A Battle Lord’s Heart (14 page)

           
“Do you think we’re going to battle
with these Bloods when we get there?” Renken casually asked Fortune. It was the
first conversation he’d struck up with the man since they’d left the compound.
And although the Mutah hunter definitely looked normal, it took him aback to
see the long tail with the tuft of hair at the end whipping about the man’s
legs. Stranger still, the sight of the appendage soon stopped bothering him.

           
Fortune slid his eyes sideways at
the obvious stranger. “I think that’s pretty much uppermost in everyone’s mind,
but it’s the not real reason why we’re going. You know that, right?”

           
Renken nodded. “Right.”

           
The Battle Lady was kept in guarded
seclusion the entire trip. Even now she was seated on a bare rock, surrounded
by the doctor and two sub-lieutenants. Despite her condition, she was wearing a
pair of laced-up leather pants and an oversized tunic, which he suspected
originally belonged to the Battle Lord. The pillow she’d brought along with her
had puzzled him at first, until he later saw her use it to pad her stomach
against the rough jarring the wagon often took along the rutted roadway.

           
Someone behind him made an
off-the-cuff comment. “Hope this good weather holds out.”

           
“Same here,” Fortune agreed. Despite
the near-freezing cold nights, the days had been unseasonably mild. Even today
had dawned bright and clear, without a hint of a cloud in the sky.

           
“That’s why they struck,” Renken
drawled softly.

           
His remark was immediately pounced
upon. “How do you figure?” someone behind him challenged.

           
“Calm before the storm. You know the
next big one’s gonna hit soon. That’s why they attacked now. So that when they
get socked in by the next blizzard, they’ll already have what they need to
sustain them through the worst of it.”

           
He was pleased to see Mastin and a
few others digest his theory and agree to it. Casually, almost nonchalantly, he
got to his feet and meandered over to see if he could eavesdrop on the
conversation by the Battle Lady’s fire.

           
Atty shook her head slowly. “No,”
she responded softly to whatever question he’d missed. “I sense nothing.
Nothing.” Her face appeared more strained than normal, and her cheeks glistened
with tears.

           
“The moment you do, let us know,”
MaGrath gently ordered her. At her nod, he got up and left, casting a watchful
look at the ex-mercenary as he passed by. Hoping it wouldn’t be seen as being
too presumptuous of him, Renken took the seat the man had vacated.

           
Silently he watched as Atty took
another two bites of the apple she was making suffice for her lunch. She chewed
slowly, thoughtfully, lost in whatever she was holding inside herself, then
tossed the rest out into the dirt before burying her face in her hands.
 
Behind her, Sorcher laid a comforting hand
on her shoulder as he remained on guard.

           
Minutes later, Mastin called them to
their horses, and they were back on the road.

           
The second half of the day passed a
bit more quickly, despite the fact that conversation remained hushed and
limited. During the late afternoon, MaGrath transferred Atty to the back of the
wagon to rest, and took the reins himself. As soon as she curled up on the pile
of blankets, she fell fast asleep, and the ranks suddenly closed around her,
keeping the wagon in the center of the caravan.

           
This was an army fiercely protective
of their Battle Lady, something Renken had discovered from day one of his
relocation to the compound. Where their respect and loyalty to Yulen D’Jacques
was unquestionable, the soldiers’ devotion to his wife was something he’d heard
about but never witnessed until he moved to Alta Novis. Neither did it take
long for Renken to find out that all the other stories and rumors—what
initially he had truly considered as outright fairy tales—were not
fabrications.

           
The Mutah woman’s abilities were one
hundred percent golden. Moreso, the fabled love between the two leaders was
greater than anything he had originally expected. There were days when Renken
would sit in a small patch of winter sunlight as he polished his weapons, and
quietly watch the interaction between the Battle Lord and Lady.
 
Atty, he realized, had a mercurial mood, but
she was nothing if not passionate in everything she did, whether it be breaking
up an argument between two merchants on Market Day, or the way she would go
running up to D’Jacques when he least expected it and launch herself into his
arms, right in the middle of the compound, ignoring the looks and smiles of
those around them.

           
When she had drawn a bead on those
people gathered in her bedroom and threatened them with bodily harm if they
denied her going along on this rescue attempt, Renken had laughed to himself.
It was just like her, and he for one wouldn’t expect her to do anything else.
Why did they even think they could talk her out of going?
 
Yes, traveling with the babe in her womb seriously
complicated things, considering she was Mutah, but if the situation at
Bearinger turned out to be a tenth as dangerous as everyone believed it would
be, she was still a potent and critically needed weapon.

           
“You don’t talk much, do you?”
Fortune probed next to him.

           
One side of Renken’s face creased
into a grin. “Guess it’s from being alone too long.” He raised his head and
turned it toward the hunter. “You’ve known Atty all her life, right? Has she
always been like this? Obstinate and the like?”

           
Fortune grimaced. “This is way
beyond obstinate. We’re going to be making history with this trip. I just pray
we find the Battle Lord’s remains.”

           
“You think he’s dead?”

           
“I don’t know what to think. I just
know Atty can’t sense him any longer, and that’s a bad sign. A bad, bad sign. That’s
one reason why we’re watching her like hawks. Your name’s Renken, right? For
some reason she’s letting you ride her rear. She has good instincts about
people, and her letting you ride back here so close to her tells me a lot about
you. Listen, if you start to see her looking as if she’s awake but a million
miles away, let me or Cole or the doctor know immediately, will you?”

           
Renken nodded. “Anything else?”

           
“Yeah. Are you willing to give your
life to protect her?”

           
“Why else would I be here?” the ex-mercenary
challenged a bit more gruffly than he intended to. Although he was used to
people questioning his motives, for some reason this hunter got under his skin.
Maybe it was because it felt like the Mutah could look right through him.

           
Instead of being irritated by the
man’s answer, Fortune chuckled instead. “Good. Glad to hear that. ‘Cause she’d
defend your worthless ass in a split second.” He waved a hand to encompass the
entire entourage. “They all know this. I just wanted to make sure you did, too.”

           
They reached a widening in the road
soon after dusk, and Mastin ordered camp to be raised in the middle of the
roadway, as far away from the dubious protection of the trees as possible.
Small campfires were lit, suppers were cooked, and everyone bedded down for a
short night. They would resume before daylight.

           
On the second day, while Atty was
riding in the seat alongside Fortune, who held the reins, Renken noticed a
funny expression cross her face. Her head was down, and everyone assumed she
was dozing, until he saw the rise and fall of her shoulders. Catching the
physician’s attention, he pointed at her, and MaGrath immediately signaled for
a halt.

           
Pulling his horse up to the wagon,
the man first gave Renken a questioning glance. “She’s gone under,” he told
him, hoping the physician would understand.

           
He did. MaGrath quickly slid off his
mount and took one of her hands that rested limp beside her. “Atty? Atty, can
you hear me?”

           
She lifted her face, but it was
immediately obvious she was not seeing him or the battalion surrounding her.

           
“Atty, what do you see?” MaGrath
softly insisted. He stroked her hand, hoping to keep her grounded enough to
answer him.

           
“I...smell smoke.” Her voice was low
and gravelly.

           
“Yes. Go on.”

           
“Smoke.” She blinked, but not to
clear her vision. “Smoke.”

           
“Have the Bloods set fire to
Bearinger?”

           
“Smoke,” she managed again to say.
Before she could say more, she closed her eyes and rested her head on Fortune’s
shoulder. She was asleep moments later.

           
“Do you think the Bloods torched the
compound?” Fortune spoke out as MaGrath remounted and Mastin got them moving
again.

           
“The bigger question is, are the
Bloods still at Bearinger? Or have they moved on?” Del Ray voiced. He was
riding in front of the wagon.

           
The questions were now being asked
almost unendingly. How many had attacked the compound? How had they managed to
breach the walls? What weapons did they use? Who had survived? Who hadn’t?
Would there even
be
any survivors?

           
Were the Bloods still present? Or
had they moved on? What had they done to the compound? What had they done to
the people living there? What had they done to the soldiers defending it?

           
What had they done with the Battle
Lord?

           
By that evening Atty had come out of
her trance. Many were surprised to discover she remembered saying she’d smelled
smoke, but she became upset when she couldn’t give them any more details. That
night she couldn’t sleep, and spent hours standing in the middle of the
roadway, gazing into the distance, as if she could see the compound. Or force
herself to sense another clue, another hint of what they would find there when
they arrived.

           
Or learn what had happened to the
only love of her life.

           
Despite the distance, their sense of
urgency never wavered. Mastin kept the caravan quickly moving so that they
traveled the long miles and longer days in record time. As they grew closer to
the small valley where they knew Bearinger sat, they were beset with a growing
odor.
 
The air soon became thick with the
rancid stench of rot and decay.

           
And smoke.

           
Coming over the last rise, every man
stared or shuddered in horror at the remains of the once beautiful compound
lying below. Small fires continued to burn, sending choking tendrils of black ash
and smoke spiraling upward into the sparkling blue sky. Overcome with what they
were viewing, they advanced cautiously toward the main gates that, like the
rest of the reinforced walls, were no more than burnt stubs, most less than six
feet high. All of the centralized buildings were gone, torn down or collapsed
from the inferno.

           
Outside the walls, the bodies of
Bloods littered the ground. The scene of gruesome carnage was exacerbated by
the small clusters of vultures feeding here and there on the dead. From the
decayed conditions of the carcasses, MaGrath determined they had fallen at
about the same exact time Atty had announced their attack that evening in the
lodge.

           
They paused in front of the
partially-open main gates. Atty climbed out of the wagon and slowly began to
walk into the city that was eerily quiet. Quickly the others dismounted and
followed her inside.

           
Inside the compound, the horror was
even greater. The bodies of Bloods, soldiers, and the inhabitants of Bearinger
were scattered about like chunks of slaughtered cattle.
 
Multi-colored ichor, mixed with splotches
and pools of red blood, was splattered across the ground, on walls, on wagons,
on posts. For as far as anyone could see, not a living creature or person was
left standing in a citadel of what should have been over three hundred people,
not counting the troops D’Jacques had brought.
          

           
The amount of savagery evident was
indescribable.

           
Several soldiers vomited at the
sight and stench. MaGrath, Mastin, and Renken kept close behind Atty as she
stepped over the hacked torsos and separated body parts strewn everywhere. She
moved purposefully but without any true direction. She kept her bow in front of
her, nocked with an arrow already drawn and ready.

           
Even the animals had not been spared.
Many of the compound’s horses lay in huge, meaty chunks. Some bore teeth marks
in the hacked flesh.

           
Sections of armor gleamed like
jewels from hell amid the human remains. Stained red pieces of metal reflected
the sunlight, and many of the soldiers blanched at the knowledge that their own
friends, family members, and battle mates had been wearing them when they left
Alta Novis.