Sword's Call (23 page)

Markus met his dark eyes, sneering. “No, you fool. I was stunned . . . by a
spell.
Don’t you even sense it?”

“What? By who? What happened?”

“Ryhan is here.” Markus’s tone was flat.

Athas’s eyes widened. “We must tell Lord Varthan.”

“I was on my way to do so.”

Would his legs work?

Athas would take great satisfaction at an appearance of weakness.

Markus would pound the sneer off of his face.

Later.

“She took the girl with her.”

“Before or after?” the other shade asked, dark brow shooting up.

Markus growled again. He contemplated lying, but even though Athas wasn’t so powerful in magic, he’d always been able to sense lies, his one talent that kept him close to their master.

“Before.” Markus made a tight fist when his companion laughed.

“Good. My turn will be the first.”

Shaking his head, Markus forced a deep breath.

“Let’s go. We can discuss it later. We must not keep Master waiting on this news, I’ve no idea how long I was out,” Markus admitted, grimacing.

Athas shot him a look that told him he wouldn’t discuss anything later, but Markus didn’t let it bother him. He already risked a throttling from their master by allowing himself to be knocked out.

Markus hadn’t even sensed Lady Ryhan’s presence in the stable until the magic was being thrown at him.

Lord Varthan would be less than pleased.

Perhaps he and Athas would even be forbidden from wenching.

“I wonder why she didn’t kill you,” Athas mused.

The other shade could have no idea exactly what position Markus had been in when he’d been attacked and he wasn’t about to enlighten Athas. “To protect the girl, you fool.”

“I suppose so . . .” Athas looked far too pensive for his liking.

He’d flatten him with both fists as soon as he got the chance.

When they made it to the great hall, Markus spotted Lucan and Dagonet deep in conversation, their heads bent together and tone very low. He sneered, but was curious. Markus didn’t trust either of them, but then again, he didn’t trust Athas either.

Dagonet was much too quiet for his liking, and Lucan was far too jumpy. He admired all the power contained in the boy’s small frame, but wasn’t fond of his place—Lucan’s closeness, to the man Markus admired most. It cut more that Lucan didn’t want the favored position.

The two looked up at the same time, Dagonet meeting his eyes. The healer nodded politely, and Markus made himself echo it. He’d no real reason to dislike the other shade, he merely
did.

Markus joined them, suppressing the urge to smack Lucan when he blanched. Athas was on his heels, so perhaps Lucan’s reaction was due to the eldest shade, who had never quite concealed his contempt for the youngster.

“Ryhan is here,” Markus said.

Dagonet’s hazel eyes widened, but his instinct told him it was faked. Markus would examine that later. He needed to explain everything to the other two shades before they woke their master.

“What happened?” Dagonet asked, his tone low.

“She stunned me in the stable. I have no idea how long I was out.”

“You were gone over an hour,” Dagonet said.

Markus nodded understanding. It wasn’t as bad as he’d first thought. He exchanged a look with Athas, who said nothing.

“I wonder why she left you alive,” Dagonet mused.

Athas laughed. “I said the same thing.”

“To protect the girl, I would assume. She took her away.” Markus gritted through his teeth, fists clenched.

“I see . . .” The healer cocked his head to one side.

Lucan had said nothing, so Markus glared at him. He took a small step closer to Dagonet, and Markus sneered. “What do you have to say?”

“N-n-nothing  . . .” Lucan stammered. “I sensed nothing.”

Markus looked at Athas to see if he thought the boy lied.

“He speaks the truth,” Athas said.

“I also felt nothing,” Dagonet remarked.

“He won’t like it,” Markus whispered, gesturing to their master.

“You tell him,” Athas ordered.

Markus grimaced and clenched both of his fists harder, until his knuckles whitened. He was going to pound Athas into the floor sooner than later.

He sighed, acquiescing, but Markus would never admit it to Athas.

Lord Varthan hadn’t struck him in a long while.

Would that continue, considering the news he had to present?

Taking a step forward, Markus threw a glare over his shoulder as Athas snickered.

Dagonet gave him a small smile and though there was no menace in it, Markus glared at him, too.

“Lord Varthan.”

The older man’s eyes snapped open, Markus took a step backward.

“What is it?” the master demanded.

“Ryhan is here,” Markus said, gulping.

Had he just stuttered?

His master’s brows tightened and he sat up taller in the chair. “Tell me what happened,” Lord Varthan ordered.

“She caught me unaware in the stable.” Heat crept up Markus’s neck.

Had his master noticed?

“Unaware?”

“Yes, she stunned me with a spell and took the maid,” Markus confessed, looking down.

“Why did she not kill you?”

Markus didn’t get a chance to answer, but the master shot a glare at Athas’s sudden outburst of laughter. The other shade cut it off immediately.

“Find her. Lucan stays with me. The rest of you go, now. Don’t harm her and keep your hands to yourself.” The lord gave Markus and Athas both meaningful looks. “We must
welcome
her to her family’s home.”

Cera heard voices and flattened herself against the wall.

Markus.
She remembered his harsh tones from the stable.

She growled.

Her plan was still to turn herself in to be taken to Varthan, but she didn’t have to go quietly. They didn’t need to know it was on purpose.

Inflicting a little damage to the bastards would be fun.

Bickering.

Markus was arguing with someone.

Cera rolled her eyes.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped out into the corridor in front of two shades. She raised her arm, guessing Markus would assume she would try to stun him.

He was ready and screamed a spell that made a visible shield surrounding him and the other shade.

Might be handy to learn that one.

Cera took off running.

“Dammit,” Markus shouted.

The pounding of boots echoed as the two shades gave chase. It didn’t take them long to catch up to her and back her into a corner.

Cera brandished Gamel’s sword.

Markus laughed and drew his own.

“She’s mine,” Markus told the other shade, who gave a curt nod.

She smirked.

The truth was Markus was
hers,
he just didn’t know it yet.

“Don’t hurt her. The master said unharmed.” The dark haired shade leaned against the wall as if he was bored.

Was this Athas? Or the healing shade?

His statement gave her a moment’s pause.

Why would Varthan want her brought to him unharmed?

She gripped the sword tighter and shifted her stance. Smiling at Markus, Cera put her palm out, beckoning. “Come at me, you bastard. Let me show you what it’s like when a girl can defend herself.”

He let out another hearty laugh. Markus lunged, and she gracefully deflected his charge. He turned his body, guarding himself well.

Cera didn’t miss his eyes widening, though.

Like most men facing a
lady,
he’d underestimated her.

It was to her advantage. She was good with a sword; she’d just have to prove it.

Stalking him, Cera came at him a few times. When she barely missed cutting him the second time, she cursed, but Markus was already reevaluating his strategy.

“She plays with you, Markus,” the other shade said nonchalantly.

“Not for long.” Markus didn’t even spare his friend a glance. He growled and charged again.

Cera grinned; she had him.

She should just run him through, but she needed them to take her to Varthan. It was the only way her plan would work. She laughed as her sword slashed through his shirt and upper arm, cutting deeply. She’d gotten a good piece of him.

Markus dropped his weapon and cursed, grabbing his arm. Blood seeped through his fingers and a starburst stain spread over his white tunic sleeve around his grip.

Staring, she waited to see what he would do. She didn’t relax her posture.

He screamed a spellword, and Cera was thrown backward, the air forced out of her as she slid down the wall and landed in a heap on her rear end. Her chest ached as she struggled for breath. She cursed him to hell and back.

Stalking toward her, fist raised, Markus was filled with rage, his expression menacing, but the other shade grabbed his forearm as he passed.

Scrambling to her feet, Cera lifted her sword, ready to defend herself again.

“No, Markus. Lord Varthan said unharmed.”

“The bitch cut me!”

“Dagonet can heal you.” He lifted his arm and muttered something.

Cera cursed aloud as her sword went flying out of her hand. She winced as it clattered to the floor at the dark-haired man’s feet.

He must be Athas, if he wasn’t the healer. He bent to retrieve her sword, and Cera gasped.

Athas looked so much like the evil man he could be a younger version of Varthan. He shot her a look, but said nothing.

He has to be Varthan’s son.

Did he know?

If so, why had he said
Lord Varthan,
not
Father?

Varthan had several children: sons and daughters from all three of his dead wives. Acquainted with none of them personally, she’d never heard he had a child employed as a shade.

“You grab her, then. I’m too angry.” Markus paced in front of her.

Cera did a double take.

His skin was luminescent, his hair looking windblown and an even lighter shade of his already pale blond. He was lit up from magic.

She ordered herself not to be fascinated. He was a bastard, her enemy. “Oh, does your arm hurt? It’s a pity I didn’t cut you lower. I would’ve loved to have chopped off something
smaller,”
Cera drawled, smiling sweetly.

His face reddened, and he glowed even more brightly. Markus marched over to her, but the other shade stepped in front of her, holding his hand up.

“I’d let you slap her, but Lord Varthan said
unharmed.
You can have a turn later. If he sees a mark on her, you know you’ll regret it.”

Markus growled and brandished a fist.

Cera grinned. He looked like a child about ready to stomp his foot. She didn’t regret maiming him one bit. She could use his anger as a weapon against him later, especially since it appeared to be linked to his magic.

He took a deep breath. Snatching his sword, he shoved it into its sheath, his free fist clenched at his side. The glow of his skin started to dim.

“Take her other weapons, at least,” Markus ordered.

She uttered a protest when Varthan’s son searched her and stripped her of her dirk and bow; more of a groping than a patting down; the gleam in Athas’s dark eyes told her he’d intended it, the
bastard
. Unfazed by her low growl, he flashed a smile. It made him appear handsome and harmless—far from the truth.

Narrowing her eyes, Cera said nothing. Since he’d been the voice of reason thus far, she saw no reason to make him as angry as Markus was, or she wouldn’t make it to Varthan unharmed.

Markus grabbed her right biceps, yanking her away from the wall, and Cera felt the tip of a sword in her back as the other shade fell in behind them.

If she had to wager a guess, she’d bet was being prodded with her own weapon. “Get going,” Markus barked.

Cera started down the corridor without further protest, biting back a smile.

So far, things were going as planned.

Could she hold onto the upper hand?

Chapter Nineteen

The elaborate double doors to the great hall of Castle Lenore opened.

A slow smile spread across Varthan’s lips as Markus and Athas led the little Ryhan bitch into the vast room. He shot a look to where Lenore lay, but the man was still unconscious.

Varthan had time to play with her.

“We have her, my lord.” Athas tossed a sword, dagger, a quiver full of arrows and bow to the floor in a pile.

Athas had been with Varthan longer than any other shade. Too bad the boy couldn’t understand or appreciate what that said about him; but then again, Athas had no idea he was Varthan’s bastard son.

It was a wonder, because the boy looked just like him. They had the same black hair and dark eyes, facial structure; they were the same height and build.

Shame Varthan couldn’t claim him. He preferred Athas to any of his legitimate sons. The lot of them were pawns of the king, just as their mothers had been.

He hadn’t had much luck with wives either. Hadn’t taken a fourth after killing each of the previous three. Varthan hadn’t been named murderer by his wives’ families or anyone in the King’s Court, but Varthan did hate to have to play the grieved widower. Quite a point in favor of sticking to whores.

Nodding at his son, Varthan glanced at the sword. Disappointment flooded him. It wasn’t the magic sword.

Glaring at the little bitch, he rose from Lenore’s ornate chair.

Varthan looked the girl up and down.

Very attractive.

Her dark red hair was long and curly, and she was looking at him with lovely rage-filled gray eyes. She had high cheekbones and even though her mouth was currently an angry tight line, her lips were plump. She had a nice curve to her hips, and long, long legs. Her leather jerkin didn’t adequately hide her full breasts, either.

Perhaps he’d see if she was as sweet as her sister.

Tall, too. Both Athas and Markus were several inches over six feet, yet her head was above their shoulders.

She was struggling to keep her emotions in check, her body shaking, seething; her expression full of disgust at his perusal.

Oh, how I’ll enjoy our time together
.

Dagonet entered the great hall, distracting him.