Warrior (47 page)

of his generals shouted. Jarel looked

in the direction of the men, and

noticed that they came to a halt at

what would be considered the mid-

point. Donning his helmet, Jarel

addressed his general before moving

his horse to the sidelines to better lead

it toward centerfield. He did not need

to look back to know that two of his

generals followed after him. They

reined in their horses before the

helmed and armored soldiers. The red

of the Morden soldiers’ capes flew

with the wind.

“King Vulcan of Morden seeks

passage to retrieve Queen Jaisyn of

Morden, his wife. Will you stand in

his way?” a Morden solider asked

calmly.

Eyes narrowing beneath the helmet,

Jarel replied, “Vulcan of Morden has

no true wife residing in Sulan.”

“Is that so, soldier?” the man asked

in a low, almost bored tone. “Vulcan

of Morden is prepared to show

leniency to a kingdom unblemished,

until now, in his mind’s eye, if his

wife is safely returned.” The man held

up a gloved hand when Jarel would

have spoken. “If you stand between

the king and his queen, he vows to

massacre your men, annihilate your

royal family, and take your kingdom

under his rule.”

Jarel almost cursed at the calm way

in which the soldier related that

information. Almost cursed the name

of Vulcan of Morden. And then, he

almost laughed. Was Vulcan of

Morden stupid? More than likely, his

men would be massacred today. With

the paltry numbers he’d brought, he

would be lucky to return to Morden in

one piece.

“The Sulanese will not allow Vulcan

of Morden passage. He has no true

wife residing therein. It would be best

for the Wolf to take his armies back

the way he came, to where he

belongs.”

“Lytheria?”

“Lytheria does not belong to Vulcan

of Morden,” Jarel replied easily,

trying to keep his voice calm, as the

soldier was doing but finding it hard to

do so.

The soldier said nothing for many

moments. “May the Gods have mercy

on you and yours.”

“And on you,” Jarel threw back at

him.

They both tugged on their horses’

reins so that the horses moved back,

before turning and riding in opposite

directions.

***

It was easy. Far too easy. The

Morden soldiers had sounded the

retreat, and the Sulanese were

following after them with cries of

victory. After barely an hour of

intense fighting, renowned warriors

were retreating? Jarel pulled his horse

away from the men, and reined him

beside a mountainous area that

allowed for a clear view of the thickly

forested foliage below. His generals

swarmed him, protecting their lord.

“It is too easy,” he told the one

closest to him, only to receive a terse,

“Aye, lord” from the man. He

watched as the men charged through

the foliage until they were no longer in

sight before deciding to give chase. He

was about to tell his generals of his

decision when he noticed that his

warriors and soldiers were now

running in the opposite direction.

They were frenzied, heading directly

toward him.

“’Tis a trap! TRAP! ARCHERS!”

were the screams heard from below.

It was then, in that moment, that Jarel

understood. He watched as his men

fell to the ground as arrows found

their marks in their flesh. Of course it

was a trap. The Northern Wolf had to

have more men. He was the High

King of the North, with multiple

kingdoms, multiple armies, at his

disposal. He would not come for his

queen with a measly forty thousand

men!

“My liege, we must ride, lest we be

trampled,” one of his generals said

urgently and Jarel kicked his stallion

into motion.

“Ride ahead, generals! Tell the men

to hold position at the border. We will

drive them back once more!”

***

There was chaos, utter chaos, as the

men faced off against the Morden

soldiers a second time. Someone kept

sounding the horn for retreat, although

Jarel had given orders that they were

to stay and fight. So, some soldiers

would retreat while others fought,

proving a useful advantage for the

Morden warriors, who now fell upon

them like a wave of death. Jarel was

in the midst of it all, facing a warrior

who was similarly armed as he: on

horseback and with sword. They

dueled for minutes before Jarel saw

an opening and took it. His blade

pierced the soldier’s neck, and he fell

from his horse. Another soldier was

quickly upon him and he had no time

to recover. He hacked at the new

opponent, this time piercing him

through his side.

The horn sounded again. Jarel

blinked rapidly, angrily, and looked

for the source.

“HOLD!” he screamed at the top of

his lungs. Calls of ‘hold’ went up

among the men for what must have

been the fourth time since the real

fighting had begun. Jarel felt someone

come up to him and spun to confront

the person, bloody sword pointing in

his that direction. The armor and

shield alerted him that it was friend,

not foe.

“How fare thee, brother?”
Dax
.

Jarel stood down.

“Who keeps sounding the retreat?”

he demanded, quickly wondering why

he had even done so. Dax would not

know. True to form, his brother did

not know.

Jarel spun his horse once more and

looked around. What he saw made his

teeth clench in fury. They would have

to retreat this day, and bring forward

new troops on the morrow. Dark grey

armors and red capes seemed to be on

almost every footsoldier around them.

Morden warriors.

“Have the generals—” He saw the

glint of something nearing him and

instinctively moved slightly to his left.

Pain shot through his shoulder. Dear

Gods, what was that? He forced

himself to breathe through it and

turned to his brother. Dax wore a

large grin and from beneath his

helmet, his eyes gleamed dangerously.

“Do not worry, brother. ’Tis an

honor to fall in battle,” Dax was

saying as Jarel’s head swam and his

horse seemed unstable. “Father would

be proud.” He watched as Dax drew

his sword and knew his brother

intended to kill him. Clenching his legs

tightly together, his urged his steed

forward, taking him deeper into the

ranks of Morden soldiers. His body

swayed and pain jarred his body as he

hit the ground. Black winked in and

out, before finally, unable to do

anything else, he succumbed to it.

***

Dax watched his brother fall and

sheathed his sword. Beneath his fine

helmet, he wore a feline smile as he

rode off in the direction of his father’s

soldiers. Jarel would bleed out or be

killed by a Morden warrior. Either

way, his brother would die and there

would no longer be a direct heir to the

Sulanese throne. He would give

Azarius a few weeks to grieve before

he had a few of his father’s trusted

advisors make a proposal to the king.

Despite his illegitimacy, Dax would be

the only living son of the largest

kingdom in the South. There were

legitimate cousins who could make a

claim for the throne, but Dax doubted

they would. With Lytheria under

Kegan and lending support, they

would be afraid. Once a few powerful

nobles bribed with the thought of

further acquired wealth, added their

names to that support, Dax would be

named prince and heir to the throne of

Sulan.

So caught up was he in his thoughts

of becoming king, of the bastard

taking what was intended for the

legitimate heir, Dax did not notice the

soldier tracking him until the man rode

into his path. His stallion reared

slightly as the man’s bloody sword

lifted.

Dax drew his own sword and

prepared to fight. The fight did not last

long as Dax, after noticing the man

was deadly with the sword, slid from

his horse and sought to flee on foot.

***

The warrior was intent on his prey,

dismounting from his stallion and

charging through fighting soldiers after

him. He’d witnessed the betrayal, a

pathetic dagger in the back from one

of the soldier’s own men, and wanted

the man for himself.

The

cowardly

man

suddenly

stopped, looked about wildly, and as if

knowing that there was nowhere to

go, finally stood his ground. Steel rang

against steel before the coward was

on his back, his sword all but kicked

from his grasp.

The warrior had lifted his sword

above his head and was about to deal

out the killing blow when the man

suddenly pushed his helmet from his

head. Looking down into a beautiful

face—the face of an unearthly

beautiful woman with icy blue eyes—

the warrior halted.

***

Thinking to kill the warrior with the

hidden dagger at his waist while his

beauty enthralled the man, Dax began

to reach for it, slowly.

“A man as beautiful as any woman

with hair the color of a fiery tomb,”

the warrior suddenly spat. Dax knew

fear for the first time in his life. “This

is a gift from Isolde, Princess of

Lytheria. Her hair will grow back; the

scratches on her neck will fade, but

your life is forfeit.”

With that, the blade came down,

passing through the thin resistance of

pale skin and pinning the man to the

ground. A few gasps and gurgles later,

Dax’s lifeless eyes stared up at a

snarling Varian.

***

King Azarius stared out at the sea of

men who surrounded his castle.

Numerous banners with snarling

wolves flew rampant on the wind.

Their numbers were large, unlike

anything the aged king had faced

before. His generals had been too late

and their calls for retreat had gone

unheeded. The Sulanese had retreated

only after their leader had fallen—his

boy, his son, his heir—dead. His

generals had reported that the prince

had been stabbed, by one of their

own, though they knew not whom,

and had fallen in battle. He’d raged in

his study, wanting badly to tear

something apart, but then another

general had entered with news that

the Northern Wolf was approaching

the castle. Pulling himself together,

he’d taken to the battlements, where

his archers were already preparing

themselves.

He regretted listening to Kegan and

Dax, who’d brought them the closest

they’d ever been to ruin. He had

heard nothing of their return and was

coming to believe that they had

perished, along with his loyal son, on

the battlefield. For the first time in his

life, he felt frail, an old man playing at

young men’s games.

“What are your orders, liege?” one

of his generals asked.

Shaking his head and sighing,

Azarius replied tonelessly. “Hold that

castle at all costs until the Morden

king makes his demands known. We

shall go from there.”

***

Jaisyn walked around the solar,

wringing her hands and biting her lips.

When the Sulanese had returned after

retreat, Azarius had had her escorted

here and had told her to remain until it

was safe once more. The solar was

one of the safest places in the castle

because of the arrow-slit windows and

its distance from the ground floor. The

door was not locked, but a soldier was

stationed outside in case she needed