Every Battle Lord's Nightmare (24 page)

            Yulen struggled to sit up. Atty helped him, keeping him steady as his head swam momentarily. “Where are my clothes?” He half-expected her to protest him getting out of bed. Instead, she placed a palm to his forehead.

            “Your fever broke earlier. How do you feel?”

            “Weak, but better than I was. Whatever that Mutah doctor had Fergus do seemed to work.”

            He watched as she crawled over the blankets to retrieve his clothing, tossing the pants and tunic onto the pillow beside him. As he began to dress, he could tell how far from one hundred percent he was. His responses were slower than usual. His arms and legs felt rubbery. His thoughts remained somewhat muddled. But he could breathe again. Drawing in a lungful of air, he smiled to himself. Funny how a few days with a serious congestion and a clogged head could make one appreciate one’s good health.

            Once he pulled on his boots, he managed to get to his feet without Atty’s aid, and buckled on his weapons belt as she ran her fingers through his hair to tie back the long, blond strands.

            Shrugging on his coat, he exited the tent with her behind him. Fortune spotted him first.     “Yulen! You’re up!”

            Mastin quickly joined him, then Renken and Twoson, as Atty and Paxton went to fetch Thrasher and let the physician know her husband was awake.

            Yulen glanced at the devastation surrounding him. The remains of several dead bats lay scattered about as a group of soldiers gathered up their fallen comrades to take them someplace where the bodies would be prepared for cremation. A few yards away, more soldiers were dragging the bat carcasses to another location. Although it was evident it had recently snowed, the ground was a blotted patchwork of red and white.

            A check of the battlements confirmed what Atty had told him. None of Highcliff’s guards were present. That alone had ominous overtones.

Yulen turned to his second. “Report.”

            “We were eight men short when the gates were shut. And they were shut without warning. A signal was given right before they were closed, but no one, as far as we can tell, had been notified that the gates would be closed. Several other battle lords here also report missing troops, Batuset included. Our guess is they were still at the faire when it happened. Soon after, we noticed the guards had left the parapets. We don’t know if they left prior to the gates shutting, or afterwards. Yulen, a battle lord camped nearby says he’s been here for two days. He told us the gates were never shut after dark. Not until today, and not until it was dusk. It wasn’t even full-on dark yet.”

“And the bats?”

“They showed up ten, maybe fifteen minutes later,” Fortune added. “You want my honest opinion? I think Highcliff knew those bats would fly over us. I think he deliberately shut those gates to trap us in here so we would be easy fodder for those things.”

Yulen started to reply when he heard his name called out. Thrasher ran up and greeted him by grabbing his wrist to check his pulse. “How’s your breathing?” the physician asked in clipped tones.

Yulen could see the man was exhausted. His face was pinched, and his clothes were matted with blood. It was obvious Thrasher had been helping attend to the wounded non-stop since the attack.

“Much better, thanks to you.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank those Mutah doctors.” Thrasher pressed his ear to Yulen’s back. “Take two slow, deep breaths through your nose and exhale through your mouth. Good. Very good. Your lungs sound clear, for the most part. A little residual gurgling, but you’ll eventually cough that up.” He pressed the back of his hand to the battle lord’s neck. “Atty told me your fever broke an hour or so ago. Look at me. Good. You have a healthier color in your face. Your eyes are clear. Give me your hand.”

Yulen patiently allowed the doctor to check him out. In the meantime, he looked around the camp. “Atty said we need to expect more of Highcliff’s shenanigans. Any idea what it might be?” Mentioning her name, he looked around to see if she’d returned, but he couldn’t spot her. “Fergus, where’s Atty?”

The doctor glanced over his shoulder. “She and Paxton were right behind me.”

“Wonder what’s taking them?” he muttered aloud.

Thrasher stepped away. “All right. Barring you taking on a Blood army single-handedly, I pronounce you on the mend. Just take it easy for the next few days until you get your strength back. Yulen? Are you listening to me?”

“Yulen?” Someone else said his name, but Yulen had gone blank. His vision dimmed, as if every light around him was being extinguished. His mind retreated, allowing his soul to open up as another presence reached out to him. Called out to him. Cried out his name in fear.

Yul!

A surge of fear went through him. Instinctively, he drew his sword as he mentally reached out to her.

Atty!

The others around him saw his reaction. Almost as one, they drew their own weapons and circled the battle lord.

“D’Jacques!”

The voice came from a distance, further down the wall. A man was trying to get his attention.

“D’Jacques!”

Someone shrieked, followed by several more. Then there was a chilling scream. Yulen turned and hurried toward it with his men right behind him.

A large crowd was already gathered near the closed gates. Several saw him heading their way and parted to let him through.

Yulen didn’t know what he would find, but he never expected to see Paxton’s body lying in a pool of blood on the ground in front of the massive wood and iron doors. The man was face down, the back of his coat a solid mass of red. Paas was kneeling beside the fallen soldier as her shoulders shook with her silent tears. She glanced up when Mastin cried out and started to reach for his friend, launching herself into his arms.

“Two men slipped through the gate and took Atty! Warren tried to protect her, but that bastard had him killed!” she screamed, pointing overhead.

Yulen tore his eyes away from the second to see Highcliff standing on the parapet. Beside him, two soldiers held a struggling figure in their grasp. Although it was difficult to tell in the semi-darkness, he knew she’d been gagged.

“
Atty!
” He looked at Highcliff, his anger giving him strength. “What the fuck, Highcliff?”

The battle lord laughed and motioned for Yulen to join him. “Come on up, D’Jacques! Come on up! I want you to see what your high and mighty aspirations have created!”

Two more soldiers appeared, climbing onto the ramparts from the other side of the wall. They dropped down a rope ladder, securing it on spikes running along the upper ledge.

“Yulen, don’t!” Mastin jumped up and barred Yulen’s way. His face was white with fear as he frantically shook his head. “Don’t go up there.”

“Get out of my way, Cole. That bastard has Atty,” he said through gritted teeth. He reached out to push the man to the side, when another arm slammed across his chest to prevent him from getting on the ladder. Yulen struggled against Renken’s hold.

“Let me, Yulen,” the ex-mercenary hissed in his ear. “Let me go up to get her.”

Before Yulen could respond, Renken released him and hurried for the ladder. Everyone watched as the man expertly climbed the narrow iron rungs. He was less than two yards from reaching the upper lip of the catwalk when Highcliff motioned to the two soldiers overseeing the ladder.

“Kill him.”

Yulen cried out in horror as the men lifted crossbows and aimed at Renken. Renken glanced up and realized he couldn’t defend himself, and tried to swing out of their range. But there was nowhere to go but sideways, and the ladder had little give.

One arrow missed, but another one struck him in the neck, below the ear, and plowed into his shoulder. Renken jerked at the impact, freezing in place. The soldiers promptly reloaded and fired again. Both arrows hit their mark—one in his temple, the other in an arm. But the ex-mercenary continued to cling to the ladder.

Yulen started forward to help, when Mastin shoved the battle lord to the side and tried to reach the injured man. Too late, Yulen saw a soldier lift his sword and throw it like a javelin. The heavy blade struck Renken in the chest, finally knocking him off the ladder. Yulen knew the man was dead before he hit the ground. Kneeling by the body, Mastin confirmed it with a shake of his head.

“Let me have a go at the soldiers holding Atty.” Fortune pressed against Yulen’s arm. “I can put a knife in each eye before they know it’s coming.”

“No!” Yulen gave him a fearful glare. “They could fall and drag Atty down with them.”

“Again, D’Jacques. Come on up,” Highcliff invited once more. “Or would you rather I send your pregnant Mutah wife down there instead?”

“You let her go, Highcliff!” Chucking his jacket, he marched toward the ladder, but this time Batuset tried to stop him. Yulen slapped his friend’s hand away and kept going.

Climbing was difficult. His legs felt like tree trunks, his arms weak and watery. What strength he’d had was rapidly ebbing away. Shaking his head to clear it, he forced himself to concentrate on hoisting himself up one rung at a time. Each jerky movement slammed him against the barricade, forcing thin slivers of wood to puncture his legs, arms, and back.

It seemed to take hours, but eventually he made it to the lip. Two pairs of hands roughly jerked him over the edge and to his feet, and promptly trussed his arms behind him. Yulen fought to free himself, but he knew it was futile. He simply didn’t have the strength anymore.

He tried to glance over at Atty, but the catwalk was too narrow to see her past the soldiers. A quick test of the ropes binding him from wrist to elbow verified what he already suspected. There was no getting out of them.

“Glad to see you made the right decision,” Highcliff sneered.

“What’s going on, Highcliff?” Yulen managed to shout at the battle lord. “Why did you kill my men?”

“I thought the answer to that would be obvious by now.” Highcliff smiled.

Yulen didn’t have to guess what the man meant. “You never intended to hold a summit. You deliberately lured us here. Why, Alton? For God’s sake, why?”

“Well, for starters, let’s start with a little matter of revenge,” a strange voice answered.

Turning around, Yulen watched numbly as a short, stocky man with flaming red hair climbed over the divide which separated the two walled sections. The man paused to grin at the battle lord. It took a moment before Yulen realized who it was. The resemblance was there, but there were some differences.

“Karv?”

“Mig Karv. Tosh was my little brother. You remember him, don’t you? He was your second before you killed him,” Karv replied menacingly. “And because of what you did, you and your Mutah whore will die. You’ve been found guilty of murder by your peers, D’Jacques. The sentence is death for you both. And I’m delighted to tell you I’m going to be your executioner.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Martyrs

            Yulen stared in shock at the man who stood laughing at him. “What’s the matter, D’Jacques? Feral cat got your tongue?” Karv taunted.

            Yulen glanced over at where Highcliff watched with his arm crossed over his chest. “What have I done to deserve this? Tell me!” he demanded.

            Highcliff uncrossed his arms and placed his hands on his hips. The smile that had been on his face was replaced by a scowl. “You and that slut are threatening to upset the delicate balance of nature, that’s why! For hundreds of years, Mutah have been our enemy. They’re freaks of nature, and they deserve to be wiped off the face of this earth for good! But you… You want to make treaties with those aberrations of humanity. You want to procreate with them and produce more inhuman oddities. Oh, yes, I’ve heard about you son, D’Jacques. I’ve heard about his freakish red eyes that make him appear more monster than human. Trust me. When we’re done with you tonight, me, my army, and those battle lords who believe as I do and their armies will go down to Alta Novis and claim it for our own. And every Mutah we find along the way will be eradicated, including your half-breed brat. Someone has to stop you and this insane endeavor you’ve started, Yulen.”

            “I’m not the one who’s insane,” Yulen snapped. He glanced over the crowd gathered below. His own men stared up at him, their weapons drawn but useless. “I don’t see LeGreen. How did he figure in all this?”

            “He was the mastermind of this whole idea right from the start. Quite ingenious, if you ask me. He plotted out the details, and now I get to carry them out. His brain, my brawn. We’re an unbeatable combination.”

            A gust of freezing wind blew over them, and Yulen involuntarily shivered. It was then he noticed the dark blue heap lying next to Paxton’s body. Atty’s coat. Without it, she was exposed to the cold.
If she gets hypothermia, it will affect the baby.

            He never heard the man move up behind him until his arm was grabbed and a dagger was put to his throat. The tip dug into the flesh, drawing a bead of blood that ran down his neck.

            “Enough of this talk. I’ve waited too long to do this,” Karv growled, challenging Highcliff.

            The battle lord waved a hand. “Soon, Mig. Soon. I promise. Just let me have a few more minutes to gloat. In the meantime, go fetch the archers.”

            Karv hesitated. Finally emitting an irritated grunt, he released Yulen and climbed back over the divider to disappear down the other side of the wall. Yulen leaned over to find the faire grounds empty. A few banners flapped in the wind, but the place was deserted. Yulen squinted into the darkness. As far as he could tell, there were no tents to show where the vendors were camped. The place looked completely abandoned. There was no telling where the people had gone, or where the missing soldiers were being held.
If
they were being held. He was beginning to believe the men had been taken prisoner inside Highcliff’s dungeons. But it was more likely they’d already been killed and disposed of.