Rebel's Honor

by Gwynn White

  No book project is possible without tons of help, so a big thank you to everyone who contributed to make this book possible. My family, who walk this writing path with me daily; my long-suffering critique partners at Scribophile; my brilliant cover designer, alerim; and my editor, Monika Holabird. I could not have done it without you all. To you, my readers, I also say a huge thank you. I love to hear from you, so if you wish to contact me, you can do so via my website, Facebook, or Pinterest.

  Finally, just to whet your appetite, I have included the first few pages to Warlord’s Wager. Enjoy!

  Sneak Preview of Warlord’s Wager

  http://www.gwynnwhite.com/

  Warlord’s Wager

  The softness of Lynx’s lips on his ear and her voice cut through Axel’s haze of pain and poison.

  “Even if he had more stocks of poison, I would have found a way to save you. You know that, don’t you?” She kissed the side of his face, a tender contrast to the burning everywhere in his body.

  He didn’t doubt her claim for a second. He’d had jumped in front of that poisoned quarrel for her knowing she’d find a way to save him.

  But now his father haggled.

  Axel tried to make out what Felix was saying, but his voice faded in and out of Axel’s consciousness.

  And his flesh burned like fire. The pain overpowered all else.

  Hands picked up his bed. Roughly. Not by intention, he was sure, but the shaking rocked his body like small earthquakes, sending wave upon wave of pain through him. Then it stopped, and Malika’s voice penetrated the fog.

  “Wait, Father. You can’t let him go alone. He needs someone to watch over him.”

  “One of the priestesses, surely.”

  A man’s even tone—who . . . Stefan. His best friend.

  Relief flooded through him. Everything would work out if Stefan were involved.

  “As emperor, I make that call, and I think it fitting that Colonel Zarot go.” The cold voice jarred Axel to the core.

  Axel wanted to sit straight up in that bed and shout, “No!” Stefan needed to stay in Cian to protect Lynx. Nothing was more important than that. But his tongue might as well have been cut out at the root.

  The bed rocked. Hoisted up. More excruciating pain. Fighting to stay conscious, Axel drifted in and out of blackness.

  He next awoke to the thrum of an airship’s propellers.

  “Malek, set a course for Tanamre in Norin. Thorn and his people are camped fifty miles east of the town.” Stefan.

  Flesh and bones melting like butter, Axel slumped back against his bed. At least he was in good hands.

  If only he could say the same for Lynx.

  * * *

  Stefan Zarot grimaced at the twenty crossbows aimed at him through the windows of the dragon-shaped wooden cabin of his airship, The Dragon’s Claw. A dirigible armed with light cannons landing unannounced outside the Norin encampment would come as a shock to the nomadic ostrich herders. Lost in a sea of rolling grassland, the Norin could never have conceived of such a threat.

  Still, Stefan hadn’t anticipated quite so many poison-tipped quarrels aimed at his heart.

  Poison-tipped.

  Axel’s olive skin was blue tinged and beaded with sweat, a harsh reminder of the deadliness of murghi, the Norin poison. Stefan scratched his three days’ growth of stubble, frowned, and looked through the bulkhead doorway dividing the cramped sleeping compartment from the control room. Axel lay strapped to his bunk bed, not to stop him from thrashing around, but to prevent air turbulence from rolling him off the bed. Only his ragged breathing broke through the paralysis gripping the rest of his body.

  But even now, his rattling lungs were faltering. Axel did not have long to live.

  It steeled Stefan’s resolve. Crossbows or not, he had to open the hatch and face this hostile horde of raiders.

  “You sure about hiding our weapons, sir?” Lieutenant Malek, the grizzled pilot, gestured with a grubby finger to the closest of four cannons hidden under a tarp. His dark eyes were not the only ones that flickered to their hidden hardware.

  The two other crewmen also edged closer to the arsenal.

  “Not that I’m questioning a superior officer—” Malek’s unspoken “but” hung heavy in the air.

  Even though Stefan was a colonel, a rank earned through merit, at a mere twenty-four years of age, Malek probably considered him too wet behind the ears for such a contingency.

  “Very sure, Lieutenant.” Stefan glared first at him and then at the rest of the crew.

  They stepped away from the cannons.

  “We’re here on a mercy mission. The Dragon’s Claw is intimidating enough. Flaunting weapons the Norin don’t even know exist is not going to help our cause.”

  Stefan ran a hand through his dark hair and sighed. He scanned the hard-eyed threat hanging from the guy ropes that anchored the dirigible to the ground. Groups of Norin already clung to the guys, burning torches gripped in their fists just inches from the dirigible’s black, red, and gold fabric covering.

  Stefan was under no illusions.

  Just one spark, and the wax-impregnated fabric would go up in a ball of fiery smoke and failure. Not even the raiders hanging on the anchor lines would survive. The Norin hated his people; they would consider the sacrifice a small price if it also meant the death of Chenayan troops.

  How are they going to react when they discover Axel is on board?

  Stefan wiped the sweat off his face with a sleeve of his black uniform.

  “If we knew who was in charge, sir, it would help.”

  It would.

  Unfortunately, all raiders tended to look the same—leather-clad, with ostrich feathers and beads braided in their long, blond hair. Unlike the Chenayan military, none of them wore any obvious designation of rank. Stefan rubbed the emerald embedded next to his right eye, wondering how best to tackle this problem. Axel needed to be on the ground, in the care of a healer, but that couldn’t happen unless the Norin invited them in.

  The acrid stench of burning pitch filtering into the pod wasn’t a promising welcome.

  Axel gurgled in the silence, and then his breathing stopped altogether.

  Before Stefan could move, a pox-scarred corporal charged into the sleeping quarters and loosened Axel’s ties. Pitted face contorted with sorrow and worry, the corporal rolled Axel’s rigid frame onto his side. Muttering apologies, he slapped Axel’s back.

  Nothing happened. He pounded again, this time dislodging a plug of blood. It trickled out of Axel’s slack mouth and down his stubbled jaw. Every man in the cabin waited for Axel’s lungs to start.

  After what seemed like an age—only a few seconds—Axel’s chest wheezed and then stuttered as he dragged in a breath of rancid air. But his breathing was even slower and more erratic than it had been before his seizure.

  Only the antidote could save him now. Even then, Stefan had his doubts. He gritted his teeth and stomped toward the hatch to open peace talks with the Norin.

  “Chenayan, open the door now, or we shoot through the glass!” someone shouted from the ground.

  “Thank the Dragon! A leader I can negotiate with.” Stefan spun in the direction of the voice. “Malek, did you see who spoke?”

  Malek jerked a hand at the window in front of the cabin. A middle-aged man with a sun-worn but distinguished face rimmed with feathers and braids strode through the parting ranks of raiders. Despite being dressed in a faded leather tunic, trousers, and scuffed boots, his regal bearing was unmistakable.

  “King Thorn.” Hope soared in Stefan’s breast. “Even better!”

  Thorn was flanked by two bodyguards. Stefan recognized one of them as the raw-hide lean raider who had delivered Lynx and Kestrel to Tanamre. The other, much younger, raider had silvery blond hair and a striking face that reminded him of Lynx. The boy’s whole demeanor dared Stefan do something out of line so he could plug him with a quarrel—no doubt poisoned.

  Despite the smoke, Stefan threw op
en the window to ensure an open line of communication. “King Thorn! Greetings. I would like nothing more than to open my hatch, but I ask first that your raiders lower their weapons and”—he gestured to the closest man hanging on the guy ropes—“their torches. My craft is not a chestnut in need of toasting.”

  “Then you ask in vain, Colonel,” King Thorn shouted back. “Your flying contraption may sport the Dragon, but you are now on Norin soil. Prepare to be boarded.”

  Stefan swore under his breath. This was bold, even for Thorn.

  “Guns now, sir?” Malek asked hopefully. His beady eyes streamed tears from the fumes and smoke billowing into the pod through the window.

  It was about to get worse.

  “No!” Stefan threw open the door hatch. “Sire,” he called down, bowing low to King Thorn. Vassal or not, Chenaya needed the Norin king’s support.

  Thorn’s raiders laughed, a ribald sound, and Stefan wondered what he had done wrong. Then he remembered. Norin didn’t bow; they punched their chests. And they didn’t call their king sire either.

  “Sir,” he called, thumping his heart, “I come in peace. I have a—”

  A crackling sounded behind him in the pod. Someone was trying to make contact with the ship. Only the royal family knew they were here, so it wouldn’t be wise to ignore them.

  Awkward timing. Stefan sighed and snapped at Malek, “Handle that transmission.”

  He had just faced King Thorn again when Lynx’s voice filled the pod.

  “Stefan,” she said, clear as if she were standing next to him. “Tao and I see on his informa that you have reached Norin. We thought it would help if I spoke to my father.”

  “Your Majesty.” Malek jumped to attention and saluted the image of Lynx hovering in the air above the control panel. “The colonel is negotiating with King Thorn as we speak.”

  Lynx’s virtual presence presented a lot of possibilities. Relief swept through Stefan. He shouted to Thorn, “I have Lynx with me in the cabin.”

  Not entirely truthful, but close enough to get Thorn or a senior raider into the craft so they could talk. It could halt the Norin aggression.

  His words electrified the Norin. To a person, they froze.

  Then, the hostility vanished from their faces, replaced with hope. A wave of sound rippled through the crowd, all saying her name. A couple of torches dropped to the ground. Clearly, their holders, while willing to risk their own lives, were not willing to gamble with Lynx’s.

  Only King Thorn’s sun-bronzed face remained hard. Unbelieving. “Then bring her out,” he called, staring up at the pod.

  Stefan swore again. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. How was he supposed to explain that the airwaves carried her face and voice all the way from Cian, thousands of miles away?

  Impossible.

  The Norin still lived in an age when coal and fire powered all technology; they would not understand ice crystals and informas. As it was, Thorn had been remarkably sanguine about the dirigible.

  Could he have known about it? And if so, how?

  “She wishes to speak with you inside the cabin,” Stefan shouted to Thorn. Then he remembered the letter Lynx had given him before leaving the palace. He pulled it out of his pocket. “I have this.” Praying it would soften King Thorn's heart, he let the parchment flutter down.

  The freckle-faced young raider ran forward to pick it up. He glared up at Stefan and then raced the letter over to the king.

  Without taking his eyes off Stefan, King Thorn took the missive. He glanced down briefly at the seal—Prince Tao’s—and shot Stefan another lingering look before cracking it open. “Heron, Clay, don’t take your eyes off him. If he moves, shoot him.”

  As if the two needed any encouragement. While King Thorn read the letter, Heron, the older of the two raiders, lined up his crossbow to a steely blue eye. Clay tensed, his body rigid with focus as he held his weapon in a rock-steady hand.

  A chill trilled down Stefan’s spine, but he resisted the urge to fidget. In the background, Lynx asked Malek what the holdup was.

  “You expect me to believe that my daughter wrote this?” Thorn asked, his voice incredulous.

  Stefan pulled himself up tall, refusing to be intimidated by the Norin king’s scorn. “If you come aboard, sir, you will hear it from her own lips.”

  Thorn’s icy blue eyes drilled Stefan. No one else moved. Every Norin watched their king. Time was ticking by.

  Time Axel didn’t have.

  Panic surged through Stefan, but he fought to contain it. Another minute of nothing but the sound of Axel’s jagged breathing.

  Stefan was about to start pleading when Thorn held up the letter.

  “So, you’re telling me that not only do you have my daughter on that flying monstrosity, but you have General Avanov, too?”

  “Yes, sir.” Stefan wished they could hear Lynx’s voice down on the ground, but even turned up to full volume, the speaker in the control panel would not carry that far.

  “You do know that I have every reason to want Avanov dead?”

  Thorn’s bluntness shocked Stefan, but he masked it.

  “Sir,” Heron said with more enthusiasm than Stefan liked, “if you want me to board that ship and stick a dagger in Avanov’s chest, I will.”

  “Count me in.” Clay’s predatory smile sent another shiver down Stefan’s back.

  Thorn continued to eye Stefan.

  This was getting them nowhere. Stefan thumped his fist on his chest again. “Sir, I understand that you have good reason to want General Avanov dead.”

  This wasn't the time to mention that Axel had been promoted to Warlord of all of Chenaya's armed forces. He was right. A ripple of bitter laughter spread through the Norin camp.

  “However,” Stefan said, speaking louder, “Lynx has made some friends in the palace, General Avanov and Prince Tao amongst them. She would not like to see Axel Avanov die.” He considered adding that Axel had jumped in front of the poisoned quarrel for her but decided not to. Despite the fact that a thousand high-born had witnessed his friend’s desperate act of love, followed by Lynx’s kisses, it was not for public consumption. With careful control, Felix and the Fifteen could stop that truth from spreading through the empire. If Lynx or Axel wanted to tell Thorn about their relationship, it was up to them.

  Baleful stares answered Stefan’s words.

  “You speak most eloquently for my daughter, Colonel. When will she step forward and speak for herself?”

  Frustration welled up in Stefan, but he maintained an even tone. “You can speak to her right now, if you so choose.”

  Clay took a step forward, his movements eager.

  Sensing weakness, Stefan studied him. The recent scars on Clay’s face, given his age and the feathers in his braided hair, could have been from an egg raid. Young and green, he would have something to prove to his fellow raiders. Stefan kept his eyes fixed on Clay.

  “They can bring their machetes. As you can see, I stand defenseless before you.” Stefan raised his hands and then gestured at the dirigible to convey that it had no weapons either.

  Clay looked back at Thorn and said something Stefan couldn’t hear. The king frowned and shook his head. Thorn wouldn’t believe the dirigible was unarmed, but he was at an impasse—and they both knew it. Thorn could not call his bluff that Lynx wasn’t on board.

  Something had to break the deadlock. Stefan prayed that Clay was persuasive. The boy spoke again, more fervently, and Stefan waited, motionless, for Thorn’s answer.

  Finally, the king nodded. “Colonel, send down a rope.” He gestured to Clay and Heron. “They will pay you a visit. Any trouble, and the rest of us will cut you down and carve you up for jackal food.”

  It was almost as good as getting Thorn on the ship.

  Stefan turned to the closest crewman. “Throw down the ladder.” Then, he added to both him and the other corporal, “When they arrive, I want you at attention. If they attack, take them down.”

  With
the ice crystals in his guardsmen’s faces, they were virtually unstoppable.

  Still, Stefan sighed. Fighting Thorn’s raiders would not get Axel healed. Lynx was the only answer, so this crazy plan had to work. He loped to the control panel, where Malek waited. Lynx’s image had vanished.

  Stefan’s heart sank. “Is she standing by?”

  “That she is, Colonel. I told her things were taking a time.” Malek looked smug. It wasn’t every day a guardsman got to speak to royalty—and never to the empress.

  “Get her back.” Stefan darted back to the hatch to welcome his guests.

  Heron was the first to clamber into the cabin. He turned toward the sleeping compartment, where Axel lay, chest rattling.

  “So it’s true?” Heron asked in passable Chenayan. Owning two-thirds of the world ensured that Chenayan was spoken throughout the empire. “The bastard is dying.” Excitement trilled in his voice. He reached back for his machete.

  Stefan wasn’t taking any chances on Heron helping Axel along. He gripped Heron’s arm. “That’s my best friend lying there,” he said without raising his voice. “So unless you want this to end very badly, you will keep your hands where I can see them.”

  “I knew we couldn’t trust you.”

  Heron’s hate-filled face reminded Stefan of Lynx. This was exactly how she had looked when he first saw her in Tanamre before the wedding. As unlikely as that sounded, she had become his friend. Perhaps it was possible to win Heron over, too. But first he had to protect Axel.

  Stefan tightened his grip. “Lynx spoke to me of you. Trust me, as much as I like her, I will not let her friendship with you get in the way of my quest here.”

  Heron’s body sagged at the mention of Lynx’s name. “Where is she?” The longing in his voice was obvious.

  Stefan let out a soft breath. Heron had feelings for her. Romantic ones. That would complicate things. Was it impossible for anything to go right today?