Allegiance Sworn (16 page)

His segmented armor ranked him as Garsh’s superior, perhaps a Commander. She frowned, looking between the two warriors. Neither chest plate bore a Clan symbol or distinguishing colors. Given the nature of the ambush, it didn’t surprise her that they’d want to keep their identity a secret.

Several inches shorter, Garsh was the leaner warrior of the two. His sharper, more rugged features and paler mottled skin pattern definitely relegated him to the lesser ranks. Jedir’s lackey, used to blindly following orders. His gaze kept darting back and forth between her and his superior the closer they came, his hand resting close to the hilt of his sword.

She kept most of her attention on the taller warrior. Jedir would make the first move.

“I’m going to enjoy this.” As if his words were a signal, both warriors drew their swords and Garsh rushed her, a war cry erupted from his throat. Temper, ignorance, or nerves, she didn’t care, he’d betrayed his intent.

He swung his sword. She ducked, lip curling. It cut through the air overhead. She rolled to his right, blade slashing low. It sliced deep into the back of his unprotected knee. Cloth, flesh, and tendons. His cry turned into a howl.

Pain shot through her thigh as she staggered to her feet, the move lacking her usual grace. His blood warmed her hand, the metallic scent of it rich and thick.

Garsh lay on the ground, clutching his leg. Hamstrung and handicapped. To get anywhere near her, he’d have to crawl. Whoever these
Na’Reish
gutter dwellers were, they were learning that a wounded female
Vorc
had nothing on her. Her mouth kicked upward.

“Fool!” Jedir’s disdainful tone matched his expression. “I told you not to underestimate her.”

His purple gaze locked on her. Promised retribution burned there. Her heart pounded harder.

In one fluid motion, he leapt straight at her. She hurled herself over the nearest boulder. The metal of his blade screeched on stone. She landed in a heap on the other side. The jolt awoke every bruise and ache. Her head swam. The burst of adrenaline hadn’t lasted long.

“Get her good, Jedir!” Garsh’s hoarse shout vibrated with excitement.

Footsteps crunched on gravel. From the corner of her eye, Jedir’s sword glinted. She rolled away. His blade bit the ground beside her. She rolled back, throwing all her weight onto it. The studs on her chest armor caught it. The blade bent but didn’t break.

Mother of Light!
She drove her dagger at his leg.

His boot lashed out, connected with her wrist. Her weapon clattered away among the rocks. His hands fisted in her hair and the edge of her armor, then jerked her upright before slamming her onto her back. The impact stole her breath. She reached for the dagger in her boot.

Jedir stepped on her wounded arm. She screamed. Her vision grayed.

“Don’t faint on me, female.” The agonizing pressure on her arm eased. An openhanded slap stung her cheek. “I want you conscious. Garsh will want to hear your cries when I take you.”

Imhara blinked up at him, processing his words. She couldn’t let this happen. She wouldn’t let it happen.

“Then, when I’m finished with you, you’ll taste the sting of my blade.” His gaze gleamed. “You’re going to bleed, one slice at a time, and feel your life drain from you.” The warrior crouched, placing his sword to one side. It was within reach. “I wonder what will give me greater pleasure? Your body? Or your death?”

Imhara willed her numbed arm to move. No matter how much she wanted them to though, her muscles refused to work.

Fingers of ice speared her heart. “No!”

An insidious heaviness weighed all her limbs. She had no strength left to fight. Jedir’s lips peeled back from his pointed teeth in a cruel grin. Coldness edged his mocking laughter.

“Oh, yes.” He smoothed a blunt nail down the side of her cheek, then his fingers gripped her jaw hard enough to bruise. His other hand closed around her throat. “Now, let’s teach you your place.”

A charge of energy buzzed Imhara’s senses.

Lady’s Breath
, this was it.

A shadow loomed behind Jedir. “I think not, demon!”

Chapter 20

U
SING
a two-handed grip, Arek plunged Imhara’s sword deep into the heavily muscled shoulder of the
Na’Reish
, where the edge of the armor exposed the skin of his neck and proved most vulnerable. With it went the whole force of his Gift, the power burning through the blade hotter and faster than he’d ever felt before.

The
Na’Reish
warrior jerked upright, his black lips stretched wide in a soundless scream. His body convulsed.

He wouldn’t touch Imhara again. There was no honor in the way the arrogant bastard had taunted her as she lay helpless on the ground, threatening her with rape and a slow death.

Too many others had suffered the same fate. Arek’s fingers tightened on the hilt of the sword as the faces of his mother, Light Blade sisters and brothers, farmers, crofters, traders, and others, flitted through his mind in vivid, agonizing detail. Every outraged cry, every scream of terror, every plea for mercy with none given, the realization of their deaths etched in their faces in their final moments—echoes of the past reflected in Imhara’s stunned expression as she’d stared up at her opponent.

But then the
Na’Reish
saw battle only in the terms of winning and losing. Conquering or enslaving. The strong dominating the weak. Jedir’s intention had been to demonstrate his power in the basest way possible. Because he could.

A behavior Arek had witnessed too many times to count. Cold gratification filled him as the demon’s gaze glazed over. Planting his boot against the leather-plated armor, he yanked the sword free. The demon toppled over. His body hit the ground with a satisfying thud.

“There’s another. . . .” Imhara’s warning held barely a thread of sound. Small, white flakes of snow drifted down as he knelt beside her.

“He’s dead.” Arek cast a glance to where the second demon lay flat on his back, staring up at the overcast sky. His Gift had poured into Garsh just as fiercely as it had with Jedir. “I just wish all
Na’Hord
were as easy to kill as him.”

Her brow furrowed, her gaze clouded with pain and confusion, and it dawned on him then what he’d just said. Technically Imhara was also
Na’Hord
, but for the first time since he’d met her, he hadn’t viewed her as such. How . . .
When
had that happened?

Arek cleared his throat, put aside the sword, and began unbuckling her armor. She’d be more comfortable without it. Dints and scrapes decorated it, and one buckle strap had already torn free, testament to the torturous tumble she’d taken.

“If he hadn’t been so focused on the fight between you and Jedir, he might have seen me approaching.” He motioned to the foliage on the valley wall. “I only had that thin line of shrubs for cover.” Tossing her armor aside, he unslung the pack on his shoulder. Pulling out a shirt, he began tearing it into strips. “You did well to take him down as fast as you did.”

A smile ghosted her lips. “Thank you . . .”

“He underestimated you.”

“Many do.”

Arek made a noncommittal sound. He’d listened to her threaten Garsh yet never thought she’d take him on. But then she hadn’t known he was nearby. She’d acted and taken the offensive, believing herself to be alone.

Just like a warrior.

Just as he would have.

How she’d ever found the strength to avoid Garsh’s killing blow—he shook his head—no human would have been able to move like she had with those wounds.

What would it be like to meet her on the training ground? He suspected he’d enjoy the challenge of facing her, warrior to warrior.

“Underestimating you seems to be a habit of most males”—and here he met her gaze—“myself included.”

His wry tone coaxed a smile from her. “Like those two, some learn too late.” Her mouth quirked. “Although I believe there might be hope for you yet, Light Blade.” His own lips twitched as her expression grew somber. “Thank you for saving my life.”

Her gratitude reignited his awareness that he’d just killed two demons to save one. Something he thought he’d never do.

He grunted. “Seems like we both had a hand in that.” He wadded a strip of material into a pad. A snowflake touched down on the back of his hand. “The weather’s closing in. Let’s get you tended to.”

The uneven spots of her skin markings stood out in stark relief against the paleness of her skin. Her lips actually looked more gray than black. How much blood had she lost? He pressed the pad to the wound on her thigh.

“Arek, the arrowheads have to come out.”

His gaze lifted to hers. Her eyes were glassy but level. Snow peppered her hair and face. He brushed it from her cheeks and forehead, careful to avoid the dark bruise and bump on her temple. Her skin was cold to the touch.

“I’m no healer, Imhara. I could do you more harm than good.” He placed his fingers against the pulse in her throat. Rapid and shallow. “We need to get you back to the caravan.”

He put another pad against the wound on her arm.

“The snow’s getting heavier. We’d never make it back in time.”

A thin layer already coated the ground and the surface of every boulder. Gray clouds obscured the top of the valley. The premature arrival of evening would inhibit travelling even if the snow wasn’t present. With both, the temperature would drop fast.

She was right. Getting back to the caravan wouldn’t be possible. He muttered a curse.

“Please, Arek.” Imhara’s hand lifted; her fingers caught the sleeve of his arm before dropping to her stomach when he stiffened. “Leave them in and I die.”

Na’Reish
were tough. He’d witnessed it on the battlefield and Imhara had proven it, surviving a fall that should have killed her, and two assassins.

He still hesitated though. In his time on patrol, he might have sewn up a cut or two, but her wounds were a lot more serious. Could she withstand his rough field surgery? Yet what choice did either of them have?

“Having second thoughts?” she asked, her question drawing his gaze back down to her.

He frowned. “About what?”

“You made it clear you wanted me dead.” Her lips twisted into a pained smile. “If this was your plan all along, then why did you stop Jedir?”

“You believe I want to kill you?” Shock stiffened his spine.

“What am I to think when you hesitate?”

“
Lady of Light
, regardless of how I feel about you, up on that fortress wall I gave you my oath to help you.” Despite his anger, he peeled the wadded pad from her arm with care. “I hesitate because I don’t know how strong you are, how much blood you’ve lost, or what other injuries you have that I can’t see. I worry about cutting into you with a knife because of the pain I’ll cause you and whether you’ll survive.”

He reached across her body to yank the dagger from the
Na’Reish
demon’s belt. Snow was falling faster. In better circumstances he’d use flame to clean the blade before using it on anyone, but there was no time to build a fire.

“I’ll take out the arrowheads.” He squeezed the hilt of the dagger. “But only because I have no other option.”

Two quick cuts and he peeled her sleeve away from the wound. Blood oozed from around the stump of the arrow shaft. Gently he probed the underside of her arm. No broken skin. The head hadn’t gone through. He’d have to dig it out. He grimaced.

“This isn’t going to be pretty. You ready?” There was no reply. Arek glanced up, wondering if the silence meant Imhara had lost consciousness, only to discover her dark violet gaze fixed on him, her frown now thoughtful. “What?”

“I’m sorry for misunderstanding your intentions. It’s a comfort to know I have nothing to be scared of when you remove these arrows.” Her fingers flexed as if she wanted to reach out and touch him, but she held back. “Thank you for your concern.”

A solemn reply, her admission of fear the last thing he’d expected and not a particularly comfortable thought, especially when she’d always projected such confidence and strength.

Sure, he’d imagined retribution for the time she’d fed from him that first night in her room, and he’d probably alarmed her with his recent
Na’Hord
comment, but much had altered since then.

“Do whatever needs to be done, Arek. The outcome is in the
Lady’s
hands.” Imhara inhaled a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

Such trust loaded into two simple words. He doubted he’d have put his life in her hands in a similar situation. Her courage shamed him.

Stripping off the driver’s gloves, and before he changed his mind, he clasped her hand. “May
She
give us both the strength to see this through.”

Her fingers tightened on his, trembling. Exhaustion or fear? Her lips parted, as if she was going to speak, but instead she offered him a wan smile and a nod.

Arek bent to the task of removing the first arrowhead. He worked as quickly as he could, aware that Imhara made no sound other than an initial intake of breath when he first probed the wound.

Her courage steadied his hand. He could offer her no less. The metal barb came out with relative ease after a minute or two, but the one in her thigh took much more effort.

By the time he tossed the second arrowhead into the snow beside them, Imhara had passed out. As swiftly as he could, he bandaged her leg and bundled her in the cloak he pulled from the pack.

After washing his hands in the snow, he pulled the driver’s gloves back on, needing their warmth. Every breath exhaled became a frosted cloud. They needed shelter and a fire. Fuel wasn’t a problem; he could backtrack to the tree line at the end of the gully. Debris lay aplenty at the base of the trees, protected from the wet snow by the branches overhead. But where could he leave Imhara?

He searched the landscape. A quick walk to examine the dead end brought a smile to his face. The ridge of rock and two boulders formed an enclosed area on three sides. The outward slope of the wall deflected the snow away from the shelter.

If he worked fast, he could make a lean-to roof and block the fourth side with a woven wall of branches. Once snow covered the roof, it would provide more insulation against the cold. They’d have a dry, warm place to spend the night.

With a prayer of thanks to the
Lady
, Arek relocated Imhara and their meager supplies to the sheltered area. As an afterthought, he stripped both demons of their armor and clothes. The extra layers would prove useful as the temperature dropped. Then he dragged the bodies to the other end of the gully. Predators roamed the mountains. While the snowstorm might deter some from venturing out, there was no need to tempt fate by leaving the bodies close to where they sheltered.

Dumping the armor and weapons near the shelter, Arek hung on to the belts. They’d help with carting the wood. Aware that the afternoon light and visibility was dimming fast, he broke into a jog and headed out of the gully.

* * *

“COME
on, Imhara, wake up!”

The distant voice intruded on her sleep.

“Imhara, open your eyes. . . . Look at me.”

A warm hand touched her cheek. She stirred and leaned toward it.

“That’s it. I saw your eyelids flutter. You can do it. Come on, wake up!”

Coaxed by the voice, Imhara struggled to consciousness, but it was like wading through swamp mud. Her eyelids felt glued shut and everything felt heavy.

The first look at her surroundings ended up being a blurred image of light and darkness. Quite disorienting. She blinked, a deliberate lid-to-lid meeting, and the world jumped into focus.

She stared at a thick canopy of tree branches. A forest? Couldn’t be, even though she could hear the wind beyond the limbs. The limbs lay at right angles to one another, crisscrossed over and under. No forest grew like that.

“I see that you’re admiring my handiwork.” The soft voice was familiar.

“Arek?” The husky croak came from her throat.

The Light Blade warrior leaned over her. “I’m here.” Flickering light played hide-and-seek with shadows on his face, but she could see lines of weariness and tension bracketing his eyes and mouth. “How do you feel?”

“Thirsty.” She swallowed against a dry throat. “Tired.”

A grunt, then, “The thirst I can help you with but you can’t go back to sleep.”

A hand slipped beneath her head, his solid support a stark contrast to how weak she felt. A canteen pressed against her lips. Cool water filled her mouth, just a sip.
Mother of Mercy
, it tasted good.

“More?” She nodded at the question, wincing as her head began to throb. “Headache?” This time she whispered an affirmative. “I’m not surprised. You have a dark bruise and bump the size of a
jamet’s
egg on your left temple. It’s why I woke you.” Dark blue eyes peered into hers, checking. “Your eyes look all right.”

He lifted the canteen to her lips again and let her drink. Her stomach cramped and an intense wave of hunger washed through her. Recognizing it for what it was wiped away the last traces of her lethargy.

Blood-need.

Imhara gulped another few mouthfuls of water but craved something much richer, hotter, and thicker in texture. Several hard swallows and she kept the water down. Licking her lips, she tasted the salt of her own sweat. A poor substitute. Only feeding to replace what she’d lost would help her heal. And there was only one way to satiate it.