Emergence (Book 2) (15 page)

He called his power back to him, whispered ancient words of binding to blend within the chalice, and turned back to her. "You have already willingly given your blood. Your desire for more is obvious."

Donovan stepped toward her with the chalice. A moan escaped her as he trailed his fingers down the side of her neck.

"I hate you," she said, but the words had little vehemence.

"And I you."

She took the chalice in both hands and Donovan circled around behind her. He slid the robe from her shoulders, let
ting it drop to pool around her feet. Brushing her hair to the side, he placed a kiss on the nape of her neck.

"There is no pleasure that can rival what you will experience tonight," he whispered. "You will be immersed in such power as the Dominion could never have offered. Give me your vow, Priestess."

His hands caressed her smooth skin. She put the chalice to her lips and murmured something in a language Donovan did not recognize. The words may have been foreign to his ears, but the meaning of them slithered through him in a rush of delight. She tipped the chalice back and downed the contents in a quick gulp.

Teeva shuddered. The chalice slipped from her fingers and clattered to the ground. Her teeth began to chatter and she threw her arms around herself. "All that I have is yours." She turned in his arms and backed toward the altar, drawing him with her.

Donovan stripped off his own robe. His body hummed with pleasure. He spread his arms to the side and lifted his face to the night sky. Darkness surrounded him, a nectar sweeter than any. Power surged through him, and for once the crone's seemed in complete accord as he called the Dominion magic to his embrace.

Teeva whimpered. Her magic crackled and hissed as Donovan drew it around them both, calling on the blessing of the dark moon. She reached for him then, pulling him down to her and running her hands over his body.

"Yes," she murmured, and her nails dug into his back. "Blood and body, as my vow. Yours to command until they are taken from you."

***

They were a coarse lot. Three men and a woman dressed in rough wool and scarred leather. They bristled with weapons, some of obvious Imperial origin, the confiscated bounty of raids against the Emperor's forces. No surprise there. Imperial troops were, after all, a marauder's favorite quarry.

Two of the men were brutes in both height and build. Muscled, dour, seething with anger and hatred at the world, they stood with feet planted and hands resting on their weapons. Both had long, dirty hair that hung around their scalps in thick braids--or possibly matted clumps, Donovan had a hard time determining which. Small bones and colored beads decorated the strands of their beards. They looked enough alike to be brothers
, and smelled rank enough to make his eyes water even with a stiff wind. They were the intimidation.

The third man had a darker complexion and slighter build. He had drawn Donovan's eye immediately with the smooth way he moved, and the constant attention he paid his surroundings. His hands were never near a weapon, yet of the men, he posed the most danger.

The woman, however, led this little band of miscreants. She wore her command around her like a cloak. Tall and straight without an ounce of bend, head high, raven hair glistening in the torchlight as the breeze played across the courtyard. She moved with a self-possessed, predatory grace. Nothing soft about this woman. Piercing blue eyes took in everything in one sweep, and Donovan had no doubt she had tallied the number of guards, every possible entrance and exit, and how a pitched battle would play out before they had even dismounted from their shaggy horses. A gold torque circled her neck, both decorative and functional. An Imperial vambrace encased her right forearm and one of the two swords at her hip bore the Imperial insignia. Trophies proudly displayed.

"Lenia of Tor Gurn, I take it?" Donovan said.

She inclined her head, but her eyes never left his. "An impressive stronghold, Black Prince. It reeks of death."

"Does that disturb you?"

"On the contrary, I find it--invigorating." She had an excellent command of the Imperial tongue.

"I suppose one such as yourself would eventually come to find the walls as confining as the Emperor's hold on your lands."

Her eyes narrowed. It spoke of intelligence. The slight hadn't gone unmarked.

"We share a common enemy there," Donovan said.

"In the Emperor?" She arched a slender brow. Her tone took on a sarcastic edge. "But you are a Lord of the Empire, Black Prince. Does the Emperor not hold your allegiance?"

"You and I have been neighbors for many years." Donovan ignored her question. "Your tenure is amazing in a culture that changes chieftains as the sun chases the moon. It speaks highly of your skill as a leader. A time approaches when I will find that of great value."

Both brows rose in haughty dismissal. "The Tor Gurn follow no lord."

"Not even one who would raise them up to the status they deserve?"

The slender man beside Lenai shifted. The chieftain studied Donovan without giving anything away. "And what status is that?"

"You raid and pillage because you were removed from lands that should be yours by right and birth. The Emperor will never let you have them unless you swear to be bound by his laws. Laws which hold no place in your life. And why should they? The Tor Gurn are a free people, are they not? A once proud people now reduced to squabbling like brats over scraps of swe
etmeat tossed on the floor by their oh-so-benevolent master."

That brought a shift from all of them, and Lenai's lip curled. "And you would offer us something different?"

"All the lands from here to the eastern shore, and any others you can take and hold to govern as you see fit."

"All those currently in the Emperor's hand. Are we to take them with our numbers? Or have you some vast army capable of defeating the
Imperials?" She swiveled, looking around the courtyard, her arms outspread. "Hmm? Perhaps they are summering in the Reaches."

One of the brutes smirked.

"An Imperial escort will be traveling north to Nisair," Donovan said. "In their company will be a young woman. I want her. Alive."

Linea's sneer returned. "The Tor Gurn are not for hire."

"And you will receive no payment for your services, other than the escort itself, to do with as you see fit."

"We need no permission from you to do as much."

"Indeed not. But you will need my assistance."

The woman turned her head and spat. "To take a pack of
Imperial dogs? Not likely."

"Tell me, Lenai of Tor Gurn, how is your mage these days?"

The slender man brought his head up, his dark eyes fixed on Donovan without wavering. He took half a step forward before Linea reached back and placed a palm against his chest to stop him.

Donovan smiled. "Ah, at your side I see. Interesting." He turned his full attention on the man. "Tell me, what is your specialty?"

"Why is it you ask?" Lenai answered for him.

Donovan ignored her. "Allow me to guess. You have an affinity for manipulating weather patterns? Am I correct? No doubt a handy skill when planning tactical maneuvers. Have you ever tested yourself against real power?"

"Do you threaten me?" the mage asked, his voice soft and smooth as silk, carrying the accent of the deep eastern coast.

"I merely seek to know the limits of your talent, mage," Donovan said. "You have, of course, heard of the Sciath na Duinne?"

The mage's brows drew downward. "A channeler of ancient myth."

"Far more than a channeler, and no more myth than you or I. The Emperor's own pet rides with this escort, as does one with the full power of the Greensward. How do you think you will fair against them?"

"They can die by steel just like anyone," Lenai said.

"I highly doubt you could get close enough. I would suggest not underestimating their abilities. You will find them and send word through your mage. When the time is right I will provide a distraction. You will bring me the woman. She is to be untouched." The full weight of his gaze swung back to the chieftain. He held out a small vial. "I suggest you use this to subdue her."

Lenai glanced at Donovan's hand, but made no move to take the bottle. "You have great power, Black Prince, and many mercenaries at your disposal. Curiosity at the nature of your request brought me here, but I've heard no compelling reason for the Tor Gurn to aid you. Take the woman yourself if you want her. Buy her from me if we take her first. She may be for sale if my men choose not to keep her."

Donovan took a step toward the chieftain. Her men jerked, unable to move when they would have come to aid her. The mage looked their way and a bitter scowl crossed his face.

"Do you value your life, Lenai of Tor Gurn?" Donovan asked. "The lives of your men? The women and children in your camp who follow your tenuous lead? I know well what little regard you hold for other lives, especially those of Imperial alignment. But your own tribe is far more dear to your heart."

The mage uttered something under his breath, and managed to draw his dagger but could do nothing more.

Donovan spared him a look. "Impressive. A shame your loyalty lies with this one. I could make use of such as you."

The mage cursed in the marauder tongue, straining against the bonds of power holding him. His eyes blazed with anger and hatred bred of jealousy.

"You will do this thing for me," Donovan said to Lenai. "Unless you would prefer to see your children hanging outside my gates. An infant son, I believe? And a daughter already growing in your image?"

The marauder chieftain remained passive, not as much as a flicker of concern in her expression. "So you seek to make an enemy of me now, is that it?"

"I seek to make a mutually beneficial arrangement with you. And if not you, then someone else. Surely there are men within your tribe who aspire to strip you of your position? Men who would gladly aid me in return for less than I offer you." He placed the vial in her palm, squeezing her fingers closed around it. "Locate the escort, Lenai of Tor Gurn. Secure the woman for me or sacrifice your children and your tribe. Your kind are like fleas on a dog, there are always more to be found."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Ciara leaned against the cart, chewing at a hangnail
, and wishing she knew even a small bit of Galysian so she could understand what Bolin and Nialyne were arguing about. Though Nialyne seemed to be doing most of the talking while Bolin helped Duff see to the horses. For his part, Duff kept his head lowered, every now and again casting a furtive, sidelong glance at the Galysian elder as though worried her ire would spill over on him.

At one point Bolin barked out a harsh laugh and gestured in
Ciara's direction, and Nialyne stiffened. Ciara couldn't see her expression, but Bolin's darkened considerably. If it had been two men facing one another, she had no doubt a fight would have ensued. Bolin turned his back, and after a moment Nialyne threw her arms in the air and whirled.

"That man is the most stubborn, arrogant--" She broke off, her brows raised, gaze fixed on Garek who had the temerity to be chuckling. "You find humor in this, Commander?"

"Aye, that I do. Meaning no disrespect, Lady, but you've been acquainted with him for a far sight longer than I. Those qualities should be of no surprise to you."

Nialyne opened her mouth, but the response died on her lips in a thudding of horse's hooves. Berk had
returned from scouting, hauling his mount to a skidding halt at the edge of their camp. His sweeping gaze landed on Garek first. "Commander, we've got a problem."

He hopped off his horse just as Bolin arrived around the other side.

"Marauders," Berk said.

"Where?" Bolin asked.

Berk gave a jerk of his head back the way he had come. "Due north, a league at the most."

"How many?"

"I counted twelve, all on horseback. But they're light armed and no packs. I'm guessing it's a hunting party."

Garek rubbed his chin. "Which means they've a camp somewhere close by."

"They were heading northwest. No outriders that I saw."

"They didn't spot you?"

"No, sir."

"Good lad." Garek slapped Berk's shoulder
, and shoved him toward the picket line. "Get that beast put up, and get some food in you. Sully."

"Have marauders been causing problems again?" Bolin asked.

Garek gave a non-committal shrug. "We've been hearing rumors. Mostly along the eastern shores and higher into the wild country. Nothing organized. Started late winter, probably when food got tight and they took to raiding some of the smaller villages."

"And I wasn't sent word of this, why?"

He gave Bolin an inscrutable look. "You were otherwise occupied. The Emperor didn't feel it was anything needing a great deal of attention. It's not like they're organizing into anything larger."

"Not yet."

Sully stopped a respectful distance off until Garek waved him in closer. "We've got marauder issues."

"Pardon my naivety." Nialyne stepped forward. The edge to her voice told Ciara the elder hadn't recovered from her
earlier disagreement with Bolin. "These marauders certainly wouldn't attack an Imperial escort without provocation, would they?"

Garek snorted. "Doesn't take much for a marauder to feel provoked."

"And they've never thought highly of the empire as a whole," Bolin said. "No love lost on either side."

"Plenty of lives, though," Sully said
softly. "Both sides."

"What are you thinking, General?" Garek asked.

"We'll have to find their camp, then make sure we give it a wide enough berth to avoid their hunting parties. You hold here, I'll take Sully and Duff." Bolin turned to Nialyne. "We'll need wards set around the perimeter, if you would, please."

Nialyne nodded. Sully had already headed toward the horses, calling for Duff. Ciara stood for a moment, trying to absorb what she'd heard, then trailed after Bolin. She caught up to him before he made it to the picket line, and stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"What can I do?" she asked.

He blinked at her, cocking his head as though he'd expected a different question. "You can stay here and get some rest. If anything happens, you do exactly as Garek says. Understood?" When Ciara didn't answer quickly enough, Bolin cupped her chin and tilted her face up. He traced the line of her lower lip with his thumb. "I can't be worrying about you. Promise you'll do what you're told."

"What about you?"

"We're just scouting. They'll not even know we're there."

"And if they do?"

Bolin raised a brow. "Do you think this is the first time we've done this, then?"

"What if it's a trap?" Ciara asked. Her eyes darted away, then back. "What if Donovan's behind it?"

"Donovan would have more luck harnessing the wind than getting marauders to do his bidding. They're not a particularly agreeable lot." Bolin dropped his hand to her arm and gave it a squeeze. "We'll be back before dusk. I promise."

His hand lingered, then he turned, and went to join the others. He conferred quickly with Berk, swung onto one of the extra mounts, and rode off, Sully and Duff following.

***

The sun had long since passed its zenith and started its steady crawl toward the horizon. Ciara had tried to rest, something everyone else seemed to be able to do without a problem judging by the snores emanating from both Berk and Salek. Even Nialyne seemed to have drifted off, stretched out on a blanket under the trees, her wards trickling around the perimeter of their camp. Garek stood on watch, leaning against a tree, cleaning his fingernails with a wickedly long knife.

"He said they'd be back by dusk," Ciara said, as she paced in front of him.

The Commander glanced at the sky. "Still time then."

"What if something happened?"

"Then the likelihood of them returning with the gloaming is slight."

Ciara faced him, her hands on her hips, head cocked. "That's it?"

Garek shrugged. "I can't do anything until there's something to do anything about." He slipped the knife back into the sheath at his hip. "Look, if there's anyone alive can track without being seen, it's Sully. Bolin's not such a bad hand at it himself. So you need to put your mind at ease. They'll need to mark the marauder's camp and make sure we've got clear passage around it, but trust me, there's no way they'll engage them."

Ciara sighed and looked away, her face scrunched in a frown. "Who are these marauders anyhow?"

"Enemies of the empire. They like to cause problems, feel they should be able to live outside the Emperor's laws, take what they want. Kill who they want. Though they really prefer to kill Imperial guards. They banded together one time, and made a move on the Emperor." He rubbed the back of his neck. "That had to be a good twenty years or more past, now. They lost, of course. Outnumbered, mainly. Out trained, out disciplined. They're not ones to follow any single leader for any length of time, so before they really caused too much damage, they started fighting amongst themselves. Most folks look on them as little better than savages."

"What do you look on them as?"

Garek turned his head and spat. "Nothing that's polite enough to say in front of you."

"Will they attack us?"

He sucked in his cheeks and puckered his lips as he studied her, as though trying to size up how much to say. "There's nothing they like more than Imperial guards. I won't lie. If they see us, they'll try to take us. So best we just avoid them for now. Besides, you've got the best escort possible. We'll see you safe to Nisair."

Ciara frowned
, and continued her pacing.

The last rays of the sun made long wavering shadows of the trees they'd sheltered under, and the calls of night birds began to rise up. It may have been a subjective thing, but in Ciara's mind dusk had arrived.

"What do we do if they don't come back?"

"We'll never know." Garek pushed off the tree and jutted his chin toward the distance. "I believe that's them."

Then the sound of horses approaching caught her ears and the three men rode into view. Ciara's relief died in the grimness of their expressions.

***

Bolin gave the order to break camp immediately, pulling Garek and Sully aside for a lengthy discussion that apparently didn't include Ciara. But when she would have gone to help get the horses ready, Bolin stopped her.

"I need you and Nialyne to take the cart," he said. "And this."

He reached to slide a belt around her waist and cinch it tight. Ciara glanced down to where his long knife now hung ominously against her left hip. The intensity in Bolin's expression didn't help any.

"That doesn't mean you're to join in the fray," he said.

"Do you expect there to be one?" His hands rested on her hips, warming her inside and out, and Ciara fought the urge to lean into him.

"Hopefully not."

"I can set a ward around us," she offered. "Or Nialyne can."

Bolin shook his head. "Marauders don't trust magic, but they often travel with mages for the purpose of sniffing it out. We'll attract less notice if we just circle around. If anything happens, I'll send Berk or Sully to get you to safety. And for the love of the Goddess, Ciara, do as they say."

Her expression gave her away. Bolin's jaw ticked. "For the love of whatever you hold dear, then."

"For you." She bit her lip. Goddess's blood, she hadn't meant to actually give voice to that thought. And then it just hung there, between them, full of meaning he likely didn't want to go near.

Ciara dipped her head and shifted back, but Bolin's hands tightened where he held her. She glanced up at him, her brow furrowed, her own hands idle between them only with effort. He studied her face, and for once Ciara thought she saw a glimmer of something other than the apologetic dismissal that usually followed one of her declarations. She closed her eyes when he lowered his head, her breath catching, but the kiss he brushed across her forehead bore a disappointing resemblance to those she'd seen him offer Nialyne.

"I need a clear head on this journey," he said, his voice a rough whisper, his cheek resting against her temple. "You make that damn difficult. Do as I ask. Please. If we make it to Nisair--"

"If?" She leaned her head back to look at him.

"If," he said. He wet his lips. "I promise, we'll--"

"General?"

Bolin groaned at Garek's interruption. "We need to go." He brushed his fingers across her cheek. "Your word?"

She nodded. "My word."

"Then go." He jerked his head in the direction of the waiting cart, and went to join Garek.

***

They had swapped out the cart horses with the two mares. All four of the extra mounts were tacked; two had been tied to the back of the cart with a quick release knot, Duff had one beside him, Salek the other. Bolin and Garek had taken the lead, Sully and Berk brought up the rear, the cart with Nialyne driving tucked safely in the middle.

Ciara glanced up at the sky. Clouds scuttled across the face of the stars, and the deeper into the night they rode, the more the wind picked up, bringing with it a hint of rain. Ciara pulled the cowl of her cloak closer about her neck. As the first drops began to fall, Bolin cantered back down the line and circled Sandeen to fall in next to Nialyne's side of the cart.

"We're coming up on the
Eastern Road," he said. "I'd hope to avoid it altogether, but with the rain coming in, we'll make better time than cutting cross-country. Once we can find an easy path for the cart we'll pull off to make camp. Are you good for another couple leagues?"

"So long as the brunt of this storm holds off," Nialyne said.

Bolin cast a look skyward. "Goddess willing, it'll do just that. If you need anything, signal one of the men. We need to keep as quiet as possible."

He turned Sandeen and
rejoined Garek.

The road proved to be closer than Ciara thought it would be. A good thing, because shortly after they started moving again, the rain began to fall with more intensity. The mares surged forward, the cart rocking
wildly as they scrambled to haul it up the embankment. Once on the road, the going became much easier--until the skies let loose. They were drenched in no time, and the smooth wide planes of the road turned to slick, rain covered mud.