by Anne Bishop
“That’s why you don’t formally serve the Gray Lady.”
“I made no vows, so I’ll break no vows. But make no mistake about it, Jared. In my own way, I do serve her.”
Thinking of a mistake made by the boy he had been, Jared sighed wearily. “How many men become ensnared by what they think is love and then find that they’ve sacrificed something precious?”
Talon rested a hand on Jared’s shoulder. “The Gold doesn’t ensnare, Warlord. The Gold doesn’t demand the Silver in exchange. That’s how you know it’s the Gold.”
Jared studied the older man. “Have you ever loved?”
Talon hesitated. “No,” he finally said. “I’ve never worn the Gold. Come on. Let’s warm up by the fire for a bit. We’ve still got a few hours before sunrise.”
Thoughtful, Jared followed Talon to the fire.
Maybe it was because he was cold and tired and concerned about Lia that he had thought he’d heard something that hadn’t been there.
Or maybe there really had been a touch of wistfulness— and envy—beneath Talon’s words.
The sky was starting to lighten when Lia and Thera walked out of the Sanctuary.
Jared strode toward the two pale, exhausted women who had their arms around each other as if they needed the support. But he stopped abruptly before he reached them, too shocked to continue moving.
Lia’s psychic scent hadn’t changed.
It should have changed. He should have been able to sense the deeper, richer power of the Gray in her. But all he picked up was a solid, unmistakable Green.
Lia glanced at him but wouldn’t meet his eyes.
Jared struggled to breathe.
What had he seen in her eyes before she looked away? Sorrow that her attempt to descend to her full strength had failed? Regret that she’d tried to make the Offering to the Darkness when she was physically, mentally, and emotionally tired, and, because of it, had failed that ultimate test of Self?
No second chances. The Offering could be made only once. Whatever potential depth of power a person might have reached was lost forever if it wasn’t won during that one grueling night. Whatever Jewels a person came away with after the Offering were the darkest Jewels he or she could ever wear.
Which is why a witch who should have been a Gray-Jeweled Queen had ended up wearing the Green Jewels of her birthright. She might hone her Craft and gain more skill with the power she had, but because she’d gambled on one night, she wouldn’t be strong enough to protect her Territory or her people against Dorothea SaDiablo.
Thera looked at Blaed and Talon before focusing on him. “We’d like to return to the village and leave as soon as possible,” she said.
Jared clenched his teeth until the muscles in his jaw began to jump. “Whatever you Ladies wish.”
Lia flicked an uneasy glance in his direction before hurrying toward the horses.
Watching them, Jared pivoted slowly until he could see the men around the fire. How many of them knew he’d given Lia her Virgin Night?
Most of them, judging by the way they kept their expressions carefully blank and politely looked around or through him.
Only Randolf didn’t look away, and his eyes held something that might have been sharp regret.
Even Brock just shook his head and turned his attention to smothering the fire and preparing to leave the Sanctuary.
As resentment began to burn through the shock, Jared walked away from them, needed to get away from them. They blamed him for diminishing a Queen, blamed the inexperienced pleasure slave for daring to perform a service that should have been left to a strong, seasoned male.
Talon’s hand closed on Jared’s arm, forcing him to stop.
“It’s wrong,” Jared snarled. “It’s all wrong. Talon, I swear by the Jewels and all that I am, I did everything I was supposed to do.”
“No one’s saying differently,” Talon replied calmly.
“No?” Jared looked over his shoulder at the other men. “A pleasure slave isn’t considered a man. How would he—”
“Shut up.”
Jared tried, but the resentment kept building. “It’s wrong,” he insisted. “Even if she wasn’t able to descend to the Gray, she shouldn’t have ended up with just her Birthright Green. She should have at least come away with the Sapphire or the Red.”
“Hold your tongue,” Talon snapped. “This isn’t the time or place to chew over what happened or why. It’s done, and there’s nothing we can do about it, so we’d better all start accepting it.”
With his hand still clamped on Jared’s arm, Talon headed for the horses. “Once we’ve got everyone tucked safely in Dena Nehele, why don’t you spend a few months in the mountains with me?”
“Why?” Jared said, feeling the guilt that he should have done something different, something more, coil around his heart and squeeze.
Talon bared his teeth in a feral smile. “Because, Warlord, after you spend a winter with me, all that shit you spew about pleasure slaves will be knocked clean out of your head.”
“Well, that’s something to look forward to,” Jared grumbled as he mounted the bay gelding.
Lia, Jared noticed with a fresh stab of resentment, was surrounded by Talon’s men—and they didn’t make room for him to ride beside her.
“Let’s move,” Talon said. “Jared, take the lead. I’ll watch our backs. Everyone in the village will be waiting for us at the Coaches.”
The Sanctuary was only a mile from the village, but it was the longest mile Jared had ever ridden.
The sky got lighter.
Feeling a prickle between his shoulder blades, Jared urged the gelding into a canter.
He probed the road ahead of him, looking for a trap. He probed the village and lightly touched the minds clustered together.
He expanded his probe outward . . .
. . . and found a blank spot.
And another.
And another.
And another.
The kind of blank spot a dark Jewel would notice when a lighter Jewel was wrapped in a psychic shield.
Mother Night.
*Hold steady,* Talon said on a spear thread. *We’re almost there. If they were ready to attack, they would have done it by now.*
Jared acknowledged the message and kept his eyes on the road. Thank the Darkness they had moved the Coaches into the village instead of leaving them near the landing place. Otherwise, they would likely have been destroyed.
By the time they cantered up the main street of Ranon’s Wood, a circle of psychic blank spots surrounded the village.
Jared turned the gelding to one side, letting the others pass.
Talon reined in next to him.
“Can we make a run for it?” Jared asked quietly.
Talon shook his head. “At a quick guess, I’d say there’s several hundred of them out there, including a handful of Warlord Princes. They’ve cut us off from the Winds, and we haven’t got a chance of breaking through and outrunning them overland.”
“So we fight as well as we can.”
“So we fight,” Talon agreed, urging his horse toward the Coaches.
“And we die,” Jared said, moving with him.
Talon stared straight ahead. “If the Darkness is kind.”
Lia moved toward them as soon as they dismounted. Before she could say anything, a Craft-enhanced voice thundered over the land.
“Warlord! Shalador Warlord! I am Krelis, Master of the Guard for the High Priestess of Hayll! Your village is surrounded by Hayllian warriors, the finest warriors in the Realm. You have two hours, Warlord. If you hand over the Green-Jeweled Queen, I’ll let the rest of you go. If you don’t, there will be nothing left of you or your people but dust.”
Jared slipped a protective arm around Lia’s shoulders. He felt relieved when Blaed stepped behind her to protect her back and Thera moved a little closer to her other side.
“Well,” Talon said, turning to face them, “it looks like the bastards have de
clared war.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Krelis leaned against the stable of the damaged Coach station outside Ranon’s Wood. From there, he could keep an eye on the landing place, the road leading to that privy hole of a village, and the station itself where a few of his men were clearing out the debris in a couple of rooms to turn it into a temporary headquarters.
One of the Hayllian Warlord Princes approached him, and said, “All the men are in position.”
“Fine,” Krelis replied. “Pass the word that they’re to do nothing but keep watch and make sure no one tries to slip between them.”
The Warlord Prince paused. “There’s no reason to give these—people—two hours.”
“There’s every reason,” Krelis snarled. “I want that Shalador bastard to sweat. If I’d demanded that the bitch Queen be handed over immediately, the Jeweled males left in the village probably would have fought out of instinct. So we give them a little time to think, to worry. Give him a little time to look at his family and the people he grew up with and weigh the pain that will come to them against protecting a Queen he barely knows. Give the rest of them time to think about their own skins and weigh their children’s lives against the life of one stranger. During the first hour, the villagers will split themselves into two camps. Before the second hour ends, the Shalador Warlord will either bundle her up and deliver her himself, or he’ll yield to the rest of his people and not stand in their way when they deliver her to me.”
The Warlord Prince made a sound of disgust “And we let the others crawl back into their lair?”
Krelis’s lips curled in a sneer. “Once I have the bitch-Queen, the men can do whatever they please with the rest of them. The females can be passed around for as long as they survive. The children will be sold as slaves. The males can be broken, then hobbled and used for training exercises. That should give everyone a chance to show his skills.”
A queer gleam filled the Warlord Prince’s eyes. “Yes, it should.”
Krelis waved his hand in dismissal.
He’d give the Shalador bastard time to sweat because it would also give him time to figure out what to do about the two Warlord Princes in the village—especially the Sapphire-Jeweled one. He hadn’t expected them. Another oversight his pet would have to account for. They might have to be eliminated before the bitch-Queen was handed over.
Well, that was the Red-Jeweled bastard’s problem.
Krelis called in a small wooden box. Inside was the brass button he had used to get past the traps spelled into the other ones in order to read the private messages, the brass button that had an extra spell woven into the metal—a spell his pet didn’t know about.
Krelis triggered the spell that yanked the psychic leash wrapped around his pet.
Then he made himself as comfortable as possible, and settled down to wait.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Jared, Talon, Blaed, Yarek, Thera, and Lia sat in a circle inside one of the Coaches.
Or two half circles, Jared thought uneasily. Blaed and Yarek flanked Thera the same way he and Talon flanked Lia.
He almost wished someone besides Yarek had been chosen to represent the survivors of Ranon’s Wood and Wolf’s Creek. He didn’t want to be separated from his uncle during the last hours he had left.
But that would depend on Yarek. Jared’s choice was already made.
“I’m going to surrender,” Lia said softly.
Thera’s green eyes turned icy. “Don’t be a fool. Do you really think those bastards are going to let the rest of us live?”
“He said—”
“He’s Hayllian, and that bitch’s Master of the Guard. What did you expect him to say? ‘Make it easy for us because we’re going to kill you anyway?’ Once they have you, there’s nothing to stop them from unleashing their Jewels and tearing this place apart.”
“If I surrender, they might spare the children,” Lia insisted.
Thera gave her a withering look. “Have you ever seen a young girl after a few males get done with her? Especially Hayllian males? Or what they do to a boy? I’d rather slit Cathryn’s throat than let her be handed over to what’s waiting out there. And Corry’s and Eryk’s, too. At least that would be quick and kind.”
Lia made a distressed sound. “These people have endured enough.”
“These people are going to die,” Thera said harshly.
“Because of me.”
Thera expelled a vile string of obscenities. “You really turn into an idiot when you don’t get enough sleep.”
Gray eyes met green.
Feeling Talon’s attention sharpen, Jared watched the two women who balanced and complemented each other’s strengths so well. They didn’t move, hardly seemed to breathe.
A minute passed.
Two minutes.
Finally, Lia said quietly, “Queen’s gamble.”
“Yes,” Thera said just as quietly. “It’s the only way now.”
Yarek cleared his throat. “What’s this Queen’s gamble?”
Lia’s eyes held Thera’s. “Something my grandmother taught me.”
Talon’s eyes narrowed as he studied the two of them.
Since Talon had the most fighting experience, Jared waited for the Warlord Prince to say something, but he wasn’t surprised when Talon remained silent and thoughtful.
Yarek cleared his throat again. “Meaning no disrespect for your grandmother, Lady, but I doubt anything’s going to get us through an attack from that many warriors.”
“This will. If everyone does what he’s supposed to do, this will.”
“Is there enough time for us to prepare?” Talon asked respectfully.
“There’s time,” Lia said, as Thera nodded slowly.
Talon rose to his feet. “Then I’ll tell my men.”
“No,” Thera said, her voice taking on an eerie quality that made Jared shiver. “Go with Blaed and Jared and tell the others who came with us from Raej.” Her mouth curved in a malevolent smile. “Tell all of them. Yarek, inform your people. They’ll need some time to accept having to face another battle. But do it quietly.”
With some effort, Yarek got to his feet. “Doesn’t matter if they have time or not. They’ll accept it. What choice do they have?”
Thera looked up at him. “None.”
Not sure if he wanted to give reassurance or get some, Jared leaned toward Lia.
She leaned away from him, avoiding even that much contact.
It didn’t matter, Jared told himself as he and the other men left the Coach. He didn’t blame her for not wanting to be near him. He wouldn’t blame her for not feeling for him even half of what he felt for her. It wouldn’t have come to anything anyway.
But, Mother Night, how he wished she’d let him hold her once more.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Leaning back against the bales of straw his men had arranged into a tolerably comfortable seat, Krelis delicately tested the knife’s edge against the ball of his thumb.
“What is it?” Krelis growled at the Warlord who kept shaking his head as he stepped into the stable.
“One of the villagers came down the road a minute ago.”
Satisfied with the edge, Krelis sheathed the knife. “I’m expecting one of them. Did you put him in the Coach station?”
“No, Lord Krelis.” The Warlord’s mouth curled in a vicious grin. “And it’s not likely you were expecting this one. He came around the curve in the road, saw us, and stopped. I thought he might be trying to spy on us, but he started grinning like a half-wit, unbuttoned his trousers, and watered the road. Then he turned around and headed back to the village. Didn’t even tuck himself in.”
Krelis leaned forward. “What did he look like?”
The Warlord shrugged. “Big male. Pale skin. Short hair. He wasn’t close enough to see anything else.”
Krelis snorted. “We don’t have to worry about that one. The High Priestess already took care of him. I’m surprised he still has brain
s enough to unbutton his trousers in the first place.” He stood up and stretched. “No, we don’t have to worry about that one. But keep an eye out for my pet. He should be here anytime now.”
Once the Warlord had returned to his position, Krelis slipped his hand into his coat pocket. His fingers curled around the brass button.
He gave the psychic leash another yank.
His pet still needed one or two lessons in obedience.
Teaching him would pass the time—until it was the Shalador Warlord’s turn.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Jared studied the people gathered in the tavern’s small back room.
Eryk and Corry stood on either side of little Cathryn. Each of them held one of her hands.
Thayne, looking exhausted and obviously still suffering from the witchfire burns, leaned against the back wall, close to Blaed.
Brock leaned against the opposite wall, near the door, which was casually blocked by Talon. His face had that pained look of a man who badly needs to answer a call of nature but doesn’t want to miss anything.
Pale and sweating heavily, Randolf restlessly paced the width of the small room, staying on the far side of the round table and chairs that were the room’s only furniture.
Thera had said to tell all of them, but they hadn’t been able to find Garth, and Jared decided not to waste time looking for him.
“We’re going to fight,” Jared said.
Brock muffled a groan.
Thayne nodded once.
Randolf swore fiercely. “We’re slaves. Slaves don’t fight.”
Jared watched Randolf closely. “You fought during the ambush.”
“There wasn’t much sense in sitting back when the rest of you were tearing the place apart, was there?”
“There isn’t much sense in sitting back now, either.”
Randolf slapped his hands down on the table hard enough to make it rock. “Yes, there is. Do you know what happens to slaves who fight? What they’ll do to any of the villagers who survive the first strike will be a slap on the wrist compared to what they’ll do to us.”