The Sword And The Pen (19 page)

"I know the history of Barue," she growled.

Her caustic tone didn't seem to daunt him. He stabbed a finger at the diagram. "The builder now works for me. According to him, the eastern gate had no booby traps. And I doubt Roark has had the time or the skilled craftsmen to install any. The builder also showed me an interesting design feature."

She looked where he pointed at a hidden entrance she would have sworn was not there before. Though it was camouflaged, it was not invisible. How had she missed it?

"While our troops distract Roark's men, we can gain access to the castle here," he continued. "By the time they realize what's happening we'll have the gates open and bring the battle inside."

Excitement sizzled through her. "It could work. Since spring we've chased Roark across the country. His men are weary." As were hers. "With your men we'll outnumber his. Once inside the outer walls, we can defeat them."

Hausic entered the tent. The three of them mapped out a battle plan.

"After Donnie's--er, my troops arrive, while they stage a massive assault on the western gate, Seri and I will take a few men, sneak into the castle and open the eastern gate."

As he reviewed the plan with Hausic, Hausic's head nodded slowly. A grin spread across his wrinkled features. "It will work. When Roark's troops rush to defend the more vulnerable western gate, he'll not worry over much about the eastern gate, believing it to be too strong to fall. Once it's open, our troops will easily overcome the few guards left there, flood in behind him and overwhelm them while they're trapped in the narrow passage inside the western gate. Brilliant!" He looked at Donoval in approval. "Your strategic skills have greatly improved since we last met, my young king."

"I learned from a master." Before Hausic joined Serilda's fight, he'd been counselor to Donoval. "I've missed your wise counsel, old friend."

At Donoval's praise, the elder man beamed with pleasure. Serilda knew it had been hard for Hausic to leave Shallon, but he had done so both for his devotion to her and at Donoval's request. Though at the time she hadn't appreciated Donoval's gesture, over the years she'd come to acknowledge the worth of his gift. Without Hausic's counsel, Roark would have crushed her years ago.

What Donoval said about the plan sank into her. Her mouth sagged. "You want me to sneak into Roark's castle with you?"

"Yep. I'll need you to guard my back while I get to the gate."

His use of strange slang didn't mitigate her astonishment. "You trust me to do that?" Never before had Donoval expressed confidence in her fighting abilities. At her insistence he'd trained her, but he'd never believed a woman could be a true warrior. His male arrogance never allowed him to acknowledge her skill--skill she knew surpassed his.

"Who else? You're the best swordsperson I know."

She couldn't shake her feeling of disbelief. This was not the King Donoval she knew. While they were together, he'd done everything he could to keep her off the battlefield. Once, in a misguided attempt to keep her safe, he tied her to his bed. As a result, Roark captured her. After her escape, she'd ended her affair with Donoval and struck out on her own.

No, nothing Donoval had ever said or done erased the pain and humiliation she'd suffered at Roark's hands during that time, but she'd have forgiven him that if he'd accepted her right to be her own person rather than merely an extension of himself. He never had. Sending Hausic had been his only apology for his misjudgment and her resulting ordeal.

The hope shining in Donoval's eyes now irritated her. What more did he want? She'd agreed to his terms. Agreed to be his bond mate. Agreed to give up her freedom. But she hadn't agreed to love him again. That love had died slowly and painfully, as Roark's master torturer applied bloodworms to her naked flesh. She refused to resurrect it now.

"Dono--my troops should arrive by the end of the week." Again, he stumbled over his name. "In the meantime we need to set the stage for our attack. Seri, how do you suggest we proceed?"

Both he and Hausic looked at her. She shook off her anger and bewilderment at his strange behavior and leaned over the maps. "I'll pull almost all my men off the eastern gate and start harassing the western. That will give Roark something to think about."

"Excellent idea. It'll force him to realign his defenses to suit our purpose."

He agreed with her assessment? When he turned to smile at her, his hair brushed against her cheek. Warmth flowed through her to settle in her belly. This is what she'd always wanted from Donoval: a meeting of two minds, two equals, giving and accepting, neither seeking to control or command the other.

She jerked back. This change in Donoval couldn't be real. It couldn't last. She couldn't, wouldn't trust it. To do so would be to relinquish what little was left of her soul.

*** *** ***

After Seri and Hausic left to implement our plan, the wind went out of my sails. Meeting Hausic in person had left me shaken. Inside I knew this world and everyone in it was my creation, figments of my imagination, but until Hausic walked into the tent, I'd kept the reality of my being here from overtaking me. Because Seri had been in the real world, I didn't have a problem accepting her in this one. Believing in Hausic's existence proved more difficult. Doing so made me question my sanity once more.

He was everything and more than I expected: wise, compassionate, humorous, devoted and ancient. Had I written him so, or had these people and this world taken on an existence beyond the words I put on paper? The answer to that question was beyond my ability to discern. What I'd written before I was transported here seemed to influence what happened, but my control wasn't absolute. There were a myriad of details that differed from my creation. I could only hope that the major factors didn't stray too far from what I wrote. For now I could only deal with what I could see, hear, feel, taste and smell. For now, this world was my reality. Maybe I could get home again.

"My lord?" A young man hesitated at the entrance of the tent. Jole.

Orphaned as an infant, he was unaware of his true identity. He'd grown up the adopted son of a farmer. When he was fifteen, and his second family was killed by Roark's men, Jole joined Serilda's fight. A handsome youth with dark brown hair and eyes, at eighteen Jole had yet to reach full manhood. His cheeks sported few whiskers, his physique was not fully muscled, but his straight, direct gaze showed the man he'd soon become. A man more than capable of being Barue's rightful king.

"Come in, Jole." I sighed in resignation. His appearance was more evidence that I was no longer in Kansas.

"Lady Serilda bade me bring you armor and weapons."

I could hear his unspoken apology for the items' humble quality.

When I didn't react he added, "The armor is plain but sound." Then he hefted a three-foot long sword. "Though modest in decoration, the blade is balanced and the edge well-honed." Watching him made me think of the young man at the weapons booth at the mall. That day seemed a hundred years past, but he added, "They will serve you well in both training and battle."

Sunlight streaming in through the open tent flap glinted off the mirrored surface of the sword. I eyed it with growing unease. The body I inhabited might be Donoval's, but the mind was mine. Writing about swordplay was far different than actually having to do it. If this world was in my head, it felt extremely real. If not, I feared the few sword-fighting lessons I'd taken as research wouldn't do me much good on a real battlefield, in a real fight, against a real opponent.

Could I die in this world? And if I did, what would happen to me in the real world? What would happen to Seri and the rest of my creations? The possibilities made my head swim. As did the possibilities of whatever brought me here.

The thought of actually using that sword to skewer another human being, fictional or otherwise, left me feeling queasy. How in heaven's name was I going to pull off this insane charade? Jole waited patiently for my response.

I pulled myself together. "Thank you, Jole." When I took the sword and other stuff from him and dumped it on the bed, he gave me a questioning look.

"The men await you on the training field. Do you wish me to help you to don your armor, my lord?"

Training? Another diversion from what I remembered of my revisions. I hadn't made any mention of Donoval training with Serilda's men. I doubted a few hours of practice was going to help, but also saw how the men would expect me to train with them.

"Yeah, sure, why not?" I shrugged.

At my answer, Jole's eyebrow quirked upward.

I stood frozen as he fitted the hammered metal breastplate along with the stiff leather arm and leg guards on me. Deciding seeing was more important than whatever protection it might provide; I rejected the helmet with its narrow eye slit. When he strapped the sword scabbard around my waist, I noticed we had company. At some point Mauri had crept unnoticed into the tent. She glanced at me, but her focus centered on Jole. Apart from a touch of color in his cheeks, he gave no indication he noticed her presence.

Her appearance shook me. Like Hausic, in person she was more real than I expected.

Despite the trauma she'd endured during her young life, Mauri retained her innocent spirit. She'd buried the misuse and brutality she'd suffered so deep it rarely surfaced. The shadows in her deep brown eyes hinted at secrets, but she regarded the world with compassion and humor. On the cusp of womanhood, she had blue-black hair that fell straight to her waist, surrounding a face of exotic beauty. Diminutive and lithe, with the hint of budding breasts and narrow hips, she appeared a celestial being, apart from human concerns and cares, as if nothing of the world could touch her inner being.

Seri had rescued the girl at the age of eight from a life of abuse. Since then Mauri devoted herself to serving her. But she saved her adulation for Jole.

Her heart revealed in her eyes, she stared at the boy. The longer she watched him, the harder it became for him to hide his growing discomfort.

If I'd planned to continue my Warrior Woman series, Mauri and Jole's stories would have been told. But since my decision to end the series and take my writing in a different direction, those plans had been scrapped. Now I wondered: if I didn't write their future, would they have one?

My head started to pound. I must have made some sound of distress, because Jole asked, "Are you ill, my lord? Lady d'Lar told me you were attacked on your way here. Shall I summon the healer?"

"No, I'm fine. Just hungry."

Mauri jumped up. "Shall I fetch you some breakfast?" Ever eager to serve, without waiting for my answer she dashed out of the tent.

"Oh, great. On top of everything else I'll get food poisoning."

Jole laughed. "Granted Mauri's domestic skills are lacking, but she does try, and she has improved with practice since you were last here." He colored at his automatic defense of a girl he generally ignored. "But don't worry; she'll bring you something from the camp cook. After you eat, Lady d'Lar asks that I escort you to meet her by the training field. Before I take my leave, may I render you further service, my lord?"

Yeah, teach me how to be a king--King Donoval of Shallon, I said silently. Out loud I said, "No, I'm doing great. Thanks for lending a hand." I nodded at the armor I now wore with less than comfortable grace. The metal clanged as I moved, chafing my skin.

If I looked as ridiculous as I felt, nothing in his gaze revealed it. He cocked his head to one side to consider my odd choice of words. When understanding dawned on his face, his lips twitched slightly.

"I'll await you outside."

He bowed; then, with an inherent dignity fitting his unknown lineage, he left the tent. I really had to remember to speak more like Donoval or people would realize I wasn't who I claimed to be. If they did, the sword strapped to my waist wasn't going to do me any good.

A few minutes later Mauri returned with a meal for me, a generous helping of roast meat, dark bread and water laced with cheap wine. She sat on the bed and watched as I ate. The food while filling lacked appeal, the meat was tough and dry, the bread coarse and stale, and the water sour.

She cocked her head to one side. "Have you come to take Seri back with you to Shallon?"

Her question caught me by surprise. When I didn't answer, she leaned toward me and continued in an earnest tone.

"You can't take her away. We need her. Without her, Lord Roark and his men will surely gain complete control. You can't allow that to happen." In one blink, shadows clouded the innocence in her eyes, turning her from child to adult. She shuddered then pinned me with an emerald stare. "I won't go back to that life--ever."

Guilt churned inside me. I knew what she remembered. When she was barely eight, one of Roark's men took control of her family's land. For objecting, her father was murdered. Her mother and older siblings were sold into slavery. To satisfy his twisted desires, the man kept Mauri for himself. Until Seri killed him, he'd abused and exploited the girl.

In the book I hadn't detailed the mistreatment she suffered, but the meaning had been clear. Here, the wine-laced water turned to vinegar in my stomach.

I took her hand. That she didn't flinch at my touch gave evidence of her inner strength. "Seri has agreed to be my bond mate. As such, her people become my people, her battles my battles, her enemies my enemies. We'll not abandon the people of Barue to Andre Roark." The words tumbled out of me unplanned, but they came from my heart. Whatever it took, I'd fix the chaos I'd caused in this world.

"You give your word?"

I pressed her palm against my heart. "As king of Shallon I pledge my word, my heart, my sword and my life to the protection of Serilda d'Lar and the people of Barue."

"Thank you." The clouds in her eyes parted, and in an instant she became a child again. It was a sight to behold, but did little to ease the guilt I felt for the suffering I caused her.

Listening to Donoval reassuring Mauri left Serilda feeling unsettled. Though he'd always been tolerant of the girl's presence and kind in his limited dealings with her, for the most part she'd been beneath his notice. He'd never taken the time to speak with her or listen to her concerns.