Allegiance Sworn (12 page)

What usually took several sessions to heal was happening in a single treatment. Candra, nor any of other provincial healers he knew, had ever mentioned one of their Guild members having the Gift for harnessing energy like Jomas. No one had even suggested it was possible.

How long could Jomas and Nayvia utilize the skill? Were there any limitations or drawbacks to using
Her
Gifts in such a way? Was it confined to assisting healers or could it be used in other areas? How many Guilds would covet the chance to learn more about this?

Arek glanced to Rassan. “I’ve never seen a siphon before. What other Gifts do your people have?”

“There are some who work with animals, others are able to manipulate the elements, all to varying degrees and depending on strength and stamina . . .”

“Manipulate the elements? You mean air, fire, and water?”

“And the weather as well as the earth.”

“Earth?”

“The shifting or loosening of soil, rock, sand, and snow.” Here Rassan grinned. “It comes in handy during planting season when new fields need to be cleared of old tree stumps or large rocks.”

The potential of such Gifts and the knowledge that could be shared . . . Arek shook his head and glanced around the circle of people with new eyes. With the destruction of so many history annals, the extent of the damage done by generations of corrupt Blade Councilors became even clearer.

What other Gifts did this Clan have that humans had lost track of thanks to people like his grandfather, Yance, and Corvas? How could his grandfather have been so blind as to conceal such incredible information? How many more lives had been lost by his duplicity and betrayal? Sour acid rose and burned in the back of Arek’s throat.

“Enough.” Nayvia’s soft order broke the silent. The pulsing energy cut off. Her shoulders slumped and one of the female healers caught her. The older woman lifted her head. “Leasha needs to be taken to the hospice.”

The youth, Rooke, hovered close by, his violet gaze dark with shadows. “Leasha will live, won’t she?” His voice wavered—worry laced with fear at losing a friend.

Arek recognized the emotions, felt them as if they were his own. Disbelief, anger, utter helplessness, fear—he’d experienced it all watching Kalan fall, impaled by a
Na’Reish
dagger during the rescue mission gone wrong. The only difference in their situations, he didn’t know if his friend had survived.

A weary smile curved Nayvia’s lips. “With time and care, she’ll be fine.”

Rooke’s expression brightened. The solemn tension broke as someone cheered. Chattering began as Leasha was taken away to the hospice. Blessings were called out to the healers; almost all offered praise and thanks to the
Lady
.

A
Na’Reish
clansman with the same hair coloring and facial features as Rooke pushed through the crowd to embrace the youth. A human woman joined them, hugging them both, tears trailing down her cheeks.

Relieved parents, happy to see their child unharmed.

Nayvia accepted help to rise to her feet before being embraced by several people who’d helped form the healing link. The
Na’Reish
male standing beside him and the
Na’Chi
on his left began sharing their impressions of the event.

Arek stared once more around at those gathered, listening to conversations filled with so much warmth and respect for the healers and those who’d helped save Leasha. For one bizarre moment, if he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he was back at Sacred Lake amongst friends.

But he wasn’t.

He stood in a Clan fortress in
Na’Reish
territory. No demon he’d ever seen had shown such concern or care over the life of a human. Varian, Lisella, Zaune, and the other
Na’Chi
had hidden from them, knowing their lives were forfeit if they were ever discovered. Humans hated and feared them, for centuries.

Yet here they’d worked together to save the life of a human child. Full-blooded demons shared their lives with humans and half-bloods. Old, young,
Na’Reish
, human, and
Na’Chi
, yet no one seemed to notice, except him.

A frisson of energy skittered over his skin. Arek released a shaky breath and rubbed his face with both hands.

A hand squeezed his shoulder. “Light Blade?”
Rassan
. “Are you all right?”

Arek glanced up at him and shook his head. “There’s no you, me, or them, is there?”

One dark eyebrow lifted. “Pardon?”

He swept his arm out to encompass those around them. “You’re not just three races. You’re a people.”

“Ahh—” The warrior’s expression eased into a warm smile. “Arek, our differences don’t define us. It’s only in your world, or among the other Clans, where they do.” He gestured toward Rooke’s family, then the group of healers. “What you see here is the best of the Old Ways. We’re united by who we all are and what we’re capable of being. This is
Her
blessing to us all.”

Her
blessing. Was this the reason Yenass, the crofter from Ostare, had sacrificed his life for him that day in the forest? So he could experience something he never thought possible. Was this the journey
She
wanted him to take?

Arek sucked in a slow breath, his gut tightening. The sensation was eerily reminiscent of the first day he’d ridden into battle against the
Na’Reish
as a man barely out of his teens. The sight of a full
Na’Hord
bearing down on them, howling, so much taller and stronger than them, froze him to the spot.

Yevni, his patrol Commander then, had intercepted one of the demons bearing down on him. If he hadn’t Arek knew he’d have fallen. Later, after the battle was over, he’d thanked Yevni, despite the burn of humiliation for his weakness eating at him.

“There’s no shame in what happened, boy. That’s only justified if you ignore your fear and refuse to deal with it.”
Words he’d taken to heart on the next patrol and in situations away from the battlefield.

He fisted his hands. The heat of shame he’d felt then was the same now, only this time he was frozen by indecision and the knowledge that accepting the improbable would change everything.

His beliefs.

His life.

Even the path his future took.

It left him feeling like he was twenty all over again.

Chapter 15

I
F
he didn’t look too closely at the shadowy figures gathered around the bonfire in the middle of the bailey, Arek could almost imagine he stood in the Light Blade compound at Sacred Lake during the Summer’s End Festival—an unsettling recurrence of what he’d felt earlier in the day.

The evening was a celebration, a Clan feast, the last the Kaal would share together before those venturing north into Gannec territory left to attend the Enclave.

Children of all ages dotted the yard. Some pursued each other in the timeless game of chase, more were engaged in other mischief, while the youths hung around in same-sex groups, eyeing each other. The bravest couples were already sitting together. It’d been a handful of years since he’d done the same thing, yet the familiar behavior brought a smile to his lips.

Voices engaged in a score of conversations blurred together, and in the background, a half-dozen musicians provided music for those interested in dancing. The appetizing odor of spit-roasted meat still wafted in the air an hour after everyone had eaten their fill of the food served up on giant platters, pots, and baskets on the trestle tables lined up along the inner courtyard wall. A few still wandered back and forth, picking through the leftovers, but most now congregated in small groups around the fire.

Arek leaned back against the outer wall, no longer in the mood to mix, still unsettled by the revelations of the afternoon, still questioning whether he could accept what he’d seen.

He shook his head. The distinct lack of any subservient behavior from those who were human and the absence of tension between the races had to be genuine. There was no way so many could maintain such an act, particularly the children.

Who’d have thought the three races could coexist peacefully? What would his grandfather say if he could see this now? What would Kalan? The Blade Council?

“Opening yourself up to the prospect that something might be possible is often easier than accepting the truth all at once, Light Blade.” The gravel-deep voice came from the shadows to his right. Rassan emerged from them, his tread surprisingly quiet for a warrior his size. “Others have felt exactly as you do now.”

“They weren’t expected to change their beliefs or views in less than a week,” Arek replied, tone dry.

The
Na’Chi
inclined his head, conceding his point. “Yet when you met Barrca, Jaclan, and myself that morning in Imhara’s room, you didn’t dismiss my claim that we were
Na’Chi
. You were already familiar with our race.” His violet gaze never wavered. “You made that transition before you ended up here. What’s stopping you from entertaining the possibility that my
Na’Reish
kin are just like me?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell him, but Arek bit back his response. He might feel a growing connection with the warrior, just as he had with Varian, and while the Kaal Second had been straightforward and candid sharing information, how could he be sure that his friendship with the Sacred Lake
Na’Chi
wasn’t coloring his perceptions? Skewing his judgment?

“‘Faith bridges the gap between the heart and mind . . .’”

The softly quoted scripture jerked his head up, and he stared at Rassan. It was something Kymora would say . . . had said on numerous occasions.

Had the
Na’Chi
scented his confusion?

Faith . . .
Arek grunted softly, a shiver skittering down his spine. If there was ever a time he needed
Her
strength, now was it. Why the hesitation to embrace it?

He’d faced similar trials in the past. Fear and uncertainty shouldn’t hold sway over his actions. Yevni, Kymora, and Rassan were right. Faith would bridge the gap only if he turned his feet along that path.
She
would do the rest.

Praying he was doing the right thing, he inhaled a deeper breath. “I’m still grappling with the idea of peaceful relations with the
Na’Reish
.”

“But not the
Na’Chi
?”

“No.” Rassan’s white teeth gleamed in a grin. Arek gestured to a group on the other side of the bailey. “The crofters you rescued with me from Meelar are handling this much more easily than me.”

“Understandable.”

“A few have found friends from other villages they thought gone forever.”

“Welcome comfort considering most have lost everything—family, loved ones, homes, livelihoods—all because of the raids.” Rassan’s violet gaze scanned the gathering. “Here they can make a new life for themselves. And
Lady
willing, if your Blade Council accepts Imhara’s request for a truce, we can discard the dual roles we play. Finally.”

“How have you stayed hidden from the other
Na’Reish
?” One of the first questions he’d wanted to ask once Imhara had explained the Kaal Clan’s history. “After so many years, I find it hard to believe you’ve remained undiscovered.”

“Some have lost their lives and there have been times we’ve had to resort to extreme measures to keep our secret.”

Their continuous vigilance and dedication was impressive.

Rassan gestured toward the jagged outline of the mountains beyond the fortress walls. In the moonlight, the snow-tipped peaks shone with an eerie silver glow. “It helps that we’re isolated from the other territories by the Skadda Ranges. But the most effective strategy has been to limit our contact with other Clans and foster the belief that we prefer seclusion.”

The Kaal ancestors must have possessed incredible foresight and drive to implement such a plan.

Arek grunted. “A difficult existence. Your ancestors made some hard decisions.” And they’d been backed by even harder actions to ensure the survival of the generations. “Separated from the
Na’Reish
by choice and regarded as the enemy by us.”

A lonely burden for any leader to bear, race notwithstanding.

“Something Imhara hopes to change now that you’re here.” Rassan’s gaze was level, direct. “You need to decide whether what you’ve seen and experienced is enough to believe our truths.”

The Clan’s survival depended on the execution of Imhara’s plan. But trusting her was the key. And there lay his dilemma.

Should he trust Imhara Kaal?

More importantly, could he?

Arek glanced over at the small group seated beside the far trestle table, the place he’d last seen her talking to Nayvia earlier in the evening. The elderly healer wore a contented smile as she sat nursing a small child who lay curled up in her lap. The seat beside her was empty.

“This time of night you’ll often find Imhara up there, looking out over the fields.” The
Na’Chi
pointed to the wall on the eastern side of the courtyard. “There’s a stairway leading up to the ramparts to the left of the main gates.”

A wry smile twitched Arek’s lips. Rassan’s conversation and timing couldn’t be coincidence. “Why are you pushing this?”

“Because she won’t.” In the firelight, his gaze narrowed. “And because she’s having second thoughts. Excluding you from our plans narrows our chances for success. Your introduction to our Clan wasn’t ideal. The blame lies as much on my shoulders as Imhara’s.” His jaw tightened. “As I said to you the day we met on the river shore, my Clan needs you. I still believe that.”

For a moment Rassan looked like he might say more, but then he gave a sharp nod and walked away. He joined a group of youths standing by the fire and struck up a conversation with them.

Arek watched the
Na’Chi
warrior for long moments. The Second’s candid manner was one he could appreciate. Given the choice of blunt honesty, prevarication, or diplomacy, he preferred the former anytime. Favoring a direct approach was why he’d never make a good Blade Councilor.

No longer in the mood to socialize, Arek shoved his hands in his breeches’ pockets and headed into the darkness away from everyone. The music faded and conversation became a background noise. Loose pebbles crunched beneath his boots as he made his way to the fortress gates.

Rassan was right. He did have a decision to make and time was against them. Arek’s pace slowed as he neared the entrance. Above it, in the towers on either side, a pair of guards manned the watch. One glanced his way but then turned his attention to whatever lay outside the walls.

The action drew another wry smile from him. Since Yur’s departure, other than spending time in Rassan’s company, he hadn’t detected any sign of being watched.

Who had rescinded the order, dismissing his guards? Rassan or Imhara? He suspected the latter. The cynic in him wanted to believe her actions were an elaborate trick to earn his trust, but his accusation lacked the fire of certainty. Barring a single incident, everything he’d experienced so far backed up all the evidence supporting her claim.

He ran a hand through his hair, tempted to yank at it rather than ruffle it. A year ago the idea of allying himself with the
Na’Reish
would never have entered his mind. Killing them had been his only agenda; one reinforced by his past, his grandfather, and circumstance.

A familiar hollowness ached in his gut. To think of all the years Davyn had lied to him and everyone else about the history between humans and demons. The secrets and deceit had almost destroyed the Blade Council. And what burned him the most was that not once had he suspected or sensed such intrigue.

Lady’s Breath
, the righteous fury he’d experienced, the approval and encouragement received from his grandfather as he’d avenged his parents’ death every time he’d killed in battle felt so empty now.

Davyn’s actions tainted a lifetime of memories, and while Arek understood a man was responsible for his own behavior, shame for what his grandfather had done still gnawed away at his innards. If he couldn’t detect falsehoods told by family members, what qualified him to make judgments and decisions concerning Imhara and her Clan?

Arek took a deep breath and stopped in the middle of the roadway to peer up at the huge wooden double gates. The thick beams were reinforced with metal braces, and two crossbars lay in horizontal brackets, securing the fortress from intrusion. Nothing short of a battering ram would breach the entrance.

A single door had been built into one side for convenient access to the outside world. He reached out to touch the slide bolt, fingers trailing over the cool metal. How hard would it be to throw back the bolt, slip through the door, and leave?

It’d crossed his mind more than once over the last few days to take advantage of his guard-free situation. It was what he should do; what he would have done the first day he’d woken up in Imhara’s bed had he been given the chance.

His grandfather would call him an idiot to ignore the opportunity. But again, what confidence could he place in the teachings of a man who’d broken the
Lady’s
tenets? No Light Blade true to his faith would even consider corrupting his honor, nor encourage others to follow suit as his grandfather had done.

His grandfather’s betrayal aside, the Light Blades needed his experience. With Kalan gravely wounded and rebels attacking the
Na’Chi
and threatening civil war, didn’t he owe it to them to escape and return to lead them?

Arek pressed his hand flat to the wood. His fingernails dug into the grain. Beyond lay the fields. They stretched out on either side of the hard-packed roadway and took a traveller in the direction of Whitewater River. Using the waterway as a guide, he could be back in human territory in less than a week, a few more days and he’d reach Sacred Lake.

His chest tightened at the thought of returning home. Had Varian escaped to safety with the patrol after their mission to rescue the villagers of Ostare had failed? Had Kalan survived being wounded? What if he’d died? Arek shuddered at the thought.

What of Jole? Zaune? The others in the patrol? And back at Sacred Lake, Kymora and Lisella? Also Annika, the half sister he hadn’t really taken the time to get to know. Was the Blade Council coping? And what of Davyn’s rebels?

There were too many uncertainties and countless unknowns. The answers lay beyond the fortress door. His fingers tightened around the bolt. Temptation gnawed at his gut like a scurrier, yet the sensation was curbed by the weight of possibilities and responsibility.

Killing Savyr would be an incredible coup.

Throwing the
Na’Reish
Clans into a power struggle would stall the war and ease the pressure facing them. A temporary measure, but one the Blade Council desperately needed.

And if . . .
if
 . . . Imhara’s proposed truce was agreed upon, the geographical gain of adding her Clan territory to the border would tip the balance of power to a more even scale.

The greater good would be served by helping Imhara. And that was what he’d sworn allegiance to as a Light Blade warrior.

Yet the issue of trust burned like a live coal in his chest. Every instinct screamed in protest at allying himself with a demon. There was no denying his hatred for the
Na’Reish
festered within him like an open wound, its origins sown by Savyr and obsessively fertilized by his grandfather, and then kept alive by the deaths and atrocities he’d witnessed over too many years.