The Sword And The Pen (24 page)

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared. "I need no army. I bested you before. I can do so again."

"Leave us," I told Jole and Mauri. I was fed up with her using them, Hausic and others to avoid talking to me. This was my chance.

While we faced off, Jole hustled Mauri out of the tent.

"Probably," I said. I snatched up my cup, poured another helping of the noxious brew and gulped it down. I burned my tongue in the process, and the stuff did little more than make me feel queasy. I doubted it was having any affect on the infection growing inside my wound.

"Probably?" she repeated. Her mouth quirked up on one side.

Ignoring her response, I strode to the table and bent over the map again. "Where have you been all afternoon? There's still a lot to go over before my men arrive."

She came to stand behind me and look over my shoulder. "Seeing to my troops. Giving the commanders their orders. Our plan won't work if they don't know what to do when the time comes."

Her rational explanation left me feeling like a sulky child. "You've been avoiding me."

"I was here all morning."

"Physically, yes--along with Hausic, Josef and others. But your mind was elsewhere." And your heart, where was it? I wanted to ask, but didn't. Any talk of feelings chased her away faster than a tarak did a mouse.

Aside from working with me on laying out a plan of action against Roark, she'd done her best to avoid being alone with me. After our one night together, in the evening when the camp settled down she disappeared, leaving me in the tent to toss and turn.

"Once Roark is defeated you won't be able to avoid me any longer. You'll be my bondmate," I taunted.

Judging by the flare of anger in her eyes, I might as well have said slave. She dropped the parchment she was holding and stomped out of the tent.

"Nice going, Donoval," I muttered to myself and flopped down on the bed.

*** *** ***

Having apparently pushed on through the night, my--no, Donoval's--troops arrived a day early. Following the orders I'd given, only a small fraction of the soldiers came into camp. The rest of the men remained out of sight, so as not to give Roark warning of the increase in our ranks.

As I moved among the men--Donoval's and Serilda's--I found myself greeting each commander by name. I laughed and talked with the common soldiers. I gripped their hands, accepted their slaps on the back without wincing, and I managed to make sure none of them saw the effort it took. I hid my pain, refusing to allow the fever sapping my strength to slow my steps. Despite the medicinal brews and the herbal salves, I knew infection had set in. I needed time and rest to regain my strength.

We had neither. Tomorrow, the assault on Roark's castle began. I wasn't going to fail Seri.

*** *** ***

Forgotten in the commotion, Serilda stood to the side and watched as long-parted comrades greeted each other. Many of her men had fought with Donoval's in his war to claim the throne of Shallon, and bonds forged between men in battle remained strong.

None of the warriors seemed to notice the strain on Donoval's face, his flushed cheeks and over-bright eyes as he moved through their ranks. But Serilda did.

"Gerhan Esday," she greeted the large bear of a man who served as Donoval's second-in-command.

"Lady d'Lar. A pleasure to see you again." Gerhan bent at the waist in an awkward bow.

Getting the grizzled warrior to follow her into combat wouldn't be easy, but it wouldn't be impossible. Though in his heart he believed women were meant to be wives and mothers, meant to serve men in the kitchen and bedchamber, after she'd defeated him in hand-to-hand combat, he'd ceased to regard her as female. To him, she was a soldier. Devoted to Donoval, Gerhan would soon be on her side if she convinced him his king's life was at risk.

"It's good you're here early," Donnie said around a ragged cough. "The weather is changing sooner than we'd hoped."

Serilda glanced up at the churning clouds. The recently clear blue sky had changed to pewter grey. A cold gust of wind whipped through the trees, stripping away the remaining leaves that only a few days earlier had burst with red, yellow and orange color. A drizzle began to fall, and Serilda shivered. Donnie didn't seem to notice the moisture or the drop in temperature. She worried that this was because of his fever.

"Let's go to the tent," she told Gerhan, "and we'll brief you on the battle strategy."

Both he and his king followed.

Serilda watched Donoval walk behind her. As he did, he saw him lean heavily on his second-in-command, an arm thrown across Gerhan's shoulders, though he hid the act as a gesture of affection. She feared, combined with his sudden lack of skill, if he went into battle ill, he'd certainly falter and die. Somehow she had to convince or trick him into remaining behind.

*** *** ***

After the crisp outside air, the warmth of the tent felt oppressive. Sweat trickled down my temples and dampened my shirt. Conversely, I shivered. When I wiped my brow, Seri's eyes narrowed. I'd done my best to hide the fever raging in me, but her sharp eyes didn't miss much.

Yes, I was a bit worse for wear, and she watched me like the proverbial hawk, never leaving my side for a moment, waiting to pounce on the slightest sign of weakness. She was planning something. Something I was sure I wasn't going to like.

"The plan is simple," Seri began. "Dawn tomorrow we attack the western gate with the entire force we have in camp. When the majority of Roark's troops rush to its defense, I'll lead a small group through this hidden entrance. Here." She stabbed her dagger into the spot on the map that I'd suggested. "Once inside the fortress, we'll make our way to the eastern gate. There we'll eliminate any remaining guards and open the portcullis for the rest of our troops."

"Your plan may be simple, but it's fraught with danger. What if there is no secret entrance? What if Roark does not reposition his men?" Gerhan, a master of battle tactics, asked the questions we'd so far ignored. We hadn't wanted to send a scout to the secret entrance for fear of attracting attention.

"I know the risks are great," Seri countered. "But we have no choice. If we don't roust Roark from his castle before the snow flies, we'll have lost all opportunity. You know this."

Gerhan looked to me for confirmation of her assessment. It took most of my strength to nod. The room seemed to swim in and out of focus. To keep from falling, I sat on a stool. As they continued to talk my mind wandered.

"What say you to this mad plan, sire?"

The suspicion in Gerhan's voice roused me from a half dream. King Donoval wasn't known for letting others direct his campaigns. "We'll go with Se-Lady d'Lar's plan," I said.

"Yes, my lord." He didn't look fully persuaded of the wisdom of our plans, but I couldn't summon the energy to argue him around to our way of thinking. Good thing I'd written the man as utterly loyal to his king.

"Inform your lieutenants and see to deployment the troops. And Gerhan." I stopped him as he turned to leave the tent. "Lady d'Lar's orders are the same as mine. Is that clear?" I summoned all my strength to put the ring of command into my voice. The effort left me drained. "Obey her as you would me."

"As you wish, sire." He bowed and left.

Her back to me, Seri stood at the table. "You have my gratitude."

I moved to her side. "It's not your gratitude I want." I trailed the back of my hand down her cheek.

"What do you want from me?"

The question echoed inside me. What did I want, exactly? Her survival? Of course, but it was also possible I could accomplish that without her cooperation. The arrival of Donoval's troops suggested more that my writing could indeed influence what happened in this world; maybe not in every detail, as my battered body illustrated, but enough to keep her alive. With quill and parchment and time, I could probably rewrite my ending so that she won her battle against Roark, freed Barue and lived happily ever after. But that wasn't enough. I wanted her to be real. I wanted to take her back with me. I wanted her to accept me for who I was: Brandon Alexander.

I wanted her love.

I must have spoken out loud, because she jerked away.

"I cannot, I will not, love you."

The pain of her rejection lanced through me, until I remembered it was Donoval she denied loving, not me. I'd written this whole sorry mess: their love affair, Donoval's unintentional betrayal. Their split. At the time, it suited my purpose and my state of mind to break them up. The WARRIOR KING books were done, and I needed Serilda unencumbered by a relationship. If I'd written a happily ever after, the series would have stalled. Plus, in the midst of my breakup with Wanda I wasn't feeling much of a happily-ever-after vibe.

"You'd go back on your word to be my bond mate?" I found myself spewing Donoval's nonsense.

She turned to face me. The pain and confusion in her eyes made me want to tell her everything, to explain, to make her believe what I myself had trouble accepting; but I'd tried that route before and it hadn't worked.

"Once Barue is freed from Roark, I will honor my bargain with you. I'll become your bond mate, but I cannot be the woman, the queen you need."

"You're wrong." I reached out to touch her face, to tell her she was the woman I needed, the woman I wanted, the queen of my heart.

"Is loving me so difficult?" The question was all me. Donoval would never beg.

Or was it all me? In my fevered brain, Serilda and Seri, Donoval and myself all melted together. I couldn't separate our lives, our histories, couldn't tell what was real, what was fiction.

Seri's lips moved, but I couldn't hear. A roaring in my head drowned out her answer, and the world went black.

*** *** ***

The next morning the healer straightened from her exam of the sleeping monarch. "The fever has broken. With rest and proper care, King Donoval will fully recover." She handed Serilda several small packets of powder. "Give him one packet mixed in a draught of wine twice a day, and keep him abed for at least a week."

Serilda gripped the healer's arm. "You will say nothing of King Donoval's illness," she ordered. She couldn't risk losing the support of his troops.

"As you wish, my lady." Eyes wide, the healer nodded.

The tight band across Serilda's heart relaxed. She let the woman go. The healer bowed and exited the tent.

Donoval's strength and stamina were legendary. He did not allow himself weakness of either body or mind. No matter his wounds, she'd never before seen him less than wholly in command. Seeing him crumble unnerved her, left her blaming herself. She should have seen he was ill sooner, done something to prevent it. But this man was both more and less than the Donoval she knew. His bumbling performance on the battlefield as well as the difference in his words and manner clearly indicated something amiss. His declaration of love should have warned her all was not right with him.

Still, she had no choice.

"Seri?"

She turned to see Donoval struggling to rise. She rushed to his side. Heat no longer radiated in waves off his body. His eyes blinked open.

"W-water," he rasped.

Lifting his head with her hand, Seri held a cup of medicinal tea to his parched lips. Beneath her fingers his skin felt cool and dry. His heart beat a strong steady rhythm. She felt his strength and determination.

He swallowed then sputtered. "Damn! What is this swill?"

"Herbal tea. We've been giving it to you all along."

"Well, it smells and tastes like sewer water. Give me some of that wine the doctor ordered."

"You heard the healer?" As she prepared the wine, he sat up.

"Yep, every word. Thanks." He accepted the goblet, took a healthy swallow then grinned. The color returned to his pale face. "Much better. And that wine was great. Now I'm starved."

Serilda took the empty goblet he held out. Relief eased through her: A dying man didn't demand food.

"What time is it?" Concern flashed in his eyes as he looked around the tent. A lantern provided the only light. Outside, clouds heavy with the threat of rain blanketed the night sky. "How long was I out?"

"Near dawn. You slept through yesterday and most of the night."

"You should have woken me." He attempted to rise; then with a grunt plopped back down. "I need to get ready."

"You need to rest."

Despite the sweat that popped out on his brow, he struggled to his feet and reached for his clothing. "They'll be plenty of time for rest after we take the castle. Help me with this stupid armor."

"You'll rest now."

At her response, his gaze shot to the empty goblet then back to her. Along with the first hint of morning, understanding dawned. "This tastes. . . You drugged me?

"Yes."

"Why?" He clutched the tent pole to keep from sagging as the drug took affect.

"You're injured and ill. Gerhan agrees you're in no condition to fight," she lied. Gerhan had no idea what she was up to. "I can handle this battle without you. I have no need of your help."

"You're wrong! You need me more than you know. Without me I don't know what will happen. Seri, don't do this. Please," he begged.

Strapping on her sword, Serilda turned away. Donoval's abnormal reaction to being drugged, entreating her rather than raging at her, proved she'd made the right decision. She didn't know what had changed him, but Donoval as he was now had no business on a battlefield. Then, why was resisting Donoval's commands easier than Donnie's pleas?

A soft thud made her pause and look back. Half-dressed, his arm stretched out toward her, Donnie sprawled across the bed, unconscious. She brushed the hair from his face. Relaxed in sleep as he was, the deep lines of stress around his mouth and eyes were smoothed away, making him appear young and untroubled, different than she'd seen him lately, beset by the concerns of ruling a nation.

No, she couldn't allow him to risk his life for the people of Barue. They were her people. This was her fight, not his. She'd always wanted independence, and he'd never wanted to fight for her. Wasn't this the time to prove her mettle?