Hers to Choose (25 page)

“
Will you and your men fight with us?”

DeKieran
sat motionless for long moments. “I hold no love for the
Tetriarch.
”

“
Ram, the evidence at your murder trial never convinced me. I’ll look into it further,” Eric said. “I’ll push for a pardon.”

DeKieran’s cold expression became glacial.
Eric prepared to watch the man ride off, but first DeKieran turned his frigid, piercing eyes to Eric.

“
You do that.” DeKieran watched the Blue Daggers and
Ostesh
struggle to take his men prisoner. “I will ally my men with you for this fight.”

Eric nodded, tight-lipped. “Thank you.”

He wheeled his mount toward the pocket in the wall that had concealed the Verdantians. Sliding to a halt, Eric flew from his horse and leapt up the side of the uprising rock. Razor-edged shards tore at Eric’s flesh as he grabbed for handholds, jagged stones scraped and gouged at his legs while he scrabbled for footholds in the unforgiving, vertical surface. Ramsey DeKieran stayed on his heels. Upon achieving a sufficient height to see the Plains of Vergaza their band had crossed the night before, Eric stood motionless, lungs laboring. Every vulgar oath he knew flew from his mouth. The sound of DeKieran’s harsh breathing rasped in his ear. Haarb, hundreds and hundreds of Haarb, stretched in a line across the beginnings of the Narrows to the south. Krakoll’s armies had them well and truly trapped.

DeKieran’s
rough growl interrupted Eric’s steady stream of epithets. “DeStroia, are you in charge?”

“No,
Doral DeLorion commands us.”

“
Fuck!” Ramsey exploded. “
Doral
DeLorion? Hell’s breath. It just gets worse.”

Eric eyed him grimly.
“I need to get higher. I want to see the road from Sylvan Mintoth.”

D
eKieran opened his arm in an “after you” gesture and followed as Eric climbed higher up the rock face. Stopping, Eric pulled out his glass and peered through it. “High Lord DeTano will bring the armies of the
Second Tetriarch
down that road. I think I see a disturbance on the horizon but it could be wishful thinking. Here.” Eric handed Ramsey his spyglass. The renegade commander peered through the glass for long moments before shutting it with a gliding snap.

“There is a definite
boil of dust on the horizon. It could be large troop movement.” He shrugged. “Hard to say. Wouldn’t want to trust my life to it.”

Eric studied the horizon again. “We
must. Our only chance is to hold out until DeTano arrives. Let’s go spread the good news.”
Sophi, my love.
Eric’s heart ruptured in two. He had just found her.
Sweetling, I may have to break my promise.

The torchlight in the cavern flickered as Sophi paced back and forth in front of it, arms wrapped tightly to her chest. The sound of her steps echoed through the small cave. Every time she thought she had worn herself out, anxiety spurred her to another round of frantic pacing.

“Mother Lyre, I am going insane
with this uncertainty and waiting.
It has been sixteen hours. All the fighting must be over. Please, let me go to the Eye and use my glass.” Sophi clutched Mother Lyre’s hands in hers, beseeching her cooperation. “Please. I must know how they fare. I’ll take Adonia and Maeve with me. I promise to be careful. Please, Mother, please. I must know.” Sophi searched her face for any sign of weakening. Mother Lyre’s refusals had been adamant for the last few hours.

The older woman shook her head and sighed. “
I desire to know, also. Let’s both go, child. For ease of mind, we will look. But nothing more.” She faced Adonia and Maeve. “You will help me bind her and bring her back unconscious if necessary should she attempt to leave the Eye.” Her stern eyes bored into Adonia and Maeve.

They dropped their heads and murmured, “Yes, Mistress.”

“Thank you, Mother! May the Goddess bless you! Thank you!” Sophi hurried to the cavern the Oshtesh were using as stables with Maeve and Adonia hard upon her heels. Mother Lyre followed more slowly.

Sophi never took her eyes off the small shelter at the heights. She barely remembered guiding her horse. Her urgency must have inhabited her mount
. The creature climbed like a shaggy rock leaper, lunging and scrambling up the stony, narrow ledges with an agile willingness that barely satisfied Sophi. She breathed a heartfelt, “Thank you, great Mother,” when they gained the small stone shelter perched atop the rocky spire.

Slipping from her horse, Sophi
sprinted to the best vantage point, flattened onto her stomach and ran out her spyglass. Adonia and Maeve, slow to follow, did the same moments later. Trailing, Mother Lyre joined them and the four women scanned the flat land spread out in plain sight below them. Sophi reacted first. Dropping her spyglass from nerveless hands, her eyes stared ahead, glazed and vacant.
So many Haarb. Where did they come from? How can our men possibly hold off so many Haarb?
Her eyes told her a horror story of certain death for her beloved Eric, her brother Doral, the man she now called father, and all those in their company. Her brain refused the message. Fear paralyzed her.
High Lord DeTano!
She grabbed at her glass with trembling hands and rose to her feet. Swinging in the direction of Sylvan Mintoth, she examined the horizon intently for any sign of the armies of the
Second Tetriarch.
There! There!
A sobbing inhale escaped her.
But they are too far!
She swung her glass back and forth between the cluster of those cherished by her and the advancing Haarb armies. Then swung again to judge the distance of the rapidly closing forces of the
Tetriarch
.
Too far.
Sophi slid her glass closed and watched as the three women, wind whipping their robes around them, arrived at the same conclusion.
Maeve broke the silence with a whisper of despair. “They have no chance.”

Sophi’s eyes scanned the three women
with her.
Mother Lyre held her gaze the longest.
“Sophi, Maeve, there’s always a chance. I refuse to grieve for a living body.
We will wait and we will watch and we will not despair.”

“We will watch them
die
,” Adonia ground out bitterly, grief saturating her tone.

* * *

Eric and
Primus
G’hed efficiently consolidated the
Oshtesh,
Blue Daggers and Ramsey’s mercenaries into one unit. Not, however, without loud exchanges of mutual animosity. The Blue Daggers had been reluctant to surrender their merc prisoners until Eric barked, “Release them. We need every blade.”

Ramsey and Doral exchanged a long, enigmatic stare.

“DeKieran,” acknowledged Doral.

“
Visconte DeLorion.” Ramsey nodded. “DeStroia, I can hold the line to the south.” Ram gestured with his arm. “There in the narrowest part, we can be most effective against the Haarb battalions coming up from Amboy Crater.” Ram sat relaxed on his horse, as if he’d offered to accompany a lady on her shopping instead of taking on three hundred mutants, backed only by twenty fighters.

Eric
nodded slowly. “My thanks.”

Doral
raised his voice to address the ranks. “High Lord DeTano is a four-hour ride to the east. We merely need hold this ground four hours.”

There were
uneasy murmurs from Ramsey’s men of “Four hours? Against
that
? I’m getting out of here. This isn’t
my
fight.”

Ram turned on his horse and
snarled. “Flee and you
will
die by my hand. Stand and the Haarb
might
kill you. Understood?” All murmuring ceased.

Doral turned to Eric. “My forte is death one-on-one, yours battlefield tactics. I yield to your expertise.”

“Gentlemen!” Eric stood, capturing the attention of the combined force. “If we use the topography to our benefit, we can repel the Haarb for a short time. Our Verdantian horse will begin where the narrows limit the numbers the Haarb can send at us. Captain DeKieran’s men will hold the southern entrance. I,
Segundo
DeLorion and the Blue Daggers will hold the northern face. The southern forces will fall back in a systematic retreat until back-to-back with the northern forces. We will abandon the horses and take to the heights, joining the
Oshtesh
archers.
Primus
G’hed, the critical responsibility of holding the heights secure is yours. Once in the cliffs overlooking the Narrows, we will stand our ground until the armies of the Tetriarch join the battle.”

Captain Rickard
threw her head back and laughed. “Well, Daggers—can’t remember being in a tighter spot, but our
Segundo
has always brought us through, eh?” She snagged the unit’s pennant from the rider next to her and raised it skyward. “Blue Daggers! To the
Tetriarch
!”

A
n answering cry went up from the men gathered. “To the
Tetriarch
!”

Ram and his mercs silently sat their horses
, wearing looks of disgust.

“Archers into the heights,” commanded
Primus
G’hed as he moved to the rocky upthrusts that rose hundreds of feet into the air.

“With me, men!” cried DeKieran, moving out to face the southern exposure.

“Blue Daggers, to me!” shouted Doral, riding into position to the north.

Side-by-side, the Verdantian horse stretched across the mouth of the narrows and waited for the onslaught of Haarb. From behind them, the screams of men and Haarb, of horses and clashing steel filled the air as Krakoll’s battalion from Amboy Crater met Ramsey DeKieran’s force. Above it all, Ramsey’s voice could be heard exhorting his men. “Stand your ground and fight, Verdantians! Stand your ground!”

Eric and Doral sat side-by-side and calmly watched their own death approach as hundreds of Haarb poured through the narrows toward them,
war screams pouring from their lips, swords, pikes and axes held high.

Eric
readied his blade. “The Goddess guard you, you yellow-haired bastard.”

Doral laughed grimly. “
And you. I’ll never hear the end of it if you get so much as a scratch.” His commanding voice rang out. “Verdantians! CHARGE!”

Eric sank his spurs into his mount and the line of Verdantian horse thundered forward.

* * *

High across the
Plain, reflections of light glinted off four metal spyglasses trained on the conflict below. Sophi kept hers focused on Eric and Doral, standing back-to-back, as their blades flashed bloody arcs, blocking and slashing. She couldn’t contain her cries when a Haarb opponent managed a hit. Her arms and hands trembled fiercely from the grief and brutal agony boiling within her. She found it difficult to steady the glass to see and ultimately set it aside, only to snatch it up again. She wanted to scream to the heavens—to any god or goddess, to the hells for any demon or devil. She would promise anything, her soul, her body, her as yet unborn children, anything if only some supernatural being would answer her prayer.
Help them, please, help them.
The torture she endured as slave to the Haarb did not begin to approach the fear inhabiting her as she watched Eric and Doral fight for their lives.

The
Oshtesh
archers had slowed the Haarb’s initial assault, arraying ‘earthworks’ of mounded dead bodies in the path of the advancing enemy. But the numbers of their adversary wiped out the initial gain and the Haarb beat the Verdantian horsemen inexorably back to the rocky uprises. With their supply of arrows exhausted, the
Oshtesh
joined the Verdantians, now on foot, in savage hand-to-hand combat. The heights of the narrows worked to the Verdantian advantage but dark swarms of the enemy could be seen scaling the sides of the rocky uprises, working their way to the top. It took no imagination to realize the result of that maneuver.

With her eye still pressed to her glass, Adonia gave a cry and pointed
. “Look!”

To the east, out of a boiling cloud rising high into the heavens, a vast line of horses flattened in a dead run, stretched across the
Plain. The naked eye could discern lances trailing pennants of royal purple and gold. High Lord DeTano had arrived, with the armies of the
Tetriarch
.

Sophi
pressed her glass back to her eye and searched for Eric and Doral, then swung it to the horses thundering down on the narrows, closing the distance in an earth-shaking race against time—a race they would not win. Closing her glass, she stood, eyes closed, tears streaming steadily down her face. Maeve, once again, gave voice to their thoughts. “They will not be in time. Our armies will not be able to fight through the masses of Haarb in time to save our men trapped there.”

Adonia turned
on Sophi. Savage words spewed bitterly from her mouth. “Where is all your
magick
now? Where is your
magick
now that we so desperately need it to save those we love? What use is it? It is false hope, false!” She gestured forcefully toward the Plain below, her accusing eyes never leaving Sophi. “My lover fights down there.” Adonia’s eyes swung to Maeve. “So does hers. So does yours. Down there is the
Primus
of our people, your stepfather and the
Segundo
of the Second Tetriarch, your brother. Where is your
magick
now? Now, when it has never been more needed?” she screamed.

Sophi felt the warm
diaman
crystal weighing heavily in her robe’s deep inner pocket. With a terrible grief tearing at her heart, she reached in and brought out the pulsing amber crystal and with eyes closed, held it between her breasts.
Where is it, indeed?

Cradling the golden
diamantorre
, Sophi directed a fervent prayer to Mother Verdantia. She recalled Eric’s promise as he handed her the crystal.
He had promised to come back to her. She remembered Eric telling Maeve the stored energy would be released in whatever manner she could envision, but the thought must be pure, essential, nothing clouding it. He also said that the crystals fed from feminine arousal.
How can I become aroused standing here, watching everyone I love die?
She gasped.
Cinnagin.
Sophi ran her hand urgently into the inner pocket of her robe and pulled out the small square of folded parchment. Unfolding it, she looked at the fine, rust-brown powder lying in the crease. Remembering the effects that a mere taste had, Sophi ran her tongue along the entire crease and swallowed the whole amount.

A
burning sun of erotic arousal exploded within her. All she could think for seeming endless moments—all she could feel for endless moments—was the sensation of liquid fire stroking every nerve in her body. Her skin became aware of the slightest breath of air.
Her robe stroked her nipples in a carnal overload of sensation. She tore her robes from her body, unable to endure the stimulation. Her feminine places flamed. Her inner lips swelled and slicked with moisture. Her most sensitive place of all throbbed with a sparkling, pulsing burn.
She threw her body on the bare ground, the
diamantorre
forgotten, and writhed. Her cries for mercy filling the air around her.

Eric.
Remember Eric,
a small corner of her brain insisted.
Eric. Eric.
Staggering to her knees, Sophi grasped the now brilliantly radiant crystal in her hands and raised it to the heavens. She aimed the discipline forged through years of unrelenting training with the bow to a new purpose. With a snarling scream of supreme effort, she leashed the carnal sensations running wild through her flesh, focusing them through her hands as the light of the sun concentrates through a glass. Just as a marksman must close all else from his mind but his target, she focused her thoughts on three persons, Eric, Doral,
Primus.
In a trinity of thought she held them in the forefront of her mind and fed pure, unadulterated love through the amber
diamantorre
—the love for a brother, the love for a father, the love for a soul mate.
She threw every minute speck of her essence into the thoughts she channeled through the crystal while her body raged in an inferno of arousal.