The Treason Blade (Battle for Alsaar Book 1) (31 page)

Ishar looked
at her father angrily. She could feel the blade as it gripped her throat. It
slid slightly and warm liquid dribbled down. Her rage grew. “Kill him,” she
snapped out. Her glance took in several of her warband who stood in the deep
mud before her. “So help me, do not let this man leave. Kill him now. I command
you.”

Two of her
archers, Ishbel and Malin, raised their notched arrows again. Ishar could see
they, too, hesitated to take the shot.

“I would not
advise any of you listen to her,” Fenric stated, sounded nervous for the first
time. “I swear I will cut her throat, so help—”

Thwack! Ishar
jumped at the sound. She felt Fenric’s body jerk,
then
he limply fell from her. His hand relaxed and released the dagger. It dropped
into the mud with a plop. Ishar wretched herself away and rubbed her raw throat
as she turned. She shuddered. Fenric lay crumpled in the mud, an arrow fixed
through his right eye. It had penetrated deep. Ishar looked at the arrow and
then followed its path. She glanced beyond her people and saw Traevyn mounted,
a bow lowered to his side. Even as she watched he fell forward and slipped from
the saddle. He hit the ground with a splash, sliding on his side into the mud
and lay still.

“Traevyn,”
Ishar screamed. She spared no more thoughts to Fenric but ran across the short
space of muddy field and knelt beside the Raanan’s motionless body. He was
unconscious. Ishar pulled him to her and onto his back. As she did, she could
feel the warm blood under her fingers at his shoulder. The wound had reopened.
She could feel the heat radiating from his skin. Traevyn’s body trembled with
unstoppable shivers with the sickness from his wound and the constant chill
from the weather. She glanced up at the gathering crowd. “I need help. Get me
your healer,” she ordered her father. Ryen raised a brow but nodded to a
soldier standing beside him. Varyk knelt down beside Traevyn’s head. Lysandr
and the rest of the Raanans had dismounted. Ishar shook her head. “We have to
get him within the holding and away from this infernal cold rain before it kills
him.”

“I agree,”
Lysandr said as he kneeled and Varyk nodded in agreement.

“As do I,” a
female voice stated calmly as someone knelt beside Ishar. Ishar looked up in
surprise.
“Serine?”

Her slender,
red-haired, green-eyed sister looked at her with a smile that reached not just
to Ishar but to Varyk. “I am glad to hear the words spoken by Varyk were the
truth.” Serine nodded with approval to Ishar. “I had no idea you could speak
with such resolve, my sister.” Serine turned her attention to Traevyn and nodded.
“This man needs to be brought into the holding.”

Ryen
interrupted and barked, “He may stay here within a tent if you are to tend
him.” He did not look all that comfortable with the sight of his daughter
showing such great concern for a Raanan. Even as he spoke, the drizzle of rain
began to increase in strength. Ryen glanced at Serine in exasperation. “Can we
not move the man within a tent before you start your tending?”

Serine
glanced up but her attention was to Varyk. “With permission, my lord, my sister
is correct.
I would rather him be taken inside the holding
where a strong fire may help with the cold shakes and keep the dampness out of
the air.
I can bring what herbs and medicines I have with me to help
with his wound and illness.”

“Now wait one
minute,” Ryen stated huffily. “What do you mean to do? The terms between us,”
he said, motioning between him and Varyk, “are still uncertain. I am not about
to let you go into his holding before the matters between us are cleared up.
The man will have to stay among us if you are to tend him.”

“And I refuse
to allow one of my men to stay in your tents when but a half hour ago you were
ready to slaughter me for a misunderstanding between us,” Varyk snapped.

Ishar rose
and looked at both. “I cannot believe what I am hearing. You both stand here
arguing while Traevyn lies near death. If this is all we are, what will become
of us?” She looked at Varyk and stared at him calmly with expectation in her
eyes.
Let it go
, she thought to
Varyk.
Let go of the hurts made and do it
for the peace. I know you have this within you
, she thought silently. Ishar
could tell Varyk knew what she thinking by the way he clenched his jaw and
looked away. When he glanced back, her gaze was still steady.

Varyk closed
his eyes and sighed. He glanced across at Ryen with a shake of his head and
spoke. “There are no issues between us,” he said tiredly. “You are welcome into
my holding. The talks we proposed will continue.”

Ryen looked
undecided. “Who of my people is included in this invitation you speak of?” he
asked warily.

Ishar turned
and glared at her father. She stalked over next to where he stood. “You cannot
expect him to invite your entire party within these walls,” she hissed through
clenched teeth. “You ask for too much, for trouble. These people need time to
adjust to one another’s thinking before we attempt to blend them as one army.”
Ishar paused in thought, then turned and spoke with quiet authority. “I will
enter as will Serine and of course you and your aids. I am sure Varyk will have
no problem with some of my Wörie entering with us as an honor guard. The rest
of our people will wait outside the holding and within the camp for further
instructions.” Ishar looked between the two men. “That seems fair for all
involved.”

Both men
frowned. Varyk was the first to ease his expression and nod abruptly. He
understands, she realized. The warband would be a show of Haaldyn strength for
Varyk to see and give her father a sense of protection without the appearance
of being weak and caving. Yet they were people who would only take their cues
from her and her alone. In this, Varyk trusted her. Not that he really had a
choice if he wanted the peace to ensue.

Varyk nodded
again. “It is fair.”

Ryen still
frowned even as he nodded. “So be it.” Ishar knew by his features her father
was not happy with the situation, but after his earlier actions, another
accusation would disrupt the situation farther. Ryen had no choice but to
agree.

“Well, if
everyone has decided to hold off with more killing,” Serine stated as she rose,
“perhaps we could get this wounded man within the holding walls before he
dies.” She glanced around and pointed to Davaris.
“You.
I will need your help. Hurry!” she stated pointedly with furrowed brow when
Davaris simply looked at Varyk. Varyk nodded and motioned with his head toward
the holding. Davaris moved forward and, grabbing
Traevyn,
slung him over his shoulder. Serine frowned as if she disapproved of the
handling of the injured man like a sack of grain. She rolled her eyes but
sighed and motioned Davaris toward the holding with a motion of her arm
indicating she would follow. A Haaldyn appeared with a bag in his hands and
handed it over. Ishar watcher as her sister spoke several heated words to the
man before dismissing him. She smiled. When her sister was on a mission it was
sight to behold. Serine slipped the bag over her head and one shoulder and,
pulling the hem of her garment up, followed Davaris and the rest of the Raanan
men, save for Lysandr who stood ready and waiting for Varyk.

Ishar made
her way to Varyk’s side. She turned to her father. Doubt was still in his eyes
as he had watched the proceedings. Ryen glowered at her stance beside Varyk.
Ishar ignored his offended look and spoke direct and to the point. “You may not
understand everything that is going to happen in this new future and not
everything may be to your liking, but it is what we need and what you want.”
She shrugged. “I cannot say I know what our new future will bring. I can only
hope peace and trust will grow out of it. Everything is new and unfamiliar.
That is what can happen when a fresh approach to an old problem is sought. But
I know trust has to start somewhere if we are to endure and I trust these
people. I hope you will come to do so too. I would hope my given word would aid
in that.”

Ishar had
made her choice to stand with Varyk and Wyn. Her father could see that. No
matter his decision, she would stay and work out this plan of unification and
the strengthening of Alsaar in preparation for the coming of the Tourna. Never
before had she so sought a position without knowledge of her father’s desires.
It felt strange but for the first time, no matter his opinion, she felt
confident in her choice. Fenric’s words and actions had done much damage.
Hopefully it would not prove irreparable. She saw Varyk studying her. He
probably wondered how her word stood with her father.

For a second,
Ryen watched his daughter with fleeting emotions. Surprise, uncertainty, and
doubt flickered across his face. The Haaldyn leader looked at his daughter with
narrowed eyes as he tapped his sword against his leg in thought. She was being
weighed. Ryen glanced at Varyk and nodded. “Prepare your holding,” he murmured
softly, “I will enter within the hour if that is agreeable.”

Varyk gave a
brief nod. “It is. We will await your arrival. I will see to the quartering of
Ishar’s warband.”

Ryen nodded
again. He looked at his daughter and shook his head with a look that hinted at
admiration before turning and moving back toward the camp. His personal guard
went with him. Ishar glanced at Volker. “Prepare to move within the holding
with my father.” Volker frowned but gave a nod and moved away with a steady
pace. Brya and the rest of the warband followed. Several soldiers were already
dragging the body of Fenric from camp. For a moment her throat tightened.
Memories of Fenric and her childhood rose in her mind. Ishar let them slid
away. There was no time for that now. She would mourn Fenric in due course and
in her own way. Ishar swallowed and the tightness eased.

Varyk gave
Ishar a wry look and watched her with a studied glance. “That was a good
bluff.”

His words
broke her melancholy. Ishar raised a brow, “What makes you think it was a
bluff?”

His look
turned to admiration. “You would stand with us?
No matter the
cost?”

“There is a
greater cost in not standing together. Our unity has to start somewhere.” She
took a deep breath and stared around her at the holding, the village, the tents
of her father and the people from each that had stood and watched the
activities of the night. She glanced back at Varyk with a growing smile. “You
know, we may come from different lands, have different customs, and live
certain aspects of our life unique from one another but I know at this moment
we are all the same. We are all miserably cold, drenched to the skin, and
tired.” Varyk’s lips trembled slightly. Ishar continued, “And right now at this
moment we all seek the same thing: a desire to be dry and well rested.” She
shrugged. “Perhaps we are not all that different after all.”

Varyk
chuckled at her words and together the two of them made their way back toward
the holding walls and the main gate that was now open to admit the returning
warriors.

*

It was a week
before he sought her. Ishar had seen to his well-being on several occasions
while he recovered but always within the presence of others. It was easier.
Traevyn spoke nothing of his desires, only watched her. She had simply returned
a gentle look and treated him as a friend recovering from a near mortal wound,
but his never wavering glance had bothered her. So, after a few times, she had
kept herself too busy to visit. It was not hard. Between meetings with Varyk,
Wyn, and her father and training sessions with her warband, the Raanans, and
the Britai, Ishar suddenly found her life quite demanding. So she tucked
thoughts of Traevyn to the back of her mind where they stayed until nightfall.
She allowed them within her dreams. It was the only acceptable course open to
her.

She knew he
would come. The fact that it took only a week was a surprise. Ishar knew her
sister. Serine could be a tyrant in the sickroom; she worried greatly for those
in her care and was loathe
to release
any who had not
regained their full strength. Ishar had actually felt a tremor of remorse for
Traevyn, who she knew had to be gnashing his teeth at being tied to a bed. At
the same time, she was grateful for the time it gave her to prepare.

She was rubbing down Simi after a long ride when he
walked within the confines of the horse shelter. Ishar had developed a sense
for his presence. She heard his near silent tread and continuied to brush the
mare with smooth, long strokes. Ishar was determined to remain calm and in
control for the coming words.

The footsteps
halted. “You stopped coming,” he accused softly.

The motion of
her hand paused in midstoke. “Maybe I felt you needed the rest.” She continued
with her ministrations, the steady rhythm settling the rising flutter in her
stomach.

She heard him
take a step closer.
“Liar.”

How did she
respond to that? The warrior in her wanted to take insult, but the woman who
had awakened could not fault him for his spoken honesty. Ishar remembered she
had once asked for Traevyn’s truth, always. She closed her eyes, took a deep
breath, and turned to face him. He deserved that.

His eyes bore
into hers. “Did you hear me?”