Lines of Fire (The Guild House - Defenders Hall) (21 page)

Valdon. A young woman. Dead. His stomach lurched. He spewed the contents on the ground.

More memories fused. The girl, an untrained Defender had died before she reached the Hall. The cries for help. The ride. The witnessed rape and the fight. Two men in flight. Ilna’s laughter and demands. Alric stared at the scene. Alone now except for the dead.

Petan’s attack. Kalia had been right. Where was she? His thoughts drifted. The camp. He’d told her to remain there. Before searching for the outlaw’s camp he needed to return for her.

He whistled for Storm Cloud. The bihorn arrived at his side. Alric searched the road and found his knife and sword. He used Valdon’s shirt to clean some of the clotted blood from the blades. An urgency to return to the camp for his bondmate caused the drums in his head to slow their beat.

He climbed into the saddle and reached for his flask to slake his thirst. Empty. Kalia. He needed to find her. Though his head pounded and the bitter taste of vomit lingered, he pushed his steed into a gallop and retraced his ride to where he’d left her.

When the large oak came into view, a final shard fitted into pace. Kalia had followed him, had cried a warning and had stopped the bleeding from his head wound and more.

Her scream echoed through him. “You killed him. What am I going to do?”

But he wasn’t dead and she hadn’t been at the place where he’d awakened. He groaned. Petan had her. Though Alric wanted to turn and pursue the fleeing pair, they had been gone for hours. Caution was needed. Surely they had reached Petan’s camp. He had to follow and rescue her. Then they would return to the Hall and report.

What about their supplies and the pack beast? He pushed Storm Cloud for the final distance to the camp. He spotted the shaggy animal. Most of the supplies remained on the ground.

He knelt at the spring and gulped handfuls of water. He splashed his face and cared for his weapons. Selecting two sacks he gathered clothes for them both and filled the pack. The second, he filled with food, utensils and two pans. After rolling Kalia’s blanket he fastened the packs to the saddle. He filled two flasks with water and mounted his bihorn.

While returning to where he had fought and lost to begin the search for the track of the bihorn with the notched shoe, he munched on trail bread and cheese. As long as daylight remained he believed he could discover where Petan had left the road. Alric prayed the banished Defender hadn’t harmed Kalia.

He passed the bodies. Though they deserved a burial he couldn’t stop to dig a grave. Around a bend in the road he saw a crumpled body. His heart thundered. As he drew closer he saw the color of the woman’s hair. Not Kalia. Relief swamped him. Blood rushed from his head.

As he rode past he heard a faint cry. He dismounted and peered around Storm Cloud searching the trees along the sides of the road searching for another ambush. Seeing no one, he went to the body.

“Ilna.” He knelt and studied her flickering lines of fire. Life lingered but soon would vanish. Both of her eyes were blackened. Blood oozed from her nose and her mouth. He placed a finger at her throat and felt a stuttering pulse. “What happened?”

“You’re dead.” Her voice barely rose above a whisper.

“I’m not. Who did this?” Though he knew, he needed confirmation.

“Petan. He hit.”

Alric drew a deep breath. “Did he beat you?”

“Yes. Bihorn threw. Kalia.”

“Where is Petan? Where is Kalia?”

“He took.”

Alric drew a shuddering breath. He dare not let the image of Kalia battered like Ilna stir the cauldron of his emotions. “Where?”

“Hut. Forest. Tonight. Stay. Go.”

“Go where?”

“Away.” She raised a hand and pointed.

Alric pushed hair from her face. “Can I help you?”

“Dying. Bleed inside.”

“Do you need water?”

Laughter more like a cackle spilled from her mouth. “Dead. You. He thinks.” She gasped for air.

Alric watched the lines of fire vanish from her skin. He rose and whistled for Storm Cloud. The bihorn brayed. Alric hurried toward the sound and found not only his steed but Mist. After gathering the reins of both he walked along the road in the direction Ilna had indicated and searched the edge for the notched shoe. When he found the place where Petan had entered the forest, Alric stopped to decide what to do.

Though he could ride the bihorn and follow the trail the noise would alert anyone listening. He led the steeds beyond the place where Petan had entered the forest and found a clearing with grass and water. According to the map there was a crossroads ahead with an alternate approach to the Hall. He fastened Mist’s reins to Storm Cloud’s saddle.

After drinking from the spring and eating bread and cheese he patted his bihorn. “When I need you, I’ll whistle.”

He jogged back to the place where’d he’d seen the tracks made by the notched shoe. As he started along the narrow path he thought about Kalia. His lines of fire flowed to the tips of his fingers and pointed in the direction she had taken.

* * *

The jouncing walk of the bihorn coupled with enervating fear send Kalia wandering in a fugue state. The bihorn’s halt jolted her into the present. Where were they? How long had they traveled? The canopy of leaves above the trail allowed little spots of light to dapple the ground.

Petan dismounted. She watched him walk to a spring and stoop to drink. Her dry throat prevented her from asking him to loosen her bonds and allow her to walk. Her arms felt numb and so did her legs. When he took a bite of something taken from his pack, pangs of hunger attacked.

Kalia fought to control the fury rolling like a forest fire through her body. The Swordmaster had planned to bind her to Petan. Did the older man understand the one he’d chosen for his daughter had plans crafted by some mysterious person Petan named as his master.

Escape. There had to be a way. Petan’s ruthlessness had always frightened her. Beneath her anger embers of fear threatened to flare and burn all her thoughts away. Petan would do anything to bring his plans to fruition.

He approached the bihorn and dusted crumbs from his hands. “Time to move on. Another hour will see us to our destination.” He mounted behind her.

“Water,” she croaked.

He ran his hand over her back and rear. “Afraid not, my love. Be patient. You will receive all you deserve.”

She shuddered beneath his touch.

He laughed. “No reason to fear. You’ll enjoy the things I do to you. Hope you’re as strong as your mother has been. I would hate to lose you but you do have a sister.”

Doesn’t he know Lasara has run away? Had the Swordmaster hidden this from his cohort?

Tremors shook her body. Alric, she cried silently. Come soon.

The darkness of the forest enclosed them in gloom. Though the sun still ruled the sky, the thick canopy of leaves shielded them from most of the light. She peered at the ground and saw they followed a path just wide enough for the bihorn. If her hands had been free, she would have torn cloth from her skirt to leave a trail for Alric. Once a briar scratched her arm and tore a piece from her sleeve. Was the scrap large enough for him to see? Though the thorns clutched her divided skirt she doubted they could tear the deerskin.

Alric. His name thundered in her thoughts. Had she been wrong about him? Was he alive? Calmness stilled her jangled fears. A smile formed. She had stopped the flow of blood. If he’d been dead the bleeding would have stopped. For once Petan had been a fool. He had believed her cries about the death of her bondmate.

Suddenly the calm vanished. Had Alric recovered from the blows to his head? Head wounds often stole the injured person’s memories. She dare not think he wouldn’t remember who he was and the reason for their mission. Could he save her? How many men waited at Petan’s destination?

Could the gang of outlaws number more than the size of a patrol? Two had run from the fight. When she and Alric had searched the farm he had estimated at least five men had driven the livestock and perhaps another two of three had driven the wagon of loot. Alric could defeat two, even if Petan was one of the duelers, especially if Alric’s presence shocked Petan.

Still, if she found an opportunity, she would run.

The jolting pace grew more uncomfortable. Though her arms had been bound to the front, the weight of her body numbed them. She felt as if her feet were lead weights. How soon would they reach their destination? Would he release the ropes when they did?

The trees thinned. The late afternoon sun shone on a clearing.

Petan halted the bihorn. He dismounted and pulled Kalia to the ground. She crumpled in a heap. He stood over her. His leer raised her anger. He bent and lifted her over his shoulder. He carried her to the hut she’d caught a glimpse of as she fell. He kicked the door open and dropped her on a cot against a side wall.

Two men lounged before the fireplace. The aroma of cooking meat and of kafa made Kalia’s stomach rumble. Petan sliced the ropes on her hands and feet.

The men jumped to their feet. “Where’s Ilna?” one asked. “I have a need.”

“Dead,” Petan said.

“Then this one’s ours.” A bearded man stepped to the cot and caressed Kalia’s face. “Once you’re done with her, that is.”

Petan pushed the man aside. “She’s not for you. She’s mine until the Master decides if he wants her. Go see to my steed and take your time returning.”

The men grumbled and cursed. Once the door closed behind them, Petan strode to Kalia and stared.

She bit her lip to hide the pain of returning blood to her arms and legs. She wouldn’t scream though this took all she could muster as the prickles turned into ribbons of pain.

He stalked away and lifted a jug. He poured liquid, tossed the contents of the mug back and filled the container again. He sat on the cot beside her and held the cup to her lips. “Drink. Will help.”

Kalia gulped a mouthful of the pungent beverage. A fiery trail burned from her mouth to her gut. She pushed his hand away. “No more.” Whatever she’d drunk made her head and the room spin. Her stomach lurched and she swallowed several times to keep from being sick.

He laughed, lifted the mug and drained the remainder. “Frumenti. You’ll learn to like the rush of energy this brings. Master provides a constant supply. Your mother drinks this when she visits your father. Makes his taking of her donation easier.”

Kalia rubbed her arms. “I’m not my mother.”

“So I know.” He frowned. “Who removed the power from your lines or did Ilna lie about the gifting?”

Kalia turned her head away. She wouldn’t speak of Alric. “Why did she try to harm me?”

“She figured since she couldn’t reach Alric she’d infuse you and you would pass the power to him.” A sneer curved his mouth. “Stupid git. Didn’t know the power doesn’t work that way. Master punished her.”

“How do you know it’s gone?” The longer she kept him talking the more she would recover and find a way to escape.

He grasped her arm. “I don’t feel the power surging through you. Tell me what happened.”

Kalia clamped her lips in a firm line. She wouldn’t answer him. The initial impact of the beverage vanished. Her head cleared. Her arms and legs no longer tingled or hurt. She needed to wait for an opening. Though she studied his lines she couldn’t detect his moves.

With a serpent-like move he grasped the neck of her shirt. He knelt with his knees on either side of her hips. He raised her arms above her head. Dark lines of fire gathered around his mouth. His lips touched the spot on her neck where Alric had marked her. Revulsion filled her.

Petan reared back as though he’d been shocked. He touched the mark with a finger. “How could you? You’re mine. My mark belongs there, not his.”

“Why?”

He released her hands. She waited for a blow.

“You’re heart bound. Impossible. He’s dead.”

“Is he?”

Petan rose. “Then we’ll do this the hard way. When I’m done I’ll give you to my friends. They’ll take you like they did the girl.”

Petan lowered his head. His mouth ground against hers and he forced his tongue over her teeth. She bit. The taste of blood filled her senses. He hollered and pulled away. He aimed his fist at her face but she rolled from the cot. Kalia pulled the knife he’d forgotten to remove. With a quick jab she slammed the blade into his thigh and twisted. She inched away from him. He bellowed and reached for her braid.

Kalia scrambled across the floor. She tried to read his lines.

He pulled the knife free and threw. The point stuck in the floor inches from her.

“Stupid git.”

The door opened. His cohorts burst into the room. “We want our piece of her," one shouted.

“Like it when they fight,” the other drawled.

“She’s mine,” Petan shouted. He moved toward Kalia.

Instead of diving for her, the men tackled Petan. They met in a tangle of fists and feet. Their curses filled the air.

Kalia crawled away. Once she crossed the threshold she rose and ran. The sun was near setting and she welcomed the coming twilight, a prelude to night. The sound of the fight carried to her even after she reached the shelter of the trees. She found a narrow trail and hoped this was the one Petan had used, the one to lead her to the road and Alric.