Rider's Resolve (The Rider's Revenge Trilogy Book 3)

by Alessandra Clarke

  ALSO BY ALEXANDRA CLARKE

  The Rider’s Revenge Trilogy

  Rider’s Revenge

  Rider’s Rescue

  Rider’s Resolve

  Rider’s Resolve

  Alessandra Clarke

  This book is dedicated to a dear friend who is a large part of the reason I’ve made it as far as I have with my writing. Thank you for always believing in me and encouraging me to continue when I was scared and doubted myself. I wouldn’t be where I am now without your support and encouragement.

  A Note On Pronunciation

  Members of the tribes have names that use an apostrophe after the initial consonant. For example, K'lrsa and G'van.

  To pronounce these names, substitute an i or e for the apostrophe. For example, K'lrsa = Killrisa.

  This is a full listing of the tribal names used in the book:

  B'nin = Benin

  D'lan = Dilan

  F'lia = Filia

  G'la = Gila

  G'van = Givan

  K'lrsa = Killrisa

  K'var = Kivar

  L'dia = Lidia

  L'ral = Liral

  M'lara = Milara

  V'na = Vina

  Chapter 1

  The late day sun beat down upon K’lrsa as she gripped the small pendant hanging at her neck, feeling the curves of the metal as it circled back on itself in one continuous, unbroken loop. The “weapon” she’d brought back from the Hidden City, it allowed her to travel any distance or to send others any distance she wanted.

  Unfortunately, the one time she’d used it on herself—to transport her and Vedhe back to the gathering grounds—she’d coughed blood for a week. Turns out it wasn’t nearly as useful as she’d thought it was when she chose it.

  But it was effective on her enemies. She’d used it to banish the Daliph’s commanders back to Toreem and to scare his soldiers into leaving.

  At least for a time. Until their fear of Aran, the current Daliph of Toreem, overcame their fear of her.

  A breeze blew her black hair across her eyes, bringing with it the familiar scents of sage and dust, as she stared down at the small encampment of enemy soldiers at the edge of the barren lands. She tucked the stray hair into her braid and turned to look at the others. F’lia, her belly swollen with pregnancy, stood at K’lrsa’s right hand. Luden—one of the defectors from the Daliph’s army and a new member of the tribal council—stood at her left. Vedhe stood off to the side studying the soldiers with her onyx viewing tube—her “weapon” from the gods that let her judge whether someone was good or evil—lost in her own world as usual.

  She gripped the necklace, and its metal edges dug into her palm. She didn’t like the thought of using it again. She was sick of people dying. Life was too precious. And with that many men, some were bound to die if she used it.

  But…

  Better those soldiers than one single member of the tribes.

  She had the power to protect her people, so she would. But she couldn’t act without the Council’s approval. Too many were scared of what she could do with the necklace. One, a Rider formerly of the Tall Bluff Tribe, had even suggested taking the necklace from her so she wouldn’t use it on any member of the tribe. Fortunately, they hadn’t been able to agree who could be trusted with the necklace and she’d pointed out that the gods had given it to her and her alone.

  Still. As much as it rankled, she deferred to the Council on the necklace’s use. At least for now. While they all agreed.

  K’lrsa looked between Luden and F’lia, both also members of the Council. If they agreed with her, they’d have three of six votes and she could act and end this threat now without lengthy debate back at camp. “So? Any reason I shouldn’t send them back?”

  Luden—taller than her by at least a hand-span, with a shaved head and flinty black eyes—shook his head. “No. Do it.” He continued to stare at the camp, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he glared down at the camp.

  “Do you know any of them?”

  “Yes.” He turned to face her. “But I’m a member of the tribes now.”

  He held K’lrsa’s gaze for a long moment and she quailed at his intensity. Because it wasn’t just about his loyalty to the tribes, it was about his loyalty to her. Or, more particularly, his attraction to her. He’d never pushed, never said anything direct about how he felt, but he’d made it clear he wanted her and that he thought she should want to be with him.

  He talked often about stability and strength, urging “his men”—the former soldiers from the Toreem Daliphate who’d joined the tribes—to pair off and settle down, saying it would be best for all when they’d established who was with who. But that wasn’t the way of the tribes. Two people could be together and never choose to marry. Especially if children weren’t involved.

  It was…an adjustment, to have so many men from the Daliphana be part of their tribe. They made up almost half of the members of the small tribe and, as K’lrsa had learned during her time in Toreem, the ways of the Daliphana were not the ways of the tribe.

  She turned away from Luden. He was handsome. He had an intensity that women seemed drawn to—one that she might have been drawn to under other circumstances—but…

  He wasn’t Badru. He hadn’t been chosen for her by the gods. And he didn’t fill her every waking thought the way Badru did.

  Which was foolish. Because Badru was dead. The minute he’d crossed into the Hidden City he’d sealed his fate. He couldn’t return from there to the world of the living because he’d been brought back from the dead once using death walker magic.

  But she could still go to him. And he’d be as real to her as anyone else. They could live together in the Hidden City for as long as they wanted.

  All she had to do was leave behind F’lia, M’lara, and Vedhe. And every single member of the tribes. If she turned her back on everyone else she loved, on her home and her duty to protect her people, she could have the man she loved.

  But what was the point? Not like they could ever have a real life.

  He’d still be dead no matter how real he seemed. He’d continue on, never-aging, incapable of having a family, unable to leave the city, while she stayed by his side, growing older with each passing day, letting the life she could have had slip through her fingers until they eventually grew so far apart that she left or she killed herself to join him.

  She loved Badru, but not that much.

  K’lrsa looked to F’lia, one eyebrow raised in question. “Do you agree? Send them back?”

  She nodded. “Yes.” She absent-mindedly rubbed her swollen belly as she stared down at the camp.

  How hard it must be for her to bring a life into the world during a time of such uncertainty and danger, especially when the love of her life, L’ral, was dead and the baby’s father had left with the Black Horse Tribe. And with Luden pressuring her every day to choose from one of the newcomers so she was “properly settled” before the baby arrived.

  Finally, she turned to Vedhe. With her pale skin and hair she was more of an outsider in the tribe than the men of the Daliphate who’d joined them. The red shiny patches of skin where the sun had burnt her on her journey across the desert made it worse. The members of the tribes shunned her—there was no place for the weak or infirm in the tribes—and the newcomers sneered at her because the scars had disfigured her face as well as her body.

  But K’lrsa trusted her above all others. Only she knew what it had been like to journey to the Hidden City. And only she had an Amalanee horse like K’lrsa’s. And…

  She understood.

  About losing your family and being alone i
n the world. About having to carry forward without the people you believed would always be there for you.

  “Vedhe? What do you see?”

  She didn’t honestly care whether the soldiers were good men or not. They could’ve stayed home or turned back if they’d wanted, but they hadn’t. They’d chosen to follow a man like Aran and invade her home and threaten her people. They deserved to face the consequences.

  Before Vedhe could answer, F’lia added, softly, “We can’t feed more mouths than we have now.”

  She was right.

  The former Black Horse Tribe lands were mostly barren, the result of a failed attempt to use the farming techniques of the Daliphana. And their situation had been made worse by the lack of knowledge of the newcomers, who didn’t understand the first thing about surviving off the land. They might’ve been the lowest soldiers in the Daliph’s army, but even they’d had better access to food and supplies than the wealthiest of the tribes.

  Sometimes she regretted letting them stay. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, welcoming those who wanted a better life and were willing to follow the ways of the tribes.

  The tribes had always welcomed new members. It strengthened them to bring in new blood and ways of doing things.

  But she’d underestimated the strain of taking on so many at once. It was different to bring one new member into a tribe. Someone who was in love, who willingly adopted the ways of the tribes, as much through necessity as anything.

  But this…

  With so many newcomers, everything was a fight. Every mention of “this is how we do this” was met with a counterargument for why it should be done differently now. Every meal without enough food or without meat, was met with sullen complaints and criticism. Every night spent sleeping in the cold was followed by comments about how nice it was to live in a home and sleep on a real bed.

  The tribe was like a spotted snake trying to swallow an entire desert cat. Attempting the impossible and choking on the result. She rolled her shoulders, trying to dispel the tension that had settled there the last few weeks.

  She glared down at the twenty enemy soldiers swaggering back and forth between their tents, well aware of the small party that watched from above. They occasionally pointed and laughed amongst themselves, hands stroking the swords at their hips.

  Confident, arrogant, smug.

  They reminded her of every moment she’d spent in the Toreem Daliphate, eyes cast to the ground, silent, afraid she might give offense, told over and over again to cover herself, to act properly, that women shouldn’t ride horses or wear sensible clothing or…

  One of the men thrust his hips at her and called something she couldn’t hear as the others laughed. She didn’t need to hear his words to get the gist of it.

  She tightened her grip on the necklace and willed him back to Crossroads.

  And just like that, he was gone. No sign of him remained.

  The others stopped laughing, and K’lrsa smiled.

  Served him right.

  Too bad he’d probably survive the trip since she’d sent him alone.

  The others wouldn’t, though. Quicker than a thought, she willed them all back to Crossroads, leaving the camp empty.

  The campfires continued to burn and the men’s horses stood where they’d been tethered, chewing slowly on the small bitter grasses that grew nearby.

  But the men were gone.

  Just like that. Twenty men. Gone in the blink of an eye. Likely dead. The twisted remains of their bodies piled somewhere on the outskirts of Crossroads.

  So easy.

  Too easy.

  Her hand spasmed around the pendant. A part of her longed to rip it off and throw it to the ground, to be done with all of this forever. To run back to Badru and spend what remained of her life with him and let the world do what it would without her. But she forced herself to be calm, to breathe deep and find the hunter’s version of the Core.

  She couldn’t just run. She couldn’t just walk away.

  She was the only one standing between the tribes and a devastating attack from the Daliphana. If she left or refused to use the necklace, they would never stand against so many trained soldiers. She was their only hope.

  Still the guilt settled into her bones. Twenty men dead. Just like that.

  She pushed back against it. This wasn’t her fault. It was Aran’s. He’d ordered those men here. He was the one that wouldn’t leave the tribes alone. And it was the men’s fault. Because they’d followed his orders. Because they’d carried his evil to her people.

  Without followers, Aran would be nothing.

  But that didn’t keep the bile from burning the back of her throat. She turned away from the empty camp and walked away from the others, hands clenched at her sides.

  She was becoming exactly what she’d never wanted to be.

  F’lia joined her. “You did what you had to.”

  K’lrsa nodded, too upset to speak.

  Maybe now Aran would leave them alone, now that he knew she was willing to use the necklace against his men.

  Maybe.

  But he wouldn’t. This was just the beginning. He’d keep pushing until they broke. Or she broke him.

  Chapter 2

  As Vedhe tucked the viewing tube away, K’lrsa longed to ask what she’d seen. Were the soldiers she’d sent back good men? Or cruel and twisted? Did they deserve to die?

  Would it really matter, though?

  Not really. It wouldn’t change the horror of what she’d done to them.

  M’lara ran up to them with all the energetic awkwardness of a young colt. At almost nine summers old she was already stunningly gorgeous, but in the unabashed way of a child. “You need to come back to camp. There’s a situation,” she cried, breathless.

  K’lrsa pinched her nose. It never ended. “What kind of situation?”

  M’lara darted a glance at Luden. “N’la knifed one of the newcomers.”

  “I told you not to call them newcomers. We’re all part of one tribe now. Remember?”

  “If you say so,” M’lara grumbled, summing up with all the precociousness and honesty of the young exactly how the entire tribe felt.

  “I do. Come on.”

  K’lrsa trudged back to camp, Luden by her side as always, longing for something or someone to punch. Leadership involved too many words. People always wanted to discuss things. You had to compromise and find the best solution and work things out so everyone was happy.

  She was sick of it. She just wanted to act. To have an enemy she could physically confront and defeat.

  She was a trained warrior. She knew a hundred and five ways to kill someone. But it hadn’t done her a lot of good lately. Because none of that helped change what people believed. Especially when they didn’t want to change.

  But something had to give. And soon. The tribe couldn’t keep on like this.

  The easiest solution would be to send the newcomers away—back to the Daliphana or across the desert, it didn’t matter as long as they were gone.

  But she couldn’t do that. They’d sworn their oaths. They were as much a part of the tribes now as she was. And they were good men at heart—Vedhe had confirmed that. It wasn’t their fault they’d been raised so horribly.

  Not to mention, the newcomers occupied three of the six Council seats now. She couldn’t send them away without violating the rules of the tribes. Of course, the rules of the tribes didn’t matter to them.

  They wanted to make new rules—ones that they said would work better for them. Compromise they called it.

  But they didn’t understand. If they wanted to survive, they needed to do things the way they’d always been done. The way that worked.

  All anyone had to do was look at the Black Horse Tribe to see what happened when you tried something new in such an unforgiving environment. The Black Horse Tribe had destroyed their land by trying to adopt the ways of the Daliphana. And then been expelled for trading in slaves and leading outsiders
across the desert, risking the protection of the gods.

  If they’d just kept doing things the way they’d always been done, they would’ve never gone down that path.

  Unfortunately, no one seemed to care what K’lrsa thought.

  She was a member of the Council but in name only. Because she had the necklace and she refused to use it on their behalf if she didn’t have at least some say in how it was used.

  But no one actually listened to what she had to say. The newcomers were simply too used to taking orders from men to consider the opinions of a woman. And the existing members of the tribes were too used to a Council that consisted of elders to listen to someone so young. (Forget the fact that she’d almost single-handedly saved them from Aran’s troops when they were all trapped in the gathering grounds.)

  K’lrsa shook herself free of her black thoughts as they reached the “camp”—a scattered assortment of sleeping rolls and fires; they hadn’t planned to stay long enough to set up actual tents.

  Everyone was clustered in the center of the space, gathered around two people who were shouting back and forth at one another.

  Luden pushed his way through, K’lrsa on his heels.

  “Luden. There you are. Punish her. She knifed me.” Murin, the biggest troublemaker of all amongst the newcomers, pointed at N’la, an attractive Rider from the Spring Winds Tribe who stood across from him, knife in hand, the end red with fresh blood.

  “You deserved it, you gadja bastard.” She turned towards K’lrsa. “He grabbed me and kissed me. Like I wanted his tongue down my throat.” She spit on the ground, the deadliest insult in the tribes.

  K’lrsa glanced at Luden.

  He knew the rules.

  It was simple. Any unmarried man or woman could be with any other unmarried man or woman. (Or with a married man or woman if their spouse gave permission.) But a man (or woman) who tried to force another against their will was castrated and sent into the desert to die.