Vision of Light [The Renegades 1] (3 page)

Checking her palm and fingers, Aislan found all the cuts had closed up, without even a trace of a scar. Startled, she looked at his implacable face. A killer with the ability to heal?

Why had he bothered to waste his energy to heal her insignificant pain?

He clicked the horse, and they started moving. His muscular arm braced across her back as he held the reins, while his other arm rested with an infuriating familiarity across her legs. Her arm bounced against his hard chest as the horse cantered along. Aislan tried to huddle into the warmth of her cloak, well aware of his gaze resting on her averted face, blatantly studying her. Her skin prickled, and she shivered as if he still touched her. She lifted her head to look at him. She saw the long thickness of his dark lashes. His masculine face was barely lined, the tanned skin smooth. Because of his height and his solid build, she had thought him older, but now up close, she realized he could be no more than thirty years old.

He returned her stare, the silvery depths unfathomable but no longer cold as he looked her over, lingering sensuously on her mouth. Drawn to him beyond reason, mesmerized against her will, Aislan could not look away, her pulse racing madly even as she wondered if she had lost her mind.

Finally, they returned to the scene where the attack on the hunting party first occurred.

Aislan stared in disbelief at the carnage. They had slaughtered everyone.

Her captor dismounted. He lifted her off the horse, his hands hard about her waist, keeping a hold on her until she had steadied her quaking legs. When he finally let go of her and walked away, Aislan looked about her in shock. They had lined the bodies alongside each other, all lying on their backs, blood everywhere. Her captor stopped beside each body to look at the faces.

Locked up most of the time at Templeton Castle, Aislan had very little contact with these people. Even though she had no attachment to any of the victims, she became violently sick. She clung to the pommel of the saddle, bent over, and vomited on the horse's leg. When she could focus again, Aislan wiped her mouth with her sleeve while blinking tears from her eyes. Two men headed in her direction, and she shifted out of their reach. They swept past her towards Lord Temple. They untied Hayton and carried him the short distance before they tossed him alongside the other bodies. The unceremonious handling of the Lord of Templeton snapped Aislan out of her foggy confusion and back into the reality of death and the horrors waiting ahead. She found the nerve to rush forward.

"What are you doing?” she cried.

The man glanced at Aislan's captor before answering, “The Dark Lord ordered them buried."

Aislan glanced at their imposing leader. What an appropriate name.

"Lord Temple was a military baron who spent his life serving His Majesty,” she protested. “He cannot be buried like a commoner. They all must have the last rites."

"We cart no priest with us on missions,” the Dark Lord intervened.

"Missions! You slaughtered innocent men!"

Eyeing her without expression, he shrugged. “If it matters to you, give him the rites yourself.” He walked away and directed his men to start digging.

Aislan knelt next to Hayton's body. She did not know how to perform the last rites. She had stopped praying a few years ago, since God would not heed what she had to say. However, under these circumstances, she was not praying for herself, so she hoped praying for other souls should be acceptable. Having reasoned so with herself, Aislan closed her eyes and asked God to forgive Hayton for the sins he had committed and to admit him into Heaven. Going to the remaining nine bodies, she performed the same impromptu prayer for each.

Meanwhile, several men were digging a hole, which became larger with each passing moment.

"You mean to bury them all together?” She gasped, staring in disbelief.

A burly man apparently thought she had gone too far with her impertinent questions. He was gigantic, with bulging arms and a mean face covered by a bushy, dirty-looking beard. Aislan had been aware of his lustful appraisal ever since he first saw her. He came straight for her.

"Whore!” His dark eyes gleamed as he grabbed the braid of her hair, pulling her to her feet. “You do not demand or question us. You only beg for mercy."

She shrank away from him, terrified and revolted. The disgusting lout leered as he looked at her face, his beady eyes focusing on her mouth.

"Start begging now!” He pushed her back to the ground, sending her sprawling on her backside. One moment, the Dark Lord stood across the way, and the next, he was beside her. He caught the other man's hand as he reached for Aislan again.

"Enough, Colen."

The much larger man looked at the Dark Lord in surprise, as if not expecting interference. Then he smiled, nodding in understanding. “Of course. You fuck her first. I'll wait my turn."

The Dark Lord's expression remained impassive. “Lady Aislan is under my protection."

Colen looked taken aback, his eyes widening. The other men in the party had stopped to watch the confrontation, wearing the same surprised expression as Colen's. Scrambling to her feet, Aislan backed away. She watched their reaction with a sinking feeling of dread.

Colen and the Dark Lord stood well over six feet tall. Colen drew himself to the extent of his already intimidating height so that both men stared at each other eye-to-eye.

"She is a beautiful bitch, so fuck her if ‘tis your reason to spare her. I'll sample a piece of her ass myself when you have finished, but her head goes with the others."

The Dark Lord's expression did not even flicker. His left hand lowered to rest against the pommel of his sword.

Colen turned red. “Have you lost your fucking mind? You would fight me for a dead whore?"

"She lives.” The Dark Lord's voice remained calm.

Colen turned to glare at her, and she felt a twinge of fear in response to his deadly look. Pure brutality emanated from him as he glowered at the Dark Lord for a moment longer.

"Play the chivalrous wittold,” he said finally. “'Twill be your head on the platter.” He stormed away angrily.

The Dark Lord gave her a glance before he left her side. “Keep digging!” he ordered his men.

Aislan stood and watched cautiously until her tenseness dissipated. After she gathered enough courage, she walked towards Lord Temple's body, and then glanced furtively at the growing hole. After what had happened, she was too afraid to utter another word, knowing she should leave everything alone. However, even though Aislan had not loved him, it still seemed so wrong to relegate Hayton to a mass grave in such a disgraceful manner.

The longer she stood looking at Hayton, the guiltier she felt. Though afraid of the people around her, her sense of obligation began to overwhelm her. She must try to give him some semblance of dignity in death because she gave him nothing but contempt in life. Mustering up some courage, Aislan picked up a shovel. The men stopped and eyed her with great curiosity. Moving several feet away, she started digging. It had rained incessantly the past two weeks, but the ground remained harder than she expected, and even after pounding and scraping, she managed to scratch only the surface. The task was daunting, but she kept digging even when nothing much gave under the shovel.

"Pray tell, what are you doing?” The Dark Lord moved to stand in front of her.

"I'll bury Lord Temple."

"'Tis taken care of."

"No! The Lord of Templeton cannot be thrown in with the others."

"I assure you, milady, it matters no longer where he is buried."

"Not to a soulless devil, mayhap, but it matters to him in the afterlife."

The Dark Lord nodded at one of the men. “Mallers."

A thin, wiry old man with expressionless eyes stepped forward. The Dark Lord inclined his head.

"Yes, milord.” Mallers moved towards the body. Another man pulled Lord Temple into a sitting position, holding his head upright by the hair as Mallers unsheathed a broad-blade sword.

"What are you doing?” Aislan shrieked as Mallers lifted the blade. Throwing her shovel aside, she rushed forward, but the Dark Lord caught her by the arm. When she struggled, he slid a hard arm firmly about her waist from behind to imprison her.

"No!” Aislan screamed.

Mallers swung the blade and separated Lord Temple's head from his body in one smooth motion.

Aislan must have fainted. When she came around, she found her cheek pressed into the crook of her captor's shoulder. She pulled away, but he held fast, and she realized why. They had beheaded two other bodies.

His arm across her ribcage kept her upright. Hanging limply over his arm, Aislan watched as the man called Mallers unfolded a huge black cloth and spread the square on the ground. He distributed a white powder across the sheet evenly before he placed Lord Temple's head, along with the other two, in a triangular shape on the sheet. The other two men had been guests at Templeton Castle over the past few weeks.

Kneeling down, Mallers spread his palms above the heads. The powder sealed the flow of blood from the severed heads. Mallers closed his eyes and muttered chants under his breath, a ritual performed by decollators to preserve the heads for a long journey. Pulling two opposite corners of the black cloth together, Mallers knotted them, then pulled the other corners together on top and secured another knot.

Aislan struggled free, and this time, her captor released her. She turned on him. “You killed Lord Temple!” She shook her head in disbelief. “You killed these men in cold blood!"

"I killed traitors who deserved to die for betraying their king."

"Traitors? Milord served the king all his life!"

His expression did not change. Any thought she had that he might have a shred of compassion in him dissipated. Aislan could not believe the extent of his indifference, this man whom she had always regarded to be her beloved knight. She had never imagined the bloodshed violence that would trail his entrance.

At his signal, several of his men dragged the bodies towards the deep hole and threw them in, one after another. Staring at Lord Temple's decapitated body, Aislan felt the first wave of grief flooding over her. Everything was just so cold, so brutal! She never expected Hayton to come to such a violent end. Not knowing what else to do, she went back to digging the grave, but her pitiful attempt still barely moved the earth.

The Dark Lord watched her struggle for a short moment, and then ordered two of his men to help her dig. Aislan stopped and moved aside. After they had dug deep enough, the two men went to Hayton, and one retrieved a small dagger attached to the side of Hayton's belt. They both picked up his body and tossed it into the hole like a sack of potatoes.

"Wait!” Aislan slipped into the hole and went about pulling the cloak from Lord Temple's body, trying to free it. After straightening his legs, she crossed his arms in front of him. Closing her eyes, Aislan let go of her hate for Hayton. She had wanted her freedom, but not at the cost of innocent lives. After picking up a clump of grass and throwing it aside, she pulled up the cloak to cover the stump of his neck.

When she felt a presence standing above her, Aislan got to her feet and looked at her captor's long, black boots. He bent and extended a gloved hand. She took it, feeling his effortless strength as he pulled her out. When she stumbled, he caught her against his hard body, and she grabbed at his arm to steady herself. The sinewy muscles stiffened beneath her fingers, and her skin prickled. He vibrated with energy, with power and life, and unable to stop herself, she dug her nails into his arm. Aislan realized he had removed the needled armor from his arms and wondered if he had done that for her. Why had he bothered?

She looked up and held his gaze. His dark intensity emitted from him like a physical thing and touched her, his darkness drawing her inexorably, captivating her, holding her enthralled. Startled with the realization, she pulled away. He stared into her eyes, and the silvery gaze softened with a hint of tenderness. Aislan was confused at her own conflicting feelings for him, anger, but acceptance, too, which was uncharacteristic of her. She had never accepted anyone or anything easily. His gloved hands lingered on her waist, but then eventually, he let go of her and then left her side.

The decollator Mallers, Lady Aislan's tormentor Colen, and two other men departed to deliver the heads to the king.

Lucien stood by the mass grave, watching the last of the victims being thrown unceremoniously into the hole—a young boy of fifteen or sixteen, Hayton Temple's hapless squire. The men started to fill up the hole. The stench of death permeated the air. The king's emissary, Nadan, joined him and stood at his side somewhat companionably.

"You defy the king and the
Sorsverein
with your own plans for the woman,” Nadan commented conversationally. “Pray enlighten me."

Lucien kept his mask in place and remained silent because he had no plans.

"You think she is worth your future? Do not defy the
Sorsverein
.” Nadan had arrived a few days ago with an additional decree—Lady Aislan Temple's head, undoubtedly instigated by
Sorsverein
Penderby. The
Sorsverein
ruled the Sorcery Circle, served as advisor to the king, and was Lucien's sorcery master. As soon as Lucien turned seven years old, the king had given him to Penderby, who beat all humanity out of him, turning a mild-mannered boy into a hardened assassin.
Sorsverein
Penderby had owned Lucien the past twenty-one years, breaking and molding him into an animal without compassion, all in the name of serving his country.

"I kill her, then what?"

Nadan gave him an odd look. “Did the king not grant you Stonebrush? Did the
Sorsverein
not ward you the first six apprentices, as you wished? Lucien, your glorious future awaits."

"How long until I must prove my loyalty again?” Lucien fastidiously brushed Temple's dried blood off his gloves. This was his last mission, the final testament of his blind loyalty and devotion to the Crown and the Circle. All he had to do was kill Lady Aislan, or allow them to kill her, because she posed some threat he could not see.