Allegiance Sworn (19 page)

His
chest armor did have frond leaves etched into it, as opposed to the unmarked plates of the assassins. The thin strands belonged to the only tree to survive and thrive in the Chomi Desert. The demon’s allegiance probably lay with the desert-dwelling Clan, but until Imhara ordered him otherwise, Arek wasn’t lowering his weapon.

“Where are the Kaal
Na’Hord
you claim accompany you?” Arek gestured to the surrounding forest with his chin. There had to be more
Na’Reish
searching for Imhara. Could the demon be stalling? “You’re out here alone.”

Imhara’s hand clamped tightly on his shoulder as the
Na’Reishi’s
weathered face darkened. “You dare to question me?”

The sharp snapping of debris came from their left. Arek pivoted, crowding Imhara backward, toward the nearest tree. How many others converged on their location? Could she scent them?

While it had thinned, fog still shrouded the forest. Their position was vulnerable enough as it was without leaving all sides undefended. Another shadow appeared through the trees, this one a foot shorter than Veht.

“
Na
Kaal?”

The familiar deep voice eased the pounding of Arek’s heart. Behind him, Imhara uttered a soft invocation of thanks.

“Rassan!”

Arek released a slow breath. The
Na’Chi
was a welcome sight. Relief flickered across Rassan’s broad face as he drew closer. His violet eyes swept over them both, as if to assure himself they were all right, then flickered to Veht. He made no move to draw his weapon, just nodded an acknowledgment to the other warrior.

“Commander Veht has been of great assistance,
Na
Kaal. His
Na’Hord
helped us during the ambush, then they stayed to assist in the search for you.” His gaze pinned Arek where he stood. “Stand down, slave.” Imhara gently squeezed his shoulder. Arek lowered his dagger but didn’t release it. “Are you well,
Na
?”

“I’ve fed.” The flecks in Rassan’s eyes flashed bronze. Imhara shifted against his hold, and Arek let her go. It was enough to draw Veht’s gaze away from the
Na’Chi
and disaster. “Were any of the assassins captured alive?”

Rassan regained his stoic composure and shook his head. “Unfortunately, no.”

Veht’s upper lip curled. “The
Vorc
-scat scum took their own lives when they realized your Second had help.”

“Then it seems I owe you an apology and a debt of gratitude, Commander.”

“Part of which I’ll collect right now.”

Attention split between both
Na’Reishi
, Arek only saw a blur of motion, then a sharp crack of pain against his cheek. His vision exploded in a flare of white and red. Another blow sent him to the ground.

A knee landed on his back, pinning him there. His wrist was seized and long fingers dug into his flesh. Nerves screamed in protest. The dagger fell from them as a hand tangled in his hair.

“You deserve death for your insolent behavior, human!” Veht growled.

With a hard shove Arek found his face ground into the needle-debris. He fought to twist free, reining in the urge to use his Gift on Veht.

“Were you mine”—the fingers gripping his neck dug in hard—“I’d have your tongue cut out for daring to question me and your hand removed for ignoring a direct order.”

“
Na
Veht.” Imhara’s reprimand was sharp. Arek stilled. The gritty taste of crushed needle-leaves mixed with the iron tang of blood in his mouth. “He was within his rights to defend me—as you well know.”

“And that’s why he lies beneath my knee eating dirt instead of with a blade buried in his chest.”

With a final push and another mouthful of dry needles, the weight lifted from Arek’s back. He rolled away, every instinct screaming at him to finish the fight. He remained on his hands and knees, his gaze lowered and fixed on Veht’s boots. Not out of intimidation or submission, although it would seem that way to the warrior, but because he half expected another assault despite Imhara’s intervention.

Veht shifted closer. “Disrespect me again and you will pay for it dearly.” The threat vibrated in the air between them. Heat flared in Arek’s gut but he held his ground. “Remember that, human.”

“Commander, any further disciplining of my slave will be done by either myself or Rassan.” Imhara’s tone projected a combination of steely insistence and blatant caution. After a long moment, the black boots turned away and disappeared from his field of vision.

The skin between Arek’s shoulders crawled. Instinct warned him Veht still watched him. It took everything he had to keep his head bowed. Last time he’d looked up, it’d earned him a dozen lashes across his shoulders. To do so now would invite retaliation and undo Imhara’s intervention.

“Sometimes humans aren’t worth the trouble,
Na
Kaal.” Veht spat, the gob of spittle landing on Arek’s sleeve. He curled his fingers in the debris. “You’d be wasting your time with this one.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Imhara’s husky chuckling filled the forest. “I’ve found him a quick learner given the right motivation. My time spent training this one has been rather enjoyable.”

Veht made a sound of disgust. “No disrespect intended,
Na
Kaal, but I’ve never seen a use for them other than as prey or breeders.”

“Each to their own tastes, Commander.” Her response turned hard and cold again, a clear reminder of who ranked whom. “Come, I’m eager to get back to the caravan. While we make our way there, you need to explain why you’re in my territory. I received no message heralding your arrival.”

A grunt came from the Clan Commander. “No messenger?
Na
Veht dispatched one over a week ago.”

Arek frowned. How many patrols attempted to sneak through Skadda Pass and into Kaal territory without Imhara knowing? Their vigilance couldn’t be faulted. He suspected very few made it through unnoticed, given the Kaal Clan’s need for anonymity. Nor could he see
Na
Kaal letting such a practice slide without retribution, given her reputation.

Imhara made a noncommittal sound. “I wonder if he fell prey to the same band of brigands as we did?”

Had the ambushers waited that long for the caravan to come through? It smacked of advanced planning and organization. Surely it also couldn’t be coincidence that a week ago, both Meelar and Yur had used the route through Skadda Pass.

Had one of them left warriors behind? He wouldn’t put it past either
Na’Reishi
to do such a thing.

Veht and Imhara’s voices drifted off as she drew the
Na’Reishi
away. Arek dared to look up.

“Are you all right?” Rassan’s murmured query was barely a whisper.

Arek wiped blood and dirt from his mouth. Gentle probing with his tongue found a laceration on the inside of his lip. “Other than wanting to shove a dagger into the arrogant bastard’s back, I’m fine.”

“Don’t even go there, Arek.” Rassan shook his head. “Your scent will betray you. Next time, neither Imhara nor I could be there to stop them, and believe me when I say a missing tongue or hand is merciful compared to some of the things I’ve seen the
Na’Reish
deem as punishment.”

Arek nodded. That message had come through loud and clear. Veht’s vicious tactics were exactly what he expected of demons. The contrast between him and Imhara couldn’t be more clear. Veht was soured wine to her honey-cider.

Rassan scooped up the pack. “Are Imhara’s injuries truly healed?”

“Mostly.”

“You let her feed from you?”

“Shocked?” Arek gave a wry smile. “Me, too.”

The
Na’Chi
’
s
gaze pierced him. “What’s happened since I saw you go over the edge of the road after her? Tell me, then I’ll fill you in on Veht’s part in all this.”

By the time Arek had finished explaining his side of the tale, including his suspicions regarding the identity of who might have set up the attack, they’d reached the fall site.

“Do you think Veht had anything to do with the ambush?” he asked as they halted at the edge of the tree line, near the dead
Vorc
.

“No. Once again we can’t prove it, but this ambush is something Yur would attempt.” Black flashed through the
Na’Chi’s
gaze. “To kill a
Na
takes someone of rank or approval from someone of rank. Yur would have both, while Meelar knows he wouldn’t have the backing of his sire if he was caught or found out.”

Arek glanced up the valley wall. A thin layer of snow crusted the barren incline. The weak beams of sunlight were gaining strength and the fog was finally starting to lift. Halfway up the slope, Veht assisted Imhara’s climb. People waiting up on the roadway called out salutations to them both.

With distance and other noise to cover their conversation, Arek spoke freely. “Killing Imhara before she reaches the Enclave or forcing her to accept a mate achieves the same outcome—Savyr gets a free route into human territory.”

“Exactly.”

“She’s going to need constant protection.”

Rassan nodded once, lips thinning. “And your role just became more difficult. I’d give you a weapon if I could, Arek.”

“I already have one.” At his puzzled frown, Arek inhaled a slow, deep breath before meeting his gaze. “Not all Light Blades use a weapon to kill. Sometimes a bare hand on skin is all that’s needed.”

Rassan cocked his head to one side. “In the library, I was more worried you were going to snap Imhara’s neck. I never realized you could kill with a touch. I thought that a rumor. So, you have this skill?”

Arek nodded. “It took years of training.” His smile twisted. “Let’s just say I had a need to learn and leave it at that.”

“I sense a tale behind that statement. Perhaps one day you’ll share it with me?”

“Perhaps.” Arek gestured to the climb. Veht and Imhara had reached the roadway. “So, he’ll accompany us to Gannec Fortress.”

“Yes. His intervention tipped the balance of battle in our favor. We have wounded, and while the healers will use their Gifts to help them, they’ll do it judiciously. We don’t need the scrutiny of Veht’s warriors turned on us if they were suddenly well again a day after the attack.”

“And we now owe him a debt, one he’ll forfeit the potential profit of a slave-raid to claim when we reach Gannec Fortress.” Rassan’s tone was dry. “And then there’s the bragging rights. It’s not every day a Commander can boast he helped save a
Na’s
life.”

Arek lifted an eyebrow. “His status will rise?”

“Significantly.”

“And how will Imhara repay the debt?”

“Most likely during the Enclave she’ll acknowledge his actions and favor unlimited access to the slave-route for any future ventures he may embark on. It will increase his wealth. Not that he’ll be able to collect on it if all goes according to plan.” Rassan’s expression remained solemn. “Your role as Imhara’s slave begins earlier than anticipated, Light Blade. Are you up to it?”

Arek shared a grim smile with the other warrior. “Do I really have a choice?” Rassan’s steady look drew a grunt from him. “I didn’t think so.”

Chapter 23

A
REK’S
first view of Gannec Fortress came as the wagon he was riding in rounded a bend in the road. The thick forest they’d been travelling through most of the day thinned, giving him an almost clear view of the massive citadel and behind it the southern arm of the Shadowblade Mountains, their peaks covered in snow.

“Mother of Light!”
The curse ripped from him.

While the mountains were majestic, the fortress claimed all of his attention. The crenulated walls stood nearly eighty feet high, manned by watchtowers with walkways in between. At this distance, only a handful of stone-slatted roofs could be seen peeking over them.

Everything—the walls, the towers, the buildings beyond—was constructed out of black, volcanic rock, as daunting as it was hard.

Only the arched barbican differed, its two sets of double gates made of iron-studded wood, its purpose just as imposing. Weighing as much as they did, each would require an independent mechanical system to operate them. Right now, they were wide open and traffic moved through in both directions, overlooked by four well-manned towers and a patrol stationed on the ground.

How many demons lived within the citadel? Sacred Lake was populated by nearly ten thousand, the largest city in human territory. This placed looked big enough to hold twice that. It made the Kaal fortress look like a crofter’s settlement.

A shiver crept down the length of Arek’s spine. Its design, its defenses, its size all shouted
impenetrable
. Intimidate your enemies
and
remind your allies just how powerful you were. Quite an effective psychological tactic, especially given the dominating nature of the
Na’Reish
.

The trait personified Savyr. And he was venturing into the heart of his territory?

Arek could hear his grandfather questioning his judgment, and if he were honest, all good intentions and vengeance aside, a small part of him agreed. Walking into a nest of shadow-winders voluntarily portrayed a degree of insanity. One couldn’t expect to come away unscathed.

Yet, by the
Lady’s
Grace,
another Light Blade had survived Savyr’s fortress.

Kalan.

Captured, tortured, and believing himself without allies, he’d prepared himself for the Final Journey. Annika’s appearance and offer of a bargain too good to refuse had seemed like divine intervention.

Arek’s lips ghosted with a grin. The
Lady
had certainly blessed both of them that day, though neither knew it at the time. Faith and hope had prevailed.

He inhaled a slow, deep breath. He could only pray for the same. While his circumstances for entering Savyr’s fortress differed from Kalan’s, unlike his friend, he wasn’t walking alone into the side-winders’ nest.

The challenge—and that’s what he had to view it as, albeit the most demanding one of his life—was not just his. Every person who’d volunteered to accompany Imhara were all committed to whatever journey
She’d
set them. And like any warrior heading out on patrol, the more information he could glean about his task, the better.

Arek glanced to his travelling companion, the same man he’d borrowed gloves from during the ambush. “Jawn, what are all those tents outside the fortress?”

“It’s where the visiting Clans camp while the Enclave and Games are on. Most of the events are held inside the fortress, but there just isn’t enough room to house us all.”

He nodded. “I know the names of the Clans and their emblems, but how do I know which one is camped where?”

“See the colored flags flying above the pavilions?” The sandy-haired man gestured with his chin. “The two shades of brown belong to the plains-dwelling Tanea. The gold is the Vos from the north, the red with the blue is Huriken. . . .”

As Jawn identified each one, Arek committed them to memory. A minicity in itself, the sea of canvas extended the length of the fortress wall and toward the western side, and straddled both sides of a river that emerged from beneath the wall of the fortress and meandered its way into the forest.

“We’ll be one of the smallest campsites here.” Jawn flicked the reins against the transport beast’s back, clucking his tongue to urge it to keep up with the wagon in front. “Necessity, given what we’re attempting to do this time.”

While the driver kept his voice low, Arek still glanced around, checking on the position of Veht’s
Na’Hord
. The nearest
Vorc-Rider
was two wagons back, and four
Na’Reishu
warriors walking beside the wagon ahead were too deep in their own conversation to take any notice of two humans talking.

Near the head of the caravan, Commander Veht rode alongside
Na
Kaal, Rassan a respectful
Vorc
length behind them. Other than sharing the same tent at night, Arek had seen little of Imhara during the day, kept busy with tasks, mentored mostly by Jawn.

Not that he minded. Serving at the last three meals, he’d overheard snippets of the demon regaling Imhara and her kin with tales of his exploits. Veht reminded him too much of some Blade Councilors. How Imhara or Rassan found the patience to endure the arrogant bastard over the last few days was beyond him.

When they reached the outskirts of the city of tents, Veht and his
Na’Hord
took their leave.

“Thank the
Lady
he’s gone.” Jawn’s sentiments were reflected in the way Imhara rolled her shoulders, as if to relieve them of tension. “Some days it’s good to be a slave.”

“So, given the choice then, you wouldn’t be a man of rank, Jawn?”

The man snorted. “I’ll stick to farming. Good honest work.”

“Indeed it is. The only diplomacy involved is making sure the dirt-hogs get their fair share of mush.”

Jawn chuckled, his weathered face creasing. “Sounds like you’ve had experience.”

“My father’s parents lived on a croft.” Arek’s mouth curved upward. “As a child, I used to spend each summer with them and help them with the harvest. Hard work but there’s something to be said for seeing the fruits of your labor at the end of the day.”

Simple but satisfying times. Compared to Davyn, his paternal grandparents had been so laid-back and relaxed. The only expectations placed on him had been to complete the never-ending daily chores of farm life. Looking back, those weeks had provided respite from Davyn’s high expectations and ever-present bitterness, and were some of the fondest memories of his childhood.

“Killing for a living, even in the service of the
Lady
to protect others, wears on a body,” Jawn commented. “Nothing says you couldn’t change the way you live. Perhaps farming might be something to consider for the future if you liked it so much.”

Arek grunted with the suggestion. He’d spent so long knowing exactly the path his future would take that he’d never entertained any other. Couldn’t. For the moment, his destiny remained set.

Jawn pointed with his whiskered chin at a clearing at the end of the curving roadway. “Looks like our campsite ahead.”

As they continued to travel along the edge of the mass campsite, daily activity stopped, demon and human alike. The
Na’Reish
—mostly male warriors—watched openly. As Imhara drew level with them, all offered her clenched-fists-to-chest salutes and bowed heads. Humans went to their hands and knees and stayed there even after she’d ridden by.

Arek caught his mentor’s gaze and raised an eyebrow.

“They show respect to the whole Clan, not just
Na
Kaal.” The older man kept his voice to a murmur. “It’s better to show too much than not enough. Once the last Kaal has passed, they’ll resume their chores.”

A good fifteen minutes later, and three more similar displays of behavior, the caravan rolled to halt in an area recently cleared. Forest bordered one side, the imposing fortress wall another, while the third consisted of a line of Clan Sharadan tents.

The Kaal caravan circled the very edges of the cleared land, and Rassan called everyone to a halt.

Jawn pulled on the brake and tied off the reins. “Unpack everything and pile it beside the wagon, then we’ll head over and help set up
Na
Kaal’s pavilion.”

Arek gave a nod, but before leaping off the wagon to help, he glanced out over the place he’d call home over the next few weeks. Everywhere he looked there were demons—eating around campfires, emerging from tents, engaging in conversation, exercising in small groups—it was hard to spot a human.

Arek inhaled a slow breath, hoping to ease the knot in his innards. Was this how Annika had felt the first time among them after arriving at Sacred Lake? Had the other
Na’Chi
experienced the same frisson of anxiety skating the length of his spine?

The humans he did see had their heads down, going about whatever task they were assigned, bodies hunched as if they were trying to avoid notice or make themselves as small a target as possible. He frowned.

“If you keep glaring over at the Sharadan camp like that, Arek, you’ll make yourself a target.” Jawn’s soft comment drew his attention downward. “Just concentrate on the task at hand.”

Arek joined the man on the ground. “Is it how you cope with this?” He waved a hand at the hubbub beyond their camp, then steadied one of the barrels being untied. “Doesn’t seeing other humans scuttling about like they’re afraid of their own shadow, scraping and bowing out of fear for their lives bother you?”

Jawn shot a brief look over his shoulder toward the Sharadan camp, then met his gaze, his steady, level. “Of course it does. But what purpose would it serve to protest? And you can guess what would happen if I tried to intervene.”

Arek had no trouble imagining it, yet frustration still twisted in his gut. “Then how do you ignore it?”

“I play my part in Imhara’s plan. By doing that, I protect my family and friends, the ones I left behind and those who are here with me.” Compassion swirled in the depths of his gaze. “Focus on that, do whatever it takes, no matter the cost.”

“I have done . . . and I’m ready to do . . . whatever I need to bring Savyr down.”
Imhara’s words that night of the Clan feast, her sentiment now echoed by Jawn.

“I know you’re used to helping others, but this isn’t the time or place. Not here, not now.” The statement brought him back to the present. “Little comfort, but what I said, does it help?”

“Yes.” A wry smile twisted Arek’s mouth. “I don’t like it, but I understand.”

He set to work emptying crates from the back of the wagon.

* * *

A
commotion loud enough to penetrate the heavy canvas walls of her pavilion halted Imhara’s discussion with Rassan. Voices raised in volume, although not in anger, drew her to the entrance.

Emerging from the tent, she peered around the campsite. Everything seemed normal. Her Clan were engaged in a variety of activities. Some, including Arek and Jawn, were by the central campfire cooking the evening meal, others were in small groups scattered around the wagons.

Most had stopped what they were doing to peer toward the Sharadan camp to where the noise seemed to be coming from. The steady hum of voices was drawing closer.

She shot a glance at the warrior stationed outside her tent. “Barrca, what’s going on?”

The blond-haired
Na’Chi
shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine,
Na
Kaal.”

A crowd emerged from between a row of tents, a writhing mass of
Na’Reish
, warriors and civilians alike, but what caught Imhara’s attention was the moving flag hoisted above them.

All black, the fluttering pennant sported a shield with two crossed daggers threaded in gold.

Adrenaline surged through her. “It’s Savyr!”

Beside her Rassan uttered a curse. “What’s he doing here?”

Wandering the camps on foot wasn’t the
Na’Rei’s
usual habit. A missive or a personal visit from Yur with a summons to attend a meeting was more his style. Ignoring the request was done at your own peril. What had prompted him to make a personal appearance?

“Looks like we’re about to find out,” she murmured.

A cohort of black-armored
Na’Hord
pushed the crowd back with long staves. The first figure to appear on the cleared pathway was Urkan Yur. He wasn’t dressed in full leather armor like the warriors, yet the cut and style of the finery he wore projected an image just as impressive.

But the Second was nowhere as intimidating as the
Na’Reishi
striding behind him. Savyr Gannec was huge, just over seven feet tall, towering over many of the
Na’Hord
gathered around them. The latent power in his wide shoulders and thick, bulging biceps couldn’t be concealed by the long-sleeved shirt or loose-laced vest. There was little evidence of him entering his fifth decade. He carried himself with the ease and confidence of a warrior half his age.

Hair the color of obsidian had been pulled back into a tight cue, the severe style emphasizing the strong lines and natural markings running down the sides of his face. Dark brows framed a predatory gaze that missed nothing. A gaze that searched the crowd and settled on her.