The Haarb have attacked Sh’r Un Kree. Primus G’hed sent a courier to request aid. Contradina intercepted the woman and killed her. Eric’s squadron of horse was attacked and decimated by the Haarb. Commander DeStroia dispatched a courier from Silver Grove when he re-entered the garrison with Sophi, requesting aid for Sh’r Un Kree and additional guards for Sophi. That messenger, too, was intercepted and killed.
According to my cousin, Sophi and Eric should have ridden into Sylvan Mintoth yesterday or the day before. I believe Allegra Contradina now holds Sophi.
I am taking Rickard and the Daggers. We ride hard for Sh’r Un Kree. I must find Sophi before she falls into Krakoll’s control. I fear for her sanity if they take her again.
Doubtless, you will set out for Sh’r Un Kree with the military might of Verdantia at your back upon receipt of this message. I will rejoin you there.
Tell Fleur I love her—that goes for you, too, you heavy-handed devil’s spawn. Your love play will make for some uncomfortable days in the saddle. I look forward to returning the favor.
As ever, I am yours,
Doral
Ari sat against the headboard and cursed loud and long before throwing back the bedcovers and jumping to his feet, snatching up the clothing adorning the floor. With a voice that could be heard in the courtyard below, he bellowed, “Edmond! Summon my commanders. Sound the ‘call to action’.”
Fleur clutched the covers to her breast, stunned. “Wait, I’m coming with you!”
He rounded on her furiously. “Absolutely not. I forbid it!”
Fleur narrowed her eyes and silently watched as Ari slammed through the door. You forbid it? Really?
* * *
Eric felt as if he wore boulders on his feet and he cursed the thick leather of his riding boots. Leading his exhausted horse, he refused to stop for even the barest of rest. The exposed skin of his neck burned in pulsing waves as the sun baked his shoulders and head. What I wouldn’t give for one of Sophi’s robes. Sophi. Agony lanced through his soul. I’ll make it right. Whatever has happened, I will make it right.
He pulled at the reins of his weary mount, encouraging him to step a little faster. A blind man could have followed the trail left by her captors—a trail of rotting and bloated horses and discarded equipment. By his reckoning, the column was a day or two ahead. The piles of manure he passed had not dried completely.
He had seen individual soldiers on the horizon from time to time but their apathetic listlessness at his approach indicated they had been abandoned rather than left as outriders to guard the column’s rear. It worried him. Desperate men made for desperate measures. His animal staggered and went to its knees. Its shoulder rammed Eric’s shoulder blades, knocking him to his hands and knees. After both regained their feet, Eric patted the sweat-streaked neck of the animal. “I’m sorry, old man, perhaps a short break, eh?” Looking around, he pulled his reluctant horse into the shade of a scrub tree. Fatigue shattered his body as he loosened the saddle girth. He flipped the reins over a low limb and collapsed at the base of the tree.
Several days had passed since he had ridden through the shield-wall gate at Silver Grove in pursuit of Sophi’s captors—several days of no sleep, no rest, little water and less food. Strands of his hair clung to the resinous tree bark as his head lolled in exhaustion. Its sharp, pungent scent stung his nostrils. The skitter of rock down a nearby pile of boulders yanked his eyelids open and sat him bolt upright. The sight and sound of three men sliding carelessly down the rocks launched Eric toward the scabbard of his saber. His hand closed around the sword’s tailored grip as if shaking hands with a familiar friend.
With a guttural yell, he whirled and met the downward slash of one attacker with a blocking parry. Twisting to the side, he disengaged and with a reverse motion swept back in a vicious counterstrike. A severed hand, still clutching a sword, dropped at his feet. His attacker screamed and fell back, clutching the stump of his wrist as arterial blood arched into the air. Made cautious by the shrieks of their companion, the other two men paused, holding well-used blades before them. One of them edged cautiously closer.
“We need his horse, Keller, and he’s got food and water. We can take him. There’s two of us.” The gaunt, grimy soldiers wore Verdantian military dress.
“You know the Capt’n’s rules, Tolly, every man for hisself. If I kill de rider, I get de horse.” He circled the tip of his blade in front of him, baring his teeth in a snarl. As if on some unspoken signal, both men sprang forward with a cry.
Eric ducked beneath the belly of his startled horse then lunged around the animal’s chest, surprising one of his attackers from the rear with a bone-deep, slashing stroke to the man’s upper thigh, severing his hamstring. With a shriek of pain and surprise, his attacker collapsed, clutching the back of his leg.
Whirling away, Eric retreated again to the other side of his anxious animal.
“You’re Verdantian,” Eric panted as he and the last man faced off across the back of his unsettled horse.
“What of it?”
“We’re on the same side.” Eric ducked toward the tree, getting clear of the two men moaning on the ground.
His attacker spat on the ground. “That’s for Verdantia and Queen Constante.” With a savage cry, he sprang at Eric. Swhing! Their blades crossed and slid to the hand guards. By the gods, he’s a bull. With a grunt of effort, Eric threw him back and they faced each other again, two Fell wolves circling, searching for a weakness. The points of their blades traced patterns in the air.
“Contradina’s a bitch but she didn’t take our homes and livelihoods.” His opponent leapt at him with a roar.
Parry right! Swhing! Parry Left! Swhing! Eric blocked two ferocious slashes and sprang away, his sword arm vibrating from the tremendous force behind his opponent’s blade. Damnation, he wields a heavy hand. I need to end this.
“You ride for House Contradina,” Eric said.
“Use to. Now we ride for who pays us.”
As the soldier rushed him yet again, Eric ducked, hitting him with a knee-high body block. Straightening abruptly, Eric flipped the ox of a man over his head. His opponent grunted in pain as he landed heavily, spread-eagled on his back. Eric sprang forward, pressing his blade tip to the man’s throat. “Don’t make me kill you.
Drop your weapon.” His peripheral vision caught the flash of the soldier’s blade as the soldier attempted to swing upwards. With a quick lunge, he trapped the man’s wrist beneath the arch of his boot. Blood trickled from the incision made by his saber point, still at his attacker’s throat.
“Drop it. Now!” Eric growled. He put all of his weight on the foot, grinding the man’s wrist into the stony ground. With a grunt of pain, his attacker’s hand opened and the sword fell from his fingers. “Get on your knees. Slowly,” Eric ordered. “Face away from me.”
Eric bound the man’s hands tightly with the soldier’s own belt and then backed away, picking up all three of his attackers’ weapons. He mounted his horse and moved away from the two men moaning and cursing him.
“Your woman captive. Where did you take her?”
The bound soldier’s stony face betrayed no emotion. His lips remained tightly closed. Eric pulled a knife from his waistband. “I’ll leave this knife if you answer my question.” He shrugged. “It’s anyone’s guess if you can free yourself before the smell of blood draws the desert predators.” Looking at the groaning men, bleeding to death on the rough scree, Eric added, “Your friends can’t help you. They’ll be dead soon.”
He relaxed in the saddle and waited—and waited. With a tired sigh, Eric stuck the knife back into his waistband and turned his horse toward the road. A croaked response turned him back.
“Amboy Crater. Contradina takes her to Krakoll at Amboy Crater.”
Eric lobbed the knife to a point halfway between them.
Tracking its flight, the gaunt soldier looked back to him with a grunt. “I recognize your face. We killed you.” His bound atta
cker squinted at him uneasily. “What kind of perverted creature are you?”
Eric shook his head. “Just a man. Like yourselves. You’d better work on your accuracy with a crossbow. You only thought you killed me.”
A disbelieving snort followed hard on the heels of Eric’s statement. “Look at yourself, you twisted spawn of hell. You glow.”
Eric glanced at the faintly luminous hands gripping his reins. What in the name of the gods? For a brief second, fear at what She might have made him struck through him. He’d never seen his skin glow before. He was certain he would have noticed. He shook himself mentally. I don’t have time for this. Whatever it is, I’ll deal with it.
He blessed his time with the Oshtesh women. He knew of a much faster way to Amboy Crater than this road. As he pulled his mount off the well-worn track and struck off into the wastelands, it occurred to him his fatigue had vanished. How....unsettling. What am I? His eyes wandered down to his bare hands once more. The unease, almost fear, he felt at the prospect of seeing something abnormal made him angry. Damn-it-all, I am just a man. I am still just me. In spite of his stern self-lecture, relief filled him at their normal, everyday appearance.
Eric made his way steadily across an unforgiving landscape of hard-scrabble rock and twisted vegetation. His eyes constantly scanned the terrain for either any glimpse of the band of mercenaries who had kidnapped Sophi or some sign of Oshtesh presence. Day and night, darkness and light, passed as he pressed forward in mindless, obstinate pursuit.
On the fourth night, a barely perceptible flicker of light where none should be alerted him to the presence of others. Eric dismounted in a copse of skeletal trees and left his now exhausted horse in the concealment to rest. Eric snorted softly. Poor fellow. Too tired to shift from this place, even untied. Pulling his sword from the scabbard, he approached the tiny, smokeless fire from downwind, skirting a small mound of boulders for concealment. He placed each foot with exquisite care. If the camp was hostile, he needed the element of surprise. It took him many anxious minutes to cover a short distance. Peering over the rock cover, he exhaled a silent prayer of thanks. Oshtesh.
Four Oshtesh men blended so well into the rock they would have been invisible but for their fire. Their quiet murmurs fell softly into the pre-dawn air as they ate and drank. He rose slowly from the rock that concealed him. They saw him, immediately.
Eric hailed them, cautiously. “Hello, the camp. I’m–” He felt a crushing blow to his head and then nothing else.
* * *
Eric lay on his belly across his horse. His arms were tied in front of him and joined to his bound legs with a rope run under the horse’s belly. A foul rag packed his mouth. He labored for air as they trotted along. A vicious, unmerciful pounding filled his skull.
“We should have just killed the traitorous dog.” A guttural voice sounded to his right. “He’s wearing a Verdantian military uniform. He must be part of that traitorous merc band that passed through here. You should let me stake him out for the sand cats to play with.”
A male voice from his left answered. “We are taking him to the Primus. Let him interrogate the scum. He might have valuable information.”
“I suppose you are right, but I’d still rather just kill him,” the guttural voice complained.
“You can kill him when the Primus is through with him.”
Eric fought an upwelling of nausea brought on by the jolting horse and his pounding head. I cannot get to the Primus fast enough.
Consciousness came and went. Eric had no idea how long he had been bound to the horse, but he came to rather abruptly as his body slammed to the ground in a precipitous descent.
“Drag him off to the side, Derrick. I’ll tell the Primus we are back. See what he wants done with him.”
Eric bit back a groan as his bound hands were jerked up and his body roughly dragged out of the common area by the dangling ends of the now-cut rope which had bound him to his own horse. Opening his eyes a slit, he could see bustling camp activity through the legs of one of the Oshtesh fighters guarding him. As he watched, a horse’s legs filled his vision and stopped.
A female voice called out, “Klaran, Derrick, Garis, look who we found wandering the desert.”
I know that voice. Adonia. That is Adonia. Surely she would see him lying there and identify him to the soldiers who’d captured him. Two sets of legs, too slender for men, appeared as their owners dismounted from the horse.
The guttural voice that Eric identified as the man who wanted him tied out for the sand cats responded. “Well, I don’t believe it. Weren’t you supposed to be in Sylvan Mintoth by now, Sophi?”
“Yes, Derrick, but things got...twisted. I need to speak with the Primus.”
Sophi! How in the name of the Goddess! He struggled to sit upright, shouting behind his gag.
A stunning blow struck his head. No! No! A foot spiked viciously into his gut. With a grunt of pain, he curled around it and finished his slide to oblivion.
* * *
He woke as dawn sent filtered light into the Oshtesh camp. He couldn’t feel his hands or feet and his mouth tasted as if the rotting carcass of a dead carrion crow stuffed it. Sophi. Had he really heard her voice last night or had it just been the product of too many blows to the head? His head—at this point he’d almost welcome death if it stopped the pounding. Goddess, what a mess. He desperately prayed the Primus wanted to ‘interrogate’ him before ‘Derrick’ and company killed him. He couldn’t hope Mother Verdantia would repeat herself and revive him a second time. This time he’d probably stay dead. Rough hands cut the rope that bound his legs, then jerked him to his feet. He promptly collapsed back to the earth.
“Stand up, you whore-son, the Primus wants to see you.”
Thanks be to the Goddess. Again careless hands jerked him to his feet. This time he managed to stay on them. Half stumbling, half dragged, Eric followed the Oshtesh guerilla fighter across the camp toward a figure he recognized—the Primus. Unless his eyes tricked him now, Eric had heard aright the night before. . Primus G’hed spoke with Sophi! He was only feet from Sophi. Sophi! Sophi, look this way! Only unintelligible grunts sounded through his gag. He tried to stumble toward her. His captor shoved him to the ground with a warning. “Make any trouble for me, scum, and I’ll put you out again.”
He had no doubt his captor would enjoy carrying out the threat at the slightest provocation from Eric. He watched Sophie, mere feet from him, in despondent resignation. He listened, disconsolate, as the Primus and Sophi spoke.
“We have discussed this all night, my daughter. Nothing you have said has changed my mind. You will join Mother Lyre, child. It is important that we keep you safe.” Primus G’hed’s voice lectured Sophi. “Look, Adonia is here with your horse. She will ride with you to their camp. They are well hidden.”
Eric saw Adonia ride up, leading a saddled horse. Sophi was leaving. Ah, Goddess, please let her look this way. He lay in the dirt, wretched, desolate, and watched as Sophi mounted and leaned over to kiss Primus G’hed on the cheek.
“Take care, stepfather. Please wait for High Lord DeTano or my brother. I know they are coming. I just know they are. Don’t try to take on Krakoll without them.”
The Primus took Sophi’s hand in his and kissed it. “Her blessings on you, child. Ride safely.”
Eric lay crumpled awkwardly in the dirt, despairing, as the woman he loved, still believing him dead, turn her horse and rode away. Ah, Sophi. So close, love. The tails of Sophi and Adonia’s horses disappeared from his sight.
The Primus gruffly barked, “Bring your captive and let’s see what he knows.”
Again, rough hands pulled him to his feet and propelled him forward in a stumbling shuffle. A fist in his hair pulled his head back and jerked the rag from his mouth.
The Primus cried out, upon seeing his bare face. “This is not an enemy. This is Eric DeStroia, you fool!” Primus G’hed’s loud, scathing voice berated the man holding Eric upright.
; Thank you, Goddess. Don’t have to die today. He tried to formulate words of thanks but his swollen tongue filled his mouth, immobilized by dryness; even his thoughts were thick and slow. He felt his hands freed. A thousand needles stabbed through them as circulation restored itself.
“Get this man some water! Now! And send someone after Sophi.”
A water skin appeared, raised to his mouth. The water was lukewarm and flavored with essence of goat-hide. He swallowed thirstily. Nothing had ever tasted more perfect. Evidently, he had underestimated the rejuvenating effects of tepid goatskin flavored water. Each swallow washed away more and more of his fatigue and mental stupor.
The stern brown eyes of Primus G’hed softened. “A little the worse for wear, but you look remarkably good for a dead man, Commander. From what my daughter told me, I had thought never to see you again.”
Sophie trotted her horse into camp and halted before Primus G’hed. Eric drank in the sight of her until joy overwhelmed his parched soul. The Primus smiled at Sophi and with a gesture toward Eric, said, “Look.”
She turned slightly in confusion. Like the sun breaks across the morning horizon—a slow hint of light growing into a brilliant radiance—so joy dawned across her face. She hurtled off her animal.
“Eric! Eric!”
“Sophi,” he croaked.
He met her halfway in a head-long rush, wrapping her in a tremendous grip as she leaped into his arms. He barely kept his feet. The joy he felt at this very moment would fill him until death. All his bodily hurt vanished, erased by the miracle of holding Sophi.
Her sobbing cries of his name joined with his murmurs of hers. Many, many moments passed before he allowed her feet to touch the ground, despite his exhaustion. His abused body simply would not obey his desire. Even upon being forced to set her down, he held her tightly, an arm around her shoulders, the other around her buttocks as he bathed in the glorious sensations of Sophi’s warm body pressed along his.
Hers To Choose (Verdantia Book 2) Page 16