Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles, 1) (20 page)

“They were slight men with fa
ir skin, like yours.”

“All of them?”

“Yes. All.”

Shanti felt a jab of fear. Again. It was getting irritating.
“What type of weapons did they carry?”

“Large swords with a wide tip, or wicked looking knives.”

“Yarn or string on the hilts?”

“Yes.”

Shanti sighed in relief. “Not Graygual. Thank the Elders their mercy. The Graygual do not know I’m here. Not yet.”

Sanders staggered into view, his hair mussed and his eyes wild. “Why the fuck am I in this room with this perversion? What the fuck is going on? Sir. Let’s give her over and be done with it!”

“None of that was aimed at you, Sanders.” Shanti closed her eyes. “It was aimed at your Captain. You only got the backlash. He got the full blast. And he wasn’t witching.”

“Bitching, I think you mean,” t
he Captain helped.

“Bitching? Female mongrel?”

“Female dog, yes. Also slang—a derogatory word for a female. Also slang for whining.”

“For all your culture says you love women, you certainly have a lot of nasty terms to describe them.”

“I now know why,” Sanders said viciously.

“Who are the men we found? Where are they from and what do they want?” the Captain asked, easily ignoring the man foaming at the mouth in the corner.

“Inkna,” Shanti said weakly, also ignoring Sanders. “They are the financial minds behind the Graygual. They are extremely loyal because the Graygual keeps them in wealth. They are checking your city—analyzing your worth. They are realizing how very rich you are. And how good at defense. They probably now know they cannot take you by force. Not without heavy losses. They are good fighters, but you, as a whole, are better.

“They’
ll establish trade. Let them. Start very small. Say you are trying to establish commerce, establishing trust and credit. Make something up. Let the trade trickle increase. Dazzle them with some of your best wares, but keep them constantly trading those that are worst. They know you have much, but they probably don’t know quality. Keep them thinking your quantity is in something not worth as much, and the quality items are sparse.”

“That will hurt our income,” Sanders said, working on breathing to calm himself. His fists were still white-knuckled.

“When they know you have quantity in quality wares, the Graygual will want to run this operation themselves. Your city is small and rich. All your people benefit. It is not how their system works. With them, their cities are giant. Everything is for sale, including sex. Including…um, mind changing devices. I don’t know the word—“

“Drugs,” t
he Captain supplied.

“Yes,
that’s right.” Her eyes drooped. She was so tired. “The rich are about ten percent, mostly nestled in the folds of military. The mid-tier is about twenty. The rest are under the boot. You have too many profiting. If you divide up the wealth in smaller shares, a few get much more. That is how the Graygual work. The few run things. The rest try to find a good place to hide.”

“And your people…”

Shanti felt her heart drop in defeat. There wasn’t much more to hide and he was too strong to kill. Besides, he now knew her value to her enemy. What was the point in hiding the rest? “The Shamas. We were a quiet people with no wealth. Not in material goods, anyway. Our choice. The Graygual were a young, power-hungry nation when they first came to us. They were starting to branch out and wanted to bring us into the fold. They needed fighters—military. They needed muscle. My people fight. It’s what we do. We fight with mind and body. We train all our lives for the conditioning of it. From the memory of a violent past. But we are a small nation. Tiny, really. We don’t procreate well.

“The
Graygual didn’t like that we said no. The next time they came it was to teach us a lesson. They didn’t realize women fought right beside the men. They didn’t realize that one of us equaled five of their mercenaries. They didn’t realize that one little girl in the small, northeastern village could kill people from a distance by thinking of stabbing a knife in their brains. She hadn’t known it at the time, either—not until she was pushed to it. Not until survival instinct took over.”

   Sanders took a noisy breath and sat down with a heavy plop. The Captain stared, his face blank, his eyes riveted.

“The second time they came was much later. The little girl was a woman. She’d lost her parents in the first skirmish. She then inherited the leadership. The doctrines said that when a girl is born from magic and none, who takes the role of a man, and desecrates with thought, she is the Chosen. She will connect the distant halves into a whole and lead her people to salvation. My father had the
Ahna Hasneas—
the
Warring Gift
in your language. My mother had no
Gift
at all. He took her as his mate anyway, love trumping all, expecting not to have children. They had me. I inherited his leadership when he died in the first battle. I am the Chosen. Apparently.

“Anyway, false labels aside, I had to learn to lead from age five. I had to hone my
Gift
. I had to be the best fighter anyone had ever seen. I was trained for it mercilessly. I grew into it painfully. The next time they came I was ready, but it was not to be. The Graygual had grown into their leadership, too. They had consumed all nations along the coast and a great many inland. We were their only failure.

“They showed up early one morning, not unlike the Mugdock did the other day. We were long since ready. We had a
Seer.
She foresaw them coming. Also their numbers. We could not win. I lost the rest of my people two days later. I was ferreted out by my Chance. He was also my Sacrifice when they caught our trail. He stayed behind.”

“How long ago was this?”
the Captain asked, leaning forward in his chair with his forearms resting against his thighs.

“A little over a year.”

“You were never captured?”

“You are the first.”

“And they want to finish their task? To wipe out the last of you? You being the last?”

Shanti met his gaze.
“No. They want to breed me. They want to build an army out of me. Xandre, their leader, the Being Supreme, wants me for his own. He wants the next generation of super fighter to be of his seed. I thought that threat had ended with me gone. But now there is you. And you have learned to block me. You are also easier to breed. You make semen constantly. You can be drugged to give it willingly. They can impregnate a whole city with you and hope a few babies pop out with your
Gift.
Or, they can mix our bodies and have a better probability of success, though I am not sure if they know that.”

“What do you mean
, better probability of success?” the Captain asked gruffly.

“My people did not procreate well because like talent has a better chance of producing offspring with like talent. Two
Warring Gifts
would have about a fifty percent easier time producing an offspring than a
Warring Gift
and a…
Sadna Hasneas.
Um…
Empathic,
I think is your word
. Empathic Gift
. A
Gifted
and non-
Gifted
would have an even worse chance still. The offspring might have some
Gift
, but not always. Until now I knew nobody with a like
Gift
. Now, together we are extremely dangerous, both to current military and future military. We should both be killed. But there might be others. Now I’m not sure. Maybe the Graygual already have some? Maybe there are stronger
Gifts
than mine, or yours. Maybe the breeding is already taking place? Who’s to say?”

“Well, I guess that means war is coming, and we’ll be on the side with a hard road,” Sanders said with his head in his hands. “I wish I stayed in bed today.”

“Did they take any of your people?” the Captain asked quietly.

“Yes. A few. Twenty or so.”

“To…breed?”

“Disgusting,” Sande
rs spat, pacing.

“I believe so,” Shanti replied with a straight face.

“So there is a chance another you—us…another one of us is already created.”

“No. They expired.”

“What’s that?”

Shanti rubbed her temples. “T
hey were taken. They would have been raped repeatedly. Because they were unable to do it themselves, I killed them. I would rather not go over the specifics right now. I need to sleep.”

“You killed your own people?” Sanders stopped and stared
with a gaping mouth.

“You didn’t try to save them, first?” Cayan asked in a sympathetic voice, but with an edge.

Hot tears rolled down her face. “Yes, and yes. The enemy had a city of fighters larger than your city of civilians. I got close, but I couldn’t get them out. So I killed them. They begged it of me, and I complied. Please leave. I don’t have the strength to make you.”

The Captain stood and nodded for Sanders to leave. “Wait for me.”

Sanders wasted no time. He was through the door as if the room were on fire.

In the silence the Captain neared. He approached her slowly, reading her face. “What of the children? You still have people waiting for you, don’t you? Hoping you will succeed? Where are you going? Let me help.”

Tears were still rolling. She felt the brush of his mind on hers, trying to reestablish that link they’d shared in his bedroom. Trying to get in and form a deeper connection. She closed up tight, locking herself in.

He put his hand on her bare arm
. His power seeped into her skin, lighting her on fire. So much power. It was flash boiling her blood. He poked at her barriers gently, seeking a way in, searching for a chink in the armor. His eyes glowed as they looked down on her, blue like the sky. Dark rimmed like thunderclouds rolling through.

“There is
no one else. They are all gone,” Shanti whispered.

“Then how can you reunite them?”

Good question. He was too smart for his own good.

“What of the children?” he asked again.

“Why do you care?”

“Because I am of the Old Blood. Like you. Procreation was always hard with my family, too, on my mother’s side. The gifts, as you call them, are carried with the mother. I know the history. You know the use. Together we are more powerful than each of us alone. We stand a better chance.”

“I am at war with the Graygual. You are not. If I were you, I would hide. They are… you stand no chance. For your people’s sake, hide.”

“I think we both know it is too
late for that. As you say, we have wealth—we have extremely fertile lands and are well managed. This Inkna was behind the Mugdock attack. They were dressed as Mugdock. They have been poking around our mines, our leather factories—they were getting a good look. War is coming, and I do not bend my knee. We are on your side.”

“You are on your side. I am alone.”

The Captain withdrew his hand, his mind lingering. “As I said, I do not bend my knee. Not even to visually arresting outcasts. You will see it my way in the end. You will eventually need a friend, and then you will realize I am that friend.”

“I need a bed buddy and you don’t fit that role, so I’m good without you. Except, uh…for
that other thing. Thank you. For that.”

“For what, exactly?” His eyes were twinkling so hard they belonged on a dance floor as a sparkly ball.
Or in Rachie’s room, where she’d seen it. Cayan definitely knew what for.

Shanti cleared her throat. She hated saying she was wrong, she hated saying she was sorry, and she hated having to tell this egotistical ass that she was thankful he saved her life against overwhelming odds. Still, honor dictated that it be done. “For, uh, coming for me. On the battlefield. I would not have made it out without you. So, thanks.”

He looked at her with gravity, his eyes still sparkling, but grounded. “You’re welcome.”

She nodded. He continued to try and lock eyes.

“Okay,” she said, too tired to play at holding the intense gaze—she’d hoped that would get easier. “Now get out.”

“I like it better when you’re vulnerable.”
The Captain took a step back.

“Liar. It makes you nervous. You aren’t as good at blocking as you think you are.”

A grin ghosted Cayan’s lips, his dimples making a brief appearance. When he got to the door he stopped for a brief second, his hand on the shiny knob. “Who was this man that turned you down?”

“Why? Going to give him a pat on the back?”

The Captain turned his face to her, his eyes burning into her for a second. He did the equivalent of
flicking
her in the head. It was a weird sensation, bouncing off her block and tingling her skin. A second later, with a half-smile this time, he was out the door and gone.

***