The Redwood Rebel (The Redwood War Book 1) (23 page)

The heady tang of death filled this place, and she quickly located the human corpses that swamped her nostrils. Snapping her sharp jaws together, she turned away in disgust. She had never been one for cooked meat.

Dark magic surged through her then, melting through her veins under her glistening metal exterior. It was excruciating, a reminder from her master to focus on her mission. She must find the dragon.

He had been here. She could smell him. She could smell the traces of his magic, but there was something wrong. It was surely dragon magic that had blasted this part of the forest to cinders. She could even see the burnt tracks of his feet through the grass as he stalked his own prey.

Her sharp orange eyes narrowed. They were small prints, even for a human male. Breathing deeply, she could smell the dragon, but through that there was another scent.  One she knew well.

Thyme. These tracks didn’t belong to the dragon, but to the Small Warrior!

How could this be? The Small Warrior was no dragon. She was nothing! That was what had drawn Genevieve to her in the first place. She was a curious thing, tiny, but reeking of fierce strength, determination and pain. Such pain, she could taste it. But power? No, there was none. There had never been any trace before now.

Had Genevieve’s great and generous master not intervened, this human female would have been responsible for her death. Her! The great Genevieve, strongest of the nest! Still, not single-handedly, and with little more than quick thinking and a sharp aim.

This was the Small Warrior’s scent, of that there was no doubt. Had Genevieve been wrong from the start? Was the Small Warrior a dragon? This scent was the dragon she was tracking, her master had branded it on her. Did he know the Small Warrior was also a dragon?

The confusion cleared as she again breathed the mingled scents into herself. The Small Warrior was not a dragon. The Small Warrior was
the
dragon. They were one and the same!

Throwing back her aquiline head, she spread her wings wide, the sun glinting coldly from the metallic feathers that coated her form and gave her strength. Genevieve shrieked her victory to the wide skies.

The hunt was back on!

Chapter Twenty-Three

Naomi only realised she had dozed off when she started awake again. Looking wildly around, panicked by the cold, enclosed space, it was only when she saw Lord Rayan glance over in surprise at her sudden movement that she remembered where she was. Releasing a shaky breath, she leaned back against the wall and patted her boot to check her dagger was still there.

‘I’m sorry,’ Lord Rayan said, relaxing out of the stretch he had apparently been in the middle of when Naomi jumped back to consciousness. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you, Lady Naomi.’

‘You didn’t. I shouldn’t have been sleeping anyway.’

She looked at the lantern in the corridor and knew the rest had caused her to lose track of the time. There was simply no way to tell now with the lack of windows and artificial lighting. She could have kicked herself.

‘You needed it,’ Lord Rayan said kindly. ‘You’re looking much better, though.’

‘I could say the same thing about you.’

He did look much better, a far cry from the half-dead prisoner she had found when she’d first come here. He was wearing washed, undamaged clothes now, indicating that Christophe had been back at some point while she slept, and looked clean and even tidily shaven. Despite her own earlier reservations on the matter, he seemed to be moving easily, without any sign of strain from where his injuries had been. She couldn’t help but be a little impressed by Arun’s skill as a healer.

Apparently noticing her scrutiny, Lord Rayan rolled the previously wounded shoulder and stretched out the arm she had feared he might lose. ‘All thanks to you, I understand.’

‘Not me. Arun,’ she corrected. ‘If it had been left to me I don’t like to think what might have happened. Your cousin did all the work, I was just… an extension.’

‘A partnership, then,’ he replied diplomatically.

Naomi grimaced. ‘If you say so, My Lord.’

Grinning at her reaction, Lord Rayan stooped near the now closed and locked cell door to pick up one of two bowls set down, the other being empty, and a reasonably full looking water skin. He passed the latter over to her whilst sinking down to sit cross-legged opposite. The aroma of herbs and vegetables filled the cell and he offered it to her.

‘You should have it.’ She tried to refuse, but the way he raised his eyebrows at her made the resemblance between him and Arun all the more pronounced, and she found herself far too tired to argue. Besides, she was hungry, and coupled with that particular expression on his face, she decided to gratefully accept the soup.

‘I’ve been speaking to my wife,’ he began as she held the hot bowl delicately between her fingertips. Bringing it up to her lips, she blew on it gently.

‘How is she?’

‘She’s doing much better. Thank you.’ There was a warmth to his words that suggested he was well aware of her part in Esta’s rescue, but she was glad when he simply left it at that. All this praise was getting uncomfortable. ‘She tells me Arun means to come here himself for us and we’re instructed to wait for him.’

Naomi took a mouthful of the soup and swallowed, feeling instantly better for it. The yawning void inside her seemed to fill slightly and she sighed. ‘Am I the only one who recognises what a supremely terrible idea it is to come running straight into an obvious trap? Deliberately?’

‘Arun has always been very protective,’ Lord Rayan defended lightly. ‘It’s just in his nature, I suppose. He’s responsible for a lot of people.’

She understood that responsibility, she really did. It was terrifying. Having any amount of lives depending on you was enough to turn even the most placid of people into a gigantic worry-wart, and Arun ruled the most heavily populated country in the world. Because of her understanding his position she knew how stupid he was being to risk himself like this. The peace of Arun’s people depended on his continued survival, and she wasn’t going to let him gamble that, not for anything. She wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on him.

‘It’s my duty to protect him, even from himself if I must,’ Lord Rayan interrupted her thoughts gently. ‘But in order to protect him this time, I need to protect you.’

‘Oh, not you as well!’ she cried before she could even think to filter her words, but this was really starting to get ridiculous. ‘I understand this Bond thing is an issue, but really. I’m not stupid. I wouldn’t risk myself with or without Arun’s life depending on it! I’d quite like to survive for myself, shockingly enough, and so far I’ve done a pretty decent job of ensuring that.’

‘I would say it’s been more luck than judgement, if the way you looked when we first met has any bearing on the matter.’

There had been times in Naomi’s life where being underestimated because of her size and gender had served her well. She had taken advantage of the preconceptions of others more than once, and come out triumphant and smug in the end. Granted, there had been some luck involved in her continued survival, but there had also been a lot of hard work and skill, and a great deal of determination. Commander Rayan Bastiaan was older and far more experienced than she was, but she knew enough about the life of a soldier that she could accuse him of having similar bouts of luck. It was so disrespectful, so dismissive of the years of training she had battled through. She knew the only way to silence the issue was to show him she was more than capable of taking care of herself.

Carefully, she placed the soup bowl down on the floor and pushed herself up to her feet. Stretching herself to limber up, she looked back at him blankly.

‘I don’t know about you, but I’m getting out of here. We can discuss the social preoccupation with labels at a more convenient time, I think.’

Feeling suitably refreshed and bubbling with sudden energy, she pulled the dagger from her boot, and carefully checking there were no guards in view, began to pick the lock. She heard Lord Rayan walk up behind her and stop just at her left shoulder, but ignored him as she continued to test the keyhole for the pin that would release it.

‘You’ll stay behind me and do as I ask?’ he sounded hesitant, and she smiled slightly as the lock finally clicked open. Pushing the door, grateful that it didn’t creak at all on its hinges, she looked out to the far end of the corridor. There was a single guard at the entrance to the stairs, sitting on a small wooden stool and dozing lightly. She turned back to Lord Rayan.

‘I have the tactical advantage of knowing the garrison’s layout, as well as the surrounding area once we’re out.’ She tilted her head to one side. ‘There are approximately a hundred and fifty soldiers housed here usually, and with just the two of us, do you really want to fight against your only definite ally as well?’

‘You don’t understand. You’re his wife...’

‘I do understand, and I’m not his wife.’

She looked back to the still sleeping guard. It was the boy who had come to check on her while Christophe was fetching her supplies. She didn’t want to hurt him, but they needed to get moving sooner rather than later. Light on her feet, she ignored the hiss from Lord Rayan as she moved quickly and silently towards the young guard. The dagger was still in her hand, and now standing over him, she had a moment of indecision. Just a moment. His eyes fluttered slightly as he dreamed, and panicked, she reached down and firmly squeezed the pressure point in his neck. The young man crumbled to the floor, completely unconscious.

Looking down at the small heap of would-be warrior, the torch light glinted off the cold steel in her other hand. This would have been a lot easier if she could just kill anyone they came up against indiscriminately, but it seemed at some point today she had become a little more scrupulous. How inconvenient.

Suddenly aware of Lord Rayan rushing quietly up towards her, she pre-empted the reprimand she knew was coming. She knelt down to the comatose young man and began to disarm him. ‘It’s in our best interest to work together on this, and work quickly. I’d like to avoid as much confrontation as possible, but trust me when I say no one is looking out for my well-being as much as I am. That said, we both stand a much better chance with the other watching our back, agreed?’

The guard had a single-handed battle axe and a large broadsword. Tucking her dagger safely back into her boot, she stood up again and offered Lord Rayan the sword. Lord Rayan hesitated a moment, then sighed heavily and took the blade. ‘Agreed.’

‘Okay, good.’ She tested the weight of the axe and rolled her shoulders experimentally. It felt good, and the urge to just run up the stairs and literally smash her way out to freedom made her body itch. It was hard to suppress it, but she did, and smiled at a very worried looking Lord Rayan instead. ‘Don’t worry. Your King is safe with me, I promise.’

His mouth twitched in a ghost of a smile and he nodded. Satisfied that the dispute was over, at least for now, Naomi looked up the winding, narrow steps that led to the ground floor. She couldn’t hear anything, and the fact that there was still no hint of natural light made her feel certain that the sun had set some time ago. Beginning her ascent, Rayan right at her back, she was ready in case some unsuspecting soldier came around the bend at any given moment.

There would be another guard at the top of the stairs, and again she felt the internal conflict of how she would deal with that. Christophe had said he would get as many of the Garrison’s soldiers to the South Wing as he could without arousing suspicion, but at this point she had no idea if he’d even succeeded, let alone if he had deliberately left men he trusted at the checkpoints. It had been a long time since she’d had this kind of moral conflict, torn between needing to get out and not wanting to be responsible for the deaths of innocent young Ffionites. What choice had they had in this current economic climate but to take the work they could get? More so, who had been left to defend the people once those loyal to the true lineage had been put to death or fled the country?

Breathing silently through her nose, she stopped just around the last bend of the staircase and motioned for Rayan to stay still. She listened hard, and heard the faint metallic whisper of someone in chainmail fidgeting slightly. Naomi turned her axe upside down so she was fighting with the butt rather than the blade, and moving swiftly came up behind the guard and cracked him across the back of his head. He fell with nothing more than a whimper and the clatter of armour, but she looked both ways down the corridor just to make certain he had been alone.

‘We’re going to have to go through the service entrance,’ she explained to Lord Rayan whilst subtly reaching down to check the soldier’s pulse. He’d have one hell of a headache tomorrow, but he would live. ‘It’s the least likely to be guarded well, if at all.’

‘Really?’ he sounded incredibly dubious. ‘That seems a little lax, doesn’t it?’

She snorted humourlessly. ‘And only two guards to watch a couple of very high profile prisoners isn’t?’

Between the two of them they managed to pull the Ffionite guard up into a sitting position on the wooden chair by his post. It didn’t take long, but it was time well spent in Naomi’s opinion. This way he simply looked as though he was napping to any passer-by, potentially buying more time for them to get out unnoticed.

Now satisfied, they began to walk briskly towards the East Wing. The urge to run was still strong, but she stomped down on it, knowing the sound of anything faster than a walk could arouse suspicion to anyone who might be listening. She led Lord Rayan through the garrison with more ease than even she had expected. They only passed a couple of pages, none of which even looked twice at them.

So far she had avoided mentioning Christophe and his promised diversion. She wasn’t really sure why. She supposed it was something to do with admitting she was trusting him, even to herself. For now it was best to take the escape as it came. She didn’t like to think of herself as a hypocrite, and focused instead on the fact that trusting Christophe or not, this had been her initial plan, anyway. She would have taken this route with or without the possibility of most of the garrison’s force being drunk or drinking on the farthest side from where they were.

Everywhere was dark and silent, but as they approached the service entrance, despite the late, or incredibly early hour, the low murmur of people talking and hurried steps began to creep to her ears. She glanced at Lord Rayan and motioned to the large, open arched doorway that was at the end of the long corridor, orange light streaming out of it warmly. He nodded and they both slowed to a nonchalant pace, lowering their weapons so they weren’t as conspicuous, but it didn’t look as though they were really trying to hide them. Hopefully their good luck would hold, but if they were going to come up against problems, it would be here.

Naomi’s pulse was thumping loud in her ears as they walked through into the large scullery. They wouldn’t need to go through the kitchens at least, as they were likely to be the most full of bustle and any guards coming off duty, lingering in hopes of something to eat while the staff prepared for breakfast. The scullery was darker, a few maids cleaning, a few sleeping, and in the middle of the room were a couple of large tables where the boot boys and stable hands worked. No one even looked up, and for a brief, shining moment, Naomi was sure they were just going to walk out.

In the silence of the night, the toll of the alarm bell sounded even louder than she ever remembered. They both started in shock at the sudden din, weapons raised at the ready. They had been discovered. There was nowhere to hide, and the scullery staff had all looked up from their work at the noise, their gazes falling suspiciously on them now.