The Warlord and the Assassin: A Fantasy Romance Novella (9 page)

Around them, the warm water swirled, embracing them with gentle heat.
 

As Amina moved, she kissed the base of his neck. The pressure built and Tarak thrust against her, moving deeper. Amina’s teeth grazed Tarak’s skin, and she tasted the copper tang of his Akuna blood, mingled with the faint salt of his sweat. It sent her spiraling further into ecstatic frenzy.
 

Tarak growled, moving with her, sitting forward and embracing her with his strong arms, his rough hands caressing the smooth skin of her back.
 

Amina swayed her body, dragging them both to the brink of ecstasy, wrapping her muscular legs around his broad waist. Tarak controlled the rhythm now, his hands settling around the rounded curves of her butt.

In the steaming bath, they made love, hungry, savage and wanting.

Surrounded by water, they moved together, rocked by waves and waves of pleasure, until they were both on the edge. Amina became acutely aware of the gentle caress of the water around her body. She inhaled the faint aroma of rose oil and savored Tarak’s complex, masculine scent. She felt his hard length inside her, and the way their bodies moulded perfectly together, as if they were made for each other.

She heard Tarak’s low growl of pleasure and felt him take her, harder, deeper, until she could bear it no longer and she came, dragging her nails across the scarred skin of his back. Tarak cried out as he climaxed, holding her tightly against him.
 

When they were finished, Amina peeled herself gently off him, and started washing his back, kneading his taut muscles. Tarak sighed and relaxed back into her, allowing her to surround him her arms, in a gentle embrace.
 

“Jerik Garul and the Erateans come tomorrow,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I know.” Tarak took one of her hands and gently kissed each one of her fingers. “Worry not, Amina. I always have a plan. And Garul is about to discover that we Akuna are not so easy to kill.”

They were awake with the rising sun. Tarak ordered his people to move out of Larion Fortress. They had all dressed in the customary Akuna black, and they had prepared a funeral cart, atop which a coffin sat, shrouded in black.

With an ironic smile on his face, Tarak had told his troops to try and look sombre. So they had filed out of the fortress in a grim procession.

But they knew it was just a decoy, to fool Garul and his army into a false sense of security.

Amina had shuddered upon seeing the naked bloodlust play across the faces of the Akuna warriors. She had killed men before, but her style was different. As an assassin, she worked from the shadows, her jobs covert, quick and efficient. Rarely was blood spilt. She preferred poison, garrotes, and on occasion, a well aimed throwing knife.

War was different. These men were preparing for battle and all the bloodshed that came with it.

War was a messy, dirty, ugly thing indeed.

Tarak, Amina and the majority of the Akuna who had first occupied the fortress stayed behind, planning to conceal themselves in the trees, bushes and the narrow, secret tunnels between the walls of the fortress and underground. But for now, Tarak and Amina stood on his balcony, watching as the Eratean army swarmed through Varanada town.
 

Garul had split his main force into three. They were attempting to storm the Akuna forces camped on the mountainside in a pincer movement. At these same time, a third of Garul’s men were headed for the fortress. Little did they know, Tarak’s men had deserted the mountainside and gone to ground, hidden in the caves or camouflaged on the steep hillside. When it came to mountain combat, the Akuna were in their element. They would be on top of the Eratean army before they knew what hit them.

As the Akuna procession marched out of the fortress, the Erateans hastened their advance, rushing down the hillside with blades drawn.
 

Amina squinted against the morning sun, watching as hundreds of soldiers ran forward, appearing antlike from so far away. At the end of the attacking party was a troupe of horses carrying the Commander’s banner. Amina had no doubt Garul rode with them, avoiding danger and waiting to claim his victory.

The Erateans were heading for the Akuna procession.

“Typical Erateans.” Tarak stood behind her, his thick arms encircling her waist. “I’ll bet Garul wants to make a point of desecrating my body.”

“Too bad for him, your body is right here, well and alive.” Amina leant back into him, savoring his warmth against the crisp morning air. “What do we do now, Warlord?”

“We wait.” Tarak wore his full battle gear. The Akuna dressed sparely, preferring to sacrifice armor for speed. Tarak wore a black tunic and leather trousers. Strapped to his legs were several hunting daggers, and his crimson blade was slung across his back. Black leather arm guards concealed his forearms and protected the back of his hands.
 

He looked regal and intimidating, every inch the Akuna Warlord.

Amina had donned her skintight assassin’s garb, and she had noticed Tarak stealing glances at her all morning. It was, she supposed, a little revealing, and better suited to the shadows of night than the bright morning sunshine. She carried her longknife, a garrote and several small throwing daggers.
 

In a pouch at her waist, she had stashed some poison darts.
 

“Stay out of this battle,” Tarak advised her. “This is not your style of fight. Leave the close quarters combat to the savages. And I as I have told everyone, Garul’s head is mine.”

“I fight by your side,” Amina insisted, before Tarak held a finger to her lips.
 

“I know of your prowess, lover. But you don’t want to get in the way of an Akuna who is caught in the grip of bloodlust. If anything happened to you, I would never forgive myself. Please, Amina.”

“Fine.” She crossed her arms, watching as the Erateans flooded through the First Gate. “But any man who tries to harm you is getting a throwing knife in the neck.”

“That’s fine by me.”

As the Erateans approached the Akuna procession, the Akuna scattered and ran, abandoning the coffin. The horses leading the cart shied and bolted, dragging the coffin with them. This seemed to encourage the Erateans, who stormed the fortress.
 

Little did they know, the Akuna who had pretended to flee were looping back around the fortress, and would scale its walls from the other end, ready to attack the invading Erateans.
 

“Patience, now.” Tarak went still, watching the scene unfold below.

The Eratean army flooded into the forecourt of Larion Fortress and found it deserted. Tarak pulled Amina back into the shade of his chambers, and they watched through the window as more and more men entered the fortress.

Amina’s throat went dry. It was almost worse, knowing what was about to befall them. This was going to be a massacre.

Tarak waited until the last of the Erateans had entered the fortress. Amina recognized Jerik Garul seated atop a dappled warhorse, a smug expression on his broad face.

The Eratean signaled to his troops to stand to order, and they arranged themselves into a semblance of a formation, swords and shields at the ready.

“It appears,” he cried out, his gravelly voice echoing throughout the fortress, “that the Akuna are nothing without their Warlord. Cut off the head of the snake’s head, and what do you have? Savages, nothing more.”

Crude laughter rang out in the still morning air. Garul raised a fist above his head. “For Eratea!”

“Eratea!” The soldiers cried out in unison. Garul opened his mouth to speak, but paused as a deep, booming sound echoed off the mountainside.
 

The sound echoed again, becoming a rhythmic, rumbling beat.
 

“Akuna drums of war,” whispered Tarak. The sound shook Amina through to her bones.

Jerik Garul froze, and looked about wildly.
 

“Stay here.” Tarak cautioned her. Then, he walked casually out onto the balcony.
 

As Tarak appeared in the sunlight, a thousand heads turned in his direction. Amina heard the sound of bowstrings being drawn. “The first time,” he called out, his deep voice filling the silence, “I let you and your men escape unscathed, Jerik. The condition was that you retreat back to your own country. What part of that did you not understand, Jerik?”

Amina saw that some of the Erateans had crossbows pointed at Tarak. She resisted the urge to pull him back into the shadows.
 

Garul’s fleshy features had turned red. He stared at Tarak in wide-eyed horror. Then, the surprise and shock turned to rage. “Did that Inue bitch betray me, Akuna? I should have known. You savage tribes are all the same. Gutless.” He spat on the hard, stone ground.
 

“I wouldn’t speak of her that way if I were you, Garul. For that alone, you will die.”

Amina felt the nervous
qwi
of the Eratean soldiers. It flickered and trembled, threaded through with an undercurrent of fear.
 

“Go ahead and try, Akuna filth. We have ten thousand troops on the way, marching from Adalan as I speak. If you stand down now, I will consider granting you a merciful death. As for the bitch, her sister is going to rot in a disease ridden whorehouse for the rest of her short life.”
 

“For that second insult,” Tarak called back, “I will grant you a painful death.”

Garul pointed towards Tarak. “Shoot him!”

As the Erateans readied their crossbows, Tarak leapt through the window and pulled Amina aside, behind the shelter of a solid, stone wall. “Don’t worry about your sister,” he murmured. “Kietesh will get her out.”

“You have a lot of faith in that man.” Amina blinked as several crossbow bolts sailed through the open window, clattering across the hard, stone floor. Scattered metallic clinks echoed from outside, as the bolts hit the wall.
 

“You don’t know Kietesh.” Tarak drew his crimson longsword, the blade gleaming red in the morning light. It looked unearthly, almost demonic. Tarak grinned, and for a moment, Amina felt the killing intent seep from him, powerful and terrifying.
 

In the distance, the Akuna drums beat relentlessly.
 

Amina risked standing, to take a brief glance out of the window. Out of the corner of her vision, she could see the black-clad Akuna swarming over the castle walls, dropping out of the trees and appearing seemingly from thin air. The Erateans were frantically drawing their bows. As they fired, the Akuna warriors rushed forth, their blades bared.
 

Screams started to echo from the courtyard, amidst the clash of swords and the fearful shouts.
 

Amina no longer dared to look out the window.
 

Beside her, Tarak’s expression had become intense. Again, his eyes took on a faint red glow, so subtle one might almost miss it. Amina was starting to recognize the signs of rising bloodlust.
 

“Stay here,” he ordered her, for a second time, leaving her with a deep, wild kiss. Then, he rushed out and leapt off the balcony, entering the fray below.
 

~~~

Tarak crossed the forecourt, which had become a battlefield. The Akuna had broken cover and surrounded the Erateans. The sounds of furious fighting echoed in the chill morning air, accompanied by the screams of the dying. At the far end of the courtyard, he saw Jerik Garul attempting to turn his horse and head for the gates.

Tarak ran, his powerful legs propelling him forward. He evaded the bolt of one Eratean archer and beheaded a soldier who rushed him, leaving a vicious spray of blood splattered across the flagstones.

He impaled one attacker on his longsword then spun and kicked another soldier in the chest. The man fell to the ground and Tarak ran past, dodging past another enemy, who tried to charge him with a barbed spear. Tarak gripped the end of the spear and snapped it, ramming the point into the man’s throat.

A slick of bright arterial blood coated his fist.
 

Tarak ran, heading for the horses. The Akuna had them spooked, as their collective killing intent rose, making the atmosphere oppressive. From the mountain, the war drums pounded.
 

They beat in time with his heart. They beat to the rhythm of every Akuna on the battlefield.
 

His people were bred for war.

Tarak reached the horses as they cantered towards the gates. As he came alongside Jerik Garul, the dappled horse carrying the Eratean commander shied, and Jerik lost his seat, toppling to the hard flagstones below.
 

Tarak advanced on the man as he tried to regain his feet.
 

“To me,” he bellowed, desperately seeking protection. “To me, men!”

He stared at Tarak and unsheathed his sword, backing away. But he was a man who was looking death in the face. Garul wore the expression of a man who had gambled and lost.

He would pay the highest price of all.
 

Tarak sensed a presence running up behind him. He started to turn, but before he could attack, the man fell, a throwing knife sticking out of his back.
 

He glanced up to the balcony and saw Amina slip back behind the wall.
 

Garul stared at him with hatred in his grey eyes. “Curse you to the fucking abyss, Akuna devil. When our reinforcements reach Varanada, your wretched people will be driven back to the barren wasteland from where they came. And you will be granted a slow and painful death, Warlord. You can’t defeat the Empire.”

Tarak brought the point of his sword to Garul’s neck. “I have no intention of defeating the Empire. Your people will do that to each other. I’m only taking back what you stole, Garul. These lands do not belong to Eratea.”

“We brought civilization to these lands. And in one move, you would destroy it all, Warlord?” Garul’s eyes lit up with blind fervor.