Dark Feather: A Dark Post Apocalyptic Romance (4 page)

The Cyan men had every reason to hate me. In their eyes, I was a woman and by nature, I was weak. The fact that I was a Penna made it even worse. If I wanted to join the Cyan ranks, and kill with the cunning power of the men, I would first need to fight like one. I had proven myself before, with the Penna, and I could do it again. These first initial battles would be my chance. I had left the Penna, but the warrior nature of my very being still burned bright. It was what I had been trained to do my entire life. Although I could walk away from the Penna, I could not walk away from my skill to fight. I knew I was meant to die on the battlefield rather than starving and barely surviving in some small village out on the tundra. Maybe this was my destiny all along—to join and fight with the Cyan.

I dropped to a crouch behind a mound of snow. Feeling tense with a sense of being watched, I scanned the surrounding land. Rigby’s army had left their outpost with two hundred men but now stood with fifty. The Penna had made fools of them. The men still thought it strange for a woman to fight among them, but Rigby had made it clear that if they caused trouble with me, they were picking a fight with him.

Battle had proved my abilities. I stroked the bow I had mastered. It was heavier than some, but delivered the steadiness required for accuracy. I had taken it from the first man I killed in war. Two axes I had also claimed hung by my side. They were lethal for throwing, as one man who took me on had found. As I pulled out an axe, I stared at my reflection in the metal. My eye fell on the scar. Pale against the sun-kissed color of my skin, the scar stretched pink and red; a memorial of the last opponent I had fought. He had drawn a dagger and hurled it even as my arrow found his chest. If I had not seen it coming, it would have done worse than create a scar.

I crouched lower, movement catching my eye. I brushed my hair back. The dark strands always seeming to block my vision when clear sight was most needed. Three men on snowmobiles were riding just below the ridge, only the reflection of their helmets showing above the snow. I cursed, scrambling swiftly out of sight and sprinting back to the others.

“Enemies on the hills ahead!” I announced, sliding down the icy ridge to our evening encampment. Rigby nodded, glancing over at the men. They were all tired. After three months of fighting, they had lost hope well before losing that final battle. With so few men, they could scarcely hope to avoid the enemy who would try to enslave or murder them. I knew the Penna well. The army of Cyan needed to regroup and make their way to safety, or die on the icy land.

“Tudor, remain at my side. I value your aim. Men, get on your mobiles and prepare for battle. If those Penna try to take us, they will discover we won’t be found sleeping.”

Though exhausted, they had been trained to be instantly ready at the prospect of a fight, and the men scattered to their positions. I stood alongside Rigby, my guardian and would-be protector since he had discovered that I indeed fought harder and better than any of his men. He acknowledged that I had mastered the art of the bow.

“Tudor, get on your ride, and get ready to shoot.”

I nodded, schooling my face to remain expressionless as a movement caught my eye. Four ice-covered hills away, a head poked above the snow then ducked down in a hurry.

“A scout,” I said, keeping my voice down so only Rigby could hear me.

He nodded before calling out, “They will be here soon. Be ready.”

The men crouched down on their snowmobiles. They had already dug in for the night, so except for the narrow entrance, they were surrounded by a six-foot snow wall. The men also were in complete shelter as they prepared their bows or pulled out their daggers.

Reaching back, I grabbed my bow and strung it. The quiver was accessible, hanging just behind my right shoulder. Readying my aim, I waited for victory or death.

We did not have to wait long. Over the ice mounds and through the shifting snow charged a mixed body of men. Twelve had snowmobiles and the rest were on foot. I drew back my shaft, watching those on snowmobiles. As they drew near, the Penna raised a wavering cry and hurtled toward our defenses. One of the men came within range. I smiled as I released the shaft. The arrow sped true, piercing between the slit of the man’s visor to send him crashing to the icy floor.

The other men reined back in shock. Few fighters could fire a shaft as I could. The Penna had thought themselves safe. I smiled, loosing arrows at random among the advancing enemy, most of whom had left their faces completely unprotected.

I dodged an arrow and returned fire, taking out one of their archers. Their bows were often better than mine and the archers were out of normal range. They could not know that I wielded a stolen bow that was just as powerful.

I ducked below the snow wall to wait out a barrage of arrows. Grabbing two that struck near me, I popped up and fired the shafts simultaneously, and then ducked down without waiting to see if they struck. “They are close,” I called to Rigby.

He nodded. “Prepare for hand to hand!” he called, gripping the hilt of his sword. I made quick eye contact with him and nodded, drawing my sword and holding it easily in one hand.

I watched Rigby, who had taken a quick look over the wall. He met my eyes, mouthing, “Three, two, one, now.”

We both sprang up, followed by the rest of the men, whirling our weapons into the faces of our rivals. Shocked, the leading rank stumbled backward from their attack. Leaping the wall as the lust of battle filled me, I charged recklessly into the center of the fight. The axe clove torsos and dented helmets surrounding me. Dodging many of the blows aimed at me, I fought, releasing the rage and frustration of years locked under servitude to the Penna upon the unprepared enemy.

I faced off with one of the Penna men who had dismounted. As sword rang against sword, I realized I had fought my way through the enemy lines, and was now at the rear of the force. I was separated by the Penna from Rigby and the Cyan soldiers, unable to aid or be aided.

I ducked a blow, leapt another, and spun into a whirlwind of blocks and parries. The man never let up, and I could not pause. A movement to the right caught my eye. Without pause, I switched to fighting one-handed with my sword and drew one of my smaller and lighter axes. Spinning rapidly, I blocked a sword coming from the side. Leaping back, I engaged two Penna. Now hard pressed, I permitted myself to be driven back. Keeping my eyes on the Penna, I observed a reflection in their helmets. Two snowmobiles stood behind me, by about ten yards I guessed, and just in front of them were the other two mounted men, prepared for kidnapping with a length of dark cloth.

As the man with thick feathers on his wrists thrust at me I dodged, letting the sword glance off my shoulder. Spinning sideways, I turned and ran for the two remaining mounted men. Quicker than thought, I hurled one of my axes at the man on the right while drawing my sword once again. The thrown axe flew true, striking the slits of the visor and hurling the dead man off his snowmobile. Planting one hand on the vehicle’s windshield, I vaulted up. Drumming up the last of my energy, I kicked the other man in the chest. The force of my kick knocked him off the snowmobile as my sword found the center of his neck.

Twisting deftly, I landed on the recently vacated seat, and grabbed the dagger from his side pouch tied to the snowmobile. Spurring forward, I charged my earlier opponents, who were now nearly upon me. Dropping onto my back, I avoided a swiping blow meant to slice me in half. Twisting up, I hurled the dagger into the man’s face. Turning the snowmobile, I charged at the remaining man who was trying to mount his comrade’s machine.

Without waiting for me to reach him, he spun the snowmobile and dashed for the icy plain yelling, “Retreat, retreat!”

The sounds of battle suddenly ceased. Pivoting the snowmobile, I watched the men disengage from their defenses and run for the frozen abyss. As the last man disappeared out of sight, I swayed, suddenly light-headed.

Grasping the handlebars tightly, I leaned forward. My breath came ragged and fast. Glancing down, I realized I was wounded. Barely able to keep my balance, I slid off the snowmobile and leaned against its side.

Rigby ran up, worry written on his face. I raised my hand, stopping his tirade before it could begin.

“I have a leg wound, and it feels like a few other scrapes and cuts. It doesn’t seem that serious except for the blood loss and drop in adrenaline.”

“Tudor,” he said, picking me up into his arms effortlessly. “You could have been killed! What were you thinking, charging off through the ranks like that?” He looked down and studied my bloody leg. “You’re wounded, and you are a fool. If you weren’t hurt, I would take a lash to your stupid backside and whip some sense into you.”

“I fight. I may be a fool, but all fighters are,” I retorted. His threat of a punishment sent a shiver through me as his arms tightened around my exhausted body.

Rigby stopped walking and stared directly in my eyes, his breath warm against my face. An energy sizzled between us. I desperately wanted to look away, but refused to give him that power.

He shook his head and sighed, and continued walking toward his men with me held snugly up against his chest. “You are unlike any woman I have ever met; whose skin is as beaten as a man’s and who bears the scars of combat. My men and I know your abilities and bravery, you proved that today, but you don’t have to kill yourself just trying to prove to us that you are just as strong and skilled as a man. I know that.
We
know that.”

“I don’t know how to be any other way. I don’t know how to be weak.”

“I’m not asking you to be weak. But I am telling you that your need to prove your strength is going to get you killed.”

“Then so be it,” I mumbled as the throbbing of my wound beat at the same rhythm as my heart.

Rigby’s sigh was heavy as he carried me to an area where the wounded soldiers were gathered. “Someone clearly taught you the sword. Someone clearly taught you the bow. But someone clearly needs to teach you the art of submission.”

“I submit to no one,” I countered.

He paused and glared into my eyes. My heart beat so loud I was sure he could hear it. “And that attitude right there is going to get your throat slit. It’s okay not to always have to try to be what you aren’t. You aren’t a man, Tudor. You aren’t a fool. You aren’t weak. But when you try to be what you aren’t—a man—you are a fool, and therefore, you are weak.” His breath danced against my hair as he spoke. “It shows more strength to soften. To show that you don’t always have that fake hard shell around you. I would have a hell of a lot more respect for you if you could soften and be true.”

“I have no reason to submit, and I have no reason to soften. And frankly, I couldn’t care less if I have your respect.”

“You do want my respect.” He smiled as if he was pleased he knew my deepest secret. “You have done nothing but try to show all of us that nothing can get to you. That you are indeed a warrior. I get that, Tudor. I get that you are a damn good fighter. But I also see that your need to prove you are no different than any man is the chink in your armor. It makes you reckless and stupid.”

“So by submitting and softening as you say, I would be a better fighter?” I huffed. “Do you tell all your men this?”

“No, I don’t. But that’s just it, Tudor. They are men. You are a woman. Be proud that you are a woman. Don’t try to hide that fact.” He paused and looked at me, his features softening. “The fact that you are such a strong woman is very impressive. Just don’t lose that part of you that makes you a woman. Don’t try to be a man. You as a woman is far more powerful.”

“You think I should be more womanly, is that it?”

Rigby held my stare for a few more moments and tightened his grip around my tired frame. “Yes. You should.” He continued walking without saying anything further.

I sighed, blinking against the dizziness that the blood loss caused. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves as he placed me on a blanket alongside the wounded men.

Five more men had fallen in the defense of our encampment, and another ten were seriously injured. From appearances, I was one of the less severely hurt, although the leg wound was rather deep.

Pulling up the edge of my pant leg, I let one of the soldiers clean and stitch the wound. I had another slight gash on my upper arm, and one across my face along the cheekbone. A few stitches and bandages later, I felt far better.

After everyone had been bandaged, I beckoned to Rigby. “Ten of the Penna were killed. We should retrieve their weapons. The snowmobiles are also still nearby.”

He agreed, and sent some of the men to retrieve the snowmobiles, arms, and supplies of the fallen enemy. Soon, my two throwing axes and sword were back in their sheaths, and my quivers were replenished with arrows.

“At least they have some things of value,” Rigby said, surveying the small mound of armor, weapons, jewelry and coins that had been retrieved from the dead.

A nagging thought flickered in the back of my mind. Slipping aside, I slid out of the encampment and headed toward the open land. Scouting lightly through the shifting landscape, I soon found a good vantage point from which to survey the icy land. A Penna camp stood there, as I had suspected. But it was heavily guarded. They appeared to be building watchtowers, and bands of men were working on them. A glint of light from one of the Penna’s helmets caught my attention and I tensed. There were slaves chained hand and foot.