Lady of the Haven (Empire Princess Book 1)

by Graham Diamond

  Kral shook his head firmly. “You know the rules. The chief gets her first.”

  Vlask spat on the floor. “There’s little left after he’s done. Remember that last one? She was useless. Couldn’t even recall her name. Let’s enjoy this one now. We don’t have to bring her back at all. We can use her for a few days and return without her. Come on, Kral! Let’s have ’er now!”

  “No!”

  Kral pulled Stacy to her feet. “Bundle up, precious. We’re going to take a long walk in the snow.”

  She followed him with her eyes as he swept up a nearby knapsack and flung it over his shoulder. Vlask stared at her and sneered again. “This way,” he said, pushing her. And before she knew it they had followed the stream and came out onto a windy ledge. The sun was burning down brightly. Fresh air filled her lungs. They were high above a range of lower mountains, she saw, very close to the summit of an enormous snow-swept peak. Below was a treacherous descent and a huge gorge with even higher mountains across it.

  Kral walked in front, Vlask in back of her. They took long strides in the snow, so it was hard for her to keep up. But a shove now and then from Vlask made sure that she did.

  Stacy struggled along the rocky ledges of the ridge, barely able to keep her footing. Under the fresh snow was a sheer sheet of ice, and one slip, one twist the wrong way, and she would plunge into the canyon below. She realized that even thinking of ways to escape from the barbarians was foolish. On terrain like this she was better off with them. They knew these lands and knew what to watch out for, but she didn’t. If nothing else, ugly Kral and stinking Vlask would lead her to safer ground.

  After a perilous hour of negotiating the ridge, they crested the mountain. Swirling snow almost blinded her; the Nomads slid dark visors over their eyes.

  “Keep going!” barked Kral.

  Stacy looked at him helplessly, hands frigid with cold. “Which way?” she stammered.

  The Nomad grunted and pointed ahead. “There. Now just keep moving!”

  It was a shelter, she saw. Not a cave by any means but a large crevice in the wall of the mountain. Kral pulled her roughly by the arm and literally threw her inside. She fell onto soft, damp earth, scattered with bits of dried wood. At the center of the floor was a clumsily built fireplace, a circle of stones sheltering a shallow hole in the ground. Inside the hole lay cold embers from what she guessed was last night’s fire. And she wondered what had brought these two so high up. Logic told her they did not live here and that they were just using this place as a makeshift camp.

  Vlask gathered wood and with scrawny flints set the fire. Kral spread a blanket across the floor and took pieces of dried meat from his sack. He threw one to her. “Here. Eat. It’s all you’ll get until we reach camp.” He turned to Vlask. “Keep your eyes open,” he said through a mouthful of the slightly spoiled meat. “And don’t go too far. I want you within earshot.”

  Vlask grunted and wiped greasy hands on his fur jacket. Then he lowered the visor and stepped back outside into the snow.

  “Eat, eat!” said Kral, turning his attention back to her.

  Stacy shook her head and threw the putrid meat back to him. “You eat it. The smell is sickening.”

  The Nomad laughed. “Spoiled, eh? Used to good hot food, eh? You’ll have little more of that, precious. Not where we’re going.”

  “And where is that?”

  Kral laughed. “Curious, too, ain’t you? Well, never you mind, precious. But our work ain’t done yet, see? Vlask here’s going to look around a bit more — while I keep my eyes on you.”

  “What does he look for?” she asked casually.

  “Most times, anything. But these days is special, ain’t they? Look.” He reached inside the sack and pulled out a small jeweled knife. She saw at once it was Satrian.

  “Took it yesterday off some soldier clown. Won’t be needin’ it anymore, will he? Satrians been crawling ’round for days now. Must be bloody doings underground. But don’t get your hopes up, precious. Won’t be any soldiers coming for you. Too busy with their apes.”

  “You’ve seen them?”

  “Seen them? Hordes of them! Old Sumavand’s got his hands full this time, eh? Won’t be bothered much about men like me and Vlask. No, not this winter. Chief he says to me: ‘Kral, you go up the mountain. You find out what you can. Catch me a Satrian soldier.’” Kral’s eyes twinkled. “Did as he said, I did. Always do. Whenever something’s needed, who does the boss call? Kral, that’s who. Knows I can get the job done right.”

  Stacy leaned back and sighed. It seemed the Nomads were on top of everything; they knew just where to find information and how to get it. And they weren’t very concerned about going down into the tunnels, either, which both impressed and frightened her simultaneously.

  “Where do you live, er, Kral?”

  “Live?” He said the word as if it had no meaning to him. “The land, of course. Wherever our tents are set is where we live. Sometimes near Satra, other times Kuba. Any shala. It makes no matter. Not as long as there’re men to fight and women to warm my bed.” He looked at her with growing lust.

  The seeds of a plan for her escape were born. She forced a smile and brushed at her hair. “I must look terrible,” she said in a seductive voice.

  Kral stared at she purposely leaned over, letting her breasts show above the ripped sari.

  “Why must I be given to the chief?” she asked.

  “Why? It’s law! The boss would cut off my —”

  “I see,” she replied. “But laws are broken, aren’t they? I mean, even in Satra men break laws for the women they desire.”

  The barbarian stopped chewing and looked at her long and hard.

  She flung her cloak back, exposing her thighs, and gazed into his eyes. “When does your friend come back? Vlask, I mean.”

  Kral grunted. “Too soon.”

  “Keep him away, Kral. I don’t like him. I like you much better. I think you know how to handle a woman. A woman like me.” She spoke to him in seductive whispers, leaning towards him, wetting her lips.

  He swallowed his food, then wiped his hands in the dirt. “I never met a Satrian woman who didn’t kick and scream until she had to be knocked unconscious,” he said.

  Stacy’s eyes flashed with passion. “Then you don’t know who I am, do you? I’m a priestess from the temple. I’ve been trained, trained how to please.”

  Kral had to clear his throat. “What was a priestess doing in the tunnels?”

  “Running away. I killed someone. A woman. She stole my lover.”

  Kral leaned forward and studied her eyes, her face.

  She took a stick of wood and fondled it with her hands. “Shall I dance for you, Kral? Or shall I do other things for you? Things you’ll like and appreciate.”

  The barbarian pulled off his fur and tossed it to the side. He leaned over and brushed his hand along her leg, fingers running from her ankle almost to her thigh. Stacy sucked in air, then let it out with a soft moan. He drew his body close to hers; she pushed him back gently. “Slowly, Kral,” she whispered. “We have time, lots of time. And I want to make it nice for you.” She let go of the piece of wood and ran her hand through his thick matted hair. Kral put his hand on her bosom, and she tried desperately not to cringe. “Gently, Kral. Don’t hurt me.” She pushed him all the way down until he was on his back, then she opened the front of her dress.

  Kral gaped at the firm bare breasts, the golden skin.

  “Do you like it?”

  Kral nodded, and ran a dry tongue over his thick lips.

  “Good, Kral. I’m glad. Shall I continue?”

  The barbarian grinned, entranced, thinking only of the pleasures ahead. A priestess! What luck!

  Stacy lifted her hands in back of her head and pretended to unclasp her sari. “Aren’t you going to slip out of your clothes?” she asked. “In Satra we never make love wearing clothes.”

  Kral almost tore his jacket off, then yanked off the rag of a shirt, p
ulled off his boots and peeled off his breeches. All the while he kept his eyes on her, goggling at her graceful sway as she pretended to slip out of her sari. In his eagerness he did not realize that by the time he was completely naked she was as fully dressed as ever.

  “Lie back, Kral,” she whispered. “It’ll just take me a minute more. There’s a belt under my dress.” Her hand swung behind the cloak and drew slowly toward the unseen dagger. “I’ll be with you in a second, Kral.”

  He stirred as her body drew close to his, her free hand touching his shoulders. He opened his arms to embrace her. She purred softly, warm and inviting.

  “Worm!”

  The dagger slashed across his face. Stunned, Kral tried to lift himself up, but a swift kick in the groin threw him back. Blood streamed down his face and onto his chest.

  “I’m blind!” he wailed. His hands went to his face, fingers and hands covered with thick pulsing red. “Daughter of Hel; I’ll kill you!”

  Stacy whirled, horrified at what she had done, and ran frantically out of the cavern.

  “Come back! Come back, you bitch!”

  Crawling, stumbling, he followed, naked into the cold. She was running along the same trail they had taken to come to the shelter. She looked back and saw he was hobbling, falling. If she could only make it across the crest to the other side...

  Something smacked her hard from behind. She fell and slid across a sheet of ice. The dagger dropped; she strained to reach it. A heavy boot stomped hard across her hand. She groaned and looked up into the cruel eyes of Vlask.

  “Well, well!” he laughed, seeing the naked Kral stumbling on his knees. “This is a pretty sight! A pretty sight, indeed!”

  Vlask’s twisted face turned as ugly as Kral’s. A bitter scowl crossed his heavy features. “I do the saying now! Look at you. Kral the Mighty! Ha! You can’t even handle a girl half your size!”

  Vlask yanked Stacy by the hair and stared meanly into her blurry eyes. “I’m going to show you how a man really does it,” he rasped. “Hear me?”

  She moaned and dropped her head helplessly to the side. Vlask grimaced, then took a handful of snow and wiped it across her face. She still did not come around. A powerful lash with the back of his hand across her mouth did the trick.

  “Wake up, bitch! I want you to know what’s happening!” Grubby hands tore at her sari, exposing soft, bruised flesh.

  She could not stop him. She felt his sickening fingers touching her, probing her. She made one last effort to move, but just a look from him stopped her cold.

  “We don’t want to do that again, do we?” he asked meanly.

  She shook her head in fear and put her hands to her ears to wipe out the sounds of his laugh. Everything began to blur; the world started to spin. His body was bearing down, trying to have its way.

  “Aiiiii!”

  His scream filled the air. He fell back, moaning and whimpering, writhing upon the ground.

  Stacy forced her eyes open and saw huge white forms leaping from the snow mound above, tearing at the throats of the barbaric Nomads. Warm blood melted paths in the mounds of soft snow.

  White wolves!

  The carnage took only seconds. Fangs bared, dripping blood, the wolves hovered over the two motionless bodies. There were about six wolves, she saw, all with great glowing manes as white as the snow. Long-snouted, with small slanted eyes, they sniffed at the tracks of the men and sought the scent of other Nomads. Then one, the largest — and clearly the pack leader — howled a shrill call to other unseen companions. He told them that the job was done. Then he looked to Stacy, studying her.

  “Shall we end her life?” growled a wolf from behind.

  The big one shook his shaggy head. “The female is already near death. She can trouble no one. Better to leave her here and let the cold do its work.”

  Stacy looked up, and with all the effort she could muster, spoke. “Please, my lord. Don’t let me die. Take me...”

  Each and every one of them froze in their tracks.

  “She speaks!” cried a third wolf. “She speaks as we do!”

  The leader pressed closer, even as the others stepped back in fear. His eyes were suspicious, fangs menacingly bared.

  “No, don’t! I am of the pack!” She was frantic.

  The wolves glanced incredulously at each other.

  “You? Of the pack? You are a daughter of men!”

  “I swear it! Of the packs across the sea! I am one of you.”

  The leader stared in utter disbelief. “Who are you? What manner of man-trick is this?”

  Stacy tried hard not to faint from the throb in her head. “My...my name is Khalea. I come from the Northern Forest across the sea.”

  “Khalea? How come you by such a name? It is one given only to the Chosen.”

  She closed her eyes. “Fara wished it so, my lord. The name was bestowed on me by the finest lord my forest has ever known.”

  “This is impossible!” barked a voice from behind. “A man-trick, nothing more!”

  The leader growled menacingly. “That is not for you to say! She speaks as one of us.”

  “Take me with you,” pleaded Stacy. “I’m hurt. Would one of the pack turn away another who is injured and seeks shelter?”

  “You ask that we take you to our den?”

  “I beg it, my lord. Let the sage and the elders judge me.”

  A worried wolf stepped forward to the leader. “This one is cunning,” he growled. “She carries a tooth! I saw what she did to the naked one.”

  The hunter pouted. “But he was an enemy. And she claims to be of us. If that is so, she acted well, like a huntress.”

  “I...I am a huntress!”

  “She is badly hurt,” came another voice. “There will be no danger if we take her to the elders.”

  The leader nodded reluctantly. “Very well, Suli. Let cooler heads prevail on this matter. As you say, she cannot harm us. And the sage will be most curious to question her. Perhaps he wall call for the Circle of Lords. What know I of such things?”

  The friendly one concurred. “The sage must consult Balaka. Perhaps Fara has written of this across the sky. I do not know. But this much I can say: If we do not leave with her soon, she wall surely die.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Outside, the glow of Lea penetrated softly through the deepest recesses of the den. If not warm, the den was at least comfortable, and Stacy had managed to rest, eat and regain a bit of her diminished strength. The entrance to the den, a pyramid shape of natural erosion, was hidden by weighty branches and large rocks, an indication that even wolves dared not live openly under the sun.

  The white wolves had treated her well since she had been brought here the previous day. Yet she was a stranger. They spoke little, if at all, and then only when necessary. Suspicious and wary, they kept their distance and were careful not to let her see very much of their den. The size of this cave told her this was a meeting place; the center floor was surrounded by a pattern of large rocks in a circle. Such a meeting place could only be for warlords and the sage. She knew she was here at their pleasure, a prisoner until they had gathered and could question her. And the busy coming and going of hunters all day made it clear that the time of the questioning would be soon.

  The arrival of a magnificent wolf with a flowing mane and large intelligent eyes told her the first of the lords had come. He grunted as the hunters at the entrance bowed, then took up a place atop one of the rocks in the circle. Paws dangling over the side, he watched and studied her as she smiled awkwardly and drew her cloak more tightly around her. A few minutes later another lord came, this one a massive animal with a long pointed snout and the largest gleaming fangs she had ever seen. He, too, took a place atop a rock and lazily stretched out.

  The third lord to arrive did so with bluster. Growling and snarling, she heard him command those at the entrance to stand taller and firmer. They arched their backs, complying with haste. This wolf was clearly more than a lord, s
he knew. More likely the warlord — with long years of experience in battle.

  Within minutes the cavern was full; at least two dozen wolves were present. The last to enter was a lumbering giant of a wolf with small slanted eyes and a shock of white fur that fell over his face. He shook his pelt, sending off a wave of wet snow, then took his place atop the highest rock of all. The cavern became still, and the whispering and beating of tails ceased.

  Stacy looked up in awe at the stern but gentle face of the sage. She drew a deep breath and sat with her knees up, arms folded tightly around them. Then breathlessly she waited for the questions to begin.

  The sage glanced from one lord to the next and nodded his head in short greeting. “Who is it that shall tell us of how the daughter of men was found?”

  Another wolf approached from the shadows. She saw that it was the one who had spoken with compassion, the one called Suli.

  “We came upon this man-child,” he said, looking at her, “as she was brought from the tunnels by men of the Lowlands. We followed behind, poised to attack. But they came upon shelter before we were prepared. As they burned their fire, I came close and hid beside the drifts. There I saw this girl, the daughter of men, draw a tooth from her garment and strike the man across the face. She fled the shelter in fear. We were set to close in when the second man came back from his search. He hit her and tried to force her to submit to him, but before he could we struck. The men were killed.”

  The sage looked to the girl and saw that she was trembling. “And?”

  “And we were ready to leave when she spoke. Fara above! We thought a demon was upon us! She spoke softly, as one who is hurt, and pleaded that we take her with us. She claimed to be of the pack.”

  Here there was much murmuring among the lords. They began to watch and observe the girl all the more closely.

  The sage let this pass. “Why did you listen to her? Why did you take her?”

  Suli looked confused. “She was injured, my lord. And she spoke as one of us.”