Marked (42 page)

He smiled at her, trying to lift her spirit, wanting to make her see that they’d get out of there alive.

“We’re going to make it!” he called out.

She returned his smile and, for an instant, her green eyes glimmered with a hint of optimism.

Lomar turned to face forward again, reliving the moment they’d shared in that cavern—not just the intoxicating kiss and the exciting physical contact, but the moment that followed... the moment when the Lancer’s and the Protectress’ souls were joined together in the midst of tragedy. The two had held on to that embrace, far from the world around them, comforting one another... their feelings blossoming... her head resting on his chest... A moment no one would ever be able to take away from them, a moment that had united them. For Lomar, everything had changed as a result of that moment. He could not get Jasmine out of his mind, could not stop thinking about being with her, or about the joy and excitement he felt just looking at her. He had not been expecting such intense feelings. The whole experience had taken him completely by surprise, and there was nothing he could do about it. Lomar was not convinced, however, that she felt the same way about him—though he hoped with every fiber of his being that she did. Nevertheless, he was acutely aware that, being a dedicated Protectress Sister, her loyalty to the Order would come between them. But Lomar would fight for her, would fight wind and tides, would find some way to make that unforgettable moment go on for the rest of their lives. Together.

“Keep going! We have to put a lot of land between us and them!” Jasmine urged.

“All right! Let me know if you see any problems with Haradin.”

“Don’t worry—I’m keeping my eye on him.”

Bound and determined to escape that hellish forest with their lives, Lomar continued heading west on the narrow trail, focused on making it to the wide open plains, to salvation.

They’d been fleeing on the wings of hope for what seemed like an eternity to Lomar when he caught a glimpse of a glimmering blue trail to his right, zigzagging through the trees.

“The river!” Lomar pointed as he looked back at Jasmine.

“Look out!” she urgently shouted back at him.

But Lomar did not have time to react.

Out from between the trees charged two Usik wielding spears. As Lomar passed by them, they brutally gored his horse.

The Lancer flew off the mount, his ears filled with the agonizing neigh of his steed as it stumbled and fell, mortally wounded.

Lomar’s body slammed into the ground and he tumbled and rolled violently. He’d landed face-first on the trail and the fall had left him stunned and aching with a bleeding head. Dizzy, he remained flat on the ground, watching as the horse that had Haradin tied to its back pass him by. Lomar lifted his hand in an attempt to stop it, but it was no use.

“Get up, Lomar! Get up!” Jasmine was shouting at him, forcefully pulling on the reins of her mount and stopping next to the wounded Lancer.

Inspired by the voice of the woman he loved, Lomar tried to get back on his feet. Ignoring the dizziness, the nausea, he struggled back to a standing position then unsheathed his sword and looked in front of him. The two Usik were heading straight for him, brandishing their battle axes. Lomar could not focus his vision; everything was blurry. All he could make out were the two faces, painted red. Though still completely dazed, he prepared to defend himself.

Jasmine shot an arrow, hitting the first Usik.

When the second Usik reached Lomar he let out a blood-curdling war cry. Frightened, Jasmine’s horse reared and she fell to the ground. Lomar, his vision still blurry, thrust his sword at the bellowing Usik, stabbing him in the arm and causing him to drop the battle axe. Lomar tried to stab him again to finish him off but missed. The savage took a long knife from his belt and lunged at Lomar. The Lancer fought with the precision of a drunkard in a tavern.

An arrow hit the Usik in the chest. He took two steps back and then collapsed.

Lomar turned and made out the hazy outline of Jasmine, on her feet again with her bow in her hand. She ran to him.

“Are you all right?” Jasmine asked, her voice full of concern.

“A little dizzy... it’s nothing...”

“Your head is really bleeding,” she said as she placed her hand over the wound.

“I’m fine, honestly. Don’t worry. I just need a minute for the dizziness to pass.” He clumsily caressed her cheek.

Another war cry rose up behind them. They spun around to see three Red Usik running out of the underbrush toward them.

Jasmine backed up as she placed an arrow on the bow and took aim.

Lomar blocked an axe aimed at his face but then stumbled. The Usik swung again but Jasmine shot him in the face; the arrow penetrated his left cheekbone. Lomar regained his balance in time to block the second attacker with his sword at the last second.

The third Usik hurled himself at Jasmine, spear in hand.

Lomar still could not focus his vision. He must have taken a harder knock to the head than he had initially thought. He tried to strike his opponent with a backhand but missed by a rather wide margin and the Usik dealt him a strong blow to the face with his forearm. Lomar was instantly paralyzed by an explosion of sharp pain, dazing him even more. The Usik then raised his axe just as Lomar, now completely lightheaded, lost his footing and dropped to his knees. The surprised Usik hesitated only a moment. And in that moment, Lomar, dizzy and unstable, raised his sword with the little strength he had remaining and executed a blind, desperate forward thrust.

The Usik howled in pain; he had been stabbed in the groin.

Lomar pulled out the sword, prepared to attack again, but the Usik staggered a few steps and fell to the ground, moaning and bleeding profusely. Lomar immediately looked around for his companion.

Jasmine released the arrow at the exact moment when the spear the Red Usik had thrown grazed her ear. Heaving a sigh of relief, she watched as the Usik fell, the arrow protruding from his neck, drowning in his own blood.

That was her last arrow.

Leaving her bow on the ground, she unsheathed her short sword and headed toward Lomar to protect him.

Lomar could barely keep from losing consciousness and collapsing to the ground. Right in front of him, one last enemy stepped out from behind a tree, holding a spear adorned with feathers. Lomar lifted his sword and tried to get up off his knees but lost his balance. There was no way he was going to be able to stand. Kneeling, dazed and dizzy, he now did not even have the strength to raise his sword again.

The savage looked at him, a triumphant smile on his blood-red face. Holding the spear to throw it like a javelin, he lifted it above his shoulder, an even greater smile plastered on his face as he watched the Lancer’s desperate, useless attempt to defend himself. The spear soared off the Usik’s shoulder.

Still kneeling, Lomar saw death rushing toward him.

He looked up and waited for the end to come.

But a silhouette stepped into the spear’s trajectory.

When he heard the moan of pain, Lomar knew what had happened. He looked in front of him, filled with fear and, overwhelmed with despair, saw what in the depths of his soul he had never wanted to see: Jasmine’s body, lying on the ground, the spear in her chest.

“Noooooooooooo!” he wailed, his anguish unbearable, his worst fears a reality. The valiant Protectress had put her own body in the path of the spear to save his life. Seized by grief and overwhelmed by a fury that bordered on hysteria, Lomar scrambled to his feet and flung himself at the Usik. The enraged Lancer frantically brought hundreds of violent blows down on him, coming at him from every angle until the savage fell. Finally, his frenzy consumed, Lomar collapsed on the ground, exhausted and sobbing. The Usik’s body lay completely dismembered in a pool of blood.

He dragged himself over to his beloved and, sitting beside her, he delicately placed the dying woman’s head in his lap. He looked at her wound, grasping at hope, but the spear had torn all the way through her. There was no saving her. Lomar’s pain was so great he thought his heart had broken into a thousand pieces, right there in his chest. He tried to fight the tears but could not keep them from coming.

“Why?” he asked her, sobbing. “Why did you do it?”

“I had... I had to save you,” Jasmine breathlessly replied.

“But I can’t lose you, not now!”

“I don’t want to lose you, either... Lomar.”

“You shouldn’t have done it; you should have let me die and saved yourself,” he told her as he caressed her face and her soft black hair.

“I would never have forgiven myself. I had to save you. I couldn’t let you die like that, so helplessly...”

“Hold on, Jasmine. Hold on... Aliana can’t be far behind. She’ll be able to save you.”

Jasmine coughed violently, a mix blood and saliva spraying from her mouth. “It is my duty... to protect. I had to protect you.”

“Hold on... You have to hold on. Don’t leave me!” Lomar begged in desperation.

“You know I can’t survive... Aliana can do nothing for me... The wound is fatal. We both know that.”

“No! No! I refuse to accept that!” shouted Lomar, cursing the heavens.

“Don’t suffer so, Lomar. I’m leaving this earth contented. Helaun is waiting for me... she will take me to her bosom along with the rest of my fallen sisters. I have remained faithful to my principles, to my Order. I know Helaun will be appreciative of that.”

“Don’t leave me, Jasmine! I love you!”

“Life is not fair, Lomar, but we must live it according to our principles,” Jasmine coughed again, convulsively. Death was circling the young woman like a vile vulture flying over its dying prey.

Lomar tenderly kissed her on the forehead, his tears spilling over her face.

“You must save Haradin. His horse couldn’t have strayed far; it must be just a short way up the trail. You must flee with him, and save the two of you. Promise me, Lomar.”

“I can’t leave you, Jasmine...”

“But you must... save Haradin. It’s crucial for Rogdon. So many lives depend on him. You must do it; you must leave me and protect the Mage. It is your duty, and you are a man of honor.”

Lomar dried his tears and swallowed hard.

“I’ll take him safely back to Rilentor, just as you asked...”

“Duty before all else, Lancer... and you have to survive... Tell me you’ll get out of this forest alive. Promise me.”

“You have my word as a Royal Lancer. I’ll take the Mage home, alive... I love you, Jasmine; I want you to know that. I only wanted us to get out of this hell alive, and to start a life together... the two of us.”

“You would have left the Royal Lancers for me?”

“Absolutely.”

Jasmine suffered a convulsion, but clutched desperately to her last moments on earth, trying to delay her parting.

“I love you too, Lomar...” she finally confessed, “and I want to thank you for allowing me to discover this marvelous feeling. I would have liked nothing better than to have walked with you to a faraway land.”

“You would have left the Order? For me?” Lomar asked incredulously, longing for one last confirmation.

“For you, I would have left it all behind, my love.”

And with those words, Jasmine had taken her last breath.

Lomar closed the beautiful brunette’s emerald eyes, then cried inconsolably, eternally heartbroken, holding his one true love.

Dawn came without incident. The cool morning breeze brushed over Lasgol’s cheek, immediately awakening him. He breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the aroma of the prairie at daybreak. Detecting no unusual odors, he inhaled again, this time in the direction of the wind, trying to discern any essence that was out of place. Nothing. Feeling a bit more relaxed, he sprung to his feet and looked at his prisoners. Iruki was still tied up and sleeping. The Assassin nodded at him as Lasgol studied him. He appeared to be securely bound but Lasgol, not trusting him in the least, armed his bow.

The Assassin looked at him and smiled. A sincere smile, a smile of understanding. He leaned against the tree, then looked straight ahead, showing Lasgol that he had no intention of causing any problems. Lasgol relaxed a bit, though his instincts warned that he should remain alert... very alert.

They rode northeast for several hours, heading back toward the kingdom of Norghana. Iruki rode in front; the Assassin followed behind her. Lasgol brought up the rear, and though their hands were tied firmly behind their backs he never allowed himself to lose sight of either of the prisoners. He felt content, and relatively at ease. The mission with which he had been entrusted would soon be completed. He knew that he would no doubt have to deal with a few more complications before making it to the river and embarking for his kingdom, but he hoped there would be nothing he could not handle. He certainly did not want to end up with his throat slashed like his two peers before him. He would have to take extreme precautions and be ever vigilant for the use of the Gift... so he kept his eyes peeled. He wasn’t about to be taken by surprise. And he still had to decide what to do with Iruki. That was not going to be an easy decision to make. It would depend largely on both his own instincts and what the Assassin might reveal.

They came to a small brook and stopped to let the horses drink and to refill their flasks. All three dismounted and Lasgol motioned for the prisoners to sit on the ground while the horses drank. A wall of dust on the horizon to the south caught his attention. He shaded his eyes with his hand, trying to make out what could be causing such a large dust cloud.
Hmm... Cavalrymen... more than four hundred. Half a day from here.
From the amount of dust they were kicking up he concluded they were not Masig mounts. Concentrating, he made use of his Gift. Following a brief green flush over his body, his sight, hearing, and sense of smell sharpened, turning him into a beast-like predator. And using his enhanced senses, he was able to obtain crucial information. Now he could see that the large, powerful horses with iron horseshoes were carrying horsemen wearing scale armor and winged helmets. Norghanians! They must be the patrols dispatched in search of the Assassin, and they had banded together for the hunt.

Lasgol could have jumped for joy.

Fantastic! The elusive Liara, the Frozen Kingdom’s Goddess of Luck, has decided to grace me today!

This unexpected event would make his work much easier. All he had to do was get to them and deliver the prisoners. His mission would be successfully concluded, his duty satisfied, and he would be able to return to his tasks in the snowy forests of the North. The King would get the information he needed from the Assassin and the war with Rogdon would be avoided. He had no doubt this foreigner was not in the service of the blue and silver.

He could not believe his luck. No more problems. In a few hours, his mission would be completed—quietly, without incident, without loss of life.

The wind changed direction, and a sudden gust disheveled his blond hair. The rancid scent of sweat and horses assaulted his nose, and he instinctively turned toward the wind, feeling the certainty of danger in his gut. On a small hill, not far away, some fifty Masig horsemen armed with bows and spears were watching him.

No! By Lerten, god of Misfortune! That can’t be!

Trotter whinnied twice, warning him; his refined sense of smell had also perceived the danger.

“You noticed it too, didn’t you, my friend? Don’t worry; I see them,” he whispered as he caressed the horse’s neck. His happiness had instantly vanished, replaced by a feeling of uncertainty that gripped his stomach like a vice. The enemy was not far away, and there were too many of them for him to deal with.

I was so close to being free of this heavy load... Why do I have such terrible luck? Why?

“Now what, Tracker?” the Assassin asked calmly. He was sitting on the ground, looking off in the direction of the Masig horsemen.

“They are lake warriors, on patrol,” said Iruki. “They are from my tribe. Right now they are wondering why you have one of their own tied up on the ground. This is not a good situation for you to be in, Norghanian. You’d best be mounting your horse and getting out of here before they attack. Flee, or you will die.”

Lasgol looked at them. He knew Iruki was right. They would soon attack. He should leave immediately or he would not get out of there alive. He could try to escape toward the Norghanian detachment with the two prisoners... but would the Masig hunt him down if he tried it? He looked at the cloud of dust on the horizon and shook his head. They were too far away to try a suicide run, chased by lightning-fast Masig warriors. He knew he would not get that far if he took the prisoners with him. His only option was to escape now and hope the warriors would be held up long enough rescuing the prisoners to put some distance between them. Once again, he looked in both directions, first toward the Norghanians and then toward the Masig, trying to find some alternative.

So close... and yet so far.

Damn his luck!

“Don’t keep thinking about it. Get out of here,” advised the Assassin. “If you don’t flee right now, you are going to die. If you try to take us with you, we’ll only slow you down and the Masig warriors will catch you. They will not allow you to take one of their own, and you know it.”

Lasgol nodded reluctantly.

“This does not end here. I will come back for you. This is my duty, and I always fulfill my obligations,” warned Lasgol as he agilely jumped onto Trotter.

“I will be waiting for you, Tracker,” the Assassin coldly replied.

“If you come back for us I’ll rip out your guts! You will not get out of my ancestors’ steppes alive, I promise you that, you Norghanian trash—you and those hyenas of the snow you’ll return with,” pledged Iruki.

The Masig warriors took off at a gallop, heading straight for the group shouting and howling war cries.

“See you soon,” promised Lasgol. He gave them a nod then spurred Trotter and turned south, heading toward the dust cloud slowly approaching on the prairie’s horizon.

A short while after the tracker’s departure, the Masig warriors were galloping down the slope that lead to the small brook. They stopped a few steps from the two captives. Silently, the warriors observed them for a moment. Then one of the warriors, his face marked by a long, hard life on the steppes, advanced his dappled horse and spoke to Iruki.

“The spirits of the prairies have blessed us today. Here before us is a Blue Cloud, who we believed to have been lost forever. Your tribe has cried for your soul, young Masig.”

“The Blue Clouds can stop crying about having lost me; the spirits of the steppes have protected me and I am still alive.”

“It fills my heart with joy to see that my brother’s daughter is still among the living. Are you all right, Iruki Wind of the Steppes? We had given you up for dead,” he said, his broad smile and gleaming eyes reflecting his happiness over having found her.

“I am well, Unco Owl of the Lake. I am a daughter of the steppes and I can take the harshness with which the mean spirits of the plains sometimes punish this life of ours,” replied Iruki, a smile slowly appearing on her face. “Can you untie us?”

“Of course, of course, my dear one. Please forgive this old warrior; I still have not gotten over the shock of having found you.”

With a flick of his spear he commanded two of his warriors to free them. They jumped down from their mounts and cut Iruki’s bonds then stopped next to the Assassin and waited for confirmation from their leader.

“My heart is overflowing with joy to see my father’s brother and his warriors.”

“What happened to you, Wind of the Steppes? We’ve spent more than a week tirelessly searching for you. We thought you had perished.”

“I was captured by those Norghanian swine and taken to their black fortress on the other side of the great river.”

“I see... those gutless pigs and their raids, taking our young women. You do not need to speak of their reasons. Every part of the prairies knows the vileness of those cowardly beasts.”

Iruki nodded and clenched her fists.

Unco continued, his voice filled with sadness. “The soul of your father, Kaune Warrior Eagle, will rise up as high as the afternoon sun when he sees you. His pain over losing you has been consuming him, and it’s not good for the Chief of the tribe to suffer in silence over the disappearance of his only daughter. Not knowing what became of you was crushing his spirit. A leader needs a strong, radiant spirit to guide his people.”

“My father, Warrior Eagle, is a great leader and a man of immense fortitude. Pain cannot stifle his spirit; he would always guide his people wisely whether I am alive or have crossed the foggy river on the back of the dappled mounts.”

“No one doubts that, child,” said the old warrior with a smile. “I see that the Norghanians were not able to break one bit of that spirit of yours.”

“No one can change who I am. I am a Masig, daughter of the steppes,” she replied, relaxing a little. She looked behind her and noticed the two warriors had not yet freed the Assassin.

“You can let him go. He is a friend; he rescued me from the fortress. He saved my life.”

“He is a foreigner unlike any we’ve ever seen before,” noted Unco, an air of concern in his voice. He scrutinized the Assassin untrustingly, carefully looking him up and down. Then he gave a nod to the two warriors who cut him free and stood behind him, alert.

Unco Owl of the Lake dismounted, went to Iruki and hugged her affectionately.

“How wonderful to find you safe and healthy! Now let’s go home to our village on the sacred lake—your father will be thrilled to see you are alive.”

“Let me think about that for a moment... I first need to consider the options—and their repercussions.”

“I don’t understand, child.”

She turned and looked at the Assassin, who was calmly watching her as he stretched out his cramped muscles. She knew for certain the Norghanian tracker would return for them. If she went to her village she would put her whole tribe in danger. The tracker might lead a large Norghanian force to the village and kill all her people. Norghanian incursions had occurred in the past and were feared by the people of the steppes. Their lifestyle of isolation and seclusion made the tribe particularly vulnerable. More than three hundred Masig tribes were scattered across the vast steppes, the smallest with no more than two hundred people and the largest, up to two thousand. They lived off hunting and raising cattle and were, for the most part, nomads.

Iruki took a few steps forward and looked in the direction of her home at the foot of the Mountains of Life next to the great sacred lake. Her tribe, the Blue Clouds, was one of the largest; over fifteen hundred young people, elders, and children, only five hundred of whom were warriors. There were enough of them to stand up against the threat posed by the cloud of horsemen to the south, but what if the hyenas of the snows returned with a bigger army? During her childhood Iruki had already seen an army of more than four thousand Norghanians advancing on their lake. Many Masig lives had been lost before they’d been able to drive back the soldiers of the snows. She still held the bitter memory of the blood of all those brave Masig staining the prairie red, the steppe drinking up the blood of its favorite sons. Several tribes had been almost completely annihilated defending that sacred territory.

She did not want an atrocity like that to happen ever again.

Iruki looked at the Assassin, feeling torn. Then she breathed in the warm, aromatic air of the steppes and, somewhat calmer, she swallowed and began to ponder her options.
I could let him go and return to my people. The tracker will come for him, not for me. It’s him he really wants.
She immediately felt ashamed for thinking that way.
How can I leave him on his own in the steppes to be hunted down by the Norghanians? There is no way he can escape. That damn tracker is too good. He’ll find him, and that will be the end of him.

As if having read her mind, the Assassin spoke to her softly. “Let me go my way; they’re after me. You are not the one they’re looking for.”

Iruki instantly raised her index finger to her lips to silence him. She turned away and looked at her uncle who looked back at her, his wrinkled, ruddy face awash with worry.

“I can’t return to the Blue Clouds, Unco Owl of the Lake. Those Norghanian jackals are hunting me. I killed their Grand Duke, the master of the Black Fortress.

Greatly surprised by her declaration, Unco straightened up and took a step back. “You...
you
killed the brother of the Norghanians’ King?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, he did not suffer as much as he deserved to but at least the horrible beast is dead. That is why they are looking for me, and I do not want to lead them to our village, to give them an excuse to raze it. They have a skilled tracker with them—the man who was holding us captive. If I go back to the village, I will put everyone in danger.”