The Battle Lord's Lady (3 page)

The sun was about to go down. Already the
upper section of the moon could be seen floating just above the
horizon, its missing chunk making it look like a gap-toothed grin.
Atty passed a tree with directional marks. The compound was less
than a mile away. Knowing she would make it to the safety of the
wall before dark, she stopped for a brief rest. If she was lucky,
she might soon meet up with another hunter who would help with the
load. Or a sentry on top of the compound wall might see her and
send aid.

Tonight she would be sleeping in a strange
bed in a strange house with people she knew little about. Although
she had grown up with the Kalich family, had taunted and been
teased by Memnon since infancy, they were not her family. Not her
blood. They were not aware of the little traits and idiosyncrasies
that intimate families nurtured within their bond. Did the Kaliches
take their baths during the week or on weekends? Did they care that
she preferred to sleep with two pillows? Would she be able to sleep
in one of her father’s old shirts as she usually did? How long
before the awkwardness was overcome so they all could relax and
continue with life?

Immersed in her thoughts, Atty was unaware of
someone coming to give her an extra shoulder until Pillan Camworth
hefted one of the poles and slipped into step beside her.

“Come back, come back from wherever you are,”
he grinned.

“Oh? Hi. Thank you, Pillan. It was starting
to feel heavy.”

“Starting? My heavens, Atty, this animal must
be a good four, five hundred pounds. It’s a wonder you haven’t
pulled a muscle trying to drag it along.”

Atty glanced at the man to her left. He could
have been one of the most handsome men in the compound if it
weren’t for the minuscule horn-like growths erupting from his skin.
Still, he did have the most beautiful blue eyes framed with some of
the longest lashes she’d ever seen on a man.

Oblivious of her stare, Pillan adjusted the
pole to a more comfortable spot. “This thing’s gonna feed a goodly
number of people, Atty.”

“Been hunting yourself?” she inquired.

“Tried. No luck. I don’t have your knack.
Your gift.”

Atty snorted loudly. Pillan shot back in
reply.

“Oh, go ahead and deny it all you like, but
everyone knows it’s the real reason why you were allowed into the
caste of hunters. You just seem to know where the game is. It’s
almost like they wait for you to come find them.”

“I’m not so blessed,” Atty told him. “And if
they believe any different, then they’re fools.”

“You can’t deny you bear the mark,” Pillan
argued.

“Okay. So I bear the mark. So does nearly
everyone else in the compound. It’s what makes each of us unique.
It’s what proves that we belong here. You know that.”

“Your mother bore no mark,” the older man
reminded her.

Atty sighed. There was no way she could deny
that point. Eenoi had no outward signs of her specialness. Hers was
inside, in what she could do, in what she could hear. Once you
spoke with her, or once she approached you personally, you
immediately knew she was different. As different and as special as
the brown roses she grew in pots around the back door of their
home.

And then there was Keelor...

A shout overhead broke through her thoughts
and kept her from becoming absorbed in her own self pity. Before
she and Pillan had taken another dozen steps, people began pouring
from the two closest entrances to help bring in the enormous
animal.

Atty accepted the accolades and
congratulatory slaps on the back with a mixture of pride and
sadness. The badger was the largest prey she’d ever brought back.
It would have been a source of great happiness to her mother and
father to know she’d been capable of such a feat. It would also
have been a feather in her father’s cap, proving to the caste
council that his daughter well deserved her appointment into their
select circle.

The animal was dragged into the compound and
skinned in the center of the market square. Several men marked out
a circle on the ground and started scraping away the ice and snow
before digging the hole they’d need. Many of the women began
rubbing the outside of the meat with herbs and salt while most of
the children helped bring firewood to fill the pit where it would
cook for most of the night. Atty watched as onions, potatoes, and
various other vegetables were stuffed into the enormous cavity
before the whole thing was wrapped in wet, loosely-woven
burlap.

The heat from the fire was enough to prevent
the cold from penetrating the area. Many people kept within
distance of the warmth, and children played games in the dirt near
the pit. Two men, Cyril and Cassius Barclay, took on the task of
tending the huge carcass. With adequate care, the meat would feed
everyone, and any remainder would be jerked or smoked and preserved
for days to come.

An occurrence such as this impromptu feast
was not unusual, but in the latter part of winter when game was
extremely scarce, it was extra cause to celebrate. Normally Atty
would have basked in the accomplishment. Now it was as if she no
longer cared. Her mother would have offered her a cup of warmed
wine to chase away the chills. That comfort was gone. Her sister
would have helped her wash the grit and oil from her hair, then
together they would have pushed their tiny beds together so they
could snuggle under the furs and talk about Atty’s hunt until
they’d fallen asleep in the wee hours of morning. That intimacy was
gone.

Atty slipped into the narrow streets of the
inner compound. Behind her someone began strumming a guitar.
Someone else warmed up a fiddle. Any minute now the music would
start, couples would circle round to dance, and the party would
most likely carry on until the first light of dawn when the smell
of roasted meat would permeate the air with the morning fog.

She reached the front door, then stopped in
surprise. Without realizing it, she’d returned to her old home. The
knowledge twisted in her stomach, punching the air out of her
lungs. She stumbled, then turned and managed to find her way to her
new home in spite of the difficulty she had seeing.

The apartment was empty. In a way, she was
glad she didn’t have to face anyone at that moment. Atty didn’t
care where everyone was. She didn’t have to worry whether or not to
start supper. Didn’t have to worry whether or not she needed to go
look for her sister who had wandered away from her mother for the
umpteenth time. Didn’t have to worry. Didn’t have to care.

A single lantern had been left lit by the
front door. Atty carried it with her into a back room where she
found a pallet of furs. Her bundle of clothes sat on top of it,
letting her know this was where she now belonged. She still wore
her hunting jacket and tracking boots, both covered with mud, snow,
and blood. Fleetingly Atty wondered if she should clean up first.
Suddenly none of it mattered anymore. Exhausted, sore, and
emotionally drained, Atty Ferran fell on top of the bed, curled
into a fetal position, and was asleep almost immediately.

Chapter Four

Cleaners

The screaming woke her. Her sleep-fogged
brain slowly focused on the dying lantern sitting on the floor by
the bedroom door. It was still nighttime. Darkness cloaked the room
as if she’d only fallen into her bed moments before.

The scream came again. From outside. Atty
scrambled to her feet and rushed to the front room to peer out the
window. All she could see was the lone lantern light at the end of
the walkway. The place looked predictably empty at this time of
night.

“But what time
is
it?” she muttered to herself.

Against her better judgment, Atty
opened the door and leaned out. It was quiet. Too quiet. An icy
shiver washed over her body. Why was it quiet? The music should
still be playing. There should be muffled laughter coming from the
pit area. There should be noises of
some
sort celebrating the morning feast. So why
was it so ghastly
silent
?

Atty shuddered involuntarily. She went back
to the bedroom, grabbed her bow, and slung her quiver of arrows
over her shoulder before going back to the door. Something was
wrong. She had to find out what and why. And maybe, if she was
lucky, she could be of help. That’s why she was a hunter. That’s
why her vows to the caste also included the unconditional promise
to protect the compound.

Carefully she stepped into the walkway and
headed back toward the marketplace. The morning fog had not yet
descended, giving her the impression that it was closer to the
middle of the night instead of nearing dawn. She sniffed
cautiously. The odor of roasting meat lingered lightly in the air.
It was probably still in the ground, because once it was removed
and unwrapped the mouth-watering smell would permeate the area.

She kept her back to the apartments, creeping
along sideways the same way she stalked unwary prey. In the short
time since she’d been rudely awakened she’d heard no other sound.
And in a compound of nearly two hundred fifty people, not hearing
anything was impossible. There were always sounds, even in the dead
of night.

There had been screams... .

She came to the end of the walkway. It
curved to the left, opening up to a wider street which emptied into
the main market area. Slowly she peered around the corner, yet
failed to see anything that would indicate what was wrong. Which
was exactly why she knew, was sure beyond a doubt, that something
terrible
had
happened. This
walkway led directly to the wood bins. There should be at least one
or two people coming and going from the bins for firewood to keep
the fire going strong in the pit.

Taking a deep breath, Atty slipped into her
hunter mode. Within the span of one beat of her heart she no longer
walked the familiar streets she’d known all her life. At that
moment she was in unfamiliar and dangerous territory. There were
creatures beyond the log walls, unseen terror waiting to catch her
unaware. Waiting to kill her. She needed all her skills and much
luck to survive.

She crouched down and crept forward on the
balls of her feet. She no longer felt tired, no longer felt hungry.
Her mind was clear. Her blood raced through her veins. Her very
pores tingled.

The scream sliced through the night, short,
high-pitched, and unexpected. Atty gasped in surprise and plastered
herself against the wall. Her heart hammered in her chest. That
hadn’t been the scream of an animal. It had been human. It had been
a cry of agony, filled with pain and despair. Who? Why?

Without thinking, her hands pulled an arrow
from the sheath and nocked it. In spite of her growing fear her
movements were sure and steady. She moved forward. In the back of
her mind the whole scenario felt unreal and distant. This compound
had been a safe haven for decades. The worst that had ever befallen
it was the wild boar attack back in the days of her grandfather.
Before that, her memories were hazy and uncertain.

The corner rounded just ahead. Atty lowered
the bow and dared a look into the market area. What she saw froze
every part of her body.

Several men sat on their horses, keeping the
people at bay. Several others were digging at the pit, exhuming the
roasting meat from the fire. There were a few going in and out of
the apartments on the outskirts of the marketplace. Atty guessed
there were more than a dozen, but less than twenty strangers. They
were dressed in pieces of steel and iron that sparkled when
firelight caught it. Several had helmets. None wore the hand-woven
cloth and pelts favored by her people. Her heart threatened to
break out of her chest as she pulled back and pressed her back
against the wall.

Cleaners.
They
were no longer the stuff of fairy tales, meant to frighten unruly
children. They were real. They existed. They had invaded the
compound. And they were doing what the tales of horror said they
did—they were cleaning the world of everything and everyone who was
not “normal”.

Another scream ripped the air. Atty nearly
wet her pants at the sound. From the corner of her eye she saw the
curtains move in the window of the apartment on the other side of
the street. Two faces pale with terror stared at her. She shook her
head and waved at them to retreat back into the darkness. Then she
gulped down several deep breaths and took another look around the
corner.

Those who had remained to watch the fire now
lay on their stomachs, their arms bound behind their backs, their
feet tied at the ankles and looped up to their wrists. It was a
basic hog tie. On a person it was dehumanizing. It also cut off the
circulation to the arms and legs in short order.

In the glittering firelight a small stream of
something dark was running across the narrow pathway between where
the Cleaners were gathered and the cooking pit. Atty choked back a
moan when she realized it was blood. Human blood.

“
Mutah!
”

One of the Cleaners had pulled a woman from
one of the apartments on the other side of the compound. At first
it was difficult for Atty to see who it was until she was dragged
closer to the group that was tied down. It was Emmaline Waters, a
woman who had been one of her mother’s best friends.

The Cleaner threw the woman down onto the
group and simultaneously pulled his dirk from his waistband.
Leaning over, he grabbed her by the hair and efficiently slit the
woman’s throat until the head rolled back between the shoulder
blades. Blood spurted in an arc like a black rainbow. That done, he
kicked the twitching body to the side where other bodies lay
unmoving.