A Warrior's Heart

by DL O'Neal

  "Drakthe--" she put a hand on his chest to stop the harsh outpouring of words. His heart pounded beneath her palm.

  "You learn no matter how hard you study, how well you ape fancy manners, you are still less than the dirt beneath their feet. All because you possess no House badge."

  "My lord, you have their respect." She tried to raise her head, to look down into those fiery eyes, but found her head anchored by one broad palm. She quit struggling and relaxed against him. His chest heaved beneath her cheek.

  "Respect? I don't have their respect, House-daughter," he grated. "I have their fear."

  "You have more than their fear." She remembered the whispered comments of the bonding guests, the speculation of her new friends, and qualified, "At least of the more discerning."

  "You're wrong. The more discerning have the most reason to fear me. One of the more profitable lessons I learned young was to garner skills the lords and their ladies needed but disdained as beneath them."

  "Fighting."

  He gave a short nod. "Fighting. Skill in the art of war. A willingness to fight and protect a lord's empire. There's only one hitch. To get the best you have to hire the best; a man capable of killing you with the same stealth and ruthlessness you require for your enemies. I am the best and that makes me a man not to trust with a turned back. I'm twice damned, first by my birth and secondly for the very skills they find so valuable. They'll hire me, but accept me as equal?" Drakthe shook his head. "Not without a House badge."

  "High Lord Krthe trusts you."

  "Because we share the same goals. If he ever had cause to think differently...." he shrugged, letting her imagination finish the sentence.

  "I trust you."

  The words hovered in the thin, plains air.

  "Go to sleep, bondwife. Tomorrow will be a long day. We have to make up time."

  Cheyna closed her eyes, a small smile curving her lips. Drakthe might growl and pretend her words of faith held little meaning for him, but she knew better. After all, she was his bondwife.

  The fire died down to glowing embers before she spoke again.

  "Drakthe? Are you awake, my lord?"

  His arms tightened around her. "I am now." He yawned and she could feel him slipping back into sleep. "Go to sleep."

  "Why do you deny the existence of a NaturPath's empathy?"

  He stiffened. "Because there is no such thing," he told her curtly. "Go to sleep, Cheyna."

  She wriggled free and sat up. In the light of the twin moons, she met his gaze. "You keep saying that. How do you know it doesn't exist?" she challenged.

  He turned on his side, levering up on one elbow. "Because it's a myth. A tool the NaturPaths use to appear mysterious and wise. It's a scam, House-daughter, plain and simple. You just won't open your eyes and see the truth."

  "No, my lord, you are the one who refuses to see the truth. Was it a scam when I entered your mind the first time we made love? Was it a scam when you entered my mind at the hot pools?"

  His gaze hardened before it abruptly softened. "Listen, Cheyna, I admit we have something special between us, but don't try to make it into something it isn't."

  "You don't believe in the mindlink?"

  "The mindlink is a story with which to scare misbehaving young children. It's something you put away--like fairietales of a crystal krees--when you grow up."

  "You do not believe in the Krees?" she asked, appalled.

  "Oh, Jkael, I've bonded with a dreamer!" He fell flat on his back, his chuckles turning into full-blown laughter. He reached up and snagged her around the waist, pulling her down in a swift, tugging motion so that her back was tucked against him.

  Smothered laughter vibrated against Cheyna's spine. His breath warmed the shell of her ear as strong teeth tugged at the lobe. "Jkael. I can't believe you actually think the Crystal Krees exists. Go to sleep, bondwife," he ordered her as she opened her mouth, his deep voice husky with suppressed mirth.

  "Drakthe?" she asked sweetly.

  "What is it now?" He tugged a bit harder on her lobe. Her body leaped in response. Cheyna couldn't prevent a small moan of arousal. She wriggled her bottom against his groin. His mouth moved lower, tracing the vein pulsing in her neck.

  "I believe in you, too."

  His mouth slipped from the column of her neck as he rolled her onto her back, his lips searching out hers with a sudden, desperate need.

  Exhausted mentally and physically, Cheyna slept, sprawled against Drakthe's chest. The tiny filament found the breach in her defenses and slipped inside. Catching hold and riding the crest of spent emotion, just the barest hint of its presence ruffled the surface of Cheyna's consciousness. Closer and closer it came. Strands of darkness snaked out and slithered into the nooks and crannies of her mind, seeking the small, well-guarded barrier behind which the knowledge hid.

  She thought she could escape.

  Fool. It was time she learned no one was stronger. She was just a tool. Like the others.

  The darkness expanded, became ribbons of intrusive power.

  "No! Slia. Sbraithe. Help me!" Pulled from sleep with brutal abruptness, Cheyna bolted upright. "Drakthe!" Frantic, she searched the darkness for the source of the threat.

  "Cheyna? What is it? What's wrong?" His question a breath of sound on the night air, Drakthe crouched at her side, bared krees in hand.

  "That touch. It was in my mind again, just like at the bonding ceremony." She shivered as sweat chilled on her flesh.

  A breath shuddered from him. He slipped the krees in its sheathe. Drakthe wrapped a powerful arm around her and pulled her into a comforting embrace.

  "Shh. It's all right. It was only a bad dream."

  Cheyna couldn't seem to stop shaking. "No, no it was not. It was more than a bad dream. Someone was trying to steal into my mind. Drakthe, they had no regard for my wishes! They were forcing a mindlink!" Her voice escalated as sheer horror swept over her.

  "Cheyna. Cheyna, listen to me." He gave her a small shake. "There is no such thing as mindlink. It was just a dream brought on by our conversation."

  "You do not understand," she whispered. "How can I make you understand?" Her chin was forced up until she had to meet his eyes.

  "There is nothing to understand. A dream. Just a dream. Let it go."

  She shuddered once before going motionless. She moved until his arm was no longer supporting her. Her gaze slipped past his shoulder. "I am all right now. You need not worry." She should have known he wouldn't believe her. She just wished she didn't need his belief so badly.

  "Don't shut me out, bondwife."

  Something in his voice made her focus on him. What she saw surprised her. The ice black brows met in a straight line and his eyes, usually so hot and bright, were tarnished with concern. She lifted a hand and smoothed his frown. It wasn't Drakthe's fault if he'd been taught psi ability wasn't real. "I am fine, my lord."

  "Drakthe," he reminded her, hugging her tight. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

  "No, not right now. Hold me, Drakthe, just hold me."* * *

  Like the High Plains on Rpiere where Cheyna went for solace, the Plains of Skaen possessed a wild beauty of its own. At the same time it was a strange, desolate place. Nothing was as it seemed here. Solid ground oft proved to be deceptive traps, brittle shells of glass that maimed and killed the unwary. Off to one side, the bleached bones of careless travelers shone whitely under the unrelenting glare of sun.

  Cheyna turned her head from the gruesome pit, imagining the agony they suffered before dying.

  In front of her, Drakthe rode in grim silence, his gaze scanning the terrain with unceasing vigilance. Well-trodden trails continued to disappear without warning. They lost days as they backtracked in an effort to find the elusive paths. His mood became increasingly dark.

  Drakthe worried about the strangeness of the Plains.

  Cheyna worried about the presence attempting to invade her mind.

  Each night Drakthe reached for her, making love t
o her with a single-minded determination that left no room for evasion or holding back. And each night, as she and Drakthe merged into one, she felt that dark touch on her mind.

  Cheyna shivered despite the fierce mid-sol heat. Each night the touch grew stronger, slipped inside with ever more ease. She swallowed, her hands clenching on the leather reins. Last night had been the worst, yet. Last night the contact had no longer been a delicate probing touch hoping to slip past her guard before she recognized it. Last night it brazenly rode the crest of her link with Drakthe, striking out with arrogant disregard at any barrier it found, smashing and wounding at will.

  Someone was trying to destroy her.

  Again, she'd tried to bring the subject up to Drakthe. He'd been half-asleep and relaxed, yet the moment she mentioned the possibility of linking he'd tensed and changed the subject. He refused to even listen. As far as her bondhusband was concerned, there was no such thing as empathy and definitely no such thing as mindlinking. By denying psi talent, however, he denied a crucial part of her. She could understand his initial reaction to mindlinking. Scimtarians had very little contact with the Raipier and the Raipier were careful to keep their Talent under control around humans. Crazy as it was, though, somehow she had touched his mind, and he hers. She didn't expect him to understand, Saints knew she didn't, but he could at least acknowledge its existence. Empathy, on the other hand, was an accepted part of the NaturPaths art of Healing. How could he deny it? And didn't he realize that by expecting her to agree, it was like cutting the heart from of her body and then expecting it to live?

  Cheyna didn't try to hide from the knowledge she was attracted to Drakthe. And in more than a physical sense. There was much to admire about him, and she knew if she could gain his full trust he'd be unswerving, but in some ways they were so different. For instance, he automatically assumed the worse, while she preferred to see the positive in people. Considering the differences in their fundamental philosophies, how could they ever hope to get along for any length of time?

  A flickering touch grazed her mind before she could find the answer.

  Her hand jerked on the reins, causing the surefooted animal to stumble.

  No. Dear Saints, no.

  Darkness brushed by again, a darkness so complete it consumed all light, all color.

  She swayed in the saddle.

  The touch was the antithesis of the Prisma, of everything the Raipier had raised her to believe in. Darkness grazed her thoughts, and a moan slipped from between her lips. Her flesh chilled. She wanted to call out to Drakthe, but could not make a sound. She did not dare try to use the mindlink.

  The darkness was waiting for such a move.

  Once she opened her mind to Drakthe she would be lost.

  Malevolence battered at her, sapped her strength and, with each new wave, corrupted wall after wall until her entire protective mental barrier threatened to crumble.

  The ground in front of her taiger wavered and blurred. Cheyna blinked. The earth fell away only to rear up in an undulating swell. Her stomach lurched.

  No!

  Cheyna latched onto the horn of the saddle, trusting to the little taiger to see them both to safety. She marshaled a desperate will and concentrated on combating the force determined to steal her mind. Her lids squeezed tight over her eyes, she focused on finding that mental haven of security in her mind where the touch could not follow. She skipped several levels of Sai and Kai, and reached for the images she kept stored for the times her soul needed comforting. She smelled the sharp clean scent of Rpiere's High Plains. Night, its darkness spread like a living mantle....

  ...Vradin was on the wane, just a sliver of light against the night. The sky was filled with a curtain of stars, each point of light a tiny chip of crystal that twinkled against a backdrop of ebony moonsilk.

  A painful jolt, like touching an unshielded terminal on the Clan Dgar's ship, stabbed into her inner thoughts. Cheyna struggled to repel the intrusion, the skin over her knuckles tautening until the bones threatened to come through. Blood welled on her bottom lip, the taste sharp and coppery. She had to attain the highest meditative level of Sai and Kai. If she didn't...She concentrated harder.

  The intense burning pain receded and she slipped back to her refuge. Grimly, she set about building her defenses higher. One pinpoint of light held steady. Cheyna poured her energy into focusing on that small ray of hope.

  She floated up to the final level of Sai and Kai. Rpiere became a rapidly fading dot of light as she sought safety in her new refuge, Scimtar.

  Drakthe scowled as the ground sheered away in front of his taiger's hooves. Reining his animal sideways to the drop, he craned his neck to see better. Twenty-five feet below, the terrain leveled again.

  Great. Just great. Standing in the stirrups, he swept his gaze from side to side, looking for a way down. Several feet to the left of his position, he spotted a narrow trail, a ledge really, that went to the bottom. Waiting for Cheyna to catch up with him, he pondered whether he should look for another, easier, route down. This one looked none too wide.

  The sun baked his shoulders as he considered his options. Heat waves shimmered up from the hard-packed sand. Off to one side, a rock crumbled from the edge and fell, rebounding several times before it hit bottom with a dull thud. His taiger snorted and shook his head, impatient at the delay. The animal twitched its hide sharply, dislodging a fly.

  Drakthe took another look at the narrow path and came to a decision. Better use it. He had no guarantee that he'd find another trail and, what with the Plains unpredictability, no guarantee that he'd find this one again.

  Nothing on this trade mission was going right. The trip to the Keepers of the Agora had always been hazardous, but never like this. This time, despite all his skill as a tracker, he could not keep on the trail. Days, whole days, he thought, disgusted, had been lost as he traced and retraced their way.

  Then there was Cheyna. His bondwife's insistence on the existence of psi powers was beginning to annoy him. While not apprenticed, she must have imbibed belief in such nonsense with her mother's milk. Why couldn't she accept that what happened between them was the result of passion, not some hocus pocus?

  In her mind, indeed.

  Drakthe shrugged off a queasiness as he remembered the dream of standing over Cheyna the morn after their bonding. A dream, nothing more, nothing less. The same way Cheyna had dreamed of someone invading her mind the other eve.

  Drakthe shook such disturbing thoughts off as the sense of niggling unease, with him since morn, jabbed him. Something wasn't right. He narrowed his eyes and scanned ahead. There. On the horizon. The cast of the sky altered subtly where it met land.

  The muscles in his back and shoulders tightened. On the Plains when something changed it was never for the better. Using his hand to shade his eyes from the brash glare of the sun, he stared hard.

  A multitude of prismas appeared, changing the cobalt blue sky to a palette run wild with color. Breath hissed from between his teeth.

  Jkael. A crystal storm! "Come on, House-daughter, we have to get off this trail." He dug his heels into his taiger and thundered down the path. He threw a glance over his shoulder to check on Cheyna. Her taiger, sensing safety ahead, was racing behind his. On flat ground, he hauled back on the reins and waited for her to catch up.

  Just as her taiger pulled abreast, Cheyna wobbled. Her face dead white, her lashes contrasting fans of startling color, he caught her as she toppled from the saddle. Her cheek, when he touched it with the back of his hand, felt like a block of ice.

  Sudden fear touched him. He swore, long and low beneath his breath. "Cheyna! Cheyna! Open your eyes. Jkael take it, House-daughter, open your eyes! We have to find shelter."

  A pulse tapped an erratic tattoo at the base of her throat. She moaned and stirred. Her lashes fluttered.

  "My lord?"

  Chapter 11

  Throat raw and head pounding, Cheyna stared up at Drakthe. How did she come to be in his arms? Con
fused, she tried to recall. The effort sapped what little strength remained. It wasn't until stinging shards of sand hit her that she realized they were in the midst of a storm.

  "My lord? What happened? Why am I not on my taiger?" She swallowed and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

  "You passed out. That's what happened." Drakthe flinched and huddled low over her as a barrage of sand pummeled them. "Are you well enough to ride?"

  The urgency in his voice burned through the lingering fog of lethargy enveloping her. Cheyna struggled to sit upright in his lap. Pain lanced through her skull. She bit her lip and managed, "Do not worry, I can ride."

  The words barely out of her mouth, Cheyna had to make a grab for the reins as Drakthe plopped her back onto her taiger. She smothered a groan as he untied her burnuese from behind her saddle and shoved it over her head. She doubted he would have heard anyway, the way the wind was howling.

  "Tuck a corner of the hood over your mouth," he shouted, the words whipped away by the rising wind.

  "What is it? What kind of storm is this?" Cheyna reached for the cowl of her burnuese, pulling it down low over her forehead and tying its lower edges across her face. The wind snatched at it and she could only hope it would remain in place.

  "Crystal storm," he said, his terse answer leaving no doubt they were in for a bad time.

  Cheyna accepted a tleera hide cape to go over her burnuese without further question and waited for his directions.

  Drakthe snagged a rein out of her hand and tied it to the back of his saddle. "Here." He held out a long piece of cloth. "Tie this over your eyes."

  "But, my lord, what about you?" she protested.

  "Do it, bondwife." He finished tying a blind over the female taiger's eyes, and then turned his attention to his animal. "Whatever happens, stay with your taiger."

  Cheyna turned blind eyes toward the grim tone. "Yes, my lord."

  Once they left the meager protection of the ledge, crystallized grains of sand scoured at the cape and worked with stinging force beneath her clothing. The fury of the storm was unlike anything she had ever witnessed. Sand crept into her mouth, into her lashes and prickled her scalp. Solid gusts of wind threatened to tear her out of the saddle. Cheyna clung to the horn and prayed to every Saint she knew.