Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles, 1) (8 page)

A moment rumbled by in the silent room. Another. The boys began to fidget, uncomfortable and not experienced enough to hide it. The army men held firm, but uncertainty rolled off them.

The Captain continued to analyze her as she pretended to stand strong. Her legs were quivering ever so slightly, however,
exhausted from the stress and strain. She thought about inching closer, trying to get a reading on this stoic man. That she hadn’t already was beyond her—everyone else seemed in range, why not him?

The Captain finally
said, “Tell me about these weapons.”

“What can I tell you?
” She spread out her hands in a plea. “I found them along the way, I picked them up—“

A monsoon of power blasted out from the Captain, rocking her back a step and causing her to throw up her shields in panic. Raw, brute strength scrubbed at her barriers like san
d paper. Her teeth clenched like her fists, fighting the assault. Her startled gaze retrained on the Captain. He sat as faux calmly as ever, eyes on fire, no intent to further use what could only be his own
Gift.

A lifetime of training pushed past her soggy head and tired body. Survival mode regained control.
She stood still and assessed. This was impossible. Wasn’t it? The bloodlines in this part of the world were all wrong for the
Gift.

Confused, at a loss, she opened her shields a fraction, letting in the tiniest sliver of power. Assessing. And then her fingers started to tingle with implications.

He was untrained. His power, nearly enough to rival her own, had no direction. No intent. It pushed against her skull like a gale-force wind, but had no fingers with which to pry open her defenses, or slip past her barriers. He was simply in a temper and blasting outward with a fifth sense so powerful it had the ability to kill… if he knew how. Instead, he used it like a child just learning
.

What’s more, his people had no idea why they were unsettled. They knew their Captain was lost in anger, close to rage, but no one questioned
how
they knew. It spoke of complete, utter ignorance on what the
Gift
even was.

Her mouth dropped open. She couldn’t help it.

She had been told she was the only one with this much power. Had been for a hundred years. But here she stood, shaking with the effort to combat the force from another talent out of the legends. Words could not describe how utterly floored she was.

Her inactivity and silence must have signaled some quiet victory for him, because he leaned back in his chair, the force of his power
abating. He’d gotten his way, and now he could relax.

If she had any sort of strength, she’d show him what that power could do wit
h a little experience.

The next horrible thought that forced its
way into her churning mind was: The Graygual would be tickled that there was another—that she wasn’t the only one. Another killing monster for their war vessel. Another breeder for the race of super fighter. And maybe he was worse. He could easily impregnate a horde of women. If even one of those offspring had the
Gift
, the Graygual would have more weapons in their arsenal to blow through the land, conquering as they went.

The
large, muscular man, with lightning speed, and the power of a city and army both, had to be killed.

What a bloody
irritating discovery.

“I will ask you again: where did you get these weapons?” the Captain said, his irritation coloring the tone in the room.

Changing her story now would be suicide. Instead,
Shanti changed tactics and met that powerful blue gaze with a violet one of her own. She would not yield to his bullying, and it was important he knew that. She was vulnerable at the moment, yes, but she did have her own power. A good leader would respect that. Hopefully.

“Can you use these weapons?” the Captain continued, only a slight edge in his voice. It was commendable
, because his irritation was thrashing at her mind. She didn’t need to step closer to feel it anymore; he was broadcasting.

“As much as the normal woman, I’d wager,” she said in a light tone.

The Captain stood up. Up and up until Shanti was sure his head would glance off the ceiling. He was huge. Taller than Xavier, and broader. Well over six feet tall, his shoulders strained against his shirt, causing small holes along the seams. His torso was all bump and valley. His back probably was, too. Power and brawn and extremely fast, not to mention poised and balanced, graceful and agile. If that bastard were mentally trained, things would be extremely dicey. Good thing he wasn’t.

“I bet this city goes poor trying to feed you,” she let slip.

“Molly, you are excused,” the Captain pronounced, sparing the woman a glance. “Thank you for your help. I’ve already arranged payment.”

Shanti kept herself from begging the woman to stay. Less violence usually happened in front of homely nursemaids. Or so she’d heard.

“Oh. Yes, of course. Yes, thank you, my Lord. Thank you, yes.” Molly bustled out, followed by a shaky Xavier, who closed and guarded the door behind her, his knees bent. She hadn’t noticed him climbing off the floor.

Shanti backed up two steps so she could see the whole room now that Xavier had swi
tched positions. Her feet stepped on the rug, dragging her focus down to the floor. The thing was incredibly ugly, but so
soft.
It was luxurious. Her feet sang as they sank in, and then tried to go to sleep. Her lids got heavy in commiseration.

“Is there a reason you retain her shoes, Cadet?” the Captain asked Xavier
, interrupting her rug analysis.

“She handed them to me, sir. She didn’t like their height.”

“I see. Cadet Rachie, take the shoes away and come back with some slippers.”

“Yes, sir.” Rachie
, a kid near the front, nearly fell over himself leaving.

The
Captain moved around the desk with an easy glide, that fighting balance evident. He paused in front of the desk, three feet from Shanti. With such a long reach, she should’ve stepped back immediately, given herself room. But something else had caught her attention. His brain pattern was unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

Everyone had a certain essence, or energy, about them. That ene
rgy usually had a mood, which some people referred to as an aura. Often the aura would convey itself to the human brain via a hazy color, or sometimes with movement—bursting and lively on some, smooth and tranquil on others. That energy was usually a consistent hue, however, lightening and darkening with mood.

The Captain
housed a vivid rainbow. A surging, swirling, spinning rainbow. Colors mixed and merged, dancing and playing, pounding from his body like its own life force. She’d never seen something so unique. Or beautiful.

Her eyes refocused.
Reality seeped back in.

Without thought, she quickly yanked the metal contraption on her dress down the rest of the way and stepped out of her green death trap. If he planned to rush her, she could at least
try
to kill him before she passed out.

All the boys gasped.

“May I ask why you are shedding your clothes?” the Captain asked lightly, humor coloring his voice.

“You dress your women like
cake with frosting. I didn’t want you to think I was offering myself for dessert.”

“You’re half starved. We’d go hungry. Not my type of fulfillment.”

“Offering me as a reward for good conduct is not farfetched.”

Colors stilled and darkened, eyebrows dipped low. “My men have an aversion to violence against women. Most of my people do, in fact. Violence against the weaker sex is not tolerated. Punishment is fast and harsh.”

The weaker sex?
Interesting philosophy.

“That’
s a luxury you may not always have,” Shanti stated in an indifferent tone, though she silently threw out a giant
thank you
to the Elders for their care.

“How do you mean?” The Captain
didn’t move, but suddenly he seemed to lounge where he stood. It irked her for some reason she couldn’t explain.

“War is not only fought by men.”

“My people limit the casualties of war to those on the battle field.”

“Spoken like a man who
has only fought battles, instead of an actual war.”

Confusion replaced the scowl. “I see. And you know something of war?”

“I do.”

“You’
ve seen it, perhaps? Are those weapons a husband’s? Or a brother’s?”

“No. And while we are on that fascinating subject, might I have them back?”

“And that ring? A lover?” he pushed.

“Let us cut a chase, as you said. I need that bag, and I would like to leave. A map and some provisions would be ideal, but I can do without.”

His eyes sparkled, as if she’d said something humorous. He didn’t address it, though, instead saying, “Is that right? And how will you survive in underwear with no food or water?”

“Do you call what I am wearing underwear? Absurd. It covers me more thoroughly than that green sack. Regardless, I smell wooded lands. Those are enough for me. Blindfold me to
the exit, if that is your wish, then turn me loose. I have seen nothing of your city, nor do I care to. I thank you for what you have done for me, but would appreciate it if this is the end.”

The Captain’s eyes smiled even though his face remained passive.
He crossed in front of her, just barely out of arm’s reach. He was trying to intimidate her. Annoyingly, it was working.

He walked straight towa
rd the couch and sat down, making himself comfortable. The material looked soft and supple as it molded to his shapely backside. She longed to sit on it.

“We’
re constantly at war with the Mugdock,” the Captain was saying. “They’re picking fights more often lately. The way you were headed leads right into their many camps. They’re trying to block out the trade routes to the sea. The difference between them and us is that they won’t house you until you regain your strength. They’ll rape you until they grow tired of you, then they’ll kill you. Possibly with much pain.”

“Please don’
t hold back for my sake,” Shanti said in dry tones.

“You’
re not strong enough to go far. You’ll fall right into their hands, then I’ll have Sanders and a few of these boys trying to play hero. I can’t turn you loose, at least not if you’re going that way.”

“Ah yes, a mother. I had one of those, once. She was prettier, though. I don’t need another. Give me my things and let me go. Please. I can get through your enemies just fine.”

“So you are going that way, then. Toward the sea, hum?”

Shanti stared, ignoring
his smug tone. She was getting tired and sloppy. She also wasn’t getting any closer to her things.

Actually…

She slid her foot across the floor toward the desk. No one moved to stop her. One more step. The boys, looking more like a flock of geese than fighters in a line, started to fidget, sensing a trap. So did she.

One more step. The Captain looked at her pleasantly, a small smi
le playing around his lips, dimples making tiny indentations in his cheeks. The Commanders made no movement at all. The boys leaned back, as if she was about to grab a snake.

She reached in.

It was like a handshake that got cut off midway. The two taller commanders stepped at her with swords drawn, lightning speed. The shorter commander fingered a knife, not bothering to crowd her. He was probably waiting to see if she got through the others, then he’d tackle her. The Captain was up with throwing knife in hand, poised to throw.

Great technique.

Her own reactions were slow and clumsy, her muscles confounded and screaming in protest. She clutched the hilt, she hefted it, couldn’t hold on, then threw it across the room with an uncoordinated jerk. It skidded against the baseboards near the feet of the boys. The young men scattered, throwing themselves out of the way, or diving behind the desk like idiots.

Two sword blades glinted at her throat, the hands holding them steady and confident. Their feet were shoulder wi
dth, ready to move and perfectly balanced. The Captain, seeing she wasn’t planning to rush to her death, sat down confidently and tucked his knife into his belt.

T
wo heads poked up from the side of the desk and Shanti resisted an urge to blind them with an ink bottle.

“I guess that answers the question
of whether it’s your sword,” the Captain said in amusement.

Shanti ground her teeth in annoyance. Playing along would behoove her, but she hated his smug surety that women could not wield weapons.