The Battle Lord's Lady (47 page)

With any luck, Maston and Verris would be
able to gather enough men to defeat whatever troops Karv had
brought with him. The only obstacle in their way would be their
reluctance to take that next step, knowing it could mean the life
of their Battle Lord.

Verris. He’d left the Second in command of
Bearinger, along with Karv. “What have you done with Verris?” Yulen
asked hotly.

“Oh, he’s still back at the compound, but in
a nice little holding cell while my men wait for word of my
success,” Karv grinned.

A coldness came over Yulen. It became a grim
yet somehow welcomed finality. It was as if another door was
opening up for him, and he could see a warm, shining answer at the
end of what he thought would be an endless, black corridor. If he
ordered his men to attack, they would, without question, but it
would mean his death. Yet, his death would end Karv’s attempt to
control Alta Novis. Meanwhile, the treaty he had sealed with the
Mutah would protect the compound for years. And with Collaunt gone,
it would be a long, long time before anyone with enough power would
be able to challenge his people.

And he...he would be able to be with Atty
again.

“Talk to me, oh great Battle Lord,” Karv
taunted. “Declare Alta Novis mine.” The Second raised his face to
nod to the man holding Madigan, giving him the go-ahead to slit the
woman’s throat.

A breath of air entered the tent, followed by
a soft pop. The soldier holding Madigan staggered two steps, then
fell over sideways. An arrow protruded from the man’s helmet,
embedded where his left eye had been.

Another buzzing sound zipped by, like an
angry bee. The man restraining MaGrath let out a gurgling sound,
and he slowly slid to a heap behind the physician with a long shaft
sticking out of both sides of his neck.

MaGrath turned to stare at Yulen, his eyes
wide as saucers.

Two more wooden angels of death drilled the
air, and two more of Karv’s men dropped where they’d stood, killed
instantly by precise head shots through their helmets and into the
brain.

Yulen felt his heart stop. All sense of
reality and time ceased as all the blood in his body pooled to the
center of his heart. Dimly he heard the physician exclaim in a
choking voice, “Oh, dearest God in Heaven! There’s only person I
know who can shoot like that!”

Karv sensed what he knew couldn’t be the
truth. Grasping Yulen’s head once more, he jerked it back to expose
the Battle Lord’s throat and lifted his sword, digging its point
where the man’s neck met his shoulder. One swift thrust downward
would instantly kill him, slicing into his heart along the way.

“Where are you, Mutah bitch?” the
Second screamed. He glanced about, searching the crowd.
“
Come out and show yourself!
”
Karv lifted his arm, pressing his weapon further into Yulen’s neck,
until a fine trickle of blood began to pour down the front of his
tunic. “Obey me, you blue-haired
freak
!
Obey me right
n
—”

Karv gasped, cut off in mid-word, in
mid-breath. With disbelieving eyes he shakily looked down at the
arrow that somehow had magically appeared in the hollow of his
throat, right above the breastplate of his armor. His eyes traveled
up to where the crowd was beginning to move, parting and crying out
in surprise and relief as they made room for the figure
purposefully striding forward in the middle of them.

A figure dressed in a long white linen
dress.

Holding out her longbow with another arrow
cocked and aimed directly at Karv.

Slowly, deliberately, Atty advanced one
careful step at a time. Her head remained tilted over the slender
shaft pulled back in her hand. Her face was expressionless. Cold.
Deadly.

Karv stared at her, unable to believe, unable
to comprehend.

She paused and drew the arrow back another
fraction of an inch. Her eyes glittered, ready for the kill.

“What are you waiting for,
bitch
!” Karv smiled, chuckling
hoarsely. The chuckle turned into a phlegmy-sounding cough. Then,
without warning, he lifted his arm to ram the sword
downward.

Atty never moved as she released the arrow.
The arrow sang before barb punched through the man’s wrist,
punctured the gold-colored breastplate, and effectively pinned the
sword arm against his body. The weapon spun to the ground from
nerveless fingers.

Karv swayed and stepped backwards, releasing
Yulen to reach for the arrow in his throat with his free hand. A
fine spray of dark pink bubbles cascaded down his chest as the man
began to choke on his own blood.

Casually, Atty reached back in her quiver,
pulling out another arrow while never taking her eyes off the man
she’d always known would try to hurt her again. Her face was carved
in stone as she nocked it and drew back on the string. Tilting her
head to check her target, she pulled back even further, until the
ends of the longbow vibrated from the strain. Then she waited.

I was trained so that when I hunt, I aim to
either capture or kill. With him, I wanted nothing more than to
kill.

A look of utter finality passed over Tosh
Karv’s face. He knew would die today, and he would be shown no
mercy. Given no second chance. It would all end here. Today.

Now.

Crimson anger washed over him, staining his
face with his hate and disgust. As a last ditch effort, Karv
reached for the dagger at his hip, even though he knew he would
never have a chance to use it, much less free it from its
sheath.

Atty released the last arrow. It pierced the
direct center of the man’s face, killing him almost instantly.

Karv’s body fell to its knees, then slowly
pitched forward into the packed dirt.

Yulen struggled to his feet, unable to tear
his eyes away from the woman who dropped her weapons to the ground
and began to run toward him. He cried aloud when she fell into his
arms, warm and alive and sobbing tears of relief. Unable to
withstand the shock, he collapsed again to his knees as she covered
his face with kisses.

“They never told me you came for me!” she
cried aloud. “They never told me!”

Yulen shuddered. His hands touched her, but
it was all too unreal, too unbelievable, too much for his wounded
heart to accept. “Atrilan?” He was trembling and at the point of
passing out.

She ripped away part of the hem of her dress
and used it to wipe away the blood still seeping from the wounds on
his head and neck. With every touch she continued to kiss him as
her own tears fell onto his tunic and the front of her gown.

His arms went around her waist, and suddenly
it was as if his body could accept her as being there with him as
he crushed her against him. Pressing his face into her unbound
hair, Yulen wept openly and unashamedly.

Behind them Madigan started to reach for them
when MaGrath embraced her and held her back. They would have their
chance to welcome her home later. But first, at this moment, she
had to bring Yulen back to life.

Atty lifted his face and found his lips,
giving herself completely to him like a healing balm. The past few
weeks had been hard and tormenting as she fought to recover from
her poisoning. During that time, when she had been lost in her
delirium, she had called out for him. Her sweat-soaked dreams had
been filled with him. Her weakened body had ached for him. She had
cried nightly for him, and by day she had begged to be with him
again.

Her people had had no choice but to bring her
back when she’d gotten well enough.

Bring her back to him. Bring her
back...home.

“Atrilan?” Yulen whispered again. He cupped
her face in his hands and stared at her beautiful, beloved features
with red-rimmed eyes. “My love. My wife.”

Pressing her hands to his chest, Atty’s
fingers encountered the length of lacing and the silver-colored
ring it held. “Fortune told me he gave you something that
rightfully belongs to me. I want it back,” she whispered, smiling
into his eyes.

Yulen reached up and jerked the lacing from
around his neck. The ring dropped into her palm. Taking it from
her, his eyes remained locked on her face. “With this ring, I take
you as my wife.” He paused to look down as he slipped the band over
her finger. “Until death takes us both.”

Her kiss was a warm as the spring sun.

He held her tightly as they shakily got to
their feet. Steadying himself, Yulen lifted her into his arms, and
she wrapped her arms around his neck as he kissed her lovingly
again.

This time he walked slowly and steadily
toward the main lodge as the crowd moved aside to let the couple go
by, crying and cheering as they passed. Overhead a loud, clanging
noise erupted. Mastin had scurried up the outside ladder to the
tower and was ringing the announcement bell, to the delight of
everyone.

As the clouds began to rain lightly upon the
festivities, no one minded as they watched their Battle Lord and
Lady ascend the staircase up to the second landing and disappear
into their bedroom. Where, true to his promise, Yulen locked the
door behind them, not to open it again for the next seven days.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Mercenary

It would be a fortunate circumstance if he
could finally reach Alta Novis just as the snow began to fall. The
sky had been gradually growing grayer and dirtier as the day
progressed, forcing Renken to push his horse in order to reach a
safe place to spend the night. Hopefully, a warm and dry place
where he might even be lucky to find a bite to eat.

As he topped the rise, he found himself
overlooking the immense compound. Flying above roof of the main
lodge, he spotted the red and blue banner telling him he’d found
what he’d been seeking for the past three weeks. Already he could
see in the distance where the new outer wall was being built, and
the edge of the forest was being cleared back even further to
accommodate the growth in the population. He nudged his horse
forward the same time fat pellets of puffy snow started pelting
him.

Nearing the main gates a sentry called down
to him. Renken raised his sword hilt-up, signifying his peaceful
intent. A single door swung open, allowing him access. Once inside
the main wall of the compound, three more guards surrounded him.
One took his reins as a safety measure.

“Ho, Stranger. Who are you, and what are you
doing out on such a nasty evening?” one of the other men questioned
him.

“The name’s Garet Renken. I’ve come all the
way from Saint Loolville to offer my sword and my allegiance to
your Battle Lord, Yulen D’Jacques.”

“You’re welcome to take a meal in the main
lodge,” the soldier informed him, “but if you want our honest
opinion whether we think the Battle Lord will accept your sword, we
doubt it, mercenary. D’Jacques wants his men for their loyalty.
And, trust me, Renken, he has more than enough men willing to give
him that, and more.”

They allowed him to keep his weapons, which
told Renken the compound was more than adequately guarded. Any
outward sign of aggression, and he was either a dead man or a
seriously endangered one.

The interior of the main lodge was a nice
surprise for the weary traveler. Instead of the walls being
festooned with trophies and other battle-won miscellanea,
apparently the Battle Lord held high esteem for weaponry.
Especially beautifully crafted and hand-wrought spears, lances, and
bows. Beneath a mantel showcasing several magnificent pairs of
swords, a fireplace the size of a small house kept a blaze alive.
The lodge was warm, and the mercenary already could feel himself
starting to grow a bit lethargic.

At the farthest end of the lodge was a
staircase leading up to where he understood the Battle Lord lived,
along with the immediate family. His sources had told him the man’s
mother was still alive and had remarried some months ago. But that
wasn’t the woman he’d heard the most about.

Renken took a seat at one of the long tables
where a few other soldiers relaxed and conversed over their supper
at the opposite end. A servant woman brought him a trencher of food
and a mug of cold beer. He thanked her and removed his coat and
gloves, shaking off clumps of snow onto the floor. Throwing the
outerwear on the bench beside him, he sat down to dive into his
first decent meal in several days.

More soldiers entered the main lodge to sit
down and be served. Most, if not all of them, gave him a curious,
cursory glance as they passed by. It was to be expected. Renken was
used to the stares, just as he was used to the fleeting looks of
disgust he got once people knew his occupation. Well, with any
luck, it would all come to an end. Hopefully tonight. If not,
tomorrow. He was tired of the road. Tired of not having a home to
call his own. More than that, he was ready to find someone willing
to share a roof. Someone he’d be content to spend the rest of his
life with.

Which was probably the biggest reason why
he’d chosen to seek it all in Alta Novis.

He’d heard so many stories about the Battle
Lord and his Lady, they were beginning to sound like tall tales. It
was difficult, if not impossible, to separate the outlandish from
the improbable, although most of them bordered on the fantastic
either way.

There were also the stories about the
strength of their love, and the incredible fact that the two of
them had almost single-handedly forged the recent treaties between
normals and Mutah. That alone would be enough of a draw for
anyone.