WindSeeker (12 page)

stayed with them, since it was pulled by six fleet stallions.

Conar nodded, his mind far beyond the immediate needs of those around him. He drew on ’Yearner’s

reins. "We’ll rest," he said, swinging one long leg over his stallion’s head and sliding to the ground. He

handed the reins to Thom and walked a little way from his men, his head down, his shoulders sagging.

Thom would have followed, but Legion held him back. "Let him be alone, Thommy. Just keep a watch."

Legion caught the fierce, protective scowl on the big man’s wide face, the look of annoyance in the

beady black eyes. "Stupid request, eh?" Legion laughed.

Thom Loure raised his chin and pierced A’Lex with a stony reprimand. "Exceedingly."

"How’s he holding up?" Teal asked as he made his way around Legion’s big bay. He had ridden with his

Master-at-Arms from Downsgate.

"Well enough, I suppose. Quiet. If he doesn’t get some rest soon, he’s gonna drop in his tracks." Legion

hunkered down on the cooling sand and took a long drag from his water bag. "But just try telling him that.

I don’t think he would have stopped if I hadn’t reminded him, and those damned viper hits have got to be

hurting him."

"What happens if we get to Norus and Galen has already fled with her?"

"Then we ride for Diabolusia, my friend."

"Invade the country?" Teal wasn’t happy.

"Do you think he would hesitate, du Mer?" Legion snapped.

Teal ran a hand through his hair. There was no need to answer.

"Thom?" Conar called as he stared into the blackness of the night.

Loure was at his side in a second."Aye, Your Grace!"

Conar smiled at the man’s breathless anticipation and shook his head in exasperation. "Calm down," he

gently reprimanded, "I only wanted you to find a man somewhere in this throng. His name is Sentian Heil.

He’s the one who brought word of Liza to me." He didn’t look at his Elite captain, but could feel the

man’s hesitation. "It’s all right, Thommy. I’ll be fine."

Thom shifted from one foot to another. He didn’t like leaving the prince unprotected. He saw his young

Overlord turn, one golden brow cocked with expectation.

"Go, Thom," Conar ordered sternly.

Thom spun on his heels, his black eyes going immediately to Marsh Edan who had come up to Legion

for orders. Thom jerked his chin over his shoulder and saw Marsh nod in understanding. The Elite third in

command moved away from Legion, leaving the man speaking, and placed himself where his bow could

protect the Prince.

"It’s a good thing
your
life isn’t in danger," Teal said, then chuckled as Legion growled in irritation.

Conar sat on a rock and clasped his hands, letting them fall between his spread knees. He dropped his

chin to his chest. His head throbbed with the heat, the smell of sweaty horses and wet leather, unwashed

and perspiring men, and the dust that seemed to clog his nostrils and throat. His rump ached from the

long ride and he felt chafed along his underarms and the crease of his thighs from the chain mail.

He stared at the sand. He was so very tired, but he would not, dared not, let anyone know it. He had

not slept for more than a few hours in a week’s time, and his head, pounding unmercifully, reminded him

that he hadn’t eaten all that much, either.

The viper wounds plagued him, stung, and, he thought, still oozed a bit. He tried to ignore the aches and

pains in his body, believing the ache in his heart of more consequence than any bodily discomfort. He let

out a deep sigh and his head sagged lower.

Flinching only a little, he felt hands on his tense shoulders, massaging, easing the aching hardness. "Thank

you, Sentian," he said quietly, instinct telling him the man’s identity.

"You should rest, Your Grace," Sentian said, his fingers moving into the thick golden hair on his

Overlord’s scalp.

"I’ll rest when I have my wife in my arms again." He groaned with pleasure as the strong fingers crept

down the column of his neck.

"We will get her back, Your Grace. Never fear." Sentian smiled. The tight, bunched muscles were

beginning to relax and his prince’s breathing was steadier and not so deep with fatigue.

"Do me a favor, will you?"

"Anything, Your Grace," Sentian said, his fingers stilling on Conar’s broad shoulders.

"Thom Loure, Marsh Edan and Storm Jale are all members of my Elite. I’ve known them all a long time,

that’s true, but within the last nine years, they have become treasured friends."

"But you want me to watch them?"

Conar chuckled. "I can’t imagine why you’d want to."

Sentian’s eyes narrowed with confusion. "You don’t suspect one of them of having something to do with

the princess’ abduction, Your Grace?"

"That wasn’t what I was getting at. Will you rub my right shoulder again?" He let out a long breath as

Sentian’s hand began to rub his tired muscles.

"What concerns you about those men, Your Grace?"

"They ceased to call me
Your Grace
long ago." He shrugged. "Sometimes they forget, but most of the

time they call me by my given name."

"I see," Sentian replied. "So if I hear them using such a disrespectful way of addressing you, I am not to

take exception, then?"

Conar leaned back, his head resting against Sentian as the young villager ran his hands down Conar’s

shoulders and rubbed the taut muscles of his upper chest. The firm hands spread over his shoulders again

and then gripped their way down his arms. Conar doubted the man even knew he was taking liberties his

Overlord would not have accepted from anyone else.

"Doesn’t that chain mail hurt your hands?" Conar asked, craning his neck to look up at Sentian.

The man laughed and held his hands for Conar to see in the glow from the full moon. "I have calluses on

my calluses’ calluses, Your Grace!" He returned his fingers to the muscles of Conar’s neck. "I barely feel

the links."

"I would appreciate it if you would not burden me with that title when you and I are alone."

"Aye, Highness," Sentian’s heart swelled with pride at knowing his Overlord trusted him enough to be

left alone with him.

Conar grinned, snorting little bursts of humor from his nostrils. "‘Highness’ is also a title, Sentian. My

name is Conar."

The hands stilled. "I could not…I would not be so disrespectful…I would rather…" He stammered to a

stop as Conar closed his hand around Sentian’s.

"I don’t know why it is, Sentian, but I feel a closeness to you that, frankly, baffles me. Under normal

circumstances, I wouldn’t have permitted you to touch me." He held Sentian’s hand as the man made to

take his hand from Conar’s shoulder. "If I hadn’t wanted you to continue, I’d have stopped you when

you first laid hands to me." He reassuringly squeezed the strong fingers. "I am not given to forming quick

friendships, nor am I one to accept a man at face value as I have accepted you. But I find I trust you. I

need someone outside of family who can deal with me as the man I am, not the Prince Regent. Can you

do that?" He craned his neck and looked up into the man’s startled gaze. "Can you be a friend to me,

Sentian Heil?"

Sentian’s heart thudded. "I would be honored to be your friend, Your…" He scrunched up his face.

"…Friend."

Lightning speared the sky to the west. Conar turned that way. "Looks like we’ll get rain."

"We need it," Sentian remarked, thinking of his crops back home.

"How long have you been farming, Sentian?" Conar sighed as the young man’s hands again began to

knead his shoulders.

"All my life, it seems. My parents farmed in the Western Zone when I was little. When they died in the

flash flood in the Year of the Rose, I came to Boreas and then met, and married, my lady. Then, I went

to work on my father-in-law’s land. We have a good farm. We do right well."

"Is that what you always wanted to do?" Conar could feel himself nodding off and opened his eyes wide

to stay awake.

"I wanted to be a soldier, but I never had the opportunity until now." He went to his knees and started

working on Conar’s lower back, smiling as the prince moaned with delight. "I’ve picked up extra work

as a horse trainer now and again and found I was very good at it."

"Think you could handle ’Yearner for me?" Conar asked. "Master John Boggs is the Stable Master, but

for some reason my horse doesn’t particularly care for him. I think it may be his voice. ’Yearner is

sensitive about being yelled at, and overly sensitive about whose hands touch him." Just like his master in

that regard, Conar thought, grimly.

"I can handle him."

"He can be a beast if you let him."

"Then I’ll handle him like I do my woman!"

Conar’s smile faded. "Did you take her in your arms before you left like I told you?"

Sentian grinned. "I did more than that!"

Conar shook his head. "Just what I need, another randy Elite."

A cry came from the crenelated walls of Norus Keep.

It was the dawn of the twelfth day Liza had been in Galen’s possession. A steady, light rain was falling,

making the damp earth smell musty as the sand darkened to a quagmire beyond the keep’s crumbling

walls. It splattered in the sluggish, green, scum-shot moat and sent a putrefying smell to assault the nostrils

of the keep’s defenders as they ringed the crenellations and hovered in the chilly turrets. The wind was

slight, but heavy storm clouds brewed in the west and promised a turbulent turn in the weather. The

turret’s stones were rain-slick and oozing slime down the cracked sides, and the men inside felt chilled to

the bone, despite the day’s heat.

As Galen reached the high observation tower to view his brother’s forces, lightning began to flash with

increasing vengeance in the distance. He looked to the cromlech that marked the southern passage into

Norus’ lands and chuckled. A dust cloud hovered just beyond the rise, for it was not raining to the south

where the Serenian and Diabolusian borders met. But that would soon change; the sky was rapidly

becoming a gunmetal lowering of lightning-streaked vista. That rising cloud of dust had been what had

caused the alarm and Galen clenched his jaw in dislike.

That had to be the troop from Oceania. No doubt the bastards had docked at the mouth of the Lucifus

River where it fed into the South Boreal Sea and had then brought their mounts ashore. He wondered

just how many troops King Shaz was willing to risk to rescue Conar’s bride.

Another cry came from the northern battlement. Galen’s face shone with malice. He nodded. That was

his ill-begotten twin!

"The Master has sent word that you will receive help from him soon. Hold your position as long as you

can and then expect to flee at a moment’s notice."

Galen turned his attention to the High Priest who had joined him on the battlements. "Is Jah-Ma-El

conjuring?"

The priest sneered. "The fool is worthless. Master Kaileel Tohre has already summoned the help you will

need…" He looked to the gathering storm clouds on the horizon. "…Raphian."

Galen flinched, his face turning white. "Why?"

The priest looked down his nose at Galen. "To defeat Conar McGregor, Your Grace. No other entity

can challenge the Prince of the Wind and succeed." A gnarled hand went up to push a flying strand of

hip-length, solid white hair behind a thin, stooped shoulder. Rain hovered on the man’s aged cheeks. He

blinked, his almost transparent eyelashes fanning over piercing eyes devoid of both expression or feeling.

"If you have some worry about your brother," the priest said, his upper lip raised in dislike, "then you had

best speak now before the real sorcery begins."

Galen turned his attention to the point where King Shaz’s men had been sighted. The rain was beginning

to settle the dust as the troops drew near. He shivered and hunched into the protective covering of his

great cape. He could see Shaz’s men dismounting to make camp and looked to the north where Conar’s

main force would be doing the same thing within a matter of minutes. He could feel the priest staring at

him and he turned his face to the man.

"Conar means nothing to me."

A rare smile touched the old priest’s thin lips. "That’s good, Your Grace, for he will be destroyed soon."

Left alone on the battlements, Galen watched as his twin rode within eyesight of the keep. He knew

Conar couldn’t see him, but he could feel the hate rolling up to him from below. Galen knew it would be

a long, uncomfortable siege before he could take Liza to Diabolusia.

Rain glistened on Conar’s face as he halted his men out of range of the keep’s archers. His blond hair

lay damp on his shoulders and tiny droplets rested on his thick lashes. He had removed his cowl an hour

earlier, for the smell of wet leather and cambric was making his head hurt. Absently, he put up a hand to

rub at the spot above his right eye where pain seemed to congregate.

"From the looks of that sky, we’re going to be in for a drenching, Coni," Legion warned.

Conar turned in his saddle and spoke to Thom. "We’ll make camp here. I want to see the men you’ve

chosen as battalion leaders as soon as you deploy them." He glanced at Legion. "See that the runners

know what is expected, big brother. I don’t want a man who doesn’t know precisely where and when to

do his job or to whom he is to report."

"Aye, Commander." Legion grinned, liking the way his little brother took charge.

Dismounting, the young prince held the reins and patted Seayearner’s sleek, damp nose. His gaze went