Hunted: The Warrior Chronicles #2 (6 page)

Finding the trail on the map, Shanti pointed in the right direction before mounting up and heading out. As they moved, she couldn’t help but think about what the old man had said before. “What did you call me earlier?”

“The Wanderer.” The man grinned. In a somber and flat voice, he started speaking like he was reciting something from a book. “Women who have suffered, no matter how afraid, hold out their hands in aid to help others. To create a loyalty like no other--as strong as an oak, as enduring as a mountain, and as brutal as Time—look no further than a female who has risen from the ashes. The Wanderer must be rightfully welcomed into a network of mothers and warriors both. With one hand she will nurture, and with the other she will strike out against evil. The Wanderer will be a woman from great suffering. She will unite the lost, the forlorn, and the survivors, and she will form the bond of the ages. Aid her!”

Shanti shook her head as the weight settled in her stomach again. She didn’t understand what he was talking about, and understood her journey even less. She was lost, drifting. She hoped Cayan had some ideas.

“Do me a favor,” she said to the old man as they neared the path. “When you speak madness, do it in the other language. It’s less confusing that way.”

Rohnan huffed out a laugh as they entered the trees.

M
arc hunched
over the pale man lying on the ground who had his eyes squeezed shut with his breath coming in fast pants. One arm lay at his side, clutching at leaves and dirt. The other was delicately held over his stomach for Marc’s inspection.

Wiping sweat from his eyes, Marc looked over his shoulder to see the crazy eyes of Commander Sanders. The commander didn’t say anything, but the set of his jaw and his flexed muscles screamed
impatience
.

Marc turned back like a man who didn’t want to acknowledge a ghost at his back and stared at the sentry in obvious pain. Taking a big breath to steady himself, he reached out with trembling hands to gingerly touch the hurt man’s forearm. His action was met with a slight moan immediately cut off in an act of sheer will.

He cleared his throat and said, “It’s, ah… it’s broken, sir. I think.”

“You
think
?” Commander Sanders moved around until he could look down at Marc’s face. “The man can’t move the thing without complaining, it’s hot to the touch, and you
think
it’s broken? Try again.”

He summoned all his courage, trying to pretend it was the patient and understanding S’am looking down on him.
Shanti
, he reminded himself. Calling her S’am meant she had a leadership role, and leaders just didn’t wander away in the middle of the night when their men needed them.

Marc hunched, trying to hide the redness he knew colored his face. Then he bowed even more,
feeling
the gaze of the toughest, meanest, most impatient man in the entire army boring into the top of his head.

“We—well, sir,” Marc stammered, trying to get the ordeal over with. His brain churned, but all he could think of was that intense stare and the grisly scar down the left side of Sanders’ face. Or maybe it was the fact that Sanders got that scar while killing four Mugdock with nothing but a small knife and a bad attitude.

He cleared his throat, seeing that the lines of the arm were true and there weren’t any obvious signs of bones out of place. The man had fallen out of the tree—his post for sentry duty—and landed badly. Kids did it all the time. Plus, Sanders knew it was broken, so what was Marc needed for? Take the man to get a brace, tell him to be more careful, and be done with it.

Although…

Marc looked up at the branches and then to the body sprawled out on the ground with his head facing the trunk. A trickle of blood seeped from a spot of matted crimson hair. It was not a deep gash, but the sentry had definitely hit his head.

He leaned forward and delicately touched the skull. The sentry winced. Marc gently opened the sentry’s right eye and noticed the dilated pupil. The sentry had probably hit his head when he hit the ground. His body broke most of the fall, but his head definitely bounced. The trauma hadn’t killed him, but he had a concussion. He’d need treatment for the arm, and the head wound would have to be monitored.

“He doesn’t do well when you smother him while he works.” Xavier marched up, a note held out for Sanders. He was a large kid for fifteen, with broad shoulders, a wide chest, and already stacked muscle. He wasn’t quite as big as the Captain, but Xavier wasn’t done growing, either. Too bad all the ambition had gone out of him when Shanti hadn’t returned. Almost all of the Honor Guard—the faction of five that were set to spy on, then get trained by, the strange foreign woman they’d found in the dead lands—had the same problem. Her practices had been fun, if also terrifying. Standing around in the practice yard while someone yelled at them just didn’t compare.

Sanders glared at Xavier as he took the note. He read it before looking back at Marc. “Your dense friend thinks I’m smothering you somehow. Is this correct?”

Marc’s eyes rounded before he stared at the ground. “No, sir.”

“What is his ailment?” Sanders pushed.

“He probably has a concussion. He needs to go to the hospital to have his arm set and get watched for his head,” Marc rattled out.

He sighed in relief when Sanders said, “Stenson, get yourself to the hospital and do as the boy says.”

“Yes, sir.” The sentry painfully rose to his feet.

“You might, uh, go with him, sir,” Marc muttered with his hands in his pockets. “Just so he doesn’t get dizzy or lost. Head wounds can do strange things.”

After a tense beat, Sanders said, “C’mon, Stenson. I’m going that way, anyway. These boys need all the time they can get in the practice yard.”

“Yes, sir,” Stenson wheezed while clutching his arm.

“Get gone,” Sanders barked at Xavier and Marc.

The two boys took off as fast as possible without actually running. It wasn’t a great idea to hang around when Sanders was in a mood like this. A guy might find himself getting thrown through a tree that way.

After they’d put some distance between themselves and the prickly Commander, Xavier said, “Took a long time on that diagnosis, huh? Was it Sanders breathing down your neck, or did you really not know what was wrong with Stenson?”

“Sanders jumbles all my thoughts,” Marc admitted. “But… I don’t really think I’m living up to Shanti’s expectations…”

Xavier kicked at a rock. “Yeah, well, she had impossible expectations in the first place. Then she left. So…”

“I just feel like things are unfinished, you know? There’s still a ton of danger out there—I saw what the Inkna did to that city. And they have a bunch of mind-thrower people. We can’t stand up to that.”

“We have the Captain. He’s as strong as Shanti.”

“Except he doesn’t know what he’s doing. And who’s he going to train with? He could just as easily kill with that mind thing as do nothing with it. And Shanti was the best—”

“So she said,” Xavier interrupted with spite.

“Okay, well, she was way better than any of those Inkna, and she’s better than the Captain. If she’s not the best, then we’re all in trouble. She wasn’t afraid of the Inkna, and didn’t mind running straight into battle, but the Graygual made her go pale. If they come calling, we’re screwed.”

“The Captain is forming alliances. He’s got a bunch already on our side. We’ve got help.”

“Xavier!” Marc shoved the larger guy. “Will you wake up? She left, and that sucks. I hate her for it, too, but if you pulled your head out of your ass, you’d see the bigger picture. Alliances are all well and good, but the Graygual are still bigger. They are
breeding
people like Shanti. We need more than a few old farts from prosperous cities merging with us.”

They turned a corner at the last house before they reached the large, dusty training grounds.

“Well, the Captain is the best at what he does, and he’s working it out,” Xavier said. “He—”

Someone rushed out of the shadows.

Xavier reacted hard and fast. He grabbed the man and threw in one smooth, precise movement.

Hands windmilled as a body flew through the air. Before it hit the ground, they heard Leilius utter, “Why?” He landed in a tumble of limbs.

Xavier turned to Marc with a grin. “Did you just
scream?
”

“Did I?” Marc put his hand to his chest, out of breath. His heart pounded against his rib cage. Images of the Inkna battle had flashed through his mind, making him think someone was attacking with a sword or knife.

Xavier doubled over in laughter. “You screamed like a girl!”

“
Well?
He jumped from out of nowhere!” Marc defended.

“What’d you do that for?” Leilius asked as he picked himself up off the ground, dusting off his plain gray clothes.

Lanky and average looking, Leilius was the only one of them that was still as good with his skills as when Shanti left. He loved slinking around the town, randomly waiting in various places and watching people, waiting to see if they would notice him. He was the only one among them that had absolute faith—absolute, unequivocal faith—that Shanti would return.

The problem was, the army didn’t acknowledge silent loitering as a quantifiable trait. Of what the army did recognize as necessary skills, Leilius was only good at working with a knife at close range. Sanders often threatened to send him to work in the mines.

“What if you had been a Mugdock and I didn’t react?” Xavier asked Leilius as they continued on.

“How would a Mugdock get into the city without the sentries knowing?” Leilius said with a put-upon expression. He wiped at a small cut on his cheek. When his fingers came away with a smear of blood, he held it up with an incredulous expression. “You made me bleed!”

Xavier ignored the accusation. “You’ve gotten past the sentries without being noticed…”

“But then I got in trouble by the Captain for wandering around outside the walls when I was supposed to be cleaning out the horse stalls.
He
knew where I was. You think he wouldn’t notice a Mugdock sneaking in?”

“What if you’d been an Inkna? They can hide their minds.” Xavier hesitated as they neared the edge of the practice yard. Men of all ages and abilities congregated there to practice with swords, or to work in the pit throwing knives. There were even long-range archery targets set up into the trees beyond the perimeter of the city.

“Not really,” Marc cut into the argument, spotting Rachie and Gracas, the other two members of their old Honor Guard. The two guys were standing on the periphery of the crowd of cadets waiting for their Training Captain. “If the Captain was paying attention, he’d know they were there. They wouldn’t be hidden.”

“You said yourself,” Xavier pushed. “He’s not great with his power. Someone might slip past.”

“Oh, now he’s not great with his power? Desperate to be right, as always, huh, Xavier?” Marc rolled his eyes.

“All I’m saying is,” Xavier said to Leilius, “You can’t pop out and not expect me to react.”

“Well, next time I’ll pop out and avoid the throw. That’s something to work on. And you can work on not letting me avoid the throw. S’am would give us that homework.”

Xavier sighed in defeat. Leilius never took the hint that Xavier didn’t want Shanti’s name mentioned in a favorable light around him. “Whatever. C’mon, let’s go. Maybe we’ll do something interesting today.”

“Doubtful.” Leilius’ body slumped as he and Marc followed Xavier into the training grounds.

C
ayan sat
at his desk in his private office; a place few knew about, much less visited. For official business or meetings, he used the space that was more like a hall than working quarters. These days he spent little time there, though. Things were starting to heat up and he didn’t have a firm handle on the direction of their future as a city, or more importantly, as a people.

The door opened, letting in the brisk fall chill. Commander Sanders marched in with Cayan’s note clutched in his hand and expectation etched in his features. He gave Cayan a nod before coming to stand directly in front of the desk. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

Cayan sat back and prevented himself from rubbing his eyes. Sleep was a luxury he no longer indulged in. “Yes. I’ve received a letter from the Duke of the Southern Peninsula. He is the last, and most important, ally. He’s agreed to help for the time being and indirectly join our cause.” He was also a pompous fool who thought more of himself than he ought. Still, the man was great at managing his assets, and had some equally great commanders. Cayan needed him.

“Yes, sir. Has anyone turned you down?”

Cayan glanced at the papers on this desk. “I was late to the party, actually. Krekonna from the west was already accumulating help. I joined
their
alliance, if truth be told. I then extended the request to a few nations closer to me, and of course, the Duke’s. Those further west have already seen the effects of the Graygual armies. Refugees have flocked to Krekonna and surrounding cities in droves. Women have disappeared, many turning up dead. Men have been killed in the street. It’s utter lawlessness. Their army is sick with power and unimpeded. They do whatever they desire.”

“Fear mongering.” Sanders clasped his hands behind his back. “Thieves do it all the time on our routes. They pick off some of the weak travelers and leave them to be found as an example of their brutality. Then, when the thieves approach softly and with a smile, people are so thankful not to be run-through with a sword, or their wives abused, they dump out their pockets quietly and obediently. Foul play, that. But it speeds up the process—so I’ve heard. They know better than to try that with my men, of course.”

A ghost of a smile passed Cayan’s lips. “I bet. Well, their plans are working. Krekonna is terrified of a Graygual invasion. He looks around him and sees the eventual death and destruction of his people. Unlike some, however, he doesn’t plan to surrender quietly. Or at all.”

“Does he have any in his city with mind power?”

Cayan couldn’t help another smile, this time with an underlying of sarcasm. “He’s seeking the violet-eyed girl. He wants to appeal for her aid.”

Sanders snorted and walked a few paces to the window. His muscles flexed. “I’d love to be in a locked room with that foreign woman.” He turned back to Cayan, regret and uneasiness warring on his face. “Don’t get me wrong, sir, I’m thankful for what she did. Not happy to admit it—
I
should be saving the damsel, not the other way around. But how she left… that wasn’t right. Took off like a fart in the wind. Cowardly, that’s what it was. She’s got her own agenda, the other nations that need her help be damned.”