One Battle Lord’s Fate

by Linda Mooney

  At the same time, the Normals were keenly aware of the physical differences between themselves and the Mutah. They were also knowledgeable of the fact that the Mutah were unarmed. Although the Battle Lords and their soldiers retained their weapons, one of the strictly enforced rules of the meeting was that all blades would remain sheathed, or else be confiscated.

  Sitting on the ground several feet away from the Battle Lords were their Seconds and whatever number of soldiers they had wanted to accompany them. The men remained in close enough proximity in the event they were needed, and were able to listen in to the conference, but were not allowed to comment directly.

  Standing many yards away, and forming a circle around the attendees, Yulen’s men kept guard over the whole. Atty looked to her left where the closest guard to her was a mere fifteen yards away. She recognized the older man as Dreeth Freshon, and knew him being here was no coincidence. Freshon was one of the few men Yulen regularly chose to watch over her. Atty waited until the man glanced her way, and gave him a smile. He flashed one back, but went immediately back to his usual stoic appearance.

  Mastin glanced back at her. He, as well as everyone else in attendance, knew she was back here, partially hidden by the tree’s fresh spring budding. She was dressed in her usual attire¯tunic top over breeches, a pair of well-worn boots, and her hair braided instead of worn loose. She was either ready for a confrontation or combat, and she was fully armed. If any of the other Battle Lords were doubtful of her ability to hit any one of them with one of her arrows from this distance, every Mutah knew she could and would if she saw any sign of dissidence turning deadly.

  “I can’t go in and face them,” she’d whispered to her husband late last night. They were lying on the bed in a loose embrace, sated and still dripping wet from their romantic tussle in the tub. The sheets were turning cold from being saturated with water, but where they were lying, the linens were warmed by their body heat.

  “Do they make you uneasy?” he asked. His normally blue-gray eyes looked black in the near dark. The only light coming into the bedroom was from the window’s reflection of the lanterns outside the lodge.

  “Yes, I’m uneasy. I don’t know who to trust.”

  “How about your own people? Anyone here you would think twice about?”

  She moved closer against him and placed a soft kiss on his shoulder. “Regardless of our eccentricities, we Mutah are just as unpredictable. A friend could become an enemy as quickly as any Normal.”

  Yulen reached behind him for the blanket he’d thrown to the foot of the bed, and brought it up over them to keep away the chills.

  “I need you there at the conference.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be there, but on my terms.”

  She caught the telltale eyebrow rise. She also noticed the grin lifting the sides of his mouth. Whenever he smiled, his normally angry-looking expression, caused by the raised scar running from the side of his right eye down to the corner of his mouth, softened.

  “Would these terms have anything to do with a certain Ballock and bow?”

  “A well-prepared woman never forgets her best weapons, be it her wit or her knife.”

  “Or, in your case, both,” he teased, pulling her tighter against him for warmth. Or so she thought until she felt his thick length slide between her thighs. She started to roll onto her back when his large hands held her against him, and Yulen pulled her on top of him. She’d forgotten about her still-healing wounds.

  With little effort, she brought herself down on his erection, a soft hiss of pleasure escaping her as he filled her. Yulen lifted his hips, working himself in and out of her tight, wet warmth. For a moment there was no sound other than their labored breathing.

  Taking her shoulders, he angled her toward him. Atty reached down between her legs to where they were joined, and stroked her clit as their coupling grew more frantic. Before long, she felt him jerk. A groan rattled in his throat, and he lifted his knees to help bring her. She accepted his offer, and worked herself into a second orgasm, not as long as the first, but just as fulfilling.

  He lowered her down across his belly, and Atty felt one of her nipples slip between his lips.

  “Yul.”

  He didn’t answer. He knew how sensitive her breasts were because of her feeding Mattox. But he loved to suckle, and the sensation of his mouth was totally different from that of their son.

  Cupping his head between her arms, she buried her nose in his reddish-blond hair, kissing his crown as her husband gently nursed. He never took all of her milk, and she always had enough for their robust son. When he switched over to the other breast, he licked the hard bud, and she felt his dick move within her. Atty laughed.

  “If we keep this up all night, you’ll have no strength to face your critics tomorrow.”

  “I will always have the strength I need as long as you are with me,” he murmured against her skin. “You are my strength. You are my backbone and my sword arm. You are my life, Atrilan.” He suckled her other breast, unaware of her tears of happiness falling onto his hair.

  The last Mutah delegation arrived, taking their seat along with the others of their kind. Words were passed between them and some of the other Mutah. Fingers pointed in her direction, and more than one head turned to search her out. Atty remained leaning against the tree, but her hands never left her bow or blade. The longbow was already nocked. All she would have to do was lift and fire.

  The spring wind came from the south. Knowing this, she’d asked Yulen to have the tables set in the matter they were now. This way she could easily hear their conversation.

  Yulen struck the heavy oak table with a large rock. Everyone silenced and looked to him in expectation.

  “Thank you to all who are attending this conference. I am Yulen D’Jacques, and you are welcome as my guests here at Alta Novis. My Second is Cole Mastin. The gentleman to my left is Dr. Liam MaGrath.

  “The men surrounding us are under orders to protect and defend, but they follow my orders only. Your men are allowed to protect you, but I will restate the terms of this meeting. All weapons will remained sheathed. If you have a problem, let’s settle it like gentlemen, and save the swords for our enemies.

  “I thought the Mutah were our enemies.”

  Atty narrowed her eyes at the man who spoke. She couldn’t see Yulen’s face, since his back was to her, but she could hear the controlled irritation in her husband’s voice.

  “Beyt Meyers, of the compound Palomar, let’s get this misconception cleared up now. The Bloods are our enemies, not the Mutah.”

  “They’re both mutated versions. What’s the difference?” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Let me begin by saying what many of us have privately conveyed. I’m here because I’m curious. I wanted to meet this Battle Lord who has been raised to such a lofty level of adoration because of his marriage to a Mutah, and because of the treaties he’s managed to bring between the two groups. But I’m also here because I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of those yearly cleaning sweeps. I’m tired of risking my life, especially now that I have a wife and son of my own. If there’s any truth to your claim that there is a better world out there, with more trade and one less enemy, I’m willing to listen.”

  Yulen nodded. Atty could almost imagine the slight smile he gave the man.

  “Meyers, a little more than a year ago, I still believed as all of you do. I thought the Mutah and Bloods were equal in ferocity. That complete annihilation of that species was our only recourse for survival. I was wrong, and it didn’t take me long to realize that. Stop and think about what has happened to the animals since the Great Collision. They have developed into three distinct forms of life. There are the Normals, those that didn’t change. There are the Mutah, like the crows, who changed little. And there are the Bloods, the creatures who changed so much, they’re nothing like their original species.”

  “Like the ferrets,” another voice spoke up.

  “Yes. Like the ferrets.
Like the animals, humanity changed in a similar fashion.” Yulen swept an arm in the Mutahs’ direction. “Many Mutah look exactly like Normals. You all have seen such people.”

  Several Battle Lords nodded in agreement.

  “So what is your expectation?” a third voice asked. “What do you want us to do? Drop centuries of hate and embrace these abnormals as if they’re suddenly our best friends?” There was no mistaking the sneer embedded in the words.

  “I recognize Forbin Dissman, of the compound Blackmear. To answer your question, yes. I do.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if you don’t, within a few years, and very likely within your lifetime, your compound will be burned to the ground.”

  The Battle Lord jumped to his feet, his face red with indignation. Atty went on alert, but the man’s hands remained on the table. “Are you threatening us, D’Jacques?”

  “No. I do not threaten. I’m simply stating the facts. Sit down, Dissman, and let me continue.” Yulen remained calm, but his voice had dropped slightly. It was a sign to Atty that he was more angry than irritated, but they had known Yulen’s hard sell was not going to be easy.

  The Battle Lord dropped back into his seat.

  Yulen took a deep breath. “Listen. Yes, I want there to be peace between Normals and Mutah, but I’ve also assembled you here to warn you of the impending danger. All of us, both of us, are being threatened by the Bloods. There are so many of them out there, there’s no way we can make an accurate guess as to their numbers, but from just what I’ve encountered, I’m sure there’s at least five hundred thousand living within trekking distance.”

  Several Battle Lords and their entourages appeared shocked by Yulen’s announcement. Atty noticed that the Mutah didn’t appear phased by the count. After all, they had been fighting the Bloods longer than the Normals.

  Yulen continued. “The Mutah are better than us. No. Don’t interrupt. Let me have my say first. I’ve seen it. My men have seen it. The Mutah are better because of their differences. Some are stronger, some are smarter, some are better adept for certain trades.” He gestured in Atty’s direction. “There is no Normal who will ever match my wife’s ability with the bow. Every fable, every tall tale you’ve heard about what she has done or can do is the truth.”

  “Bullshit.”

  In an icy voice, Yulen said, “I recognize Andromin Anastopolis, of the compound New Greece. Are you doubting my claim?”

  A thin man with a heavy beard said with undisguised sarcasm, “We don’t doubt anything you say about your…wife.” The last word dripped disdain. Atty felt a warning flag rise.

  “Plant your knife in the table,” Yulen ordered.

  Anastopolis lifted an eyebrow. “Oh? Is this to be the demonstration?”

  “You called my claim bullshit. I’m proving you wrong.”

  Atty raised her bow in preparation. As he was told, the man slammed a slender dagger point down into the table.

  “Now, hold up one of those rings on your fingers.”

  The Battle Lord pulled off one ring bearing an immense ruby the size of a man’s eyeball. He held it up, pinched between his forefinger and thumb. “Like this?”

  “No. Place your fingers on the sides of the ring. Elbow on the table to keep it steady. Yes, like that. Atty? Off the dagger, snag the ring.”

  She aimed, waiting for the wind to stop gusting. A heartbeat later, she let the arrow fly. The point grazed the dagger’s blade, which deflected it with a sharp dinging sound. Everyone gasped as the arrow darted through the ring where the feather fletchings jerked the jewelry from the man’s grasp. Arrow and ring planted themselves into the ground yards away.

  “Why don’t you give me something hard to do?” she yelled with a smile.

  Yulen looked down at the Battle Lord. “Would you care to give her an assignment, if this isn’t sufficient?”

  Anastopolis ordered one of his men to retrieve the ring. “No. That was enough. Carry on,” he answered.

  A glance around the table showed more than a few expressions of admiration. Taking advantage of the moment, he continued.

  “As I was saying, the Mutah have abilities far greater than us. That means the Bloods do, too. And the greatest ability they both have is they are able to heal from near-catastrophic wounds at record speed. I’m talking wounds that would either kill a Normal, or severely sideline him. I’ve even heard that some Bloods have been known to re-grow limbs, although I haven’t personally witnessed it.”

  A hand went into the air on the Mutah side. “I recognize Teer Matterby, from the Mutah compound West Crestin.”

  A man with dark green, grassy looking splotches covering his skin got to his feet. But instead of addressing Yulen, he turned to the row of tables where the Normals were sitting. “What D’Jacques is saying is this. Normals and Mutah need to co-exist in peace. And together we need to protect each other against the Bloods. In short, it’s us against them.”

  “I don’t see you with any soldiers,” Meyers pointed out. “Are you even carrying any weapons?”

  “They don’t need to,” Yulen replied. “They have their hunters castes.”

  “Hunters castes?”

  “Those who provide the compound with fresh meat, as well as protection.” He nodded to Fortune, who was seated with the representatives from Wallis. “Atty’s a member of the caste. Fortune Kalich, also from Atty’s home compound of Wallis, is in the caste. Unlike Atty, who specializes on the bow, Fortune uses a sword and daggers, but every man is an expert hunter.”

  Placing his hands on the table, Yulen leaned forward. “Their methods are different from ours. Where we use tactical strategies to rule our armies, the Mutah attack individually, dividing the armies into smaller chunks so they can be more easily defeated. The Bloods, however, use a wholly unauthorized approach.”

  “They attack all at once. One single, screaming, fucking huge entity,” a new voice commented.

  “I recognize Stark Evermil, of the compound Coronado. Your description is very descriptive and accurate. Is there anything else you’d like to add?”

  “Yeah.” Evermil was young. Probably the youngest Battle Lord attending the conference. Despite his age, there was a visible hardness to the man, who could be no more than twenty or twenty-one. “You got me to thinking. We’ve been attacked twice in the last year by these Bloods. Motherfucking ugly creatures.” He gestured toward the Mutah. “You, Mutah, even though you have a few irregularities, you could almost pass as Normal. But those Bloods, they’re so twisted and deformed, there’s no way one of them could ever be mistaken as Mutah. I believe you, D’Jacques. I don’t recall ever seeing someone who looked mostly Normal like a Mutah among those hordes.”

  A couple of other Battle Lords made confirming comments. It was Dissman who said what remained unspoken. “Why isn’t Zane Batuset here? I thought he was your strongest supporter.”

  Yulen straightened. Atty could sense the tension going through him. He couldn’t lie to the men. Neither could he hide the truth from them.

  “He got word an army of Bloods may be about to descend upon his compound. He left to strengthen his security. He’ll be back in a couple of days.”

  “Is there any danger to us here?” Meyers asked. “Shouldn’t we also be thinking about returning to our compounds?”

  “You’re safer here,” Yulen promised. “Besides, if you tried to leave, and the Bloods were actually planning to attack, what do you think your chances would be of surviving the trip back?”

  The question hung unanswered like a black cloud over their heads as the delegates mulled over the problem.

  “All right. Let me see if I have this straight.” Dissman sat up in his chair and leaned over the table. Planting his elbows on the wood, he clasped his hands in front of his face. “You want us to accept the Mutah as brothers. You want us to join with them in arms against these Bloods. Is that all? Is that the sum total of what you brought us here for? To watch you marry your Mutah woman again, and
listen to your plea for us to join in a treaty with people we’ve believed were our enemies for decades?”

  There was no hesitation in Yulen’s response. “That’s it. The sum total.”

  The two men locked gazes for what seemed several minutes. Finally a wide grin split the Battle Lord’s face. “Why should we?” he asked in a lazy drawl. He sat back in his chair as they all waited for the answer.

  Atty almost laughed. Of all the work Yulen had done to prepare for this meeting, this was the primary question he had expected, and he was prepared in ways the Battle Lords would never believe until they saw it with their own eyes. Smiling, she left the shelter of the trees and walked over to the empty seat by her husband’s side as Yulen gestured to someone in the distance.

  “Gentlemen, I would like to introduce to you the Mutah compounds of Wallis, West Crestin, Good Choice, Barkertonville, Fullmont, Carter, Blind Side, and Plovington.”

  By the time she reached his side and drew an arm around his waist, the first of the gift-bearing caravans were arriving.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Relation

  Of all the knowledge his father had imparted to him before his death, Yulen remembered one piece of advice the most. “Every Battle Lord is committed to keeping and protecting his compound. But I’ve never met a man who didn’t want the best for himself. If there’s something new and attractive, he will claim the first one.” Rory D’Jacques waggled a finger under his son’s nose. “We call it ‘entitlement’. We put our lives on the line every day to serve our people, and we feel we’re owed the odd bauble that shows up. Never forget that, Yul. If you can’t get a Battle Lord to see your way, a little bribery never hurts.”

  With help, Yulen had chosen specific gifts each Mutah compound could offer the Battle Lords. Gifts which were uncommon among the Normal compounds. The first of these gifts were personalized hand-beaded leather weapons belts from West Crestin. Each individualized belt bore the Battle Lord’s name and the colors of his pennants. As Yulen had expected, the men were impressed by the intricate detail. Subconsciously, his free hand went down to his own belt he had been given the past winter.