Unbound Heart

by Jane Atchley

  She tore her gaze from her dead countrymen. Quinn was not dead. She’d feel it if he were. Faelan glanced toward ridge where the battle raged. Quinn was out there somewhere.

  A blue-jacket lance stabbed the ground in front of her tent, the green binding on its haft familiar. Duncan had passed this way and left his lance beside her door. Why? Faelan hefted its four foot length in one hand, flush with a fresh rush of purpose.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Surprised he could still tell the difference, Duncan wiped rain and stinging sweat out of his eyes. Tightening his grip on his saber, he cut his horse back toward the enemy line. Red Fist, down by two, turned with him, holding tight to its wedge formation.

  “This is it.” Bird shouted from just beyond Duncan’s left shoulder. “We’ve got ’em.”

  Duncan’s lips pulled into a tight feral smile as he watched a company of enemy jogging to intercept them. Then it happened. The enemy line thinned too much. “Ride!”

  He spurred his horse. Red Fist’s perfect little wedge punched a hole through the weakened enemy line, and the allied infantry poured through. Red Fist had executed this maneuver or one very like it, again and again for heaven knew how many hours. Bird said the same every time. “We’ve got ’em.”

  This time however as they punched out on the other side, his sergeant major’s optimistic assessment proved correct. Twenty feet from where they emerged, three enemy generals sat upon their horses like statues amid chaos.

  Hot frustration blasted Duncan. If he had not left his lance sticking in the mud at Faelan’s tent in another frail attempt to protect her, he could have ended the war here and now. Ended it, that was, if he wanted to kill Faelan’s uncle.

  Closing the little distance between them in an eye-blink, Red Fist surrounded the AOD generals. Duncan centered his saber on the senior general’s chest. “General Foley.”

  The man brought his own sword to guard. “Field Marshal Duncan.”

  “How sweet, Shug, he remembers you,” Bird quipped.

  Resisting the urge to shoot his man a glare, Duncan focused on the general. “Submit and live.”

  Fighting stopped in a wide circle around them. Men waited.

  The general’s sword lowered a fraction. “What terms? What happens to my people?”

  “You heard my terms some days past. My intentions are unchanged. Order your men to lay down their arms and cease hostilities forthwith.”

  Duncan watched the older man think it over. What went through a man’s mind at a time like this? He hoped he never found out. He saw the decision in the other man’s eyes, and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “My niece reports you’re an honorable man.” The general sheath his weapon with care, unbuckled the sword belt, and held it away from his body. “I hope she’s right.”

  At a nod from Duncan, Bird collected the enemy general’s sword. “I will afford you every military courtesy. Our surgeons will attend your wounded. I will show your people mercy.”

  The general stared at him a handful of minutes then he turned to his aid. “Strike the colors. Order the bugler to sound surrender.”

  ****

  Carrying the lance close to her body, Faelan jogged toward the fighting. Many of the men, who had pushed past her as she gathered women and children eager to meet the enemy, now ran from the fight. She caught one of the deserters by his coat as he brushed by her.

  “Have you seen my brother?” Faelan shook the man, shouted in his face. “Where is Quinn?”

  The fellow blinked glazed eyes at her, recognition dawned. “Faelan? My God woman, get off the field.”

  Faelan gasped as his hand closed upon her upper arm. She dug her heels in when he tried hauling her along with him. “Wait. Let me go.”

  He kept dragging her along as if she had not spoken. Desperate, Faelan swung the lance one-handed walloping the fellow above his right ear.

  He yelped and released his death-grip on her upper arm. “What’d you do that for?”

  Frustration drove Faelan. She menaced the fellow with the lance. “Quinn! Where is Quinn?

  “There.” The man pointed. “See that bright blue helmet comb darting back and forth? That’s the kin-slayer. Last I saw, Quinn was making a stand against him and his blue-jackets, trying to keep them from joining up with their infantry—”

  He might have said more, but Faelan didn’t wait to hear it. Fear squeezed her heart. She sprinted into the fray. Working her way to the front was easy. No one tried to stop her. The men were too busy fighting to worry about one crazy female. It wasn’t hard to locate her brother either. She just looked for the most furious bloodletting, certain that Quinn was in the heart of it.

  Sure enough, there he stood knee-deep in fallen companions holding his own against an unhorsed blue-jacket. He could not see the other trooper bearing down upon him from behind saber held high. Faelan stifled an urge to cry warning and darted into the oncoming trooper’s path. Her lance slipped smoothly into the man’s inner thigh. Holding tight to the haft, Faelan let the horse’s momentum drag her until the weapon pulled free. The trooper slipped sideways, but not before his deadly saber swept an arc through the air above Quinn’s head. Quinn threw a quick glance in Faelan’s direction as she scrambled to guard his back.

  “What are you doing here?” Quinn shouted over his shoulder.

  “Saving your butt.”

  ****

  Somewhere between sweeping through the enemy camp and General Foley’s surrender the rain stopped. A slight breeze blew in from the south driving the rain clouds before it. Duncan let relief washed over him. He had captured the king. Checkmate.

  In his immediate circle, enemy soldiers stacked their weapons, but the farther afield he looked the more pockets of fighting he saw. Fierce fighting raged along the line where Captain Fawr, moved inexorably toward the river pushing the AOD before him or trampling them underfoot.

  People died needlessly in the first hours after surrender, mostly civilians coming out of hiding too soon. Duncan was bone weary of death. A chill ran through him. Was Faelan alive? She had to be. She must hate him by now, but still he needed to satisfy himself of her well-being.

  “Ride with me, General Foley, let our people see us together.” Duncan turned to the nearest trooper. “Carry word of victory to Captain Fawr, please.” The man spurred his horse away spattering mud on the bystanders.

  The general cleared his throat.

  Duncan stared at the man’s outstretched hands. “What?”

  “Bind me.”

  Shackle Faelan’s uncle? What an unappealing notion. “I have no wish to humiliate a worthy foe.”

  One of the lesser chief-men muttered, “Is this guy real?”

  “Real enough to whip your ass,” Bird quipped.

  Duncan shot his man a quelling look. “It is not the time for taunts, Sergeant major.”

  Undeterred, Bird grinned. “Will there be time later?”

  “Doubtful.” Turning his gaze back to the general, Duncan picked up where he left off. “We are both officers and gentlemen. Until we execute a formal surrender, I trust your honor. Allow me to escort you to your tent.” He kneed his horse into motion.

  The general fell-in alongside. The lesser chief-men crowded in behind, with the remaining Red Fist fanned out around them.

  “I’ve never seen so much destruction in all my years,” the general said. “Just look at it.”

  As if Duncan saw anything else. The soft pocked earth smoldered. A part of him reveled in his success. The raw purity of it sent a scintillating hum through his body that felt nothing short of exhilarating. On the other hand, his rational mind suffered overwhelming guilt. Both the range and destructive power of the rockets and hand-bombs exceeded his expectations. The collateral damage appalled him. If both sides possessed such weapons, the death toll—Duncan swallowed hard. It was unthinkable.

  “I am sorry.”

  “Don’t waste regret on me, little hound.” General Foley barked a humorless laug
h. “If I’d had weapons like this, I’d have finished you months ago.”

  “I assure you General, I would have too, had I possessed them months ago.” Duncan lips thinned in a tight smile. His gaze drifted to the spot where Faelan’s tent stood amid the sea of destruction. “But still, I regret the unnecessary loss of life.”

  The general followed Duncan’s line of sight. “Is that your little favor there fluttering in the breeze keeping my niece’s tent upright? Guess you told her to move to the far side of camp too?”

  Duncan turned his horse, trotted toward the tent. “She did not say?”

  “I hate to burst your bubble, little hound, but she said many times.” The man gave a rueful chuckle. “We just didn’t listen.”

  Duncan reined up and called out. “Hello in the tent.” No one answered. A spark of apprehension flashed up his spine. “Faelan?”

  Long seconds passed. An old woman emerged. She pulled the flap closed behind her back holding it in her knotted hands.

  “My mistress went looking for her brother.”

  Not what he wanted to hear.

  Duncan shot a quick anxious glance at the line where his cavalry continued mop-up operations.

  The woman’s gaze darted from Duncan to the general and back again then, she dropped to her knees and bowed. “Have mercy on an old woman, Great Conqueror.”

  She cannot know what she does. Duncan climbed off his horse and went to the woman. Intent did not matter. Her action triggered an inborn compulsion in him. He could no more deny his protection than he could halt the sun’s march across the sky.

  “Arise.” House-holden. Placing a firm hand under the woman’s bony elbow Duncan helped her. “No one will harm you.”

  The old woman licked her lips, jerked her thumb at the tent behind her. “What will you do with those inside the tent?”

  “No harm will come to them either, so long as they cause no trouble.”

  “My mistress is right. You are a gentleman.”

  Softhearted, thy name is Aimery. It was, Duncan was the first to admit, what came from living in a houseful of women. But hearing the old woman say Faelan spoke well of him to others filled him with a rush of pleasure that almost made him laugh out loud.

  “Tell them it is safe to come out.”

  The women and children filing out of Faelan’s little tent were thirsty, malnourished, and clearly terrified out of their wits. Their misery moved Duncan to his compassionate core.

  “Archer. Daniels. I need a hand here. Bird, get food and medical supplies brought over to these people at once. Make it happen, please.”

  The last woman exited the tent leaning heavily on her staff. Duncan went to her aid without thinking. He committed war’s unpardonable sin. He let his guard down. The old woman straightened and snapped the staff up before Duncan could react.

  The staff mashed his nose with the speed of a lightning strike, shattering bone. Hot blood poured from Duncan’s ruined nose. Blood filled his mouth. His eyes watered like the very devil. He scrambled for his saber. Nicholas Falkenbach tossed away his old woman’s guise, and drew the sword hidden beneath his rags.

  Duncan got his feet under him and stood swaying. He was in terrible trouble. He couldn’t breathe through his nose. His eyes watered profusely, reducing his opponent to an indistinct blur. His rising internal temperature heralded nothing good. The odd humming in bones had returned with a vengeance and was not at all pleasurable this time. The violent vibrations threatened to shake him apart.

  “Guard the prisoners. Fetch My Captain.” Bird’s shouted orders filtered through the roar in Duncan’s ears. At least somebody was doing their job. Falkenbach’s first strike coming out of the blur nearly took his head off. Duncan forgot about everything else.

  A second blur entered Duncan’s peripheral vision moving fast. In his present condition, he couldn’t prevail against two opponents. Where was Red Fist? He had counted on them to keep the fight one-on-one.

  Falkenbach’s blade bit into Duncan’s biceps. He swung his saber, rotating his body, putting as much momentum into his swing as he could. But Falkenbach went down before Duncan’s blade made contact, knocked off his feet by the second combatant. On my side then. Duncan blinked clearing his vision and saw Faelan roll to her feet.

  Back on his feet, Falkenbach circled her. “If I don’t get you, he sure as hell won’t. I’ll give you a gift for old-time’s sake. You can die with him, you faithless bitch.”

  The odd humming in Duncan’s bones ratcheted up to new degrees of torment. Faelan, his love, stood between him and a man determined to kill them both. Falkenbach charged. Faelan waited until he committed to his swing, she ducked and rammed Duncan’s lance into the soft spot under the man’s sternum exactly as Duncan had shown her.

  Falkenbach’s eyes went wide. He dropped his sword, gripping the shaft with both hands. Blood dribbled from his mouth. Still upright, he slumped upon the lance.

  Faelan rushed to Duncan’s side just as the first convulsion doubled him over. His internal temperature shot up like one of his rockets, complete with screaming. Oh wait, that was him. The vibration in his bones threatened to tear him apart. Duncan wrapped his arms around his torso and issued his last order, “Run!”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Heat blasted out of Duncan’s core. He came to himself standing in a circle of scorched earth. Faelan’s tent burned merrily behind him. He couldn’t recall the last time he inadvertently torched a freestanding object. Not since puberty. He felt fairly certain. It did not overly concern him. His vision was another matter. Everything looked bright and sharp, but he suffered from a strange sort of tunnel vision. His head felt heavy. It was a new and disconcerting, and he hoped, short-lived sensation.

  Bird was shouting. Now that he noticed, a lot of people were shouting. Maybe his clothing was on fire. It would not be the first time. Duncan stretched his arm out and inspected his glistening green scales. Scales? He shook his heavy head denying what he saw. One scaly arm end in a wicked clawed hand, the other looked normal below the Nhurstari tattoo. Shouts of “dragon”, and “don’t shoot him,” penetrated Duncan’s consciousness. He flexed leathery wings and launched himself into the overcast sky.

  Circling overhead, Duncan surveyed the battlefield.

  You call this destruction? We can burn down the world. The voice in his head sounded contemptuous.

  Duncan spiraled down on drafts reveling in the feel of wind beneath his wings.

  We have missed the sky.

  He flew low over the group of troopers gazing up at him.

  Adela. The voice filled with longing.

  In that instant, all things became crystal-clear. These were Drake’s thoughts, Drake’s instincts, and Drake’s memories. He was in Drake’s body, and if he stayed there, he would become Drake. Aimery Duncan would no longer exist.

  “She is not Adela,” Duncan answered the voice. “She is Faelan, Aimery’s love.”

  Who is Aimery?

  “I am Aimery.”

  We are Drake.

  “No. You are Drake. I am Adela’s great grandson, Aimery. Remember? Armand brought me to visit you in your cave once. I was in trouble for building a kite to glide through the sky.”

  There was a long silence. Aimery, the kite builder? The voice chortled. Armand’s little hatchling who yearns to fly? How do you like the real thing?

  ****

  “Let me put it another way. Where the fuck is Duncan?”

  Bird gestured at the dragon circling low overhead.

  Kree narrowed his eyes at the man. The old trooper didn’t look well at all and that was a solid fact. “Are you fucked up?”

  “I swear to you, My Captain. This is what happened. Duncan screamed and doubled over. He told us to run. When a man in that much pain tells me to run, I run. I don’t question him. A furnace blast knocked us off our feet, and…” He pointed at the dragon.

  “Fuck.” Kree rounded on Lathan. “Shift him back.”

  “In mid
-flight?”

  “I don’t care.” Kree stared up at the dragon. “I want him down.”

  On the next low pass, the theurgist closed his eyes and reached out with his spirit hand. After a few minutes, he sighed. “I can’t shift him. He isn’t double-natured.”

  Kree cupped Lathan’s head between his hands as if he meant to pop it like a grape. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means I can’t shift him into something he fundamentally is not. Your first lieutenant is a dragon.”

  “Not anymore he’s not,” Bird said. “Look.”

  Duncan fell from the sky in a ball of fire.

  ****

  Kree strode into Duncan’s tent as he always did, as if he owned the place. Trays and mugs littered the outer tent, but Duncan’s island girl was already setting it to rights, having run off the concerned troopers responsible for the mess. Faint chanting sounded within, a man’s rich baritone. Duncan was awake, and it was about damn time. Kree put his finger to his lips silencing Ky’lara’s when she would have spoken, and quietly lifted the privacy flap.

  His man sat cross-legged on his bed, eyes closed chanting while he moved a small pile of gemstones balanced on his right knee to his left knee and back again.

  “I’ve never heard you pray before.”

  Duncan’s blue-blue eyes snapped to his. He scooped the gems up and dropped them into a worn leather pouch. “I was singing.” Unfolding his legs, he made to rise.

  Kree held up his hand. “As you were.”

  “If you have come to cashier me, sir, I prefer standing.”

  Waving this statement away like so much bad air, Kree sat down on the end of Duncan’s bed. “Don’t be stupid.”

  ****

  Easing back, Duncan watched his captain make himself comfortable, every movement screamed, it’s a trifle. Oddly, his captain’s friendly demeanor elevated his own anxiety. Kree cocked one leg on the mattress’s edge and rested his massive forearms on it.