Hers To Choose (Verdantia Book 2)

by Patricia A. Knight

  Eric felt honored by such loyalty but he prayed fervently that the great Goddess would guard each one of them. He sat for a moment, holding their names up to his deity, a brief hiatus in the confusion of battle, then nodded to his men. His quiet voice carried clearly. “Gentlemen. It is an honor to serve with you. Let us show them how Verdantia welcomes invaders to her soil. Let us remind them why they lost the war. Queen’s Guard, prepare to charge.” He wheeled his horse to the sound of swords clearing their scabbards.

  With a brandish of his saber, he screamed, “Charge!”

  At a dead run, breasting the solid line of enemy spears and pikes, the Verdantian horse smashed into the Haarb forces. Simple survival ruled the day. Eric’s arms numbed as he blocked lethal strikes and viciously gouged and slashed at enemy after faceless enemy. Endless wave after wave of enemy broke upon his flashing crimson blade. His knees urged his kicking and plunging warhorse into the midst of another melee when he had slain those around him. His sword arm labored. In the choking dust of the battle, his lungs barely drew air fast enough. He no more dispatched one enemy than another rose in his place.

  Eric’s vision grayed. Bright blood covered him, flowing from a myriad of slashes and stab wounds. Many battles had tested him but none had carried such certainty of death.

  A berserker rage consumed him as he savagely parried and thrust, oblivious to his own injuries, determined to take as many Haarb into death with him as he was able to bring. The enemy soldier facing him gave a cry and fell away, but this time none replaced him. He looked around to find the next. An arrow whistled by his body, impaling an attacking Haarb through the eye. Then another fell, an arrow piercing his throat, then another, and another, each with an arrow piercing a vital fatal spot. His eyes scanned the battlefield. The scene re-occurred everywhere.

  Stupefied with exhaustion, he slumped on his horse as flight after flight of arrows hit their mark with deadly accuracy. A slow grin covered his face. Sophillia. Great Goddess be praised.

  Within minutes, all fell quiet. Men taxed to their limits struggled to remain standing or sagged atop their horses and looked numbly at the motionless bodies strewn about them. They stood amidst unspeakable carnage. The moans of the dying soldiers and wounded horses, and the stink of blood and feces, assaulted Eric. He methodically wiped his blade on the tunic of a dead Haarb.

  Sheathing his saber, he cupped his hands to his mouth and croaked from a bone-dry throat, “Rides, form up!” Out of the chaos, a ragged column of cavalry struggled to assemble. His eyes ran a headcount. Goddess, so few. Thirty-two horse had ridden out of Sylvan Mintoth. Now, he counted eleven.

  A slight movement a small distance away drew his notice. In a semi-circle around the battlefield, seven mounted riders sat atop motionless horses. The heat rising from the desert floor blurred their profiles into a trembling mirage of ghostly waves. Their sandy robes flapped lazily in the hot eddy of a faint breeze felt only on the rise. Without that flutter of cloth, he would not have noticed them.

  A rider separated from the semi-circle and rode toward him. The figure’s approach seemed an eternity. The rider stopped, mere feet separating them. Robes obscured everything but blazing aqua eyes. Sophillia. A sun-browned hand reached for her face covering and removed it. Once again, for an instant, her beauty wiped all thought from his brain. You are better than this, Eric. Get it together, man. Treat her like an equal or you will lose her before you begin.

  “Flight Leader. My thanks for your timely arrival.”

  A solemn expression crossed her lovely features. “I take the extent of your losses upon myself, Commander. We should have been here with you when the Haarb attacked. Last evening, Layna and Rhea reported large bands of Haarb mercenaries east of us. I took the flight to scout ahead. When morning broke and we saw the air behind us filling with the dust of a battle, we turned back. We pushed the horses to their limits.” Her eyes swung to the masses of dead bodies, then back to his. “I am sorry we weren’t here sooner.”

  Sweat-streaked dirt coated her face. She must be thirsty. He fumbled for the water skin on his saddle. Empty, dammit. She offered him hers with an outstretched hand.

  With a laugh roughened by dust and exhaustion, he took the water skin and rinsed his mouth before he swallowed. “I was going to offer you mine.”

  A small smile tipped her lips. “Keep it. We will all drink deeply tonight.”

  He shook his head grimly and pointed to the dead pack animals with their panniers of water skins broken upon the cracked earth. “There is our water.”

  “That is not all the water in the world, Commander.”

  Once again, she gave a melodic whistle and the semi-circle of riders closed on their position.

  “Maeve, take Eudora and find what arrows can be salvaged from the battlefield. Adonia, Petrina, Rhea, see what you can do for our wounded. Layna, gather those water skins and repair them. We will need them.”

  He sat, numb, as she calmly organized the salvage of useful items and the tending of their wounded. I should be doing that. Ah, hells, it would be nice to get off my horse. He swung down, staggering as his feet hit the earth. He lurched his way to a useful boulder. A broad red smear marked his slide down the boulder to the ground. Oh, that can’t be good. His head lolled backward against the rock.

  His second-in-command pulled to a stop in front of him. Eric stared unseeing at the horse’s knees. “Sir, our dead. What do you wish done?”

  Eric thought for a moment. “Separate our dead from the enemy’s, Jon. Gather what personal effects you can and burn the bodies of our own dead. We will collect the ashes for their loved ones. Leave the Haarb as they are for the carrion eaters.”

  He dropped his head back and closed his eyes. I must have lost more blood than I thought. Moving has become problematic. Eric felt her eyes watching. A sense of tired futility washed through him. All these good men dead. And for what? To bring back an unwilling bride?

  “Commander?”

  Sophi’s soft voice interrupted his grim thoughts.

  “Yes, Flight Leader?” He couldn’t summon the energy to open his eyes.

  “Commander, can you move?”

  No. “Yes.” He opened his eyes to see her kneeling next to him with an expression of grave concern.

  “There is something you must see. Can you get on your horse?”

  No. “Yes.” He rolled to all fours and staggered to his feet with the assistance of the boulder. He propped himself on his hands until his head stopped spinning, then pushed upright. Bright red palm prints remained behind. His horse was impossibly distant, too far for him to reach—at least six feet. Just one foot in front of the other. Ahh. Steady my boy, move a muscle, dear friend, and I’m on my face. Don’t remember mounting being this difficult. Why am I on my horse? Ah, yes. The oh-so-ravishing Sophi.

  “Commander? Commander DeStroia? Eric?”

  “Flight Leader.” He blinked slowly, trying to focus. Hmm. I see two of her.

  “Are you all right?”

  No. He forced his voice to remain firm and level. “Yes, Flight Leader. What ‘must’ I see?”

  “Follow me.”

  Happily, his horse followed Sophi’s without guidance. He concentrated on remaining upright and mounted.

  He had no idea what distance they rode but it couldn’t have been far. At the change in temperature and lack of light, he opened his eyes. Sophi had brought them to the entrance of a cave.

  “Duck your head, Commander. The ceiling gets low.”

  He smashed his nose on his horse’s neck and got a mouthful of mane. All went black.

  * * *

  Murmurs of conversation and the splash of water penetrated his consciousness. Dreaming. Desert. No water. He shifted. A moan escaped his lips. Pain. Goddess, the pain. He bit back another moan as he moved in his blankets. Blankets?

  “Flight Leader, Commander DeStroia wakes.”

  “I’m coming, Adonia. How is he?”

  “Much better, Flight Leader. Hi
s fever has broken.”

  A cool cloth bathed his face. Heaven. A blacksmith had taken up residence in his skull and was beating his way out, one ringing hammer blow at a time. He forced his eyelids open for a brief second. Sophi. She of the cool, wet cloth. He tried again, blinking, attempting to focus. Stunning, aqua-eyed Sophi. Not a dream.

  “Welcome back, Commander. Drink, please.” A clay cup pressed his lips, then cold water. Heavenly nectar must taste like this. He sucked it down.

  Pushing at his blankets in an abortive attempt to sit, he made a discovery. Damnation. “Wheer r my kllozz?” Humpf—didn’t come out right.

  He fell back. By the seven hells, I’m weak. His eyes closed. “Where—are—my—clothes?” There, that was intelligible.

  “Don’t stress yourself, Commander. You were bleeding from countless wounds. I had to strip you to determine your injuries. The worst is the stab wound in your groin. You are lucky. It did not perforate your gut. Mostly, I think you suffer from blood loss and dehydration. A day or two more of careful tending and you will be able to get up.”

  He lay with his eyes closed, too weak and in too much pain to object further. “How long?” he croaked.

  “Umm?”

  “How long have I been out?”

  “Twenty-four hours.”

  He groaned softly. “Where are we? How are my men?” The splash of water and low masculine laughter reached his ears. Again he tried to sit up, only to fall back weakly. “Damnation, woman. Where in the seven hells are we?”

  “Where I was taking you when you passed out, L’ago Mistero, Mystery Lake. An oasis known to the Oshtesh. Your men are fine. We are safe. If you promise to lie still I will get Captain Biron for you.”

  He cracked an eyelid open and tried to glare at her.

  “I lost sleep over you, Eric DeStroia. I will not permit you to undo all my efforts. You must promise.” The slight tip to the corners of her mouth made a lie of her stern tone.

  A long sigh escaped. Goddess, even that hurts. “Promise,” he muttered.

  He felt her pull his blankets back up, straightening them. Her hand pressed his forehead, then cheek. “Good. You still feel cool. Don’t excite yourself. That’s an order, Commander.”

  He heard the swish of her robes and the rasp of her leather soles against the stone floor of the cave as she left. She returned a few minutes later.

  “As promised, Commander. I have brought you Captain Biron.” Her footsteps retreated.

  “Commander?” He lacked the energy to open his eyes.

  “Jon. How are the men?”

  “Very well, under the circumstances. This place is amazing. You could pass within five feet of the access point and never know of its existence. None of our maps show it. It is a large, deep, freshwater lake, surrounded by mountain walls. Right in the middle of the godsbedamned wastelands. A fucking miracle.”

  Eric forced his eyes open. “How many did we lose, Jon?”

  “Twenty-one during the battle. Three died later of their wounds.”

  “We left with thirty-two. We return with eight.” Goddess. He lay quiet, thinking. “Where did they come from?”

  “Sir?”

  “The Haarb, Jon. More than a hundred attacked us. They should not be here in those numbers. Where did they come from? How did they get here? We must find out.” Some other detail about the Haarb lurked in his pounding head but he couldn’t pin it down.

  “Yes, sir. Scouts will be dispatched as soon as possible.”

  “All right, Captain Biron. That is enough for now.” Sophi shooed the captain away and stood looking down at him, a cup in her hand.

  “I’ll check on you later, Commander.” Biron nodded. “Flight Leader.”

  As Jon walked away, Sophi bent down and put a supporting hand behind Eric’s neck. Her robe gaped at the neckline. His view went straight down to her sweetly rounded breasts.

  “Drink this, Commander.” She helped him swallow the contents of the cup.

  “Horse piss.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Tastes like horse piss.”

  She gave an amused huff. “I’ll grant it does not taste good, but it is very good for you.”

  “What is it, Flight Leader, if not horse piss?”

  “Something to help your pain. Something to make you sleep.”

  “I don’t want to sleep.”

  Her aqua eyes held humor. “Too late, Commander.”

  His eyes crossed and he sank back into unconsciousness.

  Sophi watched as sleep claimed the warrior for whom she had cared so tenderly—so exclusively. I like you, Eric DeStroia—and I don’t want to. How did you work your way past my careful defenses? Sophi chided herself. It couldn’t possibly be his lean, sculptured body that flowed in well-defined curves of velvet skin under her fingers or his elegant face, now softened in sleep? She smoothed his thick, brown hair over his forehead, then cupped a hand over his beard-roughened jaw. You are outrageously handsome with a beautiful body. It is vastly unfair to a woman’s heart.

  When he had slipped unconscious from his horse at the cave’s entrance, she had flown to him and quickly stripped him nude. The extent and nature of his wounds appalled her and she had known real fear that she might lose this man so soon upon coming to know him. On the battlefield, Eric had seemed indomitable, an immortal warrior of unparalleled skill astride a black destrier itself disgorged from the fires of hell. His collapse had proved him as human as she. You aren’t a demi-god, are you, Eric? You hurt and bleed and feel, just like me. You are human—just like me.

  The constant inquiries from his soldiers into his condition, the casual conversations she overheard amongst the wounded, presented an inescapable conclusion. Your men love you, Eric DeStroia. The men under his command were hardened veterans of battle—most certainly hand-picked by her brother. Only the best of the best would escort his beloved sister. It took an uncommon individual to win their loyalty. This more than any other consideration, forced Sophi to soften her resistance and take a long, hard look at the recipient of her unceasing, diligent care. There is much to like about you.

  * * *

  A waft of air ran up Eric’s nude body. Gentle hands pressed at a painful area on his groin, pulling him into awareness. He muttered a vulgar oath.

  “I am sorry. I know it hurts. The dressing must be changed and your wound cleaned.”

  He blinked repeatedly, willing his eyes to stop their unfocused wandering. “Flight Leader. So, you are my torturer.”

  “Your recovery shouldn’t take long. Your wounds are closing cleanly and your body is very strong, very fit.”

  A small cloth draped his genitals—otherwise, he was bare as a babe. “You are in a position to know. Obviously, I keep no secrets from you.”

  Eric watched color creep up her neck but her manner remained matter-of-fact as she continued to clean and flush his wounds. Her hands remained cool and steady on his body.

  By the seven hells! Salt water. Goddess, preserve me. Throbbing burns erupted all over his body. They more or less kept time with the anvil blows punishing his head.

  “Petrina and Rhea have gone on reconnaissance to the east. By the time they return, you should be able to move about, though slowly. Take care not to stress the stitches on your groin and thigh. Otherwise, I think you’ll do, Commander.” Sophi looked up and smiled. “Hungry enough to eat something? Some journey bread and dried meat?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let those wounds air dry. I’ll get your food.” She rose and walked away. But for a piece of cloth the size of a hand towel, he lay naked to the entire world. At least three of her flight sauntered by, catching an eyeful. He closed his eyes and pretended he was too ill to care—not much of a stretch. Under normal circumstances—naked with a beautiful woman touching him—that small cloth would be completely inadequate.

  A shadow fell over him. “Here, let me help you sit up.” Sophi pulled the blanket up, covering his lower body.

  “I can sit
,” he growled, but allowed her to help him when his arms threatened to give way under the strain of his attempt at rising.

  “Don’t overexert yourself.” For a brief moment, her cool hand rested on his shoulder. “Your strength will return. Drink as much water as you can.”

  He grunted in reply. Methodically chewing the tough, stringy meat, he swallowed it, washing it down with a long drink of water. The same thought looped endlessly through his mind: “Haarb soldiers in those numbers shouldn’t be here,” he said aloud.

  She knelt next to him, rocked back onto her heels. “I agree. A roving band of five to ten, possibly—not a well-armed infantry squadron of over a hundred.”

  Eric held her eyes steadily. “Well armed, but poorly skilled in the methods of battle necessary to Verdantia. It takes many months of training to accustom an off-world, high-tech army to fight with swords and axes when they are used to plazar rifles and pulse emitters. Off-world recruits are always surprised to discover no technology beyond a smith’s forge functions here. No, these are newly arrived. Where did they come from and how did they get here?”

  Sophi frowned. “We women know these desert wastelands as a beloved knows her lover’s face. They cannot have been here long, or we would have seen them. And you say they were unskilled?”

  “Skilled troops in those numbers would have annihilated us.” An elusive memory of something he had seen during the battle nagged at him but his head hurt too bad to puzzle it out.

  A shudder ran through her. “I thank the Goddess they did not.”

  “It would be one less problem for you.”

  Her face blanked, then she frowned as his meaning became clear. “The L’anziano geneticists will never leave me alone. I was foolish to ever think they would.” Her face softened and her posture relaxed. “My brother has always had my welfare at heart. He says you are a ‘good man’ and I should consider you.”

  “Better ‘the devil you know’, eh?”

  She held his gaze steadily. “Are you a devil, Commander?”

  “With certainty, Flight Leader.”