The Dark Lady (65 page)

Verges’s arms tightened around Van as she collapsed against him. “She is ill.” He had never felt panic before, and as the strange emotion rampaged his system, he shuddered. He did not know what he would do without her.

Eolian looked carefully at her and then back at the approaching army. Swords began to clang loudly echoing off the steep walls of the canyon behind them.

Eolian screamed for a retreat and turned to Verges. “Bring her,” he said and fled in the direction of his horse.

“
What do I do?” Verges looked to her for orders, alarmed to see the glazed pain in her eyes. He could feel the heat of her smooth skin burning through his clothing and she hung heavily. He was afraid she would not answer and looked at Peter.

“
Take me. We cannot risk him getting away.” Her breath came in deep gasps and her voice was a bare whisper. “Take Damien, with me along he will allow it.”

“
Van, you are not well,” he said, his voice catching in his tight throat.

“
Nay, and if I die and he gets away, it will all be for naught.”

He knew she should not be moved, but he also knew she was right. He carried her to Damien’s side and mounted. He kicked him into motion and pushed the horse hard to catch up to Eolian.

He leaned forward urging her mount to even greater speed.

Her voice whispered against his cheek. “It is our job to slow them. No matter what happens...” Her voice was becoming almost too low for him to hear over the pounding of the horses’ hooves and the screaming of men and swords.

Verges came up beside Eolian as she spoke again. “No matter what happens...slow them long enough for Peter to catch...” Her body fell limp and her head jerked erratically with each jolting stride of the destrier.

“
Van!” The word came out as a terrified plea as the warrior he held was lost to him. A deep sense of pain and loss gripped him and his mind crumpled. He held her tightly against him and blinked back tears that had not threatened him since he was a child.

Eolian looked at Van’s now limp form, her head jolting with each deep plunge Damien made. “Is she dead?” he screamed over the pounding of the hooves, over the shouts of the men.

Rage filled Verges at the sound of Eolian’s voice. He was the cause of all of this. Verges fought the urge to fling himself off the horse and throw the man to the ground. B
ut t
hat would help no one, so he forced himself to keep his saddle beneath him.

He felt her fever-heated neck but was unsure, with the jolting ride, if he felt anything or not. His heart constricted with something he had never felt before. It was not a pleasant feeling, not something he wanted to feel again.

Verges was terrified. He could not bear to think of what that rending feeling in his throat and chest would become if she were actually dead. “I do not know.” The words sounded lost, pitiful, even to his own ears.

He tried desperately to keep her dead weight against him. Her lolling body whipped around and slowed Damien as he fought against the unsteady weight on his back. He bumped into Eolian’s horse several times, hindering the progress they were making.

Verges was happy with the slowing pace, but Eolian was not. “This cannot go on. I have no need of her now.” Without a word of warning he grasped the thick black braid, and tore her from Verges’s grip.

Verges barely held in a scream of horror as she was ripped from his arms. He tried to catch her, but the off-balanced weight nearly pulled him from the saddle. Verges’s mind screamed as pain tore through his head. He could do nothing but watch as her body hit the hard ground. Kicked once by a following mare, she rolled over the side of a long wet embankment.

A burning hatred ate its way through all of Verges’s good intentions. He cared no more for anything but revenge. His hands itched to be around the throat of the man who had caused all of this.

Peter and his army were lost from Verges’ thoughts as was the need to defeat Eolian’s army.

Leaning toward Eolian, seeing nothing but the burning white rage before him, he reached for the man’s throat, but the image of Van disappearing over the edge of the ravine stayed his hands.

Pain and fear brushed away the deadly webs that rage had spun, clouding his mind. Van still needed him. He sent up a desperate prayer to a God he had never believed in, that she had not hit the water, and tried to think of a way to quickly stop Eolian, without getting himself killed.

That would do nothing to help his lady. If they got away or if he was killed, Peter might look for days before he found her. With the fever that already raged her system, she would be dead before then.

Damien, the Damned Beast, true to his name solved Verges’s dilemma of how to slow Eolian’s army. Suddenly bereft of his mistress’s comforting scent, of her sudden loss to him, he panicked.

Fighting desperately against the reins, Damien took the bit into his teeth and refused to release it. He tried to turn back and slammed into Eolian’s steed, throwing them both off balance.

Then Damien staggered in the other direction, slamming into the horse that flanked him on that side. That horse stumbled and fell into the dense underbrush. Damien struggled to keep his footing, screamed in frustration, and began to buck.

Verges held tight and smiled when he heard the screams of panic begin to sound among the thundering horses behind him. They picked up Damien’s terrified scent and herd mentality hit the animals. They began to fight amongst themselves, biting and kicking, throwing more than one rider to the dirt.

Verges battled for control of Damien, throwing him once more into Eolian. Both men hit the ground, rolling hard.

Peter had watched as Verges yanked on Damien’s reins and threw himself into Eolian’s steed.

He yelled for his men to hurry as Verges and Eolian hit the ground. Excitement and fear fought for control of his senses and boiled in his blood as they battled.

Eolian was on his feet instantly and began to run. Damien slid to a stop. His chest heaved and his thick neck was slick with sweat from the hard run. He turned sharply and nearly lost his footing on the loose rocks.

Peter fought a deep sense of dread as Damien thundered past him. Peter looked around quickly for Van, but did not see her. Peter had seen Verges pull Van onto the horse and now there was no sign of her. He forced himself to go forward and tried his best to push her and the panicked stallion from his thoughts to concentrate on the battle at hand.

He led his men into the swarming mass of confused and terrified horses and took advantage of the panic that swirled through them. Metal clanged loudly as swords were drawn and thrust.

Relief touched Peter as Verges drew his sword against Eolian’s men and began to fight.

Screams rent the late afternoon air. Blood-curdling cries raged as men fell beneath heavy steel.

Warriors fell around him, but Peter focused on Eolian, turning his fear for Van into rage and concentrating all his strength on capturing him. He relentlessly hounded him until finally, with Peter’s contingent of men on one side and the tall jagged walls of the canyon on the other, Eolian had no choice but to turn and fight.

With a deep throated battle cry, Eolian lunged at him. Peter swung his sword in return, parrying the swift and hard thrusts.

His blows fell hard, his anger and pain giving him strength he did not know he possessed. His thoughts returned to Van, and he knew time was precious. He had to find her, and he had to find her soon. She was ill and now she was lost somewhere.

He threw caution to the wind and attacked ruthlessly, not giving quarter until Eolian faltered from exhaustion. Peter swung his sword hard once more. Eolian’s feet slipped in the loose rocks that littered the ground at the bottom of the walls. He fell to the ground with a defeated groan, and Peter propped his sword against the man’s heaving chest.

Peter’s arms shook from the battering they had taken. His legs felt weak and useless below him.

He heaved in painful gasps of air. Looking around, he noticed that the battles nearby were slowing. There were several of Peter’s men still in hand to hand combat, but with others joining them, Eolian’s men were surrendering quickly.

He looked down at Eolian and shuddered. “Where is my wife?”

Eolian laughed weakly.

Peter pushed the sword firmly against his chest and Eolian’s laughter died.

“
Kill me and you will never find her,” he wheezed, his breathless laughter turning to gasps.

Several men had surrounded Peter. He glanced at them. Their faces, smeared with sweat, dirt, and blood, held the look of joyful exhilaration of victory. He wanted to feel that same elation, but could not. Not until he had his wife in his arms and had convinced himself that she was fine.

“
Take him, secure him tightly. And if he moves, or tries to escape, cut off something.”

“
What, my lord?” Richard’s voice echoed with seriousness.

“
Anything that dangles.”

Eolian’s face drained of color, and his breathless laughter seemed to choke him. Peter smiled at him and walked away.

Looking around at the men taken as prisoners and at the dead on the ground, Peter shuddered. He had hoped his days of war were over, that he had seen the last of the senseless killing.

Relief surged through him when he noted that none of the dead were his. He looked through his men taking measure of the wounded.

His heart ached for Van as his mind took stock off his surroundings. He needed to find her. He looked carefully through his men for the uninjured and the injured that were still able to ride. He counted the men who were able to start searching and was pleased with the high number.

Sounds of a struggle pulled him from his thoughts. He turned and his gaze quickly found Verges holding a struggling man in his arms.

Peter did not recognize the man at first and rushed forward. He was jerked to a stop. He spun around raising his sword as he went.

Gary Puelo raised his hands in front of him. “My lord,” he said, his voice shaky.

Peter relaxed and dropped the tip of his sword to the ground.

“
That is Ryan Deumount. Pray, wait.”

Peter turned back to the two struggling men and waited. He could feel the pain and anger that radiated from Gary. He knew in his heart he should stop Verges, knowing full well he meant to kill Ryan, but instead he placed a comforting hand on Gary’s shoulder.

Many of Peter’s men gathered around to watch the final clash of might. Verges appeared not to notice.

His thick hand wrapped around Ryan’s neck. “Verges,” Ryan whispered in a ragged and pained voice. “Stop, help me get away and we will free the other—”

Peter grinned as his words were cut off. His face turned an angry red color as Verges leaned closer to him. “You hurt my lady, my Van. No one will get away with that.” His voice was thick with rage. He shook Ryan in his hands like a rag doll. “You should suffer severely, but since I do not have the time I shall have to make due.”

With a quick thrust of his broadsword he gutted the man from groin to neck Blood spilled onto his leather boots, soaking his cloak. “No one lays a hand on my Van.”

His growl was so threatening that Peter stepped back. He realized as he glanced around that he was not the only one. All his men had stepped away.

Peter took a deep breath and walked toward him, Richard and Grant at his side. Their boots crunched in the small pebbles. Verges dropped Ryan’s decimated body and spun on them. His sword came up defensively.

He held the dripping sword toward them, but did not make an aggressive move. He simply waited.

Peter stepped forward until his chest was almost touching the blood stained tip of the wavering sword. “Where is Vanessa?”

Color drained from Verges features, and he slammed his sword into his scabbard. “I do not know where she fell.” He raced for the closest horse to him, lunged for his reins, and jerked the stallion around even as he mounted.

Peter’s mind flooded with fear. What would he do if they did not find her? Not waiting to see which of his men would follow, he mounted Jackal and trailed behind Verges as he rushed back the way they had come.

Peter glanced behind him and saw at least a dozen men in tow. He sent up a prayer that they would find his precious wife.

Damien was pacing at the edge of a deep embankment. He stopped, looked over the edge, and whinnied loudly. Peter sighed in relief.

Verges nearly threw himself from his mount’s back even before the steed had fully stopped. Then he half fell, half slid over the edge of the embankment and disappeared.

Peter jumped from Jackal and raced to the edge, his heart beating so hard it vibrated through his ears, drowning out every other sound.

He looked over the side and his stomach clenched. Fighting nausea, he watched Verges at the bottom, pulling Van out of the freezing river.

Peter started down the bank as Verges lifted her into his arms and begin to rock from side to side.

Peter slid to a stop at his side and reached for her neck. He pressed hard into it, his eyes filling with tears when he felt nothing. A deep aching pain wrenched at his heart.

A deep wail of agony began to well within him and then suddenly he felt something beneath his trembling fingers. His heart stopped and he held his breath.