The Treason Blade (Battle for Alsaar Book 1) (2 page)

The next morning Ishar woke and took the time to
fish. She yearned for a variation from cold dried meat. While the fish cooked,
Ishar bathed and packed her gear. She quickly donned her clothes: pants which
fell to her lower calves over knee length boots, a long-sleeved under tunic
that came to her thighs and a short-sleeved split outer tunic that draped to
her knees. Over these she slipped her chainmail, her breastplate with the
engraved image of a wolf carved within the leather and steel, her forearm
guards and leg greaves. Finished, she strapped her fighting daggers to her
boots and slipped her sword sheath over her head.

Ishar wanted to be prepared for anything as she
rode toward the holding. She ate quickly and scattered dirt across the dying
embers. She slipped her hood on her head and attached the lower faceguard so
that only her green eyes showed. Ishar made her way over to Simi and mounted.
She nudged her horse cautiously toward the east. It had been told to her that
this holding of Varyk’s stood close to the eastern side of the southern low
lands.

Crossing yet another grassy hillock that afternoon,
a holding came into view. It was stone built with thick outer walls. Soldiers
walked the top of the fortification. It was impressive and reminded Ishar of
Ayden, though it lacked the size of her father’s stronghold. Located to the
side at the bottom of the hill was a small village with a several connected
lanes set among thatch roofed structures. Children could be seen guiding sheep
and several women worked together, turning the land up in preparation of the
seed to come. Ishar continued down the slope. Now that she was in the lowlands,
there was vibrant deep green as far as the eye could see. Ishar had ridden
through so many drifting mists that her clothes were heavy with dampness.
Thankfully the air held a hint of mildness, especially when compared to the
much colder region of her northern homeland.

Ishar recognized
the moment she was spotted. There was a flurry of movement along the wall and
by the time she reached the gate she was greeted by several soldiers, all too
closely bunched. They should know better, she observed quietly. Groups should
always spread out and surround anything uncertain. They should never cluster
themselves in case of attack. The soldiers continued to watch her movements
with nervous eyes. Their appearance leant a suggestion of training but none had
the look of the wild bunch of men which Varyk was reputed to have surrounded
himself. Those men were alleged to be Raanan warriors, from a land far to the
south of the Tourna. All Ishar knew were the rumors that had circulated to the
north about warriors so fierce looking that men quailed just at their
appearance in battle. There was not a man before her that met that measure. Of
course, it would not be the first time that rumors had become exaggerated. Her
own Wörie bore legendary status among her people, said to be capable of near
immortal feats, but they were ordinary men and women who fought with
extraordinary skill and courage in any engagement. She thought these praised
warriors of Varyk would be similar.

She calmed
her mare and waited patiently, showing no outward sign of aggression. She undid
her faceguard and flipped her hood onto her shoulders. The fresh breeze felt
cool upon her face.

Ishar knew her clothing and armor bore markings
that would indicate she was Haaldyn. But even if she had worn the garments of
the Britai or Lute, she would have been easily recognized by her short,
reddish-blonde hair that spoke of a history beyond the island. Her people had
claimed the harsh northern region nearly a hundred years earlier when they had
made landfall and found a new home comparable to the homeland of their
ancestors from across the sea and up in the far northern regions of Megara.

The Haaldyn were known by their tall height, fair
skin and their blond or red hair, which contrasted with the Lute and Britai who
were native to the island. Both groups were a people of slightly shorter statue
with brown or black hair and normally dark eyes.

Those dark eyes watched her now with wariness.
These soldiers were Britai. Their skin was slightly more olive, not pale like
the Lute. And there were no women among the warriors like there would have been
with the Lute. The Lute shared the Haaldyn’s belief that a woman had as much
right as a man to fight in battle.

While no swords had been drawn, Ishar sensed the
men before her were tense. It was an honest assessment. There was no defined
peace between the Britai and the Haaldyn. To be truthful, many of her people
had never regarded the Britai as worthy of a treaty. They were considered by
many to be weak. However, Ishar reasoned, many of these very people failed to
understand these same Britai had to endure the full brute of the Tourna fury
every ten years. As a people they had simply never had the time to recover from
one attack before being attacked again. And since the Tourna picked the best
and the youngest of the Britai as slaves and killed many others, no great
leader had risen to bring the scattered Britai together as a people, until this
Varyk.

A murmur
through the ranks drew Ishar’s gaze and she glanced toward the sound. The
gathered crowd parted and another soldier walked boldly through and up to her
horse, placing his hand upon Simi’s bridle. A Britai man followed at his heels.
Simi, for her part took the action as a gesture of good will and rubbed her
forehead against his bare palm and stroking fingers. Ishar glanced down and
found herself, for the first time, with her sights directed upon a Raanan
warrior. She kept her smile hidden; Ishar might have been staring at one of her
Wörie. The rumors had been
right,
a wildness emanated
beyond an impassive expression and contained discipline. The man matched her
height. His black hair was shorter than most with slight curls that might have
given the warrior a feminine look if not for a strong masculine face and steady
gray eyes. Those intense eyes now studied her with care.

“May I ask to
whom I am speaking?” The man’s voice was calm. Yet his narrowed glance belied
the gentleness of his tone.

Ishar tilted
her head, her voice steady. “I am Ishar, daughter of Ryen of the Haaldyn. I am
here on behalf of my father to speak with your lord, Varyk. I ask for
admittance into this holding.”

At the
mention of her father’s name, another murmur filtered through the crowd. The
man with black hair and gray eyes appeared indifferent. He watched Ishar
thoughtfully for a moment, then spoke with a cool politeness. “I am Lysandr,
second in command under Varyk. He is not in the holding at the moment. His
lady, Eira, is however. I will allow you to enter and escort you to her. It
will be her decision whether you remain within these gates.”

For an
instant a ripple of dislike emanated from the man. Then it passed and apathy
reigned upon his face. Ishar frowned. “When will your lord return?” She asked,
composed.

Lysandr
tilted a shoulder upward with a casual shrug. “Varyk said he would return
before the moon was full. That will happen in less than a week. Your wait
should not be too long. If Eira admits you,” he added softly. He motioned to the Britai soldier who stood
beside him. “This is Jusa. He will see to your horse’s comfort. Please,
dismount and follow me.”

Irritation
flickered through her. Ishar opened her mouth but paused a second before she
spoke. She brushed her fingers through Simi’s mane in a reassuring manner. “I
am used to seeing to my own horse’s comfort. She leads me into battle and her
condition is just as important as my sword or bow.” Ishar’s jaw was tight,
angry with herself for letting the words slip out. She did not want the Britai
to think she thought so little of their care, but Simi had been her
responsibility since a filly and her ingrained instincts as a Haaldyn said that
these feeble Britai could not hope to understand the care a war horse required.

Lysandr had
turned away. Did she detect his shoulders tightening even as he faced her
again?

He smiled
politely and his tone was polished even though he held himself rigid as he
answered. “Please, Jusa takes care of Varyk’s horse and my own when I cannot. I
would trust no other. Your mare shall find herself in the best of care, I assure
you.”

Ishar
hesitated,
then
realized insulting her hosts was not a
way to begin to find middle ground. She swung her leg across the rump of her
mare and dismounted. Ishar undid the back straps and grabbed her gear before
handing the reins to Jusa with what she hoped was a polite smile. It was hard
to tell. Her voice was stiff even as she thanked him.

Jusa bobbed
his head with politeness and lead Simi away. Her traitor of a horse did not
even have the courtesy of a backward glance and snort. Simi was already
thinking of oats, hay, fresh water and rest.

Ishar turned
to Lysandr. His back was already to her as he led the way through the parted
crowd. The people stared as she walked, with a strange mixture of curiosity and
slight animosity. Most likely wondered about her presence and what it might
bode to the holding. Ishar was certain Lysandr knew. As second in command under
Varyk, he had to know the Tourna were coming. Hopefully his admittance of her
within the gates to see this Eira was a good sign, unless they were allies of
the Tourna and did not intend for her to leave here alive. It was,
unfortunately, a chance Ishar felt she had to take. Her father had informed her
of how important this duty was for him and the entire island of Alsaar. So she
continued on and followed Lysandr, ignoring the onlookers as they passed by
several soldiers’ barracks and a training field to her right and what looked
like a sheltered gathering place with a set of structures attached to either
side on her left. These looked to be either residences or used for additional
storage space.

They crossed
through a secondary gate into the inner holding. This was where the women and
children of the village would retreat to in time of attack. She watched as Jusa
led Simi toward a far building. The sound of whinnies echoed from within.
Several additional structures stood in front of her to the right of where the
horses were housed. Next to them was another training area. Ishar’s eyes
drifted farther right, where the main fortress was situated. The building was
of gray stone, impressive, strong and tall. A woman dressed in a dark green
gown stood near the top of the steps, waiting by the main doors that stood
open. She was Lute, though tall for one with pale skin and dark brown hair that
cascaded nearly to her waist. Her dark eyes watched their coming with a
reserved expression.

Lysandr
paused near the bottom of the steps. He glanced back. “A moment please,” he
said in a tone of utter politeness and with a short nod before proceeding up the
stone steps.

Ishar stopped
and narrowed her eyes at his back. She grew weary of this unrelenting courteous
manner. She could appreciate honest hatred.

*

Eira watched
Lysandr make his way toward her. The expression he wore was one of unease. She
raised an eyebrow at his tight face even as she eyed the Haaldyn in armor who
waited at the bottom of the steps. Her belongings were set on the ground beside
her. Eira saw the woman bore the tattooed mark of a warrior upon her left
cheek.

Lysandr
stepped close and lowered his voice. “She is Ishar, daughter of Ryen—”

“Of the
Haaldyn,” Eira finished with a nod. “The reason she is here?”

Lysandr
shrugged. “She wishes to speak to Varyk.”

Eira’s look
was thoughtful. “You told her he was away?”

Lysandr gave
an abrupt nod and frowned. Eira smiled at Lysandr’s obvious irritation at the
reminder. He was still upset Varyk had ridden out without the main guard of the
Raanan warriors to accompany him on his journey to meet with Wyn. The Lute
leader had been unable to come to the holding now because of the preparations
his people were making to prepare for the Tourna’s imminent return. Eira could
recall several heated talks between her husband and his second in command
before Varyk left. In the end Varyk relented enough to bring Kagon and Rayne
with him. Eira realized she should be grateful Lysandr and all of the other
warriors were so protective of Varyk. Still, her father had drilled into her—a
leader one placed one’s trust in had to be obeyed completely. There could be no
middle ground. Eira knew if anyone could see them through this coming horror,
it would be men like her father and Varyk, and now quite possibly Ryen of the
Haaldyn. She took a deep breath. “You think this is about the Tourna?” Eira
asked slowly.

Lysandr was
silent. “I suppose.” He gave a slight lazy shrug. “I find I do not care. I do
not like her here. The people will not either.”

“I have found
many times the people respond in like manner as those who lead them,” Eira
frowned. “Know your words are heard and noted. However, this is not a time for
us to allow the past to destroy our future.”

“She is
Haaldyn,” Lysandr ground out softly in a dark tone. “How many times have I
heard you say they could not be trusted? How many times have we faced them in
battle and they proved this?”

“We were
their enemies” Eira spoke gently. “We have not been their enemies for the past
two years. My father has decreed a peace between the Lute and the Haaldyn that
I and Varyk accept. I would expect no less from any of Varyk’s men.”