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Authors: Elizabeth Vaughan


BOOK: Warlord
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Elizabeth Vaughan


Chronicles of the Warlands Book 03





Chapter 1


I was terrified.


I shifted my sweaty grip on the handle of my sword, and watched my attacker's eyes. "Watch their eyes," they'd told me. "The eyes will tell you their next move."


I stared intently at him, but his eyes told me nothing. My left arm was trembling from the weight of my shield. "Look over the rim," they'd told me. "Look over the rim, watch his eyes and react to hi—"


He came at me in an instant, rushing right for me. I managed to take his first blow on my shield and tried to stab at him with my blade, but my helmet shifted into my eyes and—




My arm went numb, and I cried out at the pain. My sword tumbled to the ground.


Rafe stood in front of me, horrified, staring at my arm.


"That's going to bruise," Prest commented dryly.


Rafe groaned, looking up at the skies as if for help. "The Warlord will gut me where I stand." He glared at me. "Warprize, you were supposed to block the blow!"


"I tried!" I dropped my wooden shield, and rubbed my arm. "I watched your eyes and I kept the shield up, but—"


"Too slow. She doesn't have the speed," Ander offered.


"The shield is too heavy," Yveni added. "She doesn't have the strength she needs."


"Herself doesn't have the sense the elements gave a goose."


We all turned to see Marcus riding up to our group, glaring from under his cloak. "What's all this now?"


My guards all started talking at once. I sighed, took off my helmet and shook out my braid, letting the breeze reach my damp head. Trying to be a warrior-princess is uncomfortable and sweaty.


Marcus and my four guards were arguing at the top of their lungs, Marcus covered in his cloak lest the skies be offended by his scars. He'd been injured in a battle years ago, his left ear and eye burned away. Prest, with skin of light brown and long black braids, towered over Marcus. He stood silent, as usual, his arms crossed over his chest.


Rafe, his skin even paler than normal was gesturing, trying to explain. His hair was dark against his fair skin, and his brown eyes were filled with frustration.


Ander was gesturing as well, talking at the same time. The sun gleamed on his bald head, and his thick bushy white eyebrows danced over his hazel eyes. Yveni stood as silently as Prest, tall and thin, her skin as black as any I'd seen among the Firelander. But she'd a smile hovering on her lips. She and Ander had replaced Epor and Isdra, who had died at Wellspring.


I heaved a sigh, and looked off in the distance.


We'd left the small village of Wellspring ten days ago, leaving behind our dead, both Xyian and Firelander. We'd resumed our trek to the land of the Firelander, the Plains of Keir's people. Another few days ride and I would get my first glimpse of that fabled place which lay beyond the border of the Kingdom of Xy. Another few days ride, and the great valley of Xy would open up onto the wilds of the Plains.


Another few days ride, and I'd be where I never dreamed of going.


I glanced over to where the army of the Firelander moved past us, in their long slow march to their homeland. Keir had left half of his force to secure Water's Fall and Xy itself, under the watchful eye of Simus of the Hawk. He'd brought the other half with him, to return to the Plains. It was still an impressive sight as they would past us, all on horseback, an army of fierce warriors, both men and women.


Or at least, what was left of Keir's army, after the ravages of the plague we'd suffered outside of Wellspring. We'd left our dead, to be certain, but there were still problems, still conflicts at the heart of the army. Conflicts as a result of an illness sweeping through the ranks of a people who see illness as a curse. Conflicts as a result of the presence of a Warprize in their midst and the changes that I represented to them. Conflicts that had been set aside for the rest of this journey, to be dealt with before the Council of Elders when we reached the Heart of the Plains.


We could have reached it sooner, but Keir had held the army to a snail's pace, claiming the need to regain strength in the warriors, to hunt and replenish food supplies.


In truth, we were dawdling.


I didn't object. Keir and I had spent the last ten days together, making love at night and dealing with problems during the day. How could I object to spending time with my beloved Warlord?


The silence behind me made me aware that I was the center of attention. I turned to face an angry Marcus, who had dismounted and was glaring at me with his one good eye. "And this was your idea?"


I glared at my guards, but they all found other things to look at. I faced Marcus. "It was."




"Because I need to learn to protect myself." I looked at Marcus and lifted my chin. "I have to be able to protect Keir." Inside I winced even as I spoke.


"Protect Hisself?" Marcus gave me a steady look. "How so?"


I sighed, prepared for Marcus's scorn. "When we were in camp, when Iften was standing over Keir. That scared me Marcus." I gestured toward the others. "I can't be deadweight. You said yourself that the Plains are hard. I thought I could at least learn how to—" the words came hard. "How to fight."


Marcus considered me long enough that I blushed and looked away. "I know it must seem silly—"


"No, Warprize." Marcus looked off, down the valley, toward the Plains, and sighed. "Death comes in an instant, and you are learning that truth. A harsh truth, but a truth nonetheless." He shook his head. "But you are on the wrong path."


"She wants to learn." Rafe protested. "What's the harm?"


Marcus turned to face Rafe. "Let me show you." Even as the words left his mouth, he'd launched himself at Ander, with no warning or sign, so fast I never really saw him move.


What I did see was Ander ward off Marcus's dagger with his own blade, which he drew with unbelievable speed. It all happened so fast, and then they stood there, Ander at guard and Marcus making no further move.


Marcus stepped back, and bowed his head to Ander, who inclined his head in return. The weapons were sheathed, and Marcus turned back to me. "You see?"


I frowned, puzzled, and answered honestly. "No."


Marcus had a patient look on his face. "Ander had no need to think of the 'how'. He reacted. He knows the blade, knows the movements, knows in the depths of his body and blood. Has known since he cut his first teeth and his thea handed him his first blade."


I blinked. First tooth? But that was—


"You think, Warprize." Marcus continued his lecture. "You think, and then you tell your body and that delay is fatal. Never mind the weight of the shield, never mind that you—"


"You give babies weapons?"


Marcus fixed his eye on me. "What do you mean by 'babies'?"


The language again. Just when I think I know the language of the Firelander, something new comes up. "Babies. Children that still crawl and soil their—" I bit my lip. "Like Meara, the babe we found in the village."


Marcus shook his head. "No. First teeth." He opened his mouth and showed me his teeth. "All their first tooths."


I thought for a minute. He meant the first set of baby teeth—all of them. Which meant they gave weapons to children that were roughly two and a half, maybe three years old.


"Wooden blades, Warprize. The first weapon is wooden." Marcus looked at me closely. "The first true blade is at the first true tooth. You understand?"


I nodded slowly, taking that in. Firelander wielded steel at roughly six or seven years old.


No wonder they were so fast. It occurred to me that I was very glad I'd sent Meara back to Anna at Water's Fall.


"So." Marcus's voice called me back. "We will concentrate on what you can do. Not on what you can't."


I sighed, and let my shoulders slump. "But I can't do anything!"


"Pah." Marcus turned, and picked up the wooden sword and small shield that I had been using. "What did you do when that warrior-priest burst into your tent?"


I went and sat close to Prest, flopping down in the grass. "I screamed and ran."


"And?" Marcus asked as he seated himself. Rafe dropped down next to him, and pulled out a dagger and a sharpening stone. Ander and Yveni remained standing, on watch, standing close enough to hear.


"Hid behind Keir." I picked a stem of grass and started playing with it. "Bold warrior that I am."


Marcus snorted. "You, with your terrible memory. You have forgotten."


I looked up to see that Rafe and Prest were both grinning, as if at the memory. "What?"


Rafe answered promptly. "You threw that pot of muck at him. He was covered with it when he came out of the tent."


"Wish I'd seen that," Ander spoke, his eyes still on the horizon.


"Heyla to that," Yveni added.


Prest chuckled. "The stink clung for days." He reached over and pulled his warclub close, preparing to re-wrap the handle with the leather strips. Of course, it wasn't just any warclub. I looked away from the weapon. It brought back too many painful memories.


"So," Marcus continued. "What did you do? You alerted others that you were in trouble. You used what was at hand to distract the enemy. You fled to where there was help, and positioned yourself where your defenders could protect you."


I had forgotten. I'd whipped that jar of boiled skunk cabbage right at that warrior-priest's face before I'd fled. I sat up a little straighter. "I guess I did."


Marcus gave me a nod. "Teaching you to fight is enough to make a gurttle laugh. But teaching you to defend yourself, to respond under attack and get yourself to safety, that can be done."


I shook my head. "Marcus, I froze when I found Iften hovering over Keir with that dagger. I didn't have the sense to scream."


"Fear." Prest spoke as he concentrated on his task.


Rafe nodded, even as he honed the edge of his blade. "Fear holds you still when you need to move, and moves you when you need to be still."


"Fear makes you silent when you need to be loud and loud when you need silence," Ander said, almost reciting. I wasn't surprised; Prest had taunted Iften with a teaching rhyme back at Wellspring. It seemed they used them a lot for teaching purposes. Which also didn't surprise me—since they had no written language, everything was memorized, and their ability to do that was amazing.


"Fear closes your throat, makes it hard to breathe. Fear weakens your hand and blinds your eyes." Marcus took up the chant. "Fear is a danger. Know your fear. Face your fear."


I waited a breath, but when it was clear they were done I broke the silence. "But how do I do that?"


Prest turned his head, and smiled at me, his white teeth flashing against his dark skin. "Practice."




I should have kept silent. This warrior-princess routine was uncomfortable, sweaty, and exhausting.


We had been waiting to join the army at the very rear of the march. Keir had that little-boy smile on his face when he'd told me that I'd be moving to the rear of his forces. I was fairly sure that he wanted to make sure that he gave me my first glimpse of the Plains.


Since we were waiting anyway, I'd asked my guards to teach me to use a sword and shield. I'd thought it would be easy; after all they handled their weapons with grace and skill.


Easy to say; hard to do.


We spent the rest of the afternoon as the army passed practicing. Each of my bodyguards would play the attacker, and then I had to work with the others to protect myself. Marcus stood back and watched. When it looked like I knew how to handle the situation, Marcus called out for Prest to die, and Prest obligingly fell 'dead' at my feet.


So I learned to move with my protectors, trying to stay out of their way, and be constantly aware of the threat I was under. Marcus was a strong believer in action as opposed to talking. When I got too tired, we'd stop and talk for a bit, get a drink of water, so that I could catch my breath.


The others never even broke a sweat.


Finally, as the sun was setting, Marcus 'killed' all my body guards, and I was facing my 'attacker' alone. Prest grinned at me as he lay dead at my feet. I looked over at Marcus, who stood there with two daggers, threatening me. "Now what?"


He tilted his head under that cloak, and glared at me. "What can you do?"


"I don't know!" Frustrated, I glared back at him.


Ander had managed to 'die' face down, and looked like he was taking a nap. "Look for a weakness," he whispered to me.


Weakness? Marcus had already proved he was deadly with those daggers, so what weakness did he have?


Marcus rolled his one eye at me.




I darted over to his left, trying to get into his blind spot. But Marcus just pivoted to face me, keeping me in sight. I stopped, frustrated. "What good does that do?"


"Keeps him moving, keeps him from throwing his daggers," Yveni responded. She was laying on the ground, chewing a piece of grass, watching the perimeter. Rafe was seated a distance away, watching in the other direction.


"You could try rushing him, getting him to move away from you. Use our bodies to try to trip him up," Ander offered.


"Throw things," Prest added. I looked at my satchel on my hip, and nodded.


"You must take advantage of any weakness." Marcus gestured at his face. "Mine is my blind side, Warprize. If you can blind a person with one of your mixtures, do it. It may be all that stands between you and death. Yes?"


"I will, Marcus."


"More important, if all your guards are down, where else can you look for help?" Marcus growled.


I eyed him nervously. I still remembered the 'lesson' he'd given me before, when he'd overborne me to the ground, and held a dagger to my throat. "The army?"


Marcus snorted.


Rafe caught my eye and jerked his thumb in the direction of our horses.


"The horses?" I looked over where our mounts were standing, waiting patiently. They were grazing, except of course for my Greatheart. He was fast asleep, his one hip cocked to the side, his head hanging down. As usual.


"The horses." Marcus sheathed his daggers within the darkness of his cloak as the others stood, brushing themselves off. "Get to a horse, leap to its back, and it will take you out of danger."


"If she could ride." Prest said calmly.


I glared at him, but they were all smiling. It was an old joke now, but in their eyes, it was true. I wasn't born in a saddle, like the people of the Plains, and to them my riding skills were horrible. But I could ride. Leaping into a saddle, however…


"But that lesson can wait," Marcus announced. "Hisself will be making camp soon, and the meal will not make itself." He headed toward the horses.


Thankful for the reprieve, I followed with my guards.


BOOK: Warlord
2.66Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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