Invasion (The Warrior Chronicles, 4)

by K. F. Breene

  Rohnan’s smirk was irritating.

  “Well. I need to chat with the Shadow Lord.” Shanti turned, only pausing when she noticed Sonson straightening up, his smile aimed at her.

  “When does she think to send the first wave to the mainland?” Cayan asked, the twinkle in his eyes dimming.

  “Still a month. She can’t cut down the time. You’ve heard from Lucius?”

  “Yes.” Cayan turned so his body was facing a stiffly approaching Sonson. “All is well. The Duke’s men are fitting in fine and the supplies are steady. They’ve seen no Graygual.”

  Shanti’s brow furrowed, unease niggling at her. “I suspect Xandre will be mulling over his loss. He will analyze it before he acts again. I had anticipated a smooth crossing to the mainland. But where did the Hunter go? He doesn’t seem like the type to hide.”

  “He does seem like the kind to wait, though,” Cayan said.

  “The Hunter.” Sonson swung his arms to loosen them up. “That was the Superior Officer on your heels on your journey here?”

  “Yes.” Shanti pulled up her hood to shield from the moisture sifting down on top of them. The sky was spitting, threatening them with the rain to come. “He failed in the task Xandre assigned him, which was guarding Burson. Burson was a prize. Xandre’s underlings have been tortured for far less. The Hunter’s fate won’t be pretty.”

  “And why wouldn’t he hide?” Sonson asked.

  “Why don’t I?” Shanti squinted into the distance, thinking. “There is nowhere to go that Xandre wouldn’t eventually uncover.”

  “The Hunter is not one to hide,” Rohnan echoed with a soft voice. “No one with his training and prestige will give in to failure. They are not bred for it. Their training forbids it. He is out there somewhere. Waiting.”

  “Is Burson in jeopardy?” Sonson asked.

  Shanti shrugged, exhaling her frustration with the unknown. Burson had left soon after she and Cayan had jointly gained the title of Chosen, saying he had to spread the word. He’d landed safely in Clintos, as he’d said he would. After that, there had been periodic updates, informing them of the smoldering unrest in the land. Word of both the Wanderer and Chosen had spread like wildfire. Uprisings had appeared, but been quelled just as quickly. The land was holding its breath.

  They were waiting for her and Cayan, it seemed.

  Xandre wouldn’t wait forever.

  None of that helped with the whereabouts of the Hunter, though. His battle was targeted. At her. She had every belief he’d pick up Burson if it was convenient, but the Hunter wanted to capture his prey: the elusive violet-eyed girl.

  So where was he?

  “Chosen. Sonson.” A man ran up to them with harried movements. “Portolmous needs you. He says it’s urgent. He’s received a message…”

  A sense of foreboding filled Shanti. It was as if the Elders had heard her question, and were now sending an answer.

  Chapter Three

  Lucius’ face struck the wall. The guard held him there with a palm to the center of his back while he opened the door. He grabbed Lucius roughly by the shirt and yanked him off the side of the house before tossing him through the doorway. Lucius’ feet dragged against the floor. He stumbled and fell. With his hands tied behind his back, his face smacked against a hard surface for the second time.

  “Tallos, that is no way to treat our captive.”

  Lucius gritted his teeth at that calm, cultivated voice. He rolled to the side so he could look up at the speaker. Sharp, defined cheekbones, thin lips, and a straight, pointed nose that ended in a slight hook, giving him a predatory quality, accentuated by those horrible, dead eyes. Lucius hated looking directly at him. Hated the cold calculation in those soulless eyes. It wasn’t natural.

  “Sorry, sir.” Tallos grabbed Lucius by the back of the shirt again, hoisting him up. Using less force than he had on the walk there, Tallos guided him to a leather couch and dropped him down.

  “There. That’s better.” Staring at Lucius from the Captain’s living room chair, the man adjusted his crisp black uniform. Eight red slashes adorned his chest like blood. Taunting Lucius. Silently threatening him.

  “Would you like some tea?” the man offered in a genteel sort of way.

  “No, thank you.” Lucius jerked his head, trying to get the hair out of his eyes.

  “Yes. You are in a state, aren’t you.” The Graygual officer, called the Hunter by his men when they couldn’t be overheard, glanced at Tallos. “See to it that he is cleaned up. I do not like to speak to filth.”

  “Of course, sir.” Tallos didn’t bother looking in Lucius’ direction. And he wouldn’t bother to tell the barber to take it easy, either. If Lucius’ throat wasn’t cut as he was being shaved, it would be a miracle.

  “Now.” The Hunter held up a piece of paper. “I’ve taken the liberty of crafting a letter for you. As before, you will look over it, point out anything that doesn’t fit your phrasing, we’ll fix it, and you’ll sign the bottom. And as before, if you do not do as expected, I will kill one of your women. Understood?”

  Lucius ground his teeth.

  The Hunter’s bleak eyes studied him for a moment before he glanced up at Tallos again. “Bring her.”

  “No!” Lucius yanked at his hands. The tight rope rubbed against his sore wrists. “No. I’ll do it. You don’t need to bring her.”

  The Hunter’s flat stare didn’t waver. “On the contrary. A slight hesitation means the desire for disobedience. It is a power struggle. You forget that you have none. To prove this I must, once again, punish you.”

  A door opened somewhere in the back of the house, emitting a woman’s whimpers. Bare feet slapped against the hardwood floor in sporadic patters. As they grew nearer, the sobs became more evident.

  Lucius yanked at the rope again as Alena was forced into the center of the room. A beautiful woman with large, brown eyes looked at him from under her tear-soaked lashes. A large bruise covered her right shoulder and yellowing skin colored her jaw, half hidden behind lank brown hair.

  The Hunter waved one finger.

  “No!” Lucius yelled.

  A house guard stepped up and slapped Alena across the face with the back of his hand. The force sent her reeling. She fell onto the brickwork at the side of the fireplace, sliding down to the floor. Before she could get up, the guard was yanking her up by her hair and pushing her back toward the middle of the room.

  “Please,” Alena begged, falling onto her hands and knees.

  Without passion, the guard pulled back his foot.

  “No!” Lucius yelled again, struggling to his feet. “I said I’d do it! I said I’d do it!”

  The Hunter’s finger waved for the second time. The guard put his foot down and stood impassively over the sobbing woman.

  “What kind of animal are you?” Lucius spat at the Hunter.

  Something akin to humor sparkled in the man’s gaze. “I want a small task completed that is easily within your power. If you do this task, you would save her the pain and embarrassment of violence. Yet you still try to defy me. One might say you are the animal, not I.”

  “Show me the letter.” Lucius watched the woman on the floor with a pain in his heart. He couldn’t bear to see her hurt. To see any of the women hurt. Fighting Shanti had been one thing. He could easily block out her femininity with her masculine fighting ability. Landing a punch or kick had been a small victory, short-lived. But the women of this land were soft. They weren’t used to fighting or defending themselves.

  He bowed in defeat as Tallos took the letter from the Hunter and approached. He read it quickly, not really needing to. It said what it always did: the city was fine, trade was undisturbed, and there was still no sign of the Graygual. It had few embellishments but left nothing out. The Hunter had intercepted a couple of letters before he stormed in a month ago and had learned Lucius’ style well. Almost frighteningly so. He bet the Hunter could’ve signed it as well without alerting the Captain.

 
“It’s fine,” Lucius said softly.

  “Good. Now you may sign it and be on your way.”

  Tallos stepped behind Lucius and undid the rope. He then delivered a writing board so Lucius could carry out the Hunter’s instruction.

  A thousand thoughts flooded Lucius’ mind as he finished signing his name and approached the Hunter with the letter. His hands were loose and body primed, the desire to cave in the officer’s head so fierce it made his limbs shake. Adrenaline spiked as his heart pounded.

  Just him and the Hunter.

  He could be at the Hunter’s throat before Tallos could intervene.

  The paper quivered in the air as Lucius handed it over. His fingers tingled as the Hunter reached up for the document. The Hunter’s expression remained impassive.

  Lucius stared into those cold, dead eyes for one full heartbeat, daring himself to attack. Willing himself to rid this city of the ruthless officer.

  The breath gushed out of his lungs. He stepped back. Then dropped his hands.

  There was a reason the Hunter didn’t immediately have Lucius tied up again, or guarded tightly as he delivered the letter—his fighting prowess was unrivaled. Lucius had tried when he was in this situation the first time. Sterling had too, but to no avail. The Captain might’ve had a chance—maybe even Sanders—but no one else. The Hunter was on a level of his own. As long as he ruled this city, there was nothing Lucius could do to get them out of it.

  That didn’t stop him constantly thinking of possibilities, but it prevented him from needlessly attacking someone that would permanently injure him if he tried. Being a cripple wouldn’t help his city.

  That argument only mildly soothed the sting of cowardice.

  * * *

  Alena flinched as the guard grabbed her upper arm. She remained slightly limp, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Her face pounded from the slap, and her arm stung from scraping against the brickwork, but other than that, she was fine. She should be able to complete her mission.

  She gave Lucius a watery smile, wishing she could tell him to stop spending so much time dwelling on what was wrong with the city, and start focusing on what was right. Like that the Graygual thought the women were just as weak and useless as Lucius and the army men did. Or that the Hunter didn’t have a taste for the women of this city, or maybe for women in general, and wouldn’t let his guards partake either, unless it was consensual. That was a huge stroke of luck. Those two factors gave the women just enough wiggle room to be able to help.

  Hopefully. Otherwise, it might be just enough wiggle room to get them all killed. In a few days, when the Women’s Circle’s first steps to rid the city of these captors took effect, they’d know for sure.

  Her mind went to the tiny vial hidden in her bosom. Apprehension zinged up her spine.

  Alena filled her lungs with air and held on to the importance of her courage with two fists. It all began with her. Right here.

  The guard jerked her arm, the cue to get going. She swayed, taking two extra steps and forcing the guard to jerk her again, into the right path. After that he let her go, pushing her to get her to hurry up. She dragged one of her feet and let the force of the shove take her to the ground. Whimpering, she straightened slowly, playing up the wounded dove routine.

  She walked through the arch and into the Captain’s large dining room. Two Graygual, each with three slashes on their breast, leaned over their plates. Neither looked up as she passed.

  She tried to keep her body from going rigid as she entered the kitchen where Ragna stood at the large pot over the fire. Steam curled around her face, enhancing the rosiness of her cheeks and fluttering her gray hair. She looked up when Alena came through.

  “Oh my poor dear!” Ragna rushed over, grabbing Alena by the shoulders.

  Alena ignored the dull pain in her shoulder as she fell toward the woman. She let her head fall to Ragna’s thick shoulder while turning slightly, angling her chest away from the eyes of the guard. Quick as a striking snake, she snatched the small vial out of the pocket sewed into her dress.

  “C’mon!” the guard grabbed Alena’s hair and tugged her back.

  “Ah!” Alena reached back with her free hand and ran it along Ragna’s arm down to her palm. Ragna’s fingers closed over the vial.

  “Okay!” Alena said breathlessly, turning and stepping toward the guard. She let out another whimper as he yanked her head.

  “Stupid woman. Go!” The guard shoved her toward the door.

  It took everything she had not to glance back to make sure Ragna had safely tucked the vial out of sight. Instead, she scampered out of the kitchen, catching the door with her injured shoulder on the way outside. Off balance, she spiraled into the dirt. A rock jabbed her knee, sending shooting pain down her leg.

  She rolled onto her butt, flinching as she then had to pull the jagged stone out of the cut.

  “Go!” From the doorway, the guard made a shooing gesture with his hand, his expression impatient.

  A flash of anger filled her before she could quickly stash it away. Hopefully the emotion hadn’t touched her features.

  Not waiting for the kick that would soon follow the guard’s command, Alena got up and limped down the street. The sun sprinkled down, warming her just enough to excuse the chill of the air. Graygual littered the streets, their gazes hard but expressions impassive. Always impassive. It was like they were in a trance, watching with no real feeling. It wasn’t human.

  Alena noticed Molly ambling down the other side of the street carrying a basket of laundry. The woman glanced at Alena, her brow slightly raised. Alena gave one nod, conveying that the handoff had been made and the job was done to satisfaction.

  Molly looked straight ahead again.

  Molly’s guard, a graying man with a surly disposition, prodded Molly in the back. “Don’t dally.”

  “Can’t I notice my friend?” she asked with spice. “You’d think we were as unfriendly as you lot. I’m a friendly sort of person. I need someone to talk to once in a while, I do. I can’t just stay silent. It’s not natural!”

  “Shut up!” the guard badgered, pushing her again.

  “Oh yes, big man, pushing a helpless woman. Big man indeed.” Molly huffed as she continued along.

  Alena couldn’t help a small smile and a surge of pride. Molly had been their guiding light since the first sign of attack. The men had rushed to the city’s defense, but it was evident almost immediately that the city would be taken. No one could withstand the mental assault. It scrubbed at a person’s mind and chased away all coherent thought. Alena had been terrified, not only of the pain, but of what would come. The city had been attacked before, but the Captain had always been there to rally the defenses. With him in charge, everything seemed to work out.

  This time, though, everyone had withered at their posts. They couldn’t even raise their weapons. The Graygual had dropped over the walls like sludge, disarming or killing as they went. The gates had been opened and Alena’s worst fear had come to pass. They were captives.

  She shivered, just thinking about it. She remembered wondering if the soldiers would knock down the doors and take the women or kill the children. All manner of horrible things had panicked her to the point of suffocation. Those first few days had been lost in a fog of fear. She barely remembered them.

  Finally, on the fourth day, Molly had walked through the door with a stubborn expression and determined set to her shoulders. She’d given Alena a big, tight hug, then slapped her across the face.

  “Shanti always slapped people across the face,” Molly had said with an insistent gaze. “She stared down the Captain, she fought off the Mugdock, and she changed people’s way of thinking. It started with a slap in the face. So you shake off this fear, Alena. You shake it off. There’s work to be done. We need to protect this city like our mothers taught us. The men are no good to us. This is a woman’s job. Get yourself cleaned up and get to the Circle meeting tonight without getting caught. We need to take char
ge.”

  Alena ducked her head and wiped the smile off her face as she passed another hard-eyed Graygual soldier. Molly had caused enough havoc to get her own guard. But now that plans were set in motion, the essential thing was to keep their heads down and draw the least amount of notice possible.

  Crying a lot also helped. The Graygual thought crying was a sign of weakness. It never hurt to let them continue thinking incorrectly.

  After a miserable walk across the city with an aching shoulder, throbbing face, and pounding knee, she stumbled into Junice’s house and found her way to the kitchen. As expected, Junice sat at the kitchen table, working at needlepoint with a worry knot in her brow. At Alena’s entrance, she dropped her chore and bounced up.

  “Did you do it?” Junice tsked at Alena’s cheek. “That looks like it hurts.”

  “It does hurt.” Alena allowed herself to be directed to a chair at the table in the modest kitchen.

  “You’ll live.” Junice wet a cloth and put it to Alena’s face gently.

  “No sympathy from you, huh?” Alena grimaced as Junice dabbed. She must’ve gotten a cut—the treatment stung. “And yes, I passed it off. Now it’s in Ragna’s hands.”

  Junice exhaled noisily. “Well, we’re in it now. There’s no backing out.”

  “Unless she doesn’t use it.”

  “She will. When the time is right, she’ll do what needs to be done.” Junice looked at Alena’s shoulder, and then her knee. “You’ll need some salve. It’ll help.”

  “Dipping into Sanders’ stash?”

  “Of course. He came home with more scrapes and cuts…” Junice chuckled, but sadness and worry colored her tone.

  “He’s okay,” Alena said softly. “Wherever he is, he’s okay.”

  “Of course he is. That man is too stubborn to die, that much I know. I just wonder if I’ll be okay. What we’re doing…it’s dangerous…”