Invasion (The Warrior Chronicles, 4)

by K. F. Breene

  “Anything?” Tulous asked quietly.

  Opening his eyes, Kallon scanned the devastated lands. “Nothing. My Gift isn’t like Chosen’s, though. She might’ve found something different when she came through.”

  “Just…to make absolutely sure…” Sayas walked up next to them, his eyes serious despite the half-smile on his face. “We are positive she came this way?”

  “Yes.” Dannon took out the letter they’d received from Chosen. “She mentioned the burnt lands, though she didn’t go into detail. This is the right way. She must’ve come through here.”

  “Or she was told which directions to put in the letter,” Mela said, cleaning some dirt from underneath her nail. Her nonchalant tone was misleading. Kallon could feel her uncertainty matching his own.

  Kallon’s gut pinched. “That letter came from her. She put in the right words.”

  “If she was being tortured…” Mela’s brow crinkled.

  “She wouldn’t have summoned us if it wasn’t safe.” Sayas crossed his arms over his chest. “That woman was as hard as could be. She won’t break. If she was under pressure, she’d take the pain and wait for death rather than putting us in danger.”

  “Sayas is right. She wouldn’t have broken,” Kallon said.

  Mela dropped her hands to her sides in defeat. “I know. I just…it’s been so long.”

  Kallon turned toward his horse, their conversation eating away at his guts. The letter had definitely sounded like Chosen, with the same clear outlines and firm tone that he remembered of her instructions when training. But toward the end, her tone seemed…whimsical, almost. Lighter than the duty-ridden woman he remembered. If he had to guess, that letter didn’t feel like she was under duress.

  He glanced around the desecrated lands again.

  So what, then, was the gnawing in his gut that said they were too late? It was like the expectant vibration of battle ahead. He didn’t have the sight, but every fiber of his being said something was coming. Something was off. He didn’t know how, but he knew that if they didn’t hurry, they might never see the Chosen again.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “It’s time. She’s getting ready,” the Captain said as he stood beside the freshly doused fire.

  Sanders checked his weapons, and then took a long look at each of his men. Eyes tight, but expectant all around. Ready. Eager, he’d say, in most of their cases. They were like him—he’d rather be in the thick of it, no matter what the situation was. He wasn’t the type to let a girl get all the glory. Ridiculous.

  “Let’s do it.” Sanders clapped Xavier on the back. “You ready for this, boy?”

  “Yes, sir.” Xavier put his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  “This is your first command, aye, Xavier?” Tobias asked, his smile not reaching his eyes.

  “Yes.”

  Sanders pretended not to notice the kid gulp. He had a helluva job in front of him, so he was right to be close to shitting his pants. While Sanders, the Captain, and all the experienced men cut down as many Graygual as they could, Xavier and the other members of the Honor Guard would move from tree to tree, trying to sneak up on the Inkna to put a knife, sword, or arrow in their backs. The hope was that the boys could free the Captain up, and as a unit, they’d make it to the city.

  Sanders clapped the boy on the back again, drowning out the doubt with an action. They owed it to the city to attempt the impossible. Sanders owed it to his wife to make the impossible become a reality.

  “Check your weapons one last time, men,” Sanders ordered while the Captain took two steps away. His eyes were glowing faintly. Checking his mental weapons, by the look of it.

  “Okay, I’ll—”

  A ghost staggered toward the fire from the Captain’s tent. His hair mussed, his eyes bloodshot, and his face white, he lurched and fell to his knees at the Captain’s feet.

  “What the fuck, sir?” Sanders yelled. Scared as hell, he jumped back and yanked out his sword.

  The Captain took a step back as well, staring down at his oldest friend with wide, shocked eyes.

  “Another one!” Rachie pointed at another lumbering shape. Sterling stumbled to the side, throwing out a hand to brace himself on the tree. A moan sounded from the tent where Galen lay.

  “What in holy hell is going on?” Sanders asked. His stomach was flip-flopping all over the place.

  “Lucius?” the Captain said in a hoarse whisper, stepping forward and helping the man up.

  “Is this witchcraft?” Tobias asked with terrified eyes. “Because I checked for his pulse. He was definitely dead.”

  Lucius coughed out a laugh. “You guys will strap on a smile to charge toward an enemy that is sure to overwhelm you, but a ghost wanders through and you piss your pants?”

  “Yes. That’s about right.” Tobias took a step backward.

  “I was given a concoction to make me appear dead for a day. The women got us out of prison,” Sterling said with a scratchy voice. “I need some water.”

  “And here I was going to blame this on the foreign woman,” Daniels said. “We live among witches.”

  “Thankfully.” Tobias stepped forward with a gratified smile and shook Sterling’s hand. “Good to have you back. Thought you were a goner.”

  “How did we get out here?” Lucius asked, shaking his head in what looked like an effort to clear it. “We were supposed to go to the hospital where they prepare the bodies for burial.”

  “The Graygual aren’t in the habit of preparing bodies for burial, it seems,” the Captain said gravely.

  Lucius gave him a hard look, then glanced at Sterling. Something was being communicated there. Sanders didn’t think he’d like what it was.

  From the look around, the other guys had the same thought. If Lucius had thought he would have gone to the morgue, it meant someone else probably had. For him not to…it probably meant their stores were already full.

  Sanders refused to think more heavily about that. It wasn’t something they needed to hear right now.

  “Well, damn glad to have you. When do you think you’ll be able to fight?” Sanders said.

  Sterling shook his arms out, swaying. “I’m going to need some time. I’ve been dead for a day.”

  Galen staggered from the nearest tent.

  “We don’t have time,” the Captain said.

  * * *

  Shanti flung open the door with bow in hand. It was a little too small, being a boy’s size, but it was better than the ones that were used by the strong men in this land, like the one Rohnan would be forced to use. The street was bare and quiet, no one in sight.

  Shanti laughed. “They are hiding their bodies, but they can’t hide their minds. The Hunter, in all his wisdom, doesn’t understand the Gift.”

  “And he’s too egotistical to properly learn,” Rohnan said. “How many?”

  Shanti took off down the street toward Cayan’s mansion, where the Hunter would be. “Ten. Shall I kill them now, or do you want to run around and get as many as you can first?”

  “Kill them. If it won’t hinder you too much in the long run.”

  Shanti gripped their minds and stabbed with one sharp point of power, drawing on the substantial combined force that was hers and Cayan’s. She felt the minds wink out as Cayan’s Gift surged within her, hearing its mate’s call and wanting to answer.

  “He’ll know we’ve begun.” Shanti increased her pace. “Let’s hope he’s ready to go.”

  “I think he’s been ready since you left. That man doesn’t relax much.”

  “He does, you just have to be in the right setting.”

  “Since I won’t be bedding him, I’ll take your word for it.”

  Shanti snorted as a blast of mental power assaulted her. “Woke up the Inkna.” She slammed up her shields, trying to block out the barrage. “I liked it better when I fought against people without mental power. I got so much more done.”

  They turned down the larger street, running into armed Grayg
ual stretched out in a line, their swords drawn. Inkna stood behind the line, three of them with grim expressions and plenty of power ready to be unleashed.

  “They’re going to be too much for me,” Shanti said, gritting her teeth at the pain spreading across her skull and making her hair stand on end.

  “Then I’d better kill them.” Rohnan put down his sword before nocking his bow. He sighted and released. An arrow flew in a shallow arch, hitting an Inkna in the shoulder.

  “You’re going to need to shoot better than that…” Shanti sighted as the line of Graygual started jogging toward them. She loosed.

  The arrow flew in a similarly shallow arch. The Inkna, inexperienced in battle, put his hands in front of him, trying to defend with the flesh and bone of his arms. The arrow stuck in his center. He hadn’t even had his arms in the right place.

  “Well, this weapon didn’t last long.” Shanti’s words were not much more than a string of grunts as she took out her sword and looped the bow around her for safekeeping. The first Graygual reached her as the pain started to prickle, burning down into her head. Scouring her shields.

  The sword was a blur through the air. The man screamed and fell. Rohnan jerked his sword, dislodging the blade. He turned to another Graygual. “Push through the pain, Chulan!”

  “Easy…for you…to say,” Shanti grated as she swung her body to the side, barely escaping a sword strike. She lunged, her tip parting flesh before another was on her. A quick step and she kicked, catching the man in the jaw, as she dipped and struck. Her sword sliced through his center. She whirled back, cutting through the first Graygual’s throat, ending him.

  A stab of pain in her head made her wince. They were working through.

  “Hurry, Rohnan,” she said, but her words wouldn’t be heard over the din.

  The next Graygual was on her, his sword moving so fast she could barely focus. Another point of agony stabbed through her shields, prying its way into her brain.

  A gleaming sword tip approached. Her sword came up in a numbing hand and blocked, completely muscle memory. Another hot knife of power drove through her, searing down her spine.

  Shanti stumbled, her sword clattering away. Her legs were becoming numb now. They were attacking her nervous system.

  “Excellently trained, these Inkna,” Shanti slurred.

  An explosion rocked the street. A body flew to the side like a piece of rubble. Rock rained down. People staggered.

  The pain cleared from Shanti’s head as a net fell over her.

  * * *

  Cayan felt another surge of power. Shanti wasn’t just killing one or two now, she was battling. “We don’t have any more time to wait. Let’s get going!”

  “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” Sanders urged, pushing his men, as few as there were, toward the trees.

  “I’ll work a bow,” Sterling said.

  “Me too.” Lucius staggered toward the tents. They weren’t much good, but they’d have to do.

  Cayan waited for the two commanders, back from the dead, to get armed.

  The small force started out toward the main gate. As they approached the line, the closest they could get without the Inkna reaching them, he turned to Xavier and his remaining Honor Guard.

  The younger man looked at him solemnly, his face set, his shoulders squared. He was no longer a novice. “Remember all Shanti’s teaching. She’s prepared you for this. Don’t let her down. I’m counting on you.”

  “Yes, sir,” Xavier said, his bearing becoming a little straighter.

  Cayan spared a glance for Rachie, and then the terrified but resolved Marc. The doctor had seen more battle than most of Cayan’s army. He hated every second of it, but still he prepared, and executed his orders, then healed when it was all done. He was one of a kind.

  “Hate to lose you,” Cayan said with a wink.

  “Yes, sir!” Rachie said. “I won’t let you down, sir.”

  “Yes, sir,” Marc said, looking at the ground.

  Cayan gave everyone else a glance before mounting his horse, and then kicking its sides. He launched past the line as a huge boom sounded from somewhere in the city.

  “What the hell was that?” Sanders asked from behind.

  Hooves battered the ground as they got up to speed. Another boom sounded.

  Leaves slapped Cayan’s face. He ducked under a branch. A slap of pain accosted him. He squinted, releasing his power on instinct. His Gift pushed out from his body, spreading out in front of him. More pain came at him, working through his attack and still reaching him.

  His sight dimmed. Agony flared, jabbing his body and squeezing his mind. Panting, labored, he flexed, roaring with his power in the direction of those Inkna.

  The torment lightened a little. One by one the claws scratched through his offense, though, piercing him. His vision started to blacken. He couldn’t feel the saddle beneath him.

  He forced down his shield, grabbed the reins, closed his eyes, and focused all his strength on his defense. He had to hang on. All he had to do was hang on.

  * * *

  Marc’s heart thumped as he spurred S’am’s horse toward the first tree. He was the only one, besides S’am, the animal would allow on its back.

  Following Xavier, he passed the Captain, who was slumped in his saddle. The Inkna would be focusing all their attack on him. Sanders and the others came into view. Swords rang out. Sanders was on his horse, swinging down at a Graygual. The Hunter must’ve sent out more warriors. The sword sliced into a neck. The enemy fell away.

  Xavier turned away right. This wasn’t their fight.

  Marc yanked at the reins. The horse, bullheaded as it was, refused to turn.

  “No, you blasted thing!” he yelled, tugging. “We have to get the Inkna!” He yanked with everything he had.

  The horse did a small zigzag. “Turn, you bastard!” Marc hollered.

  He almost wasn’t prepared for the quick change of course. Clutching the reins, he sideswiped a Graygual horse, making the other animal buck wildly. The Graygual flew off, his arms windmilling. Tomous, the man they’d picked up from their journey to the Shadow Lands, was on him in an instant, swinging his sword down for a kill strike.

  The horse galloped, hot after Xavier’s horse. Marc leaned forward, not in control. Trying to hold on. His teeth chattered with each hoof thump. Alarm had his eyes wide, going so fast through trees and branches the leaves became a blur.

  Xavier’s horse came into view, slowing down. Xavier jumped off, about to sneak up on the first Inkna in the crow’s nest.

  Marc’s horse blew past him.

  “No,” Marc begged.

  The horse didn’t respond.

  They weaved in and out of trees toward the gate. The horse slowed, stepping more cautiously in the lush area.

  Seeing his chance, Marc swung his leg over the saddle and jumped off, aiming for a cluster of large ferns. He misjudged his speed, though, hitting the ground with his feet, but then unable to stop the forward motion. He rolled, tumbling over a rock and crashing to a halt in a briar.

  He groaned, yanking his limbs and crawling out, the thorns scratching along his cheeks and forehead and snagging his clothes. Out of breath, and seeing the horse continuing on without him, Marc shook his head and glanced around, trying to get his bearings.

  The horse was fast, and it was excellent in battle, but the thing was wild. Sanders thought it would follow the horse in front of it. Nope. It just did what it wanted all the time. Marc was no match for the animal.

  He took out his knife and tried to picture the area in his head. Southeastern side of the city. If he wasn’t mistaken, there was a crow’s nest not too far away.

  Staying silent, hearing the distant clang of swords and shouts of battle, Marc snuck through the trees, careful not to disturb leaves or snap twigs. Exactly where he expected, he saw wooden boards nailed to a large trunk. At the top he could just make out the edge of a platform within the leafy green.

  The wood planking
groaned as someone above shifted. It was definitely occupied.

  Sweat dripping down his back, his breathing rapid no matter how he tried to calm down, he climbed the tree with his knife in his teeth. Putting it back in its sheath might’ve been wiser, but if he needed to grab it quickly, this would probably work out better.

  The small board at the top of the trunk squeaked as he gripped it. He paused, staring up at the platform with wide eyes.

  Nothing peered over the edge at him.

  He pulled himself up slowly until his eyes were just over the lip of the platform to see black boots rooted to the wood. The Inkna was braced against the railing, staring out to the south. No doubt attacking the Captain with his mind.

  Marc climbed up as slowly as possible, careful not to make a sound. The Captain had been right: this Inkna was so focused with his mind power that he wasn’t paying attention to anything else, including the guy with a knife crawling onto the platform.

  Thank God.

  Marc pulled himself up the rest of the way, straightening slowly. Knife held out and shaking dramatically, Marc took a step. His breathing turned shallow. Pressure pulsed in his ears. With a quick movement, he grabbed the Inkna’s shoulder with one hand as he stabbed with the other. The knife stuck in the man’s neck.

  The Inkna yelled out in surprise and pain. Blaring agony tore through Marc’s head and blistered his body, so intense his teeth clicked shut and his eyes rolled back in his head. Before he knew it, he was tumbling backward, running out of wood to hold him up. The ground pulled at him, tugging his body away from the rest of the wood.

  The pain bled away. Marc’s body stopped convulsing just as his torso went over the edge. He gave a panicked cry, his hands scrabbling for purchase. He was barely able to close his grip around a step.

  His weight wrenched his shoulder, but he held on, dangling from the tree.

  Marc gave an inarticulate sound and glanced down. The ground seemed to smile up at him, promising pain.