Hunted: The Warrior Chronicles #2 (9 page)

“What’s with the rope?” Shanti asked in a groggy voice. She fingered the coarse material, tracing it until she found the knot at her side.
A slip knot.
A quick tug and the rope came loose. The horse gave a nondescript whinny.

Rohnan glanced back. The soft light highlighted his features and set off his vivid green eyes. “How much do you remember?”

Shanti’s mind shuddered to a start. Hazy images of battles and blood seeped through her memories. The horror was sliced with the feeling of rocks tripping her feet and the sound of running water. Piercing black eyes and a matted black and gray beard swam into focus. She remembered mounting her horse in a daze of bloody memories.

“Ah. I passed out shortly after we hit the main trail, then.” Shanti coiled the rope and stuffed it into one of her saddle bags. The movement had her shoulder screaming. She swung it in a circle, trying to release some of the stiffness, only for the pain to intensify.

She pulled down the neck of her tunic. The skin on her shoulder and upper arm had started to turn a frightening shade of blotchy red. Soon the blood would pool and the area would transform into a fantastic bruise. Since they hadn’t seen an enemy, and Rohnan wasn’t in the habit of kicking women who were passed out…

“Yes, you fell off your horse, which is why we tied you on.”

“We’ve talked about that, Rohnan. It’s more gratifying when I get to figure these things out for myself. Using your
Gift
to read me is cheating.”

Shanti glanced around. They traveled amongst sparse trees within dry and brittle grasses. Two hundred strides or so from where they rode ran a wide and tightly packed dirt lane. Judging by the desolate land, and the barren area alongside the road, that path was the Cross-Land Travelway.

“Rohnan, could you have chosen a more visible road to travel?” She let her
Gift
blossom and spread, reaching behind them as far as she could. Small animals and a few men and women dotted the area, but she couldn’t feel her pursuers.

“We rode hard for a while to get away from that small mountain path,” Rohnan explained. He pushed a branch out of his way. When he let go, it swished back at her, barely missing her face. “That’s when you fell off. Have we lost them?”

“Yes. Why this road, though?” She leaned to the left, spying Burson leading the way in front of Rohnan. “Ah. He’s in charge.”

“He said we had to come this way. I would’ve chosen the smaller trade route, but…”

“For a man we don’t know, we are certainly giving him free rein.”

Rohnan shrugged. “He seems to be using some inner compass based on ancient texts and knowledge. In our blind spot, he has vision. When the tables turn, he is quiet until he is needed. He fits. I trust him to lead when we cannot.”

“You’re starting to sound like him.” Shanti let her mind reach out in front, focusing her
Gift’s
strength and coverage on the road to come. No animals brushed her consciousness this time. With as many humans as traveled this route, critters found somewhere else to be, or they found themselves over an open fire. As her reach stretched, an alarming sensation tickled her awareness. The edges of consciousness, nearly out of reach, blasted out fear and pain.

“Something is happening,” she said, pulling on the reins. The horse didn’t slow. “There is a battle ahead.”

“Yes. We must hurry,” came Burson’s voice ahead of them.

“
Hurry?
We need to find another—” Shanti’s body jerked backward as her horse lurched forward. Rohnan’s horse had already begun to run.

“This is madness!” she yelled, tugging on the reins again in a futile effort. She grabbed the horses’ minds, trying to figure out how to get them to stop running without spooking them into throwing their riders. “We don’t have the manpower or energy to—”

Shanti cut off again as a mind she instantly recognized drifted into her consciousness. Determination and steadfast stubbornness colored intelligence, currently braced against something that made him wince inside. Sparks of fear burning through his aggression made her heart thump. He’d only be afraid for those he loved, and as he was away from home, it meant he was afraid that his death would leave his family defenseless.

Sanders was in grave peril.

She leaned forward in sudden desperation. Her horse gave another jolt of speed, faster and more agile than the other two horses. She passed Rohnan easily. Burson was next. Huffing and beginning to pant, the horse pushed harder. It ran faster, another burst of speed that had Shanti’s cheeks rippling and adrenaline coursing through her blood.

Speed is fantastic. Balancing on this animal at this speed is terrifying. And exhilarating.

She felt the pulsing of power, focused and intent.
Sarshers
made the pain rain on Sanders’ men, keeping them on the ground, but not having enough power to kill them. She found two smug and superior minds that weren’t buckled down in pain. Graygual, she’d bet, and one of them was right next to Sanders, anticipating some sort of action.

Probably a killing blow.

Shanti blasted out with a cutting strike, aiming for the
Sarshers
but sparing a
slice
for the man standing over Sanders. Her substantial power cut into the enemy minds, catching them unprotected and unaware. A new brand of pain welled up, one flared higher by fear. She felt them falter, writhing in the pain searing their minds.

Her horse drew closer, bearing down on an army in the road slowly realizing they were free from agony. Three
Sarshers
lay beyond them, sprawled on the ground, clutching their heads. One Graygual paused in his advance of the army with his sword drawn. The other Graygual had his sword in the air, one hand braced on his forehead, frozen in pain.

“C’mon!” Shanti yelled at her horse. She pulled her sword from its sheath and flung a leg over the saddle so that she stood in just one stirrup, a move surprisingly easy at this speed. She cut off the power and yanked at the reins. For once the horse responded, and slowed enough for her to jump off.

W
ithout warning
, the pain blinked out of Sanders’ mind. Without wasting one moment, he leapt up as his vision cleared. The Graygual in front of him staggered back, one hand on his forehead, the other hanging at his side, still holding his sword. Like a phantom, a woman thundered into their midst standing on the side of her horse. Barely slowing, she jumped off her mount, hit the ground and rolled before rising, sword bared and a hard look of steely determination on her all-too-familiar face. The
Sarshers
were starting to pick themselves off the ground when she was upon them.

“Damn it! I was supposed to save
her
the next time!” Sanders snatched his sword off the ground as the Graygual shook his head. He looked at Sanders with hard, brown eyes.

“That’s the lady that can kick your ass, by the way.” Sanders advanced with a slow, balanced step. The Graygual bent at the knees and crouched into a ‘ready’ position. Balanced and poised, his sword work would be exactly as his teacher taught him, but that didn’t make him battle-ready.

“You have to know when to make threats.” Sanders circled the Graygual, seeing how his body moved. Seeing if he was the kind of guy to make the first advance, or to wait for a mistake. “I’ve got the backing of the most powerful mind-fucker in the land. You’ve got dead friends. See the difference?”

Sanders let his empty hand come out to grapple as another phantom, this one with streaming white-blond hair down to his shoulders and wielding a spinning staff, thundered through. “Oh. And she has a friend.”

“You talk a lot for a fighting man. Is this because you are scared?” the Graygual taunted.

“Nah. Just bored.” Sanders didn’t lunge, as the Graygual expected. He charged. Hand out, sword ready to stab, he barreled toward the other man with wide eyes and a maniacal grin. Fear was a powerful weapon, and an unpredictable madman accomplished that much more quickly than a poised swordsman with excellent technique.

Sanders dodged the strike he knew would come, batting the sword to the side with his own, and punched the Graygual in the face. The man’s nose cracked. His eyes blinked, then started to water. His sword lashed out in a precise arc.

“I’ll bet you were the pride of your teacher.” Sanders blocked, circled, and blocked again. “I hated guys like you.”

He batted the sword away for the third time and grabbed the man’s forearm. He slashed down with his sword, catching the wrist and severing the sword hand. The immaculate and shiny sword fell to the ground in a shower of blood.

The man didn’t so much as grunt. With a face immediately draining of color, the man clutched at Sanders tunic with his good hand and ripped to the left, then the right. His nose gushed blood down his lips. The man was beaten, but he wasn’t giving up.

“Hell’s turnips, you had brutal training, didn’t you?” Sanders said with a somber tone as he stepped away. Still the man followed him with his maimed arm pressed tightly to his chest.

The second phantom appeared behind the Graygual with a graceful glide on deathly silent feet. He swung his black staff that ended in curving blades at the head of the Graygual. The wood hit the enemy’s head with a solid
crack
. The man’s eyes rolled back in his head before his body went limp.

The blond man looked up at Sanders with cutting, green eyes. Sanders’ grip on his sword tightened.

Sanders had seen death and emotional scarring in the eyes of a few. The people the Inkna had conquered looked at the world through a hollowed-out funnel of misery, but Sanders had never seen such turmoil and raw pain bleeding through the eyes of an emotionally desecrated soul. This man had clearly seen some shit, and it had torn his world out from under him. He wasn’t an empty shell; he hadn’t shut off to hide from the agony of his past. He’d hardened it, sharpened it, and filed it down into a vicious killing edge that would slice right through an enemy three times his might.

Sanders glanced over to see Shanti helping someone to his feet.

For the first time, he realized that he
had
seen this look before, but he had been too wrapped up in the idea of someone dangerous having a pair of tits to notice. Both of these had not only seen Hell, but had run out of it on fire. Within the green eyes staring at him, he could see that fire still burning, fueling his vengeance while eating him from the inside out.

The worst realization of all was that the shit Shanti and this man had been through was rolling downhill, toward the Captain and all his people. The Captain had been right—they didn’t have any time to lose.

The man spoke in a voice that sounded more like a song than speech but the words weren’t something Sanders recognized.

“Huh?” Sanders asked dumbly, fingering his knife.

The man turned to Shanti, who stepped over the other Graygual’s body to affectionately hug Jerrol. More singing erupted from the stranger. She glanced over, winked at Sanders, and answered in the same foreign language.

“Oh good, it’s going to be a club of two,” Sanders said in a dry voice as the blond man turned back to him.

“You bandage hand.” He nodded to the Graygual. “Keep alive.”

“Where the hell did you two come from?” Sanders demanded, moving to the rest of his men, making sure that no one was dead or seriously wounded. Most men had pale faces, trying to hide their shaking limbs, but everyone was alive. The dead Graygual hadn’t had a chance to slice off any heads.

“Rugger,” Sanders barked. A wide-eyed man with dark hair looked his way. He stepped forward on uncertain legs, trying to look everywhere at once, including the trees behind him. This had been his first fight with mental weapons and it wasn’t sitting well.

Sanders knew how he felt.

“Y-yes, sir. Yes,” Rugger answered with a waver in his voice.

“You’d best get used to that style of fighting, son. You’re going to see and feel a whole lot more of that before this is through. If you make it that long.”

“Yes, sir.” Rugger gulped and glanced at the tree line.

“Make sure that Graygual lives. We need information.” Sanders stepped out of the line of sight so Rugger could notice the enemy behind him.

Rugger’s eyebrows sank low in determination. “Yes, sir.”

The Duke had sent their field doctor-in-training. The kid was supposed to be quick to react and fearless in battle when someone fell. From what Sanders had observed, he also said stupid things and didn’t have a real quick wit. But then, Marc was supposedly a genius, and he was not responding well. Sanders would take quick action and idiocy over intelligent stuttering any day.

Putting away his weapons, he swallowed his pride and marched toward the woman who had turned his life upside down. She stood with a couple of his men, peering in eyes and asking questions, but when Sanders got close, she stepped away.

Sanders found the affirmation in those violet eyes of what he’d just seen in the green; a deep, haunting sadness creating an edge that whispered of death and burning bodies. The way she stood, graceful and lithe, spoke of beauty and dancing, but the sleek, predatory quality of her movements screamed danger. Her sword work was every bit as smooth and precise as the Graygual warrior Sanders had just fought, but within those practiced movements was a harsh brutality learned through desolate travels and cruel survival.