by Jane Atchley
His first lieutenant knelt at his shoulder and cut the ropes. He cleaned the shallow cuts on Kree’s arms, and with quick economy of motion reset Kree's shoulder.
"Davith, bring the captain’s horse and his clean uniform, please." Duncan glanced at Kree’s stocking feet. Clearly, perturbed by his failure to plan a footwear contingency, a frown line appeared between his brows. "Patrick!" A large senior cadet rode forward. "Lend Captain Fawr your boots, please," Duncan said.
"But I only have—" The cadet’s protest died under the force of Duncan's glare. The first lieutenant's vivid blue eyes practically shot off sparks. "Yes, sir, First Lieutenant, sir." The cadet said hopping off his horse and shucking his only pair of boots.
With Kree outfitted to Duncan’s satisfaction, the young officer swung up into his saddle and snapped off a sharp two-fingered salute. "Captain Fawr, Red Fist is at your service."
"The Fist is light." Kree observed as they rode toward Duncan’s camp.
"Yes, sir. I have been watching the lodge for the better part of two days looking for a weakness that would give me access to you. When the mercenaries withdrew today, they took Miss Burin with them whose whereabouts I judged you would wish to know. I assigned two men to tail them."
"Did you find one?" They reached camp and dismounted. Kree handed Storm off to his senior cadet, taking the time to tousle young Davith’s hair by way of a hello.
"Sir?"
"A weakness? Did you find one?"
The First Lieutenant pulled a face. "Nothing I am comfortable using. I do not have enough intelligence on these people to take absolute decisions."
"Come on. Cheer me up, Shug."
Duncan shrugged. "The mercenaries have withdrawn. We are above average fighters. We have plenty of food. I know you are hungry, but I am afraid I cannot think of anything else you might find cheerful, sir."
"Above average, you say?" Kree chuckled. "We are lions, Duncan. Lions. Don't ever forget it. Do we have mead to go with that food?"
Red Fist kept a cold camp this night. No cook fires. No lanterns. The two men made their way to the supply wagon for a ration of dried meat, bread, cheese, and the lifeblood of Kingdom armies, mead. Kree settled on a campstool and propped his feet on another stool. The borrowed boots pinched.
Duncan sat opposite him. "How soon do you wish to strike, sir?"
Kree wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Soon. Tonight if you can manage it. And I’ve told you before you don’t have to sir me. No one else does unless they’ve managed to seriously brass me off."
"Yes sir." Duncan waited until Kree put the mug to his lips. "And I am aware how difficult it is to brass you off."
The captain snorted laughter. His feet came off up of the stool, he turned his head quickly and spewed a mouthful of mead on the ground. "Point taken." He set the mug on the ground.
"Thank you, sir."
"So what did you bring me?"
"Lady Bird did not describe your situation to my satisfaction, sir. Since I could not know what we needed, I brought the whole pantry."
Kree leaned forward, held his reserved young officer’s face between his hands and kissed the man soundly on the mouth. "I love you, Sugarbabe! I swear it on Namar’s eyes!"
"Thank you, sir." The First Lieutenant raked his hand across his mouth. "I think."
His first lieutenant's diffident response to his unexpected burst of affection amused Kree. First Lieutenant Duncan was, in his opinion, too controlled and too controlling for so young a man.
"Gather the Fist." Kree winced as he pushed to his feet. These damn boots were tight. "We’ve got a raid to plan."
The captain meticulously reproduced the lodge’s floor plan from memory. He described Rian and his people in such minute detail that the Fist could recognize them on sight. The plan Kree proposed included dropping weapons to the captives. Red Fist’s strength lay in shock and speed. They hit fast relying on surprise and confusion as much as skill. It would not do to kill Nhurstari's young Majority Apparent in the resulting chaos.
Just after midnight, Red Fist armored in blackened chain mail to protect them from the touch of Nhurstari Talent, paused inside the tree line overlooking the lodge. Each of the six assault members carried two crossbows adapted to fire two bolts each. Once the bolts were gone, they would fall back to lances, eight footers, and then to their sabers. Two stationary bowmen were perched in the trees. Their job was to place fire-arrows at Duncan's order and provide general cover. Although Rian had assured Kree Nhurstari talent would not transfer to animals, Kree insisted on horse armor. Horses were sentient beings to anyone who spent as much time with them as cavalrymen did. They had one shot at this; he wasn't taking chances.
Duncan reined in at Kree’s shoulder; he was not surprised to see him there. His young officer planned things to death. Maps were wonderful things, but his first lieutenant claimed you never really saw the field until you saw the field. Kree pointed to the creek running alongside the lodge.
"What do you think, Shug, what if we post cadet slingers along that ridge and salt the creek with Natris nonstop?" Duncan nodded and spoke briefly to his senior cadet. The youth ran to put the order into action. Studying the building through a field glass, Kree marked smoke curling from the side chimneys warming the bedchambers. According to Rian, the south wing quartered the women, the north, Hueil and his followers. "Can we get a black-powder charge down that north chimney?"
Duncan squinted into the darkness. "Maybe."
"Yes or no, Shug."
Raising his own glass, Duncan studied the building a long moment, rode down the line to the bowmen, conferred briefly, nodded and returned to the captain’s side. "It can be done, sir."
"Have them do it, once we breach the building."
"Yes, sir."
"And be careful out there."
The horses and the men were high, itching for action. Pitching his practiced voice to a carry, Duncan called to the assembled troopers. "Dress the line." The men brought their mounts under control. "Red Fist, Captain Fawr bids us be careful."
Red Fist responded as one. "First chance we get."
The ritual observed, Kree nodded. "Step them off, First Lieutenant."
Chapter Eighteen
Playing solitaire with Nhurstari cards was difficult, but not impossible. Biggs had been at it since supper. He assessed his companions. Rian possessed the eerie talent of sitting perfectly still for hours on end. Biggs had not seen the elf so much as blink. It made a fellow jittery.
He could not help but notice the fine tremble in his own hands as he laid the cards one atop another. Maybe it was a lack of Goddess nectar making him jittery and not Rian’s utter stillness. Biggs was luckier than most. He needed the nectar every couple of days. Goddess-born like the boss used it every day. Be ready, the boss said. Biggs could not remember seeing Kree take nectar at all. Maybe it was true what people said about that one. He wondered how the boss fared.
Over in the far corner, Fergus taught rock, paper, scissors to one of the twins. Eoin maybe. The elf had won the last five bouts. The poor foolish lad, no one loses five times in a row, even if one takes paper every time. The elf was probably reading his mind.
Alrick and Garen deliberated over a board game, the strategy of which consisted of blocking your opponent’s progress by placing little round stones on a grid. Eamon watched the play, volunteering advice, first to the one then the other. Maybe that one’s Eoin. The first explosions nearly made Biggs jump out of his skin.
Rian moved, lifting his eyes toward the cellar’s high window a mere second before it burst inward. A cloth wrapped package dropped through the window. Be ready. Biggs was on the bundle before it hit the floor, passing out the enclosed weapons, swords for the Nhurstari and Fergus, an axe for himself. Biggs attacked the cellar door. More explosions rocked the night, the sounds of running feet and Nhurstari screams drifted through the broken window.
***
Natris was a wonderful thing. A volatile solid, D
uncan called it. It required special handling, but then Kree had someone special. He'd fallen in love with this stuff the first time Duncan demonstrated it. The soft metal exploded in water in a spectacular fiery show. It produced heavy clouds of steam as thick rolling fog. Superior to Kree’s mind than black powder since it did not make him cough or sting his eyes. Duncan disagreed, preferring, as always, things he could control.
Red Fist struck fast, less than a quarter hour from step-off until a site was secure, any longer, and Duncan aborted. The unit was the first lieutenant's passion, his invention. He handpicked and trained its personnel. Red Fist executed raids fast and flawlessly. All of this Kree knew, and it still seemed to him they charged in slow motion.
Duncan’s booming voice shouted, "Get on the ground, stay down, and live," over and over and over as a mantra. Nhurstari ran in all directions, but the squad's scissor formation caught them up. The order to ‘get on the ground’ echoed around Kree from the rest of the squad members. Leaving enemies on his backside ran contrary to Kree's Goddess-born training. The Goddess Namar was not merciful. She did not teach mercy to her sons. He saved his voice and pushed forward. By the time the black powder charge exploded in the north upstairs corner, Kree's crossbow bolts and lances were long gone and his saber was slick with Nhurstari blood.
He urged his horse up the wide stone steps fronting the lodge. As his wingman, Duncan followed tight on his flank. His man took holding formation seriously even if Kree did not. Clouds of stinging acrid smoke billowed down the stairs. The battle song of steel on steel sang to Kree from the rear of the building. He laughed. His Templemen were free.
Rebel Nhurstari poured out of the smoke-filled stairwell. Duncan shouted ‘get down, stay down’ nonstop. Kree killed any who did not comply fast enough. Hueil burst out of the smoke almost onto Kree's blade just as Rian raced out of the alcove underneath the stairs.
"No! Kree Fawr, do not kill him," Rian shouted.
Kree’s saber point rested beneath Hueil’s ear. "Live snakes hatch new rebellions. I don’t mind ridding you of your snakes."
Rian glanced about his great hall. "I can see you don’t. But killing is not the Nhurstari way. I will ask for hostages as a part of Hueil's ransom. It will be well, Kree Fawr."
Kree wiped the bloodied steel on his saddlecloth and glanced at the Templemen panting at Rian’s shoulder. "Biggs, you and Fergus help Rian set this place in order. We’ll leave our cadets here to assist you."
"Garen and twins will see to clean up and take hostages." Rian looked up at Kree. "I am coming with you."
"Don’t take this the wrong way, Rian. I appreciate the offer. I really do. I just don’t want the added responsibility."
"If your lady is injured, I can help her."
Kree considered this. "Duncan, take him up behind you. You are responsible for him. Call the Fist to formation."
Red Fist wormed its way through trees that seemed to stretch out roots with the intention of entangling the horses’ hoofs. They had been paralleling Colt’s trail for more than three hours. Duncan would not step up the pace. He saw no reason for haste even under threat of severe injury. Kree had sworn to pound his man senseless repeatedly, but Duncan remained unmoved. In the first lieutenant’s place Kree would do the same, protect the horses, a fact that brought him cold comfort.
Fear for Kayseri’s safety crouched like an ice dragon on his chest. Battle madness licked at the inside his skull. A near crushing desire for Goddess nectar raked fiery claws across his stomach from the inside out. He wanted to run wild. Fishing the vial of Goddess nectar from his belt, he worried it between his thumb and forefinger. Something in the formula made the metal vial warm to the touch and just the feel of it soothed him a bit. He felt the weight of Duncan’s gaze.
"Don’t piss about, Shug. If you have something to say, spit it out."
"You don’t need to resort to nectar, sir. We have been in worse jams."
"Have we?" Kree barked a laugh. "Clearly you don’t appreciate the magnitude of the jam we are in. I cannot control my emotions. Believe me I’ve tried. I want and I don’t know how to stop wanting. Do you know what it’s like to want something every minute of the day knowing you can never have it?"
Something in Duncan’s expression said he understood Kree didn’t mean the Goddess nectar. "Sir, you are a powerful man, a man of rank and distinction. No one refuses you anything. To whom must you answer?"
"So you think I should take what I want because I can. I’ve been there, done that. It does not end well. Answer me this, does power make me right or make it mandatory for me to do what is right?"
Kree's brilliant first lieutenant stared at him, trying to gage his mood in the moonless gloom. "I- I do not have a solution, sir."
Kree gave a bitter chuckle. "I don’t either, Shug, but until I do I think I should lean a little on the side of doing what’s right." He glanced at Rian perched behind Duncan clutching the first lieutenant’s waist as if for dear life. "You’re a leader of men— uh, elves, Rian. What do you think?"
"I think you do not understand the nature of the Nhurstari Majority, and I do not understand the nature of men."
***
Colt’s rough fingers scraped along the back of her neck. Kayseri shuddered. Pressed as she was between the pommel of Colt's saddle and his body, she felt him chuckle. His body was hard where his crotch pressed against her backside. A scream crawling up her throat, but she swallowed it. Terror fed this evil man's lust, and she vowed not to give it to him. With a subtle twitch of her fingers, Kayseri sent his troop’s packhorses crashing willy-nilly into the murky forest for a third time. It was simple pixie mischief, but it was new to her capture. He cursed in her ear.
"You are bringin’ me hell’s own luck, tart." A stinking steam of tobacco arced past Kayseri's cheek. "You had better be worth it."
She licked her swollen lower lip and silently celebrated another small victory. It had taken Colt’s men more than two hours to round up their packhorses. Full night found them stranded on the mountain. What should she do now? Should she keep them on the mountain and wait for Kree to find her or escape tonight while there were forested slopes enough to hide a pixie forever.
The mercenaries sprawled around their cook fires passing around bottles of Nhurstari wine. They battered her with insults and crude jokes as she stirred the simmering stew. Colt had not raped her because there had not been time, what with rounding up packhorses and such. But she knew he would as soon as he sucked enough cruelty and libido out of the wine. It should not take him long. Colt had cruelty to spare. He craved her pain, hungered for her terror. A shudder rocked her resolve to be as fearless as her captain was. She steadied herself breathing deep the way Kree did before a fight. She was not helpless, not quite yet. She had mischief in her fingertips and it was going right into the stew.
***
A gull’s cry cut through the night. Duncan reined his horse in and gave an answering call. Five minutes later a scout joined them. The trooper gave a crisp two-fingered salute to the first lieutenant and then to Kree.
"My Captain. Well met."
The captain returned the gesture with the smallest trace of impatience. Red Fist was Duncan’s squad. Duncan wanted— No, Duncan demanded military protocol from subordinates. Kree was indifferent to it.
"Stephan," Kree acknowledging the man with a slight nod. "What do we know?"
"They’ve made camp a little more than a furlong down slope. You should lose the horse armor if you’re counting on surprise because you are clanking worse than an army of tinkers."
Dropping out of his saddle, Kree began stripping his horse. "How’s Katie holding up?"
"That little lady has spunk. I'll give her that. She’s been dealing them mischief all day long. She's pulled every pixie trick my mama ever warned me about. Why, she ran their packhorses off three times today. If she had not done that, it’s likely I would have lost them. Now I think she’s curdled their rations. They’re groaning and holding thei
r stomachs. Looks to me like that bunch don’t know much about pixies." Stephan grinned. "You'd be right proud of her, My Captain. I know troopers who don’t have half as much brains or courage." Low-pitched chuckles filled Red Fist's close-packed ranks. Even his normally reserved first lieutenant smiled. Kree brushed at his eyes with the back of his hand, glad of the darkness.
***
"You worthless bitch! You’ve poisoned me!"
Kayseri darted aside, but Colt's fist was lightening. The blow made her ears ring. She fell hard on her side and rolled into a tight ball.
Colt grabbed a fist full of hair pulling her to her feet. "You think it’s going to save you do you, tart?" He staggered backward and tore open his trousers. "I'll have you first then strip you naked and let my men take a turn."
Putting action to his threat, Colt twisted his fist in her bodice and ripped it to the waist. He pulled her close assaulting her mouth with a hard brutal kiss. His teeth cut into her lower lip. Blood filled her mouth. His breath stank of vomit, and Kayseri fought down bile. A sudden commotion outside the tent pulled Colt up short. Shouting! Horses! Ringing steel intermixed with raspy laughter and the thrum of crossbows. Kayseri’s heart soared. Kree had found her and not a minute too soon because she was out of mischief.
Colt tightened his fist in Kayseri's hair and he used his hold to drag her to the tent flap. A single glance said the battle was not going his way. Some of his men fought, but the stomach gripe had weakened them. Most were all ready on the ground.
"You must really be a tasty little tart. Too bad I won’t be gettin’ any." Pressing his dagger to Kayseri’s throat, Colt stumbled from the tent.