Epic Of Palins 01 - Dagger Star (17 page)

Together, we will restore the throne of Palins.”

Evelyn gaped, even as a cheer filled the room.

Red held up her hand. “Save the celebration for our success. Right now, there is work to be done, and quickly.”

WARRIORS came out of the woods, from the direction of the old shrine.

Josiah heard them before he saw them. He’d left Ezren sleeping within the hut. The poor man had been muttering something about a hero’s path as he’d drifted off.

Josiah had just started taking up a load of wood when the two horses had raised their heads, ears pricked forward. The goats had paused, too, and all heads turned in the direction of the shrine.

Josiah dropped the wood and reached for his axe, turning to confront his attackers.

He came out of his crouch when he recognized Oris and Alad, Auxter’s men. They raised their hands in greeting, and he walked forward to meet them at the door of the hut.

“Trouble?” Josiah looked over Alad’s shoulder to see horses being brought out of the woods behind them, some still blindfolded from coming through the portal.

“We’re to set a perimeter watch, Lord Josiah,” Oris said. “And we’re to clear your…home…so that the next group can get to work as fast as possible. Orders of the Chosen.”

“Which Chosen?” came a rough voice from the hut.

They all turned to see a brilliant green eye peering out of the slight crack in the doorway.

“Careful, Ezren.” Josiah moved forward.

The door opened wider to reveal Ezren, who sagged against its frame, his free hand clenching a dagger. “I was uncertain.” He coughed. “I thought perhaps…”

“They’re friends. Oris and Alad.” Josiah reached out to steady the man. “Let’s get you back in bed.” He moved his body so that Ezren wouldn’t see the men’s horrified expressions at his condition. Ezren sighed, leaned into the support, and shivered.

Oris recovered first. He stepped forward, removing his cloak and offering it to Ezren. “All due respect, Lord Josiah, the Chosen has ordered that Ezren Storyteller be moved to the foaling room of the barn, with all the furnishings.” He placed the cloak on Ezren’s shoulders and looked at the hut with a roll of his eyes. “She’s got plans for this place.”

“I say again”—Ezren stood up straighter, clutching at the edges of the cloak and pulling it tight around his body—“which Chosen? Red Gloves or Gloriana?”

Alad grinned. “Well, now, it would be the Chosen Red Gloves. Gloriana, the Chosen Heir, has announced her support of the Eldest Chosen in all things.”

“Plans?” Josiah asked, as even more men poured into the area, with horses and gear.

“Well, then,” Ezren said, “she has accepted the call to adventure.” He reached for Alad’s arm with a shaky hand. “She has taken the first step on the Hero’s Path.”

Alad took his elbow. “Don’t know anything about that, sir, but we’ve our orders.”

“Of course you do.” Ezren started toddling toward the barn, leaning hard on Alad. “Now, tell me what happened, lad. Tell me what you saw.” He managed a few steps before he faltered. Josiah moved to catch him, but Alad anticipated the problem and scooped Ezren up in his arms.

“This is not necessary,” Ezren protested. “I am perfectly capable of—”

Alad steadied himself, and started to walk toward the barn. “Forgive me, Storyteller, but you are a bit of a load. The quicker I have you there, the more breath I have to tell you my tale.”

“Ah.” Ezren relaxed. “Well, then…” Their voices grew faint as they left.

“Lady Bethral warned us about how he’d look,” Oris said, looking after them. “But hearing and seeing are two different things.”

“He was badly abused, Oris,” Josiah said.

“Bastards.” Oris spat in the dirt. “That’s what we’re about, then. Doing something about them.”

“Aye,” Josiah agreed.

“Here, lads,” Oris called to his men, “let’s get this place cleared out now. We’ve much to do, and little time to do it.”

BETHRAL came through the portal to find Josiah’s hut in ruins. Men were tearing away the thatched roof and tugging down the mud-daubed walls. Others were already pulling apart the wooden frame. Bethral nodded in approval. They’d left the stone hearth standing, as per Red’s commands.

From her glance about, it looked like all of Red’s commands were being carried out. Men were at work on fences. Steel and Beast were with other horses, and from the looks of it, Beast was biting the others into submission, as usual. There were tents going up in the far field, with cooking fires well established.

Lord Josiah was seated at the well, his arms crossed over his chest, watching the men work with an unreadable face. She headed that way.

“Bethral.”

“Josiah.” She was not one to inflict a title on a man who didn’t want one. “Is Ezren seen to?”

He pointed with his chin. “He’s in the foaling room, forcing everyone he can get his hands on to tell him what happened at Auxter’s.” He looked at the box under her arm. “What is that?”

“Vembar asked me to give it to Ezren, with his compliments.” Bethral eased the box to the ground. “He claims it’s a portable writing desk, with supplies within, but I question the

‘portable.’”

Josiah chuckled. “Well, if there’s one that needs it, it would be Ezren. The man is a walking book.”

Bethral settled herself on the well and sighed. Probably for the best that the green-eyed man was in the barn. He’d certainly be warm and safe there, until they could build a suitable place for one such as him. A man like that, a man of learning, would want his privacy. She’d find a space in one of the tents.

She looked about, studying the work on the hut. “They’ve gotten a lot done in a short time.”

“Without so much as a by-your-leave,” Josiah grumbled. “By the ‘order of the Chosen.’”

Given his surly tone, silence seemed the best response.

Bethral watched as one of the lads working by the tents started their way. Josiah spotted him as well, and grumbled under his breath. “They’ve been asking me questions all day: where to find this, and what to do about that. They expect me to make decisions.”

Well, he was in a mood, that was certain. Best be about her tasks, then. But she’d a message to convey to him, and she was certain it would not be well received. Bethral leaned down, and picked up the desk. “There’s to be a meeting in the morning. Red, Auxter, and the other leaders.

They will come here to break their fast.”

“Here? Why here?” Josiah demanded.

Bethral stood. “So you can be a part of it.”

That drew a grim look. “I’m of no use to them,” Josiah snapped. “It’s safer to stay at the farm.”

Bethral shrugged.

Josiah rolled his eyes. “Order of the Chosen, I suppose.”

“Just so.” Bethral kept her voice pleasant and her face neutral. “Evelyn has returned to the Church, and Red is eating with Vembar and Auxter.”

“Fine,” Josiah growled.

“She said to tell you that she will return here tonight,” Bethral added.

The lad came up to them at a run. “Begging you pardon, Lord Josiah,” he said. Josiah growled under his breath, but the fool blithered on. “Oris says to ask if we can dig the new necessaries off behind the tents.”

“Ask the Chosen, why don’t you?” Josiah snarled. He stood, and stomped off down one of the paths. Bethral admired the stiff and stubborn lines of his back, but they lost some impressiveness when five goats took off after him, prancing and bleating at his heels.

Open-mouthed, the lad stared at the retreating Lord Josiah. He swiveled his head back and looked at Bethral. “What do I tell Oris now, Lady?”

Bethral sighed. “Tell him that I’ll come and talk with him. I need to speak with the storyteller, then I will be there.”

“My thanks, Lady!” The lad ran off.

Bethral shifted her burden, and looked at the retreating back of Lord Josiah Athelbryght. Poor man. He was learning what she already knew so well.

Be careful what you wish for….

JOSIAH gritted his teeth, and ripped the weeds out of the soil, roots and all.

He’d fetched a hoe, but the marjoram needed tending, and he needed to rip and tear and hurt the weeds. Stones dug into his knees and sweat dripped off his face, but he didn’t care. The dirt gave way under his hands, and the sweet scent of crushed leaves filled the air.

Who did she think she was? The place was flooding with people and horses. Had she given any thought to how dangerous that was? His home torn asunder, walls moving, everything…

changing.

He sat back on his heels and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. The spring sun wasn’t that hot, but he’d been working hard to clear this bed.

Damn her eyes. Damn her birthmark. He’d had five years of silence, and pain. Five years of penance—and it was all blown away in a moment.

His stomach churned. He closed his eyes for a moment, then spat to clear his mouth.

He wanted a Chosen. Wanted someone to avenge Athelbryght. But it was all moving so fast, and he’d never thought he’d be involved. Didn’t she see him for the failure he was?

Josiah opened his eyes, and tore back into the weeds. Worse, he’d found himself giving orders, making decisions. He’d have taken charge as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t made the mistakes that led to his people’s deaths.

“You’re upset.”

He looked up to see Red Gloves standing there, her hands on her hips. She tilted her head. “Let me guess. You thought I’d wait five years to get started.”

WITHIN her own head, Red laughed silently. So that’s what Josiah’s eyes looked like when he was furious. Snapping with energy, sparkling with life, heat, and anger.

Desire spiked through her. Who knew a dirty goatherder would create such heat deep within her?

“It’s not safe here, and the land can’t support these people,” Josiah snapped.

Red looked around at the herb beds, brimming with plants. “You’ve been safe enough. And Auxter can support us for the short time we’ll be here.” Red made a great show of heaving a deep sigh, giving Josiah a patient look.

He looked down at the soil beneath his hands.

“So”—Red drawled the word out—“it’s to be permanent, then, this burnt-out shrine? And all the lands about?”

“You could respect the dead,” Josiah growled.

“I do, as long as they don’t take up too much time,” Red replied calmly. She chuffed out a laugh.

“Look around, Josiah. Hells, look at your feet. Even the earth knows. Those weedy things are growing like…weeds.” She had to chuckle at that, but Josiah wasn’t sharing the laugh. Poor man. She really shouldn’t tease, but it was far too much fun. Besides, he needed it.

“It’s marjoram.” His tone was flat and joyless.

“Whatever,” Red said. “Slow but sure, the land returns to life.”

“You’re a cold bitch,” Josiah growled.

“No,” Red replied calmly. “I’m the Chosen. One who will do the work, and not sit on her heels and wait for this prophecy of yours to do its will.”

Josiah’s cheeks stained red at that, and he jerked to his feet. He had an inch on her, and tried to use it by towering over her, but she didn’t flinch or step back. She looked him right in the eye.

He opened his mouth in a snarl, but she cut him off. “I face life head-on, Josiah of Athelbryght.”

She spat. “I don’t flinch from the pain any more than the pleasure. That’s life, and if you are lucky, there’s joy in equal measure to the pain.”

“What do you know of pain?” Josiah growled. She was close enough that he could smell her, and her scent filled his mouth, making it water.

Red’s eyes went flat. “So you’re the only one that’s suffered, is that it? Well, my goatherder, I’ve had pain and some to spare, but I didn’t hide in the ashes for five years.”

Josiah’s hands formed fists, white at the knuckles.

“Weep yourself dry if you will,” she continued, “but I’ll not waste another minute. Bring it on—

victory or defeat, either or, makes no never mind to me.” She shook her hair back off her face.

ANGERED beyond any real thought, Josiah reached for her. He grabbed her arms and yanked her close, not certain if it was to kill her or kiss her. Their eyes met, her cold passion meeting his hot fury. His lips curled back, seeking some scathing rebuke. Instead, he found their lips crushed together in a kiss, an open-mouth demand on his part.

She returned the kiss in equal measure. His shock was short, swept away by tongue-to-tongue wet heat.

His arm dropped to wrap around her waist, and with the other he grabbed her wrist, feeling the leather of her glove in his grasp. He pulled her down, into the depths of the marjoram, forcing her beneath him, pressing her to the ground.

Hands flew, clothing parted as the smell of crushed herb filled the air. They writhed there in the dirt, her armor melted away, and he used his leg to part her thighs, fumbling with his trous.

Frantic, furious, he entered her and thrust hard, pounding her into the earth, trying, striving for something just outside his grasp. Until he exploded in heat, rage, and pure sweet pleasure.

He collapsed on top of her, sprawled like a broken doll. His breathing was harsh in his own ears, and it took long moments before he could hear her breathe, too.

“Feel better, Josiah?” Red’s voice was warm in his ear. She turned her head slightly and licked the curve of his ear.

He shuddered, then, at what he’d done. Swallowing hard, he tried to pull back. “I…sorry. I took….”

Her laughter, clear and sweet, stopped him. “You took nothing.” Her leather-covered fingers teased the hair at the base of his neck.

“I forced—”

“You think so?” She shifted slightly, and something pricked his side. A glance showed a dagger point pressed to his belly. “I’ve been forced, my goatherder. Never again.” The dagger disappeared as quick as it came. “But you took your own pleasure here and now, and owe me in return.” She carded her fingers through his hair, and showed him a sprig of marjoram. “I prefer the softness of your bed before you pay me what is owed.”

He stared at her dumbly. “They tore down my home.”

“No, Josiah. Come and see.”

SHE led him back through the herb beds toward the hut after they’d cleaned off. The goats danced at their side, pushing their noses into Josiah’s hands, demanding attention. They tried it with Red, but she fixed them with a glare that put a stop to that.