white scars. In fact, his entire body bore such fine lines, all except his chiseled face. Bands of gold, leather and horsehair encircled his biceps. A broadsword nearly as long as she was tall hung across his back, thankfully sheathed. She would have no hope of deflecting this warrior’s blows if and when he decided to kill her.
The Rose of Shanhasson Page 2