The SAVAGE Series, Books 1-3: The Pearl Savage, The Savage Blood and The Savage Principle

by Blodgett, Tamara Rose

  “Now that is a tale I would be careful in bearing, Clara. Very careful indeed.” Her guard's horses shuffling nervously, their hooves making the grass rustle.

  “It is not a tale,” Bracus began. “We were there, we saw what it was. This one,” and he pointed to Charles, who had come to stand at Clara's side once more, “was overpowered and could not defend her against the Prince,” he said with clear distaste dripping from his voice.

  The Queen stared at him. This one seemed to clearly be in charge, she would reason with him. Surely he understood hierarchy? Even as a mongrel, he seemed to have a sense of protocol.

  She looked around her, seeing the biggest of the savages appeared to have a deep wound in his side that he was favoring. A great many bodies were piled four deep a small distance away where flies droned in lazy circles above the hill of death.

  Queen Ada switched tactics. “What has happened here? Was my daughter involved in battle without protection?” she asked, crossing her arms over her bony chest. Let her plant the seed of doubt that they were inadequate to protect a Princess.

  Which of course they were!

  “We do not use females in battle,” James scoffed. How ridiculous was that idea? They had too few females even if they wished to use them in that way, which they did not. He thought this horrible woman crazy. She spoke with foolishness and circular arguments.

  Queen Ada smiled. She liked that they became defensive. She could feel herself gaining verbal control and relished the power of it.

  Clara knew what the Queen was capable of and saw her games even if the Band did not. She would put a stop to it and as she opened her mouth for rebuttal just as horses came galloping out of the woods. It was Stephen and Joseph of the Band.

  What was this?

  They pulled up short of the group. Their steed's hooves driving into the meadow grass, digging into the soft earth below and sliding to a stop. Dismounting in a rush with weapons laid bare, Stephen glanced but for a moment at the queen and her royal guard, his eyes touching on Clara and Matthew, then finally, Bracus.

  “Captain,” he put his fist to his heart and Bracus returned the gesture, “a large contingent approaches. It is the same from the sphere tunnel.”

  The Prince, Clara thought with an anguish like heat washing up from her feet to head. She sat down with an unladylike plop and put her head between her knees. It was that or she would spray vomit where she stood. She was shaking uncontrollably, the mere thought of being in his presence after the recent assault was too alarming for words.

  Charles knelt by her side. “He will not have you or harm you. We will die before we allow it.”

  Matthew drew her up against his body. Bracus and Charles both looked at him with identical expressions of irritation. They wished to be the men to comfort her, not he. Matthew tightened his grip.

  Clara could feel the heat of him, the wonderful masculine smell as that special warmth burnt between them. She allowed herself to be comforted for a moment, his heart beating against her ear where it lay just below. Then she pulled away, she had to look...to watch. She turned in the circle of his arms and what she saw stole her breath.

  There were so many, she thought with dismay.

  The Prince had the entire guard with him.

  They had only seven of the Band and one injured; Clarence and Charles. There were thirty of the guard, thirty.

  She felt Matthew tense around her and understood what he thought of the odds.

  The Prince saw the group of savages standing some distance from a pile of corpses and blood which littered the field before them. Good. They were tired from their battle with other savages or whoever they were. It mattered not. He looked upon the Queen in typical drunken indignation and thought it excellent that soon she would never be indignant again. Finally, his gaze slid to Clara. She had been within his grasp! He felt his heart speed with excitement, she would be underneath him again. He knew that as sure as he sat on his mount, smelling the remnants of battle around him. His gaze darkened as he saw the huge male that held her close to him and his vision instantly went red. How dare another man touch her? What had she done with him? Had she become a whore so quickly? He wondered and approached the group.

  Queen Ada came stalking toward him, her rare pearls swinging between her knees and an image came to him of strangling her with those pearls. It made a smile come into place where none had been before. His anger at Clara clawed like an animal in a cage wishing to be free.

  Bracus looked upon the Prince, taking his measure as a male. He was without a moral compass, Bracus knew, to harm a female as he had attempted with Clara. Bracus was unsure of the communion between this Prince and the Queen. He would watch but signal the Band to be ready.

  The Queen saw the smile on Frederic's face and her step faltered, an internal alarm going off, which she promptly ignored. Instead, she thought: more wine will make all this dreadfulness go away. Clara will return to the sphere with the Prince, marry him, and she would have grapes aplenty. Immensely satisfied with her internal musings she rushed forward and as she neared the horse Clara had a sudden, internal portent and shouted a moment too late, “Mother, no!”

  Too late, her guard responded to Clara's anguished cry, fierce hate and love intermingled in a confusing tide of emotion. Ada turned her head to gaze at Clara just as the Prince hooked his fist in the pearl's that hung around Ada's neck, jerking her close to his horse. With his opposite hand a small dagger arced, piercing her chest as he dumped her body away from him, her side hitting the horse on the descent then landing on her back. The pearls wrapped the hilt and fell about the grass like black beetles let loose from a jar.

  There was utter silence for a moment when nothing stirred, not a savage, guard, bird, animal, even the flies ceased their droning. Then the world slid into an abyss of clashing metal and diving swords. The men launched themselves at each other and Clara hit the ground, Evelyn crawling after her.

  She reached Ada and lifted her head, cradling it as blood welled brightly. A shiny flood of rubies cascaded down her pale flesh, soaking the deep purple velvet and turning it to black.

  Her eyes were becoming glassy and Clara knew she would not last in this realm much longer. After so long living in fear Clara found an abiding sadness taking residence in her heart. All the lost time with the Queen, her mother, now gone.

  With the sounds of battle all around her she held her mother's dying head and saw that she was trying to say something.

  “Yes... my Queen, mother,” Clara said.

  The name felt foreign on her tongue.

  “...not... not... your...” Queen Ada gasped, her dark eyes bulging in their sockets.

  “What are you not?” Clara asked, Evelyn beside her crouched in a semi-fetal position.

  “...your mother,” she whispered, her breath coming in shallow breaths.

  Clara felt her mouth open. She had just told Clara that they were not mother and daughter.

  Queen Ada raised a claw-like hand and beckoned for her to move closer.

  Clara did.

  Queen Ada grasped her ruined blouse and jerked Clara against her, their chests touching, new blood mingled with the old.

  With her last ounce of breath she said, “The mermaid...” and died.

  Her hand loosened from the tangle of clothing Clara wore. Those eyes that had looked into Clara's a thousand times with loathing, disappointment, anger and disdain... saw her no more.

  CHAPTER 33

  Clara let her mother's head slide out of her grasp, falling to the grass, the flesh still warm and reached for Evelyn, who grabbed her hand like a lifeline. Looking about, Clara could not make out one from another, the Queen's guard blended with the Prince's. Only the savages stood out in stark relief, their movements choreographed like a beautiful, macabre dance of violence-in-motion. She and Evelyn huddled together, the horses scattered about as far away from the battle as they could be.

  She saw Henry laying on the ground with his throat open and spraying
blood leaking through his fingers while his mouth opened and closed. She turned to Evelyn, burying the girl's head in her bosom, marking her with Ada's slick blood. She watched one of the Prince's guards remove his head with a saber of some length, then he turned his attention to Clara. He sheathed his sword, making his way toward her, blood splatter from ruined throats decorating his uniform in a ghastly crimson pattern of death. Clara did not pause, jerking the girl to her feet and ran to where the Band's horses stood. She could feel her pursuer gaining and fought not to turn, the girl as fast as she.

  She was almost upon the horses when Evelyn was ripped from her grasp and she turned without hesitation, launching herself at the Prince's guard, understanding the futility even as she moved against him.

  She knew what it was to be unprotected.

  The guard had Evelyn tightly held and Clara came at him like a wild animal, latching onto his forearm trying to meet her teeth as they connected with his flesh. He howled and released Evelyn. He lunged at Clara but she managed to avoid his fist as he was off-balance with a bleeding and throbbing arm.

  Matthew's attention swung to Clara and saw her leap upon the guard. He let the dead guard slide down his body, then heaved him to the ground in front of him.

  He ran to Clara.

  Clara was playing a deadly dodging game with the guard. He would rush forward and she would back behind a horse. He would slap its hindquarters, it would trot off, revealing her.

  Clara now stood before the guard. Evelyn had the sense to make her way into the midst of the horses, camouflaging her position. The guard's focus was all for Clara, which was what she had wanted all along.

  To protect Evelyn.

  “You are coming with me Princess, that is Prince Frederic's order. Do not attempt to bite me again,” he ground out, warily approaching her and she stifled a wild bubble of laughter. That a big brute such as he would be wary of her, then her eyes dipped to the wound that her mouth had caused and it was a disaster upon his arm.

  She knew better than to take her eyes off him but too late she was wrapped in his embrace and an evil look overcame him as he searched for some place to take her. Suddenly, his eyes bulged and his body stiffened, a surprised cry escaping him and his arms loosened about her. He slid to the left, falling in a crumpled heap to the ground. A dagger stuck out of his back, a thick agate embedded in its hilt. She looked up and it was Matthew who calmly crouched above the guard, taking the dagger out and wiping it casually on the guard's uniform before sheathing it.

  “Clara,” he said, moving toward her.

  Her lip trembled and she told herself that she would not cry. Her relief was as profound as any she had ever known as she burst into tears. He drew her into his body, shielding her from the war which raged about them, the sounds of swords finally diminishing until the clatter ceased.

  An unnatural silence took hold of the meadow, the sun slanting along the ruined and bloodied grass, the whole of it looking like it was on fire.

  ****

  As soon as Clara could gain a measure of control, she backed away from Matthew, shaky and spent. Looking about her, she saw the Queen dead, looking as pale in the repose of death as she had when she lived. Clara shuddered, feeling numb.

  Charles approached her at a jog. Following her gaze his eyes landed on Queen Ada and he flashed back to her, wrapping his arms around her. But she could not cry any longer, her emotions depleted.

  He pulled away and looked down on her. “I am so sorry, Clara,” he thought but for a moment. “I know she showed you every unkindness, but she was still your mother.”

  No, she was not, Clara thought, but said nothing. She would reflect on that disturbing revelation at another time. At present, she needed to take stock of what had happened.

  Quite a lot, apparently. Her eyes took in the battlefield where no less than thirty new corpses lay. As she looked, she grew more frantic. The Prince did not appear to be among them.

  He lives.

  Her eyes flew from one Band to the next, all alive, gore and blood covering some from head to toe. Bile rose in an indelicate lump, surging upward. Clara clamped her hand over her mouth and raced to the border of the field where she spent some time purging the contents of her stomach, which was small; nevertheless, her body heaved.

  A small hand landed on her shoulder and she turned, seeing Evelyn, holding a flask and a cotton cloth, one in each hand. Clara took it gratefully from the girl, noticing that she looked a little better. Having all the enemies gone and still living yourself may have something to do with that.

  Finally Clara stood, feeling much fresher and the first thing she noticed was the Queen's body covered in a loose shroud and by itself, a mound of white in the sea of blood and grass, the other bodies in a third pile. Clara swallowed, pushing herself to walk past the hills of the dead. She found the Band, who had marked her progress back into the meadow's center.

  She saw them all, they were injured, true. Yet they had fought over thirty of the Prince and Queen's respective guards and all stood before her in various states of injury.

  Clarence and Philip lay on the ground beside the band, Jacob attending them both. He must be a healer she thought absently as she came forward and went to Clarence's side, bending down beside him as she tucked her long skirt under her knees.

  “My Queen,” he said in a clear voice.

  Clara just stared.

  She whipped her head around and looked at Charles, who formally bowed. “My Queen,” repeating what Clarence had uttered from his back, without a hint of sarcasm.

  She was Queen now.

  Clara curtsied at her subjects, her friends, as if she were on the royal dais instead of in this bloodied field of death. Their acknowledgment of her new royal status the most surreal of her young life.

  The Band watched this knowing that now the former monarch was dead, there would be no need for negotiation with anyone but Clara.

  All eyes turned to her.

  She looked at each one. Then surprising them all, asked, “What has become of the Prince?”

  Bracus stepped forward. “He slipped out of our grasp, he and his weasel of a guard.”

  Jabez, Clara supplied internally.

  “They will need to be found,” she said with halting authority. No one ordered the Band about, “As he will try to...” she found she could not finish without emotion overtaking.

  Charles nodded, approaching her side. “We will find him, Clara.”

  She looked at him. “What of our guard?”

  He shook his head “All dead, Queen Clara.”

  “Just Clara, please. She is no longer here to force formalities.”

  No one asked who She was.

  Clara looked at Matthew and Bracus, their intense eyes followed her with an uneasy intensity. Of course, her eyes followed Matthew as if magnetized. She sighed. Things were a mess, that was certain.

  They began the ugly task of rifling through the belongings of others, taking all that they found useful; food and drink was of a critical importance. They gathered what they could and departed the meadow, leaving behind the gore for the creatures of the Outside.

  Ada's body was dragged on a contraption of wood poles strung together with a leather bottom. Clara could make out her profile through the roughly woven shroud and it tightened her heart.

  She looked away.

  After eating in the woods, they drank their fill and traveled back to the clan. A long line of horses with the ransacked gear made a train-of-sorts, the Band its caboose.

  CHAPTER 34

  The Sphere

  Clara dipped the ink quill into the glass jar of ink, while six anxious faces watched her pen strokes as if enthralled.

  The truth of it was this:

  They were now at peace with the Clan of Ohio, their sworn allies, this fourteenth day of July, in the year of the Guardian, twenty and thirty.

  Clara looked up at all that watched, at the sea of faces in the Gathering Room who witnessed the event with a mixtu
re of excitement and curiosity. Here were the reported savages, present in the sphere, their President and their people aligning.

  It was an historic occasion.

  Clara stood, the hot wax dripping from the Marker's personal seal. Stepping forward before it could cool, she pressed the royal crest from the ring that she wore into the soft wax, waiting, then releasing it with a light pull. The mark of the sphere with the oyster and pearl at its center stood out in stark relief and the treaty was complete.

  The announcer (the same bumbling fellow who announced at her Day of Birth Celebration but miraculously more graceful) declared to the kingdom:

  “Let it be known that Queen Clara Williamson, high monarch of the Kingdom of Ohio, has signed a Treaty of Peace and Alliance with the Clan of Ohio from this day onward.”

  He stepped back and Clara gave him a small nod of acknowledgment and he smiled back. His voice had rung true and proud and she was pleased.

  Charles came up beside her and gave her a gaze so full that she had to look away as tears threatened. Clara would have never foreseen these circumstances coming to pass and she ruthlessly collected herself so she could address her People; her emotions a shimmering thing that undulated right underneath her tightly held composure.

  “Thank you all for being so gracious during this enormous transition of leadership.” There was a smattering of applause and Clara held up her hand to quiet it. “I would like to thank my adviser, Sir Charles Pierce, for his diligent service to the crown and my loyal guard, who defended the injury to our sphere until we could manage a portal that would safeguard us properly once more.”

  She looked out over her people with shining eyes, and continued, “And for all of you that have shown and told me how much you enjoy this change of leadership and swore your undying loyalty, I thank you as well.”

  Clara stepped back, taking a deep cleansing breath of the steamy sphere air, relishing its familiarity.

  “Let us begin our celebration,” she announced.