Hers to Command (2 page)

Ari joined Doral.
The flickering light of hissing torches revealed a disturbance.

“
High Lord! High Lord!” The small, grizzled rider threw himself off his staggering horse and tried to muscle his way between several stout guards. He had brutally used his horse. The raw-boned black swayed on his feet, his head dropping inches from the ground as his sides heaved, sucking air into tortured lungs. With an awful groan, the animal's knees folded and he buckled to the dirt.

“
Let me go! Let. Me. Go! I bear an urgent message for the High Lord.”

Ari
knew him——and Jox, his horse.
This cursed war. It takes everything dear. First the old man’s wife, now…
“Let him through, Sergeant Major. I know this man.”

The
aged, weather-beaten rider staggered to within a few feet of him. “High Lord, I carry an urgent message from Elder Patricio. I must speak with you immediately.” He glared belligerently at the crowd gathered. “It is for your ears only.”

Doral
glanced at Ari. “I’ll be out here if you need me, and I’ll see what can be done for the horse.” Doral had been with Ari long enough to know he would want the animal saved, if possible.

Ari
nodded tightly and motioned the messenger toward the tent. “Inside, Yannis.” Holding back the tent flap for the old rider, he indicated a campstool. “Sit before you fall in front of me like your horse.”

Tears streaked through the dust caked on the
old, grizzled rider’s cheeks. Yannis covered his face with a trembling hand. “Ah, my Jox. Please forgive me. Forgive me, lad.”

Ari
understood Yannis’ heartache. For generations, the House DeTano had bred the finest of purebred horses. A horseman to the soles of his riding boots, the adolescent Ari had focused his dreams and passions on continuing his family’s proud heritage. For him, the dream would never be. Elder Patricio, the influential head of the
L’anziano
, had seen to that long before the Haarb arrived.

Crossing to a low table, he poured a cup of water. “Here, drink this
.”

Accepting the clay cup from Ari’s hand
, the old rider downed its contents. Visibly pulling himself together, Yannis wiped his dirty face on his even dirtier sleeve. In an urgent undertone, the messenger forced words through dry, cracked lips. “Your Lordship, you must be in Sylvan Mintoth by this time tomorrow. The sigil, the
diamantorre,
is failing.”

Ari
regarded him sharply. “Say that again.”

“
Sylvan Mintoth’s sigil is failing. Elder Patricio requires you to perform the
Great Rite.
Your Lordship, it is Sylvan Mintoth! You must go.”

Ari turned away, slamming the water pitcher to the table.
Patricio has some self-serving reason for summoning me. Magisters DeGregio and DeFlores reside at Sylvan Mintoth, both capable of performing the Great Rite. How like him to use the one reason I cannot ignore. The High Enclave and the palace cannot fall to the Haarb—not now. Damn the man to the seven hells. I must go.
“Yes, I will go.”

Striding to the tent door, Ari jerked the flap back and motioned for Doral to join him.

“
Doral, pack my saddle bags with my travel kit and tack up Grey. Have him ready in fifteen minutes.” He could read the question in Doral’s steady gaze.

“
Sylvan Mintoth’s
diamantorre
, the sigil, fails. Patricio summons me to perform the
Great Rite
. I think a single rider stands the best chance of remaining undetected infiltrating the Haarb lines. I will ride alone.”

The muscles in Doral’s jaw tightened
at Ari’s quietly murmured words. His blue eyes became arctic. He nodded curtly. “High Lord, what weapons?”

“
I carry my poniard.”
Ah, that did not sit well.

“
Sir, you cannot ride out armed with only a dagger. It is suicide. The Haarb's elite divisions ring Sylvan Mintoth. They continually patrol the entry gates.”

Ari
’s smile barely moved his lips. “If my presence is discovered, I am a dead man no matter how well armed. I shall just have to be very clever.”

Doral's level stare challenged
him. “I will ride with you.”

“
And risk both of us?” He shook his head, rejecting Doral's statement. “Just do as I ask.”

Doral’s eyes
were bold with displeasure. “As you command—sir.” The honorific was slow in coming.

He
watched Doral’s rigidly silent departure. He wouldn’t put it past the man to follow him anyway.
I don’t know why I pretend to give him orders.
Shaking his head, he turned back to the old rider. “So, Yannis, who will partner me in the rite?”

The grizzled old man shifted uncomfortably
and mumbled something under his breath.

Ari threw an impatient glance at Yannis.
“Speak up, man.”

“
Princess Fleur Constante.”

Of
course, our Principessa Royale.
Ari’s fists clenched and unclenched.

“
Manipulations, plots and schemes, the hallmarks of Elder Patricio. Why am I even surprised?” Taking a deep breath, he let go of his anger.

C
rossing the tent, Ari began to strip, donning dark colored riding clothes. He raised his head and regarded the elderly rider.

“
Yannis, stay in my tent and recover before you go back to Sylvan Mintoth. Ask Doral for anything you need. You may take one of our remuda mounts for your return.”

“
Thank you, High Lord. But if my Jox can be fit to travel in a few days, I would not part with him. I’ll lead him back on foot if I must.”

Ari
looked up sharply.

The old rider shrugged
in apology. “He is all I have left, sir.”

Ari
had pulled on his dark, long sleeved shirt, black leather leggings and riding boots. The addition of his hooded black cloak completed his transition into a dark wraith. Hearing the messenger’s words, his closed expression softened. “I expect to see you and Jox at Sylvan Mintoth in a few days, Yannis. May the Goddess shine her glory on you.”

Ari strode
through the door flap and crossed the yard to where Doral held his gray gelding, saddled and ready to travel. “You are ever efficient, Doral. What would I do without you?” He smiled his thanks and stamped down much warmer feelings that surfaced unbidden.

“
You would manage—sir.”

Doral’s clipped statement drew a
nother wry smile from him. “Perhaps, but not nearly so comfortably. You take good care of me, Visconte. I notice.”

“
On the rare occasions you allow it, my Lord.” Doral looked off, grim.

Swinging up easily onto his horse,
Ari gathered the reins into one hand. As Grey sidled with pent-up energy, Ari stroked his dappled neck. “You have a very important job to do, my fellow. I need all the strength and speed you possess.” He caught Doral’s eyes with a quick nod. “You are my acting commander, Visconte.”

He turned
Grey toward the eastern reaches and Sylvan Mintoth and touched his heels to the horse’s flanks. The well-trained mount leapt forward as if the demon-wolves from the seven hells of Jurossa nipped at his heels.

Doral felt the old rider
move to stand next to him. Together they watched horse and rider fade into the brightening east. Yannis turned to Doral.

“Will he reach Sylvan Mintoth in time?”

Doral tore his gaze away from Ari.

“Have no doubt
, old man. That horse of his will die for him.” Doral snorted in self-derision. Looking back toward the direction of Sylvan Mintoth, his eyes strained for one more glimpse. “And he is surrounded with men just like his horse.”

* * * * *

Slipping the deadly pursuit of a Haarb patrol, Ari galloped under the golden stone archways of Sylvan Mintoth. The sound of his horse’s shoes striking cobblestone echoed forlornly in the deserted street. Between his thighs he could feel Grey shake with fatigue, his responses dogged and sluggish. But Grey had done his job. He’d brought him safely to the shelter of the High Enclave. The fleet-footed gelding had given him a precious commodity—time.

He handed his
exhausted horse into the care of the stable master, then dragged his saddlebags over his shoulder and made his way up the well-worn stone stairs to Elder Patricio's chambers. At this early hour, stillness cloaked the long, shadowed halls. Gold light gleamed in a fan from under the elder’s door. Outside the elder’s rooms, he began to dust the worst of the dirt from his clothes, then stopped.
By the seven hells, why should I care?
Ari was no longer an adolescent novitiate under Patricio's repressive control. Entering the High Enclave triggered unwelcome memories. He reined in his emotions and rapped firmly on the heavy wooden panels.

“
Enter,” a familiar voice bid, even as Ari strode through the door.

“
Elder Patricio,” Ari acknowledged with a curt nod. The waterless wastelands of the
Oshtesh
were not as arid as his voice.

“
Conte DeTano, your punctuality is appreciated.” Withered and bent, slumped behind his desk, the man looked ill.

How it must pain the old man to thank me.
“I serve Verdantia, Elder. I always have.”

“
In most things, Your Lordship, in most things.”

After risking death to get here,
Ari did not appreciate the snide criticism. “One day, you will push me too far, Patricio.”

The
elder held up a shaking hand. “I apologize. My comment was inappropriate. This is not the time or place.” Patricio seemed to shrink in his robes. “Conte DeTano, the
diamantorre
is failing. As a leader of our joint military forces, you can surely appreciate what losing Sylvan Mintoth to the Haarb would mean.”

“
That is the only reason I am here, Elder.”

T
he strength of the
magickal
field protecting Sylvan Mintoth concerned Ari. The elder had not overstated the crisis. To lose Sylvan Mintoth wherein stood the royal palace, The Great Library of
Magicks
and the High Enclave with its council of
L’anziano
, Parliament and House of Lords would erase the gains he had made on the battlefield these past three years. It could be the end of Verdantia.

Patricio shot
Ari a weary look. “I wish you to perform the
Great Rite
with Fleur Constante.”

“
Yes.”

Wilting even further into his chair,
Elder Patricio propped his elbow on his desk and rested his forehead in his hand, his frailty and exhaustion apparent. Patricio spoke to the desktop. “She is terribly inexperienced, Conte DeTano. I need your assurance you will be kind to her. I supervised her tutoring these past three years and I have grown—fond—of her. She is a very innocent, gentle soul.”

Elder Patricio
raised his head to meet Ari’s gaze. “She has not been told who you are.”

“
She does not know who I am to her?” Ari could not contain his incredulity.

“
No,” Patricio responded.

“
My coerced signature on your
breeding
contract is common knowledge,” Ari spat bitterly. “I cannot
fathom
you left her ignorant.”

“
Your rejection of the
marriage
contract would hurt her needlessly,” Patricio rejoined flatly.

Ari walked forward until the desktop pressed into his thighs.
“I did not reject
her
. I don’t know her. She was six when that contract was drawn.” Ari slammed his palms flat on the surface of the desk, his face inches from Patricio’s.

“
I reject being forced to breed children on a woman not my choice, however you dress it up in legalese. Whatever name you give it, the
L’anziano
administer a heavy-handed breeding program which
you
direct.”

“
This is a tired argument,” the elder faltered. “Just please don't handle her callously because of your distaste for me.”

Stepping
back, Ari straightened and crossed his arms over his chest.
Interesting. The desiccated old weasel has a heart after all.

While
he could not quell his satisfaction at the man’s distress, he was unwilling to victimize an innocent to further the man’s suffering. “Elder Patricio, I swear on the honor of my House she will receive no ill treatment from me.”