Allegiance Sworn (6 page)

At least for a little while.

Fostering that untruth didn’t sit well with her. Decades of time and suppression of the Old Ways by the other Clans had bastardized the reality of the practice. Now it was used as a control measure, a parasitic way to bind a slave to their owner.

In essence, she’d done the Light Blade no harm, although she doubted he’d see it that way, even if she offered an explanation. He’d have to see the truth for himself. Later.

“I’ll kill you!”
His outrage lashed at her like a whip.
“I swear it!”

His curses damned her to the Underworld, and she accepted them with a small nod. Unease curled in the pit of her stomach, but she pushed it aside. Her feelings didn’t matter, and for the moment, neither did his.

The survival of her Clan and his race was more important. And, as always, she was willing to accept the consequences of her actions if it meant achieving that goal.

Imhara took a deep breath. “Escaping the fortress is no longer an option, Light Blade.”

The look he speared her with was so vicious it was hard to disguise her flinch.

“I won’t be your blood-slave!”

“In time I hope you’ll come to understand why I did this.” She tried to keep her voice as steady as her resolve. “I’ll leave you alone now.” Hesitating on the threshold, she shot a last look at him over her shoulder. “Tomorrow your new life here in Kaal Fortress begins.”

With that, Imhara stepped into the darkened hallway and gently closed the door behind her, cutting off his new tirade of curses. Scrubbing a hand over her face, she fought the ache growing in her chest.
Lady
forgive her for deceiving the human, but her actions had gained them all some time. She’d done the right thing.

Glancing left, she considered waking Rassan to swap places with her, but there was no way she could sleep now. And the Light Blade probably wouldn’t appreciate the company. She headed in the opposite direction, along the corridor toward the stairs and the library. Until those within the fortress awoke to begin a new day, the tasks she’d put off to greet the Light Blade would keep her occupied.

But even as she lit the candelabras and settled into the cushioned chair at her desk, her thoughts were still on the human chained to her bed. Instead of sorting through the stack of missives piled on her desk, she reached for the carved box sitting next to them.

Selecting one of the incense sticks from within, she lit then placed it in the small hole drilled into the lid. For long moments she watched the glowing tip burn and smoke twirl and drift toward the darkened ceiling, and filled her lungs with the floral scent.

Imhara placed her fingertips on the intricate moon within a sun carved into the side of the box. “
Lady
, I pray I’ve taken the right path with this human.”

Morning would come soon enough and she’d see, because now there was no going back.

Chapter 7

“Y
OU
look as sleep deprived as the Light Blade.”

Rassan’s deep voice jerked Imhara upright in her chair. Frowning, she stared at her surroundings, her thoughts still consumed by lists and numbers from the ledgers scattered across her desk—accounts for supplies, those owed and paid as well as provided, animal statistics, records of the new humans for the register, a stocktake of goods being stored for winter.

Blinking gritty eyes, she fought to focus on the books lining the shelves that covered the walls of the room before her gaze came to rest on the
Na’Chi
warrior. He stood in the library doorway dressed in conventional work breeches and shirt, not his customary leather armor. Black hair, usually tied back in a tight tail at the nape of his neck, lay in damp waves across broad shoulders.

“What were you doing visiting my room?” she asked, leaning back to stretch out the kinks in her muscles.

“Looking for you.” His dry reply was softened by the hint of a smile.

He stepped past the threshold. Her mouth twitched when she spotted the ever-present dagger sheathed at his hip. He never went anywhere unarmed, and she suspected the blade lay beneath his pillow as he slept.

“When I couldn’t find you there, I went looking in the lower levels and inner barracks. This time of the morning you’re usually visiting our newest Clan members.”

Visiting and interacting with the humans began the orientation and adjustment process. It was a ritual she took pleasure in, but this morning she hadn’t been much for company.

Imhara gestured at the work on her desk. “I’ve been catching up on a few things.”

“So I see.” Rassan folded his arms. “I talked to the humans we rescued yesterday. The Light Blade’s name is Arek.”

“Good to know.” Her smile twisted. “He didn’t volunteer his name last night, and calling him Light Blade was getting tiresome.”

Rassan chuckled softly as he covered the distance to the only other chair in the room, a low, spacious lounge placed halfway between the fireplace and the window, and sprawled in it.

“There was no last name and they say he was captured with several farmsteaders from the village of Ostare, but he’s not one of them.”

“Any of them from Ostare?” she asked, smothering a yawn.

“One. She says the
Na’Reish
patrol who raided their village was attacked by Light Blades, but the rescue was foiled by the appearance of Meelar’s raiding party.”

“Meelar would never have let a Light Blade live.” Frowning, Imhara pushed out of her chair and strode to the window. Early-morning sunlight had yet to breach the curtain wall of the fortress and light the inner ward.

The hard-packed ground was already occupied by a small group of people,
Na’Reish
,
Na’Chi
, and human alike, all loading implements and supplies into the back of drays for work in the fields outside the walls.
Lady
willing, the last of this season’s crops would be harvested by dusk.

“Do they know how the Light Blade ended up among them or why he was dressed like them?” she inquired.

“No.”

She could make a few assumptions, but eventually confirmation would have to come from Arek. His cooperation was going to be considerably less forthcoming than it might have been several hours ago. Imhara fisted a hand and tapped it against the sill.

“You’re too quiet.” Rassan’s statement made her grimace. “What happened last night after I left you?”

“Everything we expected.” Turning, she gave a half shrug. “He woke. He threatened me. I explained a few things. He didn’t believe me.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Imhara, the catalyst for all our plans waits in your room. Yet you’re down here buried in accounts and supply lists, just like it’s another day, but you fist and flex your left hand. You only do that when something’s bothering you.”

Cursing his perceptiveness, she resisted the urge to squirm under his implacable stare. Any other time she might have brushed aside his concern, but their futures lay tied to the human in her bedroom.

“Convincing the Light Blade seems an impossible task, Rassan.” She winced. Her complaint sounded whiny.

“Arek’s fought the
Na’Hord
and raiding parties all his life. He’s witnessed comrades fall to their blades and atrocities visited on those he protects.” Rassan’s response remained calm. “We anticipated this would happen.”

She shook her head. “His hatred, his anger . . . it’s different. Darker. More consuming. The odor is stronger, heavier than anything I’ve ever scented. Nothing I said to him last night seemed to penetrate.” She sighed softly. “I feared he would escape before glimpsing the proof of my words.”

“Feared? You say that in the past tense.” Rassan leaned forward, boots scraping on the stone floor as he shifted to the edge of the lounge. “Speak plainly, Imhara.”

“I blood-bonded with him.”

The warrior sucked in a sharp breath, the flecks in his eyes going from dark violet to bronze. She watched his thoughts flicker across his face, processing everything she’d said and piecing it together. “You didn’t tell him about the symbiotic relationship.”

“No, I didn’t.” While Rassan showed no censure, a sharp citrus odor exuded from him. She waved aside his protest. “His promise to escape was no idle threat.”

“He’ll believe you’ve made him your blood-slave. How is that supposed to earn his trust?” Ever direct, her friend’s accusation struck deep. “Your rash action may end this venture before it even starts.”

“Perhaps,” she conceded. “But how many years have we waited for this opportunity to let it slip from our grasp? Besides, Arek will be told the truth.”

“When?”

“After he’s met you, Barrca, and Jaclan.”

“You task three
Na’Chi
as guards?”

She issued a wry smile at his raised eyebrow. “When he wasn’t threatening me, his comments showed an analytical mind. What if the rumors of the alliance between the humans and those other
Na’Chi
are correct? Seeing you will make him think.”

“Assuming he’s not still enraged by your actions from last night.”

Imhara grimaced then grunted. “Offer him the hospitality of this House, but if he threatens you, then safety takes precedence over his comfort. When he’s ready, bring him down here.” She motioned to the tomes closest to them. “I would share the journals of our ancestors with him.”

“And the truth of the blood-bond?”

“That, too.”

“Then may the
Lady
bless our path this day.” The warrior pushed to his feet, a grim expression on his face. “I suspect we’re going to need
Her
guidance and as much patience as we can muster.”

Imhara drew in a slow breath, the image of a certain furious Light Blade warrior foremost in her mind. “Indeed.”

* * *

MORNING
sunlight pouring in through an open window drew Arek from a fitful sleep. The broad beam streaked across the stone floor before angling across the quilt to strike his face. He winced at the brightness and turned his head aside.

It took him a groggy moment to realize that he was no longer alone in the bedroom. He jerked upright, or tried to. Chain grated against wood. The manacles bit into his abused flesh and held him down. His muscles tensed for a fight he couldn’t engage in. Cursing, he welcomed the surge of anger that dulled the renewed pain and consuming bitterness of being helpless. How could he have been so careless as to have not heard someone enter?

A figure crossed in front of the window. “Our apologies for waking you, Arek, but we have much to accomplish before day’s end.”

The deep voice didn’t belong to Imhara Kaal. A swift glance at the rocker-chair showed her absent from the room, a fact that left him feeling cheated and disappointed at the same time. He’d expected her to return, to gloat, to present him with an opportunity for retribution.

Squinting against the light, he brought the silhouetted figure into focus only to discover three
Na’Reish
males had replaced her. The vestiges of sleep fled. He eyed each of them warily.

All were of similar height, dressed in the well-worn clothes of workmen, but their powerful builds and intense gazes betrayed them as warriors. Having trained such watchfulness into many new Light Blades, the look was a familiar one.

Arek’s memory stirred. “You’re the scout from the riverside.”

“I’m Rassan.”

The warrior’s dark hair was no longer pulled back into a single tail. It lay loose around his shoulders, but Arek remembered the voice and angular features.

“How do you know my name?”

“We rescued five other humans from Meelar’s raid caravan yesterday. One of them told me.”

Rescued? What an interesting turn of phrase.

The male gestured to the blond warrior standing by the fireplace. “That’s Barrca, and the one holding the tray is Jaclan.”

Jaclan possessed the more youthful, leaner stature, his rounded face lacking the shadowed stubble of the other two. He offered a nervous smile and quick nod of the head as he placed the tray on the small table beside the bed. The mouthwatering odor of cooked food drifted from beneath the cover, but Arek barely looked at it, his attention stolen by the color in the young warrior’s eyes.

His jaw loosened as shock washed through him, diluting his anger and taking the edge off his hatred.
Flecks of pale turquoise dotted the youth’s violet gaze.

“You’re
Na’Chi
!”

Chapter 8

“W
E
all are, Light Blade.”

Rassan’s declaration tore Arek’s gaze away from the young male. A swift look confirmed the scout’s declaration. Tones of green flecked each of the other two warrior’s eyes, yet their darker sun-bronzed skin and black lips, their larger, more powerful builds, and genetic markings were identical to any
Na’Reish
. Only the youth bore any resemblance to the
Na’Chi
he knew from Sacred Lake.

“You’ll find almost half the population of this Clan are of mixed blood.” The dark-haired warrior gestured to Jaclan. “His mother is
Na’Reish
but his father is human. Barrca and myself are three-quarters
Na’Reish
.”

That meant more than one generation of half-blood children had survived to adulthood. Arek’s jaw loosened.

“No demon tolerates your existence.” The words escaped before he could recall them.

“I see that you’re familiar with our race.” Rassan grunted and moved to the corner of the bed, a faint smile curving the corners of his mouth. “Then there’s substance to the rumors of the alliance between humans and the other group of
Na’Chi
. This bodes well.”

For what? It was on the tip of Arek’s tongue to ask, but this time he succeeded in holding on to the question.

“You neither confirm or deny the rumor. Considering what you believe your situation to be, I suppose I can’t blame you.”

Arek snorted softly. “What would you know of my thoughts?”

“You assume you’re a slave within this House. You’re not.”

Arek bared his teeth in a humorless grin and rattled the chains binding him to the bed. “So you treat all your guests like this?”

“You’re the first Light Blade we’ve been able to rescue. Imhara disagreed with my decision to use restraints, but I wasn’t prepared to compromise her safety.”

Arek’s gaze narrowed. The
Na’Chi
had ordered him chained to the bed, not the demon?

Violet eyes flecked with somber green flickered to the bite mark on his arm. The
Na’Chi’s
mouth tightened.
He knew
. The knowledge was there in his expression.

“Imhara’s . . . actions . . . were her way of protecting you from what lies outside these walls.”

Arek stiffened. “You excuse what she’s done to me?” The words exploded from him in a heated rush.

Rassan shook his head. “I don’t, but I understand her fears better than you. She damaged any chance of you trusting her to give you time to understand your situation.”

“My situation?” he growled. “Don’t you mean my
place
?”

The flecks in the warrior’s eyes changed briefly to black, his mouth pulled down at the corners, but then he continued talking as if he’d never heard Arek’s comment. “The explanation of what she did to you belongs to her, and she’ll address it once your needs have been seen to.”

Arek’s innards prickled at the promise of seeing Imhara Kaal again. All he had to be was patient. The thought helped bank the outrage seething inside him.

“My needs?” he asked.

From his breeches’ pocket, Rassan produced a metal key. Gesturing with his chin to the opposite side of the room, he flipped back the quilt and inserted it in the lock of his ankle restraint. “Through that door lies a bath and clean clothes. The tray Jaclan brought holds your breakfast. The order in which you choose to eat and bathe is yours.”

Arek’s breath caught as the manacle snapped open. He flexed his leg, working his stiff muscles as elation surged through him.

“Be cautioned though”—the warrior’s voice dropped, deepened—“should you attempt to attack or harm any of us, we won’t hesitate to shackle you again.”

Behind him, Barrca held up two sets of wrist and ankle chains. The metal links clinked in soft warning.

Pick your battles
. Yevni’s gruff voice echoed in his head. How often had the grizzled arms-master quoted that saying?

Previous experience training with the
Na’Chi
at Sacred Lake had taught Arek the difficulty of gaining the upper hand. Here it would be three to his one, against
Na’Chi
-enhanced strength and speed. Yevni’s advice was sound—this wasn’t a battle to be tempted by.

Arek nodded to acknowledge Rassan’s warning and, in seconds, was free of his bonds. As he rose, all three
Na’Chi
took a wary step away from the bed, their gazes locked on him. He ignored them, rubbing life back into his limbs, then covered the distance to the other door in three long strides.

Peering into the small bathing room, he grunted softly when it proved to have no windows, just a privy in the corner, and a steam vent set high into the ceiling, well out of his reach. The bedroom door remained the only exit to other parts of the fortress.

The deep, rectangular pool set into the floor offered nothing but a stoppered jar of soap-sand, a few hooks on one wall, a towel, and the promised clothes hanging from the hooks. For half a second, he considered trying to rip a hook from the wall for use as a weapon, but that decision faded with the opportunity to tend his abused body and gather his strength. A better time would arise.

Leaving the door open a hand’s width to let in the morning sunlight, he stripped, throwing the dirt-encrusted clothes in a shadowed corner. Privacy paled in comparison to slipping in the dark and cracking his head open, especially when he needed all his wits about him. And as much as he desired to soak away every ache and bruise, he made quick use of the facility.

Hot water. Clean clothes. Warm food. All things he’d never take for granted again.

With no desire to perch on the bed to eat, he crouched with his back pressed up against one wall and dug into the simple breakfast as fast as his stomach could tolerate. No one spoke, and the absence of conversation suited him just fine.

The revelation of there being more
Na’Chi
than those who existed at Sacred Lake had him watching his three guards as openly as they observed him. The
Na’Chi
who’d followed Annika from Savyr’s fortress had claimed no knowledge of any others of their race among the
Na’Reish
. Yet here, according to Rassan’s claims, half the population of Kaal Fortress possessed
Na’Chi
blood.

Generations of them.

In a
Na’Reish
stronghold.

How had they remained undiscovered for so long?

What had Imhara Kaal said last night?
We live differently than the other Clans.
Had she been speaking the truth?

Arek scraped the last of the milk-boiled grain from the bowl with a crust of bread, his gaze flitting between the three warriors. The idea that a
Na’Reish
demon tolerated half-bloods defied belief, but the presence of them here suggested it could be so.

And that raised another, more incredible situation. His perception of Imhara Kaal could be incorrect.

Yet what of making him a blood-slave?

His gut twisted, no longer able to ignore her teeth marks on his forearm. The small puncture wounds remained red, bruises decorating their edges. His fingers tightened around the bowl until his knuckles whitened.

She’d taken his blood to bind him to her, to stop him escaping. The act deliberate, calculating.

Damning.

In that, she was no different from any other
Na’Reish
he’d come across.

Arek grimaced, replaying everything that had happened to him since waking up in the bed. His gut burned every time he thought of Imhara Kaal, and every fiber of his being revolted at the idea of being her
blood-slave. But now the presence of the
Na’Chi
confused the issue.

Confronting such conflicting facts proved . . . unsettling. Something he detested. Everything inside him demanded he take action, but what could he do? There was no clear path for him to take; yet another frustration to add to the growing list.

A knock at the door drew Arek from his thoughts. Jaclan looked to Rassan, only opening it when the older warrior nodded. Neither he nor Barrca moved to greet the woman, denying him the advantage of a turned back. Good training, he conceded, and shifted his attention to the visitor.

“Rassan, you asked for me?” The woman was human, her hair more gray than black. She greeted the
Na’Chi
with a smile; the warmth of it made her dark eyes sparkle. Her face was long, her tanned skin marked well with lines of age and experience. She mightn’t have been wearing healer green, but the simple shift belted around her and the suede leather bag at her side labeled her as one.

Her boot sole scraped on stone as the healer took an awkward step into the room, favoring her left leg.

“Nayvia, thank you for coming.” The
Na’Chi
warrior took the hand she extended, a gesture of greeting and assistance in turn. “Arek has injuries that need seeing to.”

Arek placed the empty bowl aside and pushed to his feet as she turned her gaze on him.

“Welcome to the House of Kaal.” She held out her hands and he placed his on top of them. She made sympathetic tsking sounds as she examined his abraded wrists. “It’s an honor to meet one of the
Lady’s
Light Blades. Your arrival has been much anticipated. That Rassan was able to sense your presence and save you from Meelar is a blessing.”

Arek’s gaze flickered behind her. “You’re Gifted?”

The
Na’Chi
warrior inclined his head. “I have an affinity for detecting
Her
power in others.”

Nayvia made a noise in the back of her throat. “Your skill is remarkable.” Brown eyes lifted to meet his, the warmth in them genuine. “Rassan’s helped discover some of our most talented students.”

Students? Arek remained silent as Nayvia ferreted through her pouch. She withdrew a jar and uncorked it. The heavy mint odor of
Vaa’jahn
assailed his nostrils. She smeared it over the raw wounds on his wrists, then the healing cut on his head. For a few heartbeats it stung, then his skin went numb.

“If you have questions, Arek, ask them,” Rassan said. “Our answers will be freely given.”

His head snapped up, wondering how the warrior had known, then released a short huff of breath. How many times had Varian, his
Na’Chi
friend, cautioned him to contain his scent? Their senses were as acute as any
Na’Reish.
He had to be more careful from now on. “You have a school? Here?”

“I suppose it does come as a surprise to you.” Nayvia’s dark gaze glittered with undisguised amusement. “We have tutors and guilds like the ones you have at Sacred Lake. Potentials are identified and taught to harness their Gifts to benefit the Clan. Human and
Na’Chi
alike.”

Arek search the healer’s face for any sign of untruth and found none. For the first time he realized her cheek did not bear a slave-tattoo. Lifting a hand, he gently turned her head to one side then the other, looking for it elsewhere.

She cocked an eyebrow at him, then nodded in silent understanding. “You’ll find no mark upon me or any other human here.” She touched a thin gold band encircling her throat. “You’ll see all of us wearing one of these or an armband with a moon inside a sun etched onto them. We honor the Old Ways, but outside these walls, the
Na’Reish
believe they’re the mark of Kaal ownership. The absence of slave-tattoos are a deviation excused as one of Imhara’s many eccentricities.”

The woman spoke of the
Na’Reishi
female with affection in her voice. So had Rassan.

“Are you injured anywhere else?” Nayvia asked. Arek turned and pulled up the back of his shirt. The woman hissed, her fingertips pressing softly against his skin. “I recognize Meelar’s handiwork in these lashes.”

She set to work spreading
Vaa’jahn
over them.

“You’re lucky to have survived his hand.” Rassan’s voice vibrated with cold anger. “His liking for the whip has taken many lives.” Arek glanced over his shoulder and took in the chiseled tightness of the warrior’s visage.
“One day I shall take great pleasure in wrapping it around his throat and ending his.”

Arek raised a brow. “You hold no love for the boat-master?”

The black flecks in Rassan’s eyes expanded, almost blotting out the violet as his pale black lips curved into a humorless smile. “None at all.”

“Done,” Nayvia said.

Arek nodded his thanks.

Rassan gestured to the bedroom door. “Come, it’s time you saw Kaal Fortress.”

Arek’s heart tripped faster as they exited the bedroom.
Watch, listen, use that knowledge to your advantage.
A wry smile twitched on his lips as Yevni’s words echoed in his head. Never one to sit back and accept an unfavorable situation, he’d take the training master’s advice.

Along the walls of the corridor, huge woven hangings portrayed scenes of
Na’Reish
life: fields being harvested, hunting, daily chores, and leisure sports and pastimes. The colors were faded, and contrary to what he’d expected. Not one picture depicted a battle or war.

“The weavings are some of the oldest within the fortress.” Rassan brushed a careful hand over the nearest as they passed. “Keep looking around, Light Blade. Observe. I suspect by the time we reach the library, you’ll have many questions.” His violet gaze linked with Arek’s, level, steady. “Imhara awaits us there. If you can hold on to your anger, she’ll provide you with all the answers you seek.”