WINDRETRIEVER
By
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
© copyright by Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Cover Art by Jenny Dixon
Published by New Concepts Publishing
Smashwords Edition
ISBN 1-58608-
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 321636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
PROLOGUE
As it was reported among the inhabitants and prisoners of Abbadon Fortress in the Dahrenia Province of Rysalia:
"The mighty oak had fallen and the branches of His tree had been sharply pruned by the number of six. But the oak was not dead, only diseased for awhile; His roots were still firmly embedded in the soil of the earth. Even as the dead branches were gathered, fresh green shoots began to spring forth from the bark of the oak and one of the acorns, which had fallen not far from the tree, began to take root on his own."
Chapter One
He looked older than his forty years. The lines spreading out from his sapphire blue eyes were painful to look at for they appeared to be etched into his very soul. And those lines had been earned in an agony of spirit and of physical pain that would have broken a lesser man.
His pale gold hair had lost its sheen and his six foot frame had lost weight. When he spoke, which was rare in those first few hours after the Daughterhood of the Multitude had taken Abbadon Fortress, his voice was hoarse and so soft those around him had to strain to hear what he said. Those who loved him, who looked after him, were concerned for he neither wept nor swore nor screamed at the horrible injustice of his situation. His stoic acceptance was almost eerie in its calm. There were those who believed he had lost his power to reason properly. And there were those who watched him carefully, afraid his hand would stray to a hidden dagger or his feet to the tallest point from which he might jump.
And then there were others who guarded him.
Wherever he went inside the fortress, he was accompanied by fierce women warriors with armed crossbows at the ready. Outside the bathing chamber where he had been led immediately after his enemy's death, two women stood sentinel with pikes crossed against entry. Inside the chamber, two more women stood guard at the door while the Elders went about bathing the filth from his body.
Meghan Dunne, feeling every one of her eighty-seven years, poured cinnamon oil into the steaming water of the bathing pool, glancing now and again at the man who sat so still while his leg iron bands were being removed by a trembling smithy.
"Hurt him and you will pay for it with you life," she heard Meggie Ruck, her fellow Elder, warn the smithy in a voice filled with hatred as the first band was sawed in twain. Then Meggie's tone changed to one of gentle concern. "Are you all right, lad?"
Meghan put the stopper back in the flask of oil and turned to give her Overlord her full attention. She saw him nod silently, never raising his head to look at those gathered protectively around him. His dull blue gaze was locked on the floor at his dirty bare feet.
"Hurry up and get that damned iron off'n him, you bastard!" Meggie snarled, slamming the heel of her palm against the smithy's tense shoulder. She replaced her withered hands on the naked shoulders of her Overlord, soothing the slump of those wide shoulders and glared down at the smithy until the second band fell free and landed with a heavy thump on the floor. "Now get out of here before I turn you inside out!" the old woman threatened.
The two women at the door uncrossed their pikes and stepped aside for the frightened smithy to exit. Neither opened the oak portal for him, but both turned to watch him fumble with the door handle. A smirk of laughter came from the women as the smithy swung the door open to find two sharp, steady pikes aimed at his chest.
"Let him pass!" Meggie called out.
The outside sentinels lowered their pikes and stood aside for the smithy to run past. As soon as he was streaking down the hall, one of the women closed the door behind him and both resumed their silent vigil.
"You want me to help you get them breeches off, son?" Meggie asked, bending over her Overlord's shoulder.
"I can do it," came the barest whisper of sound.
Meghan watched him push himself up from the stool. He looked so tired, so infinitely weary, and, of course, she knew why. Just looking at him as he stood there, weaving slightly as he fumbled weakly to unbutton the studs on his breeches, was almost enough to break the old woman's heart. She knew he had been pushed well past the limits of bearable pain and into the savage and brutal realm of mind-altering agony. That he could function at all seemed almost too good to be true. The look of sorrow on his scarred face was almost more than she could bear, herself, and she wondered how he could handle it. Knowing the cause of it tore at her heart like a weretiger's claws.
"Here, baby," Meggie said softly. "Let me help you."
The old woman pushed his hands away, making quick work of undoing the studs. She was about to push them down over his lean hips when he staggered, grunting with surprise and weariness. Meggie made a grab for him, catching his left arm to keep him from tumbling backward. One of the women at the door threw down her pike and rushed forward to grab his other arm. Between them, they steadied him and kept a tight hold on his arms.
"You want me to finish undressing him, Mistress?" the woman asked.
Meggie shook her head. "No. He'll feel more comfortable with me doing it, won't you, lad?"
He nodded slowly, his glazed eyes staring somewhere off into space. His breathing was so slow, so audible, it seemed to be coming from the very core of him.
Meghan walked over and gently shooed the sentinel away, positioning herself so the two women at the door could not view his nakedness as Meggie stooped down to draw the breeches from him.
"Step out of the leg, baby," Meggie ordered. "Now the other one."
"Can you make it into the bathing pool by yourself, lad, or do you want me and Meg to help you?" Meghan questioned him.
"No, I can do it," he answered. He wavered for a brief moment, then turned and walked slowly to the steps of the bathing pool. Very carefully, he stepped down into the water and lowered himself with a sigh so heart-felt, it brought tears to the women's eyes.
"There's soap and a cloth just to your left, lad," Meggie told him. "Do you feel up to bathing yourself or do you want one of us to do it for you?"
He glanced up for the first time and there was a strange look on his face for just a second before he shook his head and reached for the soap. He lathered the cloth, seeming to take forever to do so, then lifted it to his chest.
Meggie turned away, as did Meghan, but one of the women at the door, her name was Miriam, kept her watchful gaze on her Overlord. Her forehead creased with worry as she watched his slow circular motion as he scrubbed half-heartedly at his chest. She bit her lip, aching to wade into the pool and take the cloth from him, to give him the bath he needed and deserved. She turned her pleading gaze to Meggie Ruck and found that woman looking steadily at her. Meggie's chin dipped in a silent acknowledgement of Miriam's request.
"Be gentle with him," Meghan warned as Miriam handed her pike to her fellow sentinel and loosened the ties of her robes.
He looked up, startled, as the water lapped around him. His blue gaze was puzzled as Miriam, clad only in her short gown, knelt before him in the water and gently took the cloth from his tired hand.
"What are you doing?" Miriam had to strain to hear him ask.
"She is going to bathe you, lad," Meggie told him and smiled as he turned his face up to her. "Just you relax and let her do it."
Miriam felt his long, defeated sigh of surrender rather than heard it. She watched his eyelids close, saw his head go back along the rim of the pool, and then his eyebrows draw together as though he were in great pain.
"There are cuts on his arms, Mistress," Miriam said as she tenderly wiped the dirt from his flesh.
"Aye," Meggie conceded. "They'll be seen to when he’s bathed." She frowned at the woman in the pool. "You just make sure you clean them cuts good. We don't want no infection to set in."
Miriam nodded, so very aware of the heat of her Overlord's body, the scent of the cinnamon oil wafting about her, the sound of his tired breathing, and the dark stain of ugly bruises beneath the grime on his flesh. Lovingly she wiped away the crusted blood, careful not to hurt him any more than she had to in order to do so. Now and again, she would hear him suck in his breath and know the tug of the cloth against his wounds had caused him pain.
Meggie grunted as she lowered herself behind him and reached out to stroke his forehead. She smiled down at him as he opened his eyes and looked up at her. "You look so tired, lad," she said, smoothing the damp hair from his forehead.
He turned his face so that his scarred left cheek was nestled in the old woman's wrinkled palm. "I'm all right, Meggie," he whispered.
"Are you really?" she inquired, caressing that ravaged flesh.
"Aye," he breathed and gasped as the cloth dragged too sharply over a nick high on his right thigh.
Miriam stilled, her hand on his leg, and looked up into the old woman's face. She saw no anger in that withered visage. "Does it look as though it needs stitching, girl?" Meggie asked her. Miriam looked down and saw tiny spirals of pink drifting up to the surface of the water. She nodded. "Yes, Mistress, it does."
"I've got the fixin’s ready," Meghan said. "Soon's you got him bathed, we can see to them wounds of his."
Miriam drew in her breath as her hand moved for the last place on him that had not been cleaned. She was more than aware of the tremor in her hand as the cloth closed around his manhood and even more aware that his eyes had opened and that he was watching her. Her face flamed beneath that silent scrutiny and she dipped her head, making sure she did not turn her curious attention to the juncture of his powerful thighs.
"You finished, girl?" Meggie asked, sensing his discomfort at being touched by this strange woman and Miriam's flush of excitement at having done so.
"Yes, Mistress," Miriam answered, pushing herself up out of the water. The cotton of her short gown clung to her lush curves and she saw a flash of admiration flicker through his gaze before he lowered it once more to the surface of the water.
"I think the two of you can wait outside, don't you, Meg?" Meghan asked, watching the play of arousal staining Miriam's high cheeks.
"Aye, I'm thinking so. Just don't be going nowhere," Meggie ordered.
Miriam found her fellow sentinel looking at her with curiosity as the two of them left the bathing chamber. But despite the look Rebecca gave her, Miriam knew the woman would not question her.
"Do you need us to help you get up, son?" Meghan asked her Overlord.
He shook his head and, holding his breath against the pain of movement, levered himself from the water and climbed the few steps up from the pool. He walked to the low bench Meggie pointed to and sat down, letting out a tired breath as he did.
"It might be best if you lie down, lad," Meggie said. "You got more'n a few spots that need tending and one or two that need stitching closed."
Without comment, he lay down on his side, then stretched out on his back on the bench, grimacing slightly, for the wooden seat was not comfortable.
"This won't take long," Meghan pronounced as she went about applying a mild astringent to the numerous cuts and scrapes on his body. One or two caused her a moment's anxiety as he moaned with the sensation, but she hurried on, wanting to put him through as little discomfort as possible.
"Meg?" he asked, reaching out for her hand.
"Aye, lad?" the old woman answered as she gripped his hand between both of hers.
"Can you give me something to help me sleep?"
His request surprised her and she looked down at him with concern. "Don't you think you're so tired you won't need nothing as soon as we leave you alone to rest, son?"
"Please?" he asked, searching her face.
Meggie removed one of her hands and touched his forehead. "If that's what you want. When we get you up to bed, I'll make up a little potion that'll bring you sweet dreams."
"You wanna stitch up this wound or do you want me to, Meg?" Meghan asked as she finished wiping the cut on his thigh.
"I'll be doing it," Meggie affirmed. "I don't doubt your ability, but I just don't like nobody laying hands to him but me."
Meghan understood. She handed the threaded needle to her Sister.
If the stitching caused him pain, he didn't show it. Not by a flicker of his eyelids or an intake of breath. He lay perfectly still as the old woman took four stitches in his thigh, three in his upper left arm, and four more in his right side. When she was finished, he let her pull a clean robe over his nakedness, place sandals on his feet, and help him to get up. He walked with the two women to the door and waited until they had made sure no threat waited outside for him.
Miriam and Rebecca went ahead of their Overlord and the four women who flanked him: the two elderly women at his side and the four other sentinels with their loaded crossbows in front and behind. When they reached the room Meghan had ordered for his use, they found four more armed women standing guard outside.
"His lady-wife demanded to be allowed inside his room, Mistress," one of the women told Meggie. "But we turned her away."
"Good," Meggie replied. "He don't need none of that now. Get him in the bed while I fix him up a little tenerse and water to help him sleep."
They put him to bed, fussing and clucking over him as though he were a little boy. They tucked him in, pulled the covers over him and made sure he was comfortable before Meggie came back, huffing and puffing from her climb up the stairs, to administer the potion that would sedate him.
"Here you go, lad," Meggie said, helping him to sit up. She put the tumbler to his lips and smiled as he frowned at the smell. "I added a mite of bitter root as a treacle so's to help them wounds heal the better." She cupped the back of his head as he downed the somewhat pungent brew.
He lay back down, disliking the instant numbing in his mouth, but welcoming the signs that told him he would not be long bothered by the thoughts that were torturing him. He knew he needed rest, undisturbed and unburdened by the memories that had been flooding his senses all week.
"You sleep good, now, baby," Meggie said, bending over with a grunt to put a light kiss on his forehead. She tugged the covers up to his shoulders and turned to go.
"Meggie?"
Meggie June Ruck turned back around and looked at her Overlord. "Aye, lad?"
"Life isn't fair, is it, Meggie?" he asked her, his voice already slurring.
Her heart ached for him. "Nay, lad. Sometimes it surely ain’t." She waited, just in case he wasn't finished, but she heard his heavy breathing and knew he had fallen asleep. Very quietly, she pulled the door open and left the room.
Chapter Two
"I don't know that much about him, really," Prince Kalli Jaborn admitted to the men around him. "My brother told me only his side of things and, with Jaleel, the truth was often twisted to be what he wanted it to be."
King Shalu Taborn of Necroman looked down into the amber of his brandy and swirled the liquid up the sides of the snifter. "You knew he had been in prison."
"The Labyrinth," Sentian Heil explained. "One of the worse penal colonies in the history of civilization."
"Most of us," Prince Paegan Hesar said, looking about the room, "were interned with him there." He pointed at the tall blond lounging on a low divan, then moved his gaze to some of the others gathered. "Montyne. Loure. Ching-Ching, too, but that was long before any of us got to the Labyrinth."
Kalli glanced about him. "I have heard the Labyrinth was a hell-hole."
"It was," Shalu snarled before draining his snifter of potent Viragonian brandy, thankful Serge Nickolayevich Kutuzov, the Captain of the Anna Katrine, had thought to bring a bottle with him when he and over two hundred Outer Kingdom warriors from four of Tzar Thomas' ships, had come storming into the fortress just after dawn that morning.
"How long were you there?" Kalli asked, knowing a little about imprisonment himself for until only a few hours before, he had spent over twenty years of his life shut up inside the walls of Abbadon Fortress.
"I was there about two years," Thom Loure answered. He stared down into his untouched snifter of brandy. "The others? About a year, as I remember."
"Conar was there for five," Prince Chase Montyne of Ionary said quietly. "None of us knew he was alive until we found him there."
"He had been sentenced to a flogging and exile," Wyn, the son of the man being discussed put in. "They beat him so badly, we thought he had died from it." The young man, soon to be twenty-eight years old in three weeks, looked up from cleaning his dagger. "The Tribunal told us he hadn't survived the beating and we believed them." His young eyes became haunted. "We didn't even question them."
"We weren't meant to," Holm van de Lar, the Captain of the Ravenwind grumbled. "Them bastards meant to make the boy suffer and he did."
"But he made them suffer when he got back home," Sentian Heil exclaimed. "He undid everything the Tribunal had done while he'd been in prison. He took back the land those sons-of-bitches stole and he stole the money from their coffers right out from under their noses."
"He destroyed the Tribunal," Thom Loure said, nodded. "And the Domination." He took a small sip of his drink and grimaced before setting it aside. "And nearly himself in the bargain."
"I heard he was married," Kalli commented. "That she died?"
"Elizabeth," Chase Montyne said softly. "She fell to her death."
"Along with Conar's brother, Brelan, who was trying to save her," the Tzarevna Catherine Steffonvitch McGregor injected.
"That is when we took him to the Outer Kingdom," Yuri Andreanova, the Shadow-warrior said. He looked at his Tzarevna. "And that is where he met our lady."
"And fell in love with her," Prince Sajin Ben-Alkazar added, smiling at the lady in question.
"So much tragedy for so young a life," Kalli said. He shook his head. "I can see why my brother thought he could destroy McGregor's mind if he but heaped more personal pain on the man."
"It will take more than the deaths of a few of his closest friends to bring about the ruin of Conar McGregor!" Shalu hissed. "The man is stronger than that Hasdu demon realized."
"Yes, but Conar is wounded deeper this time than any of us may want to believe," Chase responded. "He may have avenged the deaths of our comrades, but he hasn't come to terms with those deaths, yet."
"Give him time," Balizar Arbra asked. "I've a notion when he's at himself, there's going to be hell to pay in Rysalia."
"I believe so, too," Asher Stone agreed. "He had started something before he was kidnapped that I believe he will want to see to a final end."
"You hope he will, anyway," Shalu snapped.
"We are fighting for the freedom of our homeland, Taborn," Asher argued. "He knows what that is like."
"Fighting for you almost got him killed," Thom Loure growled.
"We aim to see he goes home with us," Holm remarked, drawing agreeing nods from the men of the Wind Force and frowns of disapproval from the men of the Samiel.
"And should he want to remain here?" Rupine, the physician questioned.
"We won't let him!" Sentian snapped in answer.
"You could help us, you know," Asher protested. "You men came all this way to aid him and now you want to drag him back before he has finished with what he started."
"We want to keep his white ass out of trouble!" Shalu thundered. "Taking him back, dragging him back as you call it, to Serenia is the only way I know to keep him in one piece."
"Even if he doesn't want to go?" Rupine asked.
"It doesn't matter what he wants," Paegan Hesar, the sailor Prince of Virago grumbled. "He's going back whether he likes it or not! I won't lose any more of my kin in this heathen place!"
"Have any of you stopped to think of how he might feel about the lot of you so blithely making these decisions for him?" Catherine, Conar McGregor's second wife, asked quietly. As heads turned to her, she shrugged delicately. "If you know anything about the man at all, you know he will make his own plans and carry them out in his own way."
Ching-Ching, the Chrystallusian martial arts expert who had been silent up until then, spread his small hands. "The lady is right. It is Conar's decision to make and I believe we should let him make it."
"Let him make it?” Shalu bellowed. "That is the last thing we should do!"
"I agree," Sentian said, nodding. "We should just do like we've had to do before: put him on the ship and keep him there until we can set sail for home."
"What if he refuses to go, Senti?"
Every head in the room snapped around at the soft question and men leapt to their feet, staring at the man whose life they had been so neatly arranging.
Catherine's heart thudded painfully in her chest as she looked at her husband. The baby in her womb kicked in greeting and she put her hand down to smooth the shifting in her belly. She saw his gaze travel to her and then stop. She smiled, but there was no answering smile in the sad, tired face which looked back at her. He seemed to beg her pardon for that before moving his gaze about the room.
"When will you men ever learn?" he asked. His voice was weak, toneless, and as he came further into the room, those gathered could see the effort it took for him just to lower himself into one of the gathering room's chairs.
"We want what's best for you, Papa," Wyn said, coming to hunker down by his father's chair. The young man put his hands on Conar's knees and looked closely at him. "Should you be up so soon?"
Looking from one face to the other, Catherine could see the fierce resemblance between the two men. If she had not known they were father and son, she would have sworn they were brothers. Their hair was the same ripe shade of golden wheat. They both had deep clefts in their slightly rounded chins. They were of the same height, physique and coloring, and both had striking blue eyes, the older man's a deep sapphire blue, the younger's, a pale azure. Only the looks in those eyes were vastly different. One set had seen little trouble and strife. The other had endured torments no less exacting than those the inhabitants of hell experience.
"I am fine, Wynland," Conar told his son. He looked around him at those gathered. "Tired, but otherwise all right."
"You can rest on the ship," Shalu said, his dark cinnamon gaze fusing with the Serenian Prince's. "We have decided to leave tomorrow."
Conar nodded. "As good a time as any for you to leave," he agreed.
"ALL of us to leave," Shalu corrected.
"I'm afraid not," Conar told him. "I'm not leaving until the last of the slave trade in Rysalia has been abolished."
Asher Stone and Balizar Arbra exchanged a look of relief, then both men smiled at the grimace of stubbornness which immediately formed on the Necroman's face.
"YOU are going back with US!" Shalu barked. "In chains, if need be, McGregor!"
Conar sighed and shook his head. "When do you intend to let me grow up, Taborn?"
"When you show some sense," the King of the dark continent stressed. "As yet, I have not seen such a phenomena where you are concerned."
"I'm not going to argue with you," Conar said.
"GOOD!" Shalu spat, nodding emphatically.
"But I'll not be on that ship when you sail, either," Conar warned.
"Then we won't sail until you are," Chase said quietly, gaining himself his boyhood friend's attention. "If you stay, Conar, the rest of us do, too."
Wyn had to move back as his father pushed himself out of his chair. He stood there, seeing the anger gathering on his parent's face, watching the spark of rebellion beginning to take hold, and he glanced over at Sentian, the one man he thought just might be able to reason with his father.
Sentian stood up, too, and walked to his Overlord. From years of close friendship and hardship with the man, he reached out to put a steady hand on Conar's shoulder.
"We didn't come ten thousand miles to be turned back, milord," Sentian told him. "We came to bring you home and barring that, to help you do whatever it was you were trying to do here BEFORE taking you back with us. Freedom fighting is something we all know quite a bit about. If you are going to stay here, then we'll stay here with ...."
"No you won't," came the reply. "Not this time. This time you men are going to do what I want you to."
Several voices interrupted with heated denials, but Balizar's shout, brought the argument to a sudden stop.
"Why don't you listen to what the man has to say for once?" Balizar shouted. "You profess to be his followers yet you would have HIM be yours!"
"Arbra's right," Asher injected. "Are you not, as are the men of the Samiel, sworn to do as he bids?"
"When it doesn't endanger his life!" Holm shot back.
"Or when we think …," Thom began only to have his Overlord shout him down.
"You think?" Conar thundered. "You think? Since when have any of you men had an original thought not pumped into your head by Shalu Taborn?" He turned his angry glare to the Necroman. "Just because he is the oldest among you does not give him more wisdom than the next man!"
"More wisdom than you," Shalu muttered. He met the enraged stare of Conar McGregor with one of his own. "You've never known what was best for you, brat, and this nonsense about staying here proves it!"
"Let me make my own mistakes, will you?" Conar screamed at them. "I'm the one who will have to pay for them!"
The shout had been so loud, so virulent, all sound ceased in the room. Every eye was on the Serenian Prince. Every face in the room, save his own, showing the shock at the volume of his outburst. He had managed to gain their attention, and their worry, with that inhuman bellow of fury.
"How many more of you do you want me to have to be responsible for burying?" Conar asked, seeing several flinches and one or two scowls. "Isn't six enough?"
"Conar …," Chase started to say in a reasonable voice, but he, too, was shouted down.
"WILL YOU LET ME TALK?"
Catherine watched her husband, seeing the man the world knew as The Darkwind staring down his men. The power of that stare, the unquestionable command in those strange eyes, was enough to quell even the most stubborn of these men. Faces lowered, even as fists clenched, but no one would dare to interrupt him again. The room grew as quiet as the tomb.
"You men have not been where I have been," he finally said in a voice, though not his normal slow Serenian drawl, that was one that demanded the full attention of everyone in the room. "You have not had to endure what I have endured. You have not lost anywhere near the loved ones I have."
Paegan lifted his head and looked at Conar. The young Viragonian Prince, feeling the loss of his brother, Rylan, keenly, was hurt further by what he thought a callous remark.
"You haven't, Paegan," Conar told him, intercepting the look. "And for the most part, none of you have had to deal with watching that loved one die right before your very eyes." He turned his gaze to Thom. "Not even you."
Catherine reached up to wipe away a tear that had crept unbidden down her cheek. She knew the men could hear the pain and desperation in her husband's voice the same as she could, but she could see no acknowledgement of that on their carefully blank faces. They were watching him as though he were a retarded child to be humored and their attitudes both bewildered and angered her. She found herself clutching her own fists in the confines of her skirt.
"Do any of you know how I felt to hold Hern Arbra in my arms, his blood dripping down my chest, and know I was the cause of him dying?" Conar asked.
"Hern interfered with a guard's duty," Thom protested. He cast a quick look to the dead man's twin brother, Balizar, and found that man glaring back at him.
"Because Hern wanted me to be able to rest," Conar reminded them. "If Hern hadn't wanted what was best for ME, he'd be alive today."
"You didn't cause his death," Sentian mumbled.
"Nadia?" Conar questioned. He looked at Kalli. "Did my daughter, Nadia, die because of some other man or was it because of me that Jaborn cut her throat? What of Rayle Loure? Who did he die trying to protect? And the six Elite hanged at Boreas?"
No one could answer that. Their very silence was assent enough.
"And Amber-lea?" Conar asked.
Chase's head came up. "She died in childbirth, Conar. The babe could just as well been Brelan's."
"But it wasn't, was it?" Conar asked. He held up his hand as others began to protest. "My father? My mother? Liza? Brelan? They all died because of me."
"Don't start this shit again," Shalu snapped. "You weren't to blame …."
"Storm came over here looking for me. Now, he's dead." He looked at Paegan. "Rylan's dead because he came here trying to find me." He shifted his gaze to Chase. "So is Grice and so is Roget and so is Tyne."
Shalu knew what was coming and looked away from the keen probe that had settled on his face. "Don't say it," he commanded.
"Why not?" Conar asked. "Can't you admit that the only man you have ever called 'friend' is now lying in a wooden box ten thousand miles from his home because he had come to this godforsaken place to help his brother?"
"You want to accept the blame for their deaths?" Sentian shouted. "Fine! Accept it! No one seems able to keep you from doing so anyway!"
"I'm not blaming myself for what's happened, Senti," Conar told him. "I'm just admitting responsibility for it."
"Same difference," Holm mumbled.
"No it's not," Conar answered. "If I had put a blade to their throats," his voice broke, "as Jaborn did to Nadia's, then, aye, I would have been to blame because my actions took their lives. But that wasn't the way of it. But I am responsible for their dying and it is for that reason that I will not allow any more of you to die or be hurt because of me."
"We are grown men," Chase reminded him. "We are responsible for our own actions. We don't hold you accountable for what happens to us."
Conar stared at the man, wishing with all his heart and soul that someone understood. As Sentian and Thom spoke up, he lost all hope of having anyone do that.
"We made a vow," Sentian reminded him, "that we would protect you with our lives. To do anything less than that would be dishonorable."
"Aye!" Thom growled. "No one held a blade to our throats to make us take that vow, Conar. We did so because we love you. We followed you to hell and we will do so again if you but ask it of us!"
"I don't mind dying," Paegan put in, "as long as the cause is just and I know Rylan felt the same way. If he had to die, at least he died in the company of the one man he respected most in this life. And if I know my brother, he did not blame you and probably said as much if he had had the time to do so."
"Brell thought of you as the brother he always wished he'd had," Chase spoke up. "When I was getting ready to sail for Rysalia, he came to me and told me to make sure nothing happened to you. Tyne loved you, Conar."
"As for Jah-Ma-El," Shalu said in a husky voice, "that man loved you more than any man alive. He always told me he was living on borrowed time, anyway, since the day you kept him from hanging. Knowing Jamie, he died with only one regret: that his passing in such a manner would hurt you, Conar."
"Don't any of you see what this is doing to him?" Sajin asked, standing up and glaring at the men. He pointed a finger at his friend. "Look at him! Look what you are doing to him!"
Catherine had been watching her husband closely as the men spoke. He was standing behind the chair in which he had been sitting and was gripping the back of it so hard the entire chair was quivering. His arms were rigid, his body taut. He was staring at the floor, pain and guilt blazing from his eyes and when the room grew still, he slowly looked up and the expression on his face was pitiful.
"You profess to love him," she heard Sajin haranguing the men. "Is this how you show him that love? By tormenting him? Can't you see what you are causing here?"
Sajin pushed past Shalu and walked to Conar's side. He faced the others. "He feels guilty enough as it is. Will you compound that guilt by remaining here against his wishes when he has expressly asked you to leave?"
"Our place is with him!" Sentian shouted.
"Your place is to do as your Overlord bids," Ching-Ching reminded them. "That was the vow you made at the time of the Convocation."
"Let's just say," Sajin hissed at them, "for argument's sake, that you force him to let you stay here to help in the fighting." He turned the heat of his glare on Chase. "Let's just say you get killed, Montyne." He switched his attention to Paegan. "Or you, Hesar? Who will bear the blame, then? YOU or him?"
"We would," Paegan snarled. "It is our decision to make, not his."
"No?" Sajin purred in a sneering tone. "Even when he has asked you to leave? Who do you think this man will blame?" He pointed at Shalu, then Sentian. "You? You?" He lowered his voice to a silky taunt. "Or will be blame himself for not being man enough to MAKE you do as he wanted?"
"The mark of a true military leader is to know when it is in the best interest of his men to run from a battle just as he knows when it is advantageous to engage in one," Catherine said quietly. The men glanced her way with looks of annoyance. "In my country, men who do not heed their commanding officers, are court-martialed." She looked at Yuri. "Then, they are hanged."
"I am sworn to protect your husband, Your Grace," Yuri defended. "To the death, am I so sworn."
"A position in which my husband does not want to place you, Andreanova," Catherine reminded the man. "Or any other of you gentlemen, either."
Conar looked at his wife. Her gaze met his and he saw her lips twitch in a plea for forgiveness for interrupting.
"Conar?" Ching-Ching asked, coming wearily to his feet. As Conar looked his way, the little Chrystallusian locked his eyes with the Serenian's. "What is it you want, milord?"
There was no hesitation. "I want you to go home."
"Without you," Chase stated in a hurt tone.
"Aye," Conar answered. "Without me."
"Are you making that an order, Your Grace?" Sentian growled, drawing his Overlord's attention to him.
"As surely as I am standing here, Heil," the Serenian Prince replied.
"Despite the fact that we do not wish to," Shalu snapped.
"He's your leader," Sajin reminded the men. "His word should be law."
Taborn spun around and fixed the Kensetti Prince with a murderous glare. "You stay out of this, pog! This does not concern you!"
"Yes, it does," Sajin replied. "I am of the Samiel, one with The Khamsin, and from now on, the men of the Samiel are his to do with as he bids." He glanced around him at Asher Stone and Balizar Arbra and Azalon Ben-Hasheed and Kharis El-Malick, who had just entered the room, and Rupine, the physician, and the half-dozen more who made up the Cadre of the Samiel. "We would not dare question his authority as our leader."
"And neither should you," Balizar put in.
Conar's wife sat with her hands clenched tightly in her lap, sensing the real contest of wills lay between her husband and the big black man who was glowering back at him as though he could turn Conar over his knee and beat some sense into him. She watched the older man's brown eyes glaze with fury, then flare with resolve as Conar's squared his shoulders and let go of the chair on which he had had such a death grip. The two men faced each other as enemies, but Catherine knew that was far from the way things stood between these two strong, powerful warriors.
"This is what you want?" Catherine heard the Necroman ask.
"Aye," Conar assured him. "It is. It is time the mother bird let the baby bird go. He's already left the nest. Why not see if he can fly with the eagles again?"
"And if he falls?" Shalu snapped.
"There will be hands to pick him up," Sajin answered.
"And hearts to love him just as much as the hearts of the Wind Force do," Asher added.
"And swords to protect his back from the enemies he fears will harm you," Balizar said.
Chase left his place beside Wyn and walked to his old friend. He put his hands on Conar's shoulders and shook his gently. "This is wrong, my friend. To send us away is wrong."
Conar held his friend's gaze for a long moment before speaking. When he finally did, everyone in the room could feel the pain in his words.
"Do you love me, Montyne?" he asked.
Tears gathered in Chase's blue eyes. "You know I do."
"Then if you love me, let me go. Let me be what I have to be. Let me do what I have to do. Don't make me worry about you. I don't need that right now."
"I don't suppose it matters that we'll be worrying about you," Chase whispered. "That your safety is more important than our own."
Shalu spun around and shoved his way through the men gathered. Slamming the door behind him, his heavy footsteps echoed hollowly as he left the fortress. There was not a man there who did not know Taborn would not be returning.
"Go after him, Sentian," Conar ordered, tearing his gaze from Chase's. "You, too, Thom, Holm. I don't want him getting into trouble in Asaraba." He glanced at Kharis and the Venturian nodded before turning to go.
Sentian hesitated, wanting to deny the order, but Balizar put a beefy hand on the young man's shoulder and shook his head.
"Don't give him any more grief, Heil. That's the last thing the boy needs," Arbra challenged. "All this is hard enough on him."
Sentian risked a glance at his Overlord, found Conar looking back at him with every expectation of having his order carried out. Heil clenched his jaw and left, Thom and Holm at his heels, knowing it would do no good to try to reason with the Dark Overlord of the Wind.
"Are you going to order me and Chase around like that, too?" Paegan growled, wanting nothing more than to knock Conar down, chain him and drag him, kicking and screaming if need be, to the hold of the Anne Katrine.
"No," Chase answered for his friend. "He isn't." Before Conar could speak, the Ionarian drew him into his strong arms and held him. "He's going to hug us goodbye and then we're going to gather our belongings and head for the ship."
"I'm not so sure …," Paegan started to say, but Chase had released Conar and was pulling the young Viragonian toward their friend.
"Say goodbye to him, Paegan," Chase ordered.
Conar brought the young man to him and gave him a tight embrace. "Look after my little brother Dyllon for me when you get home, eh, Paegan?" he asked.
Paegan nodded, overcome by the emotions that were boiling inside his gut. Dyllon McGregor, Conar's youngest brother, was Paegan's best friend. How was he going to explain to Dyllon why he hadn't been able to bring Conar home?
Wyn watched the two Princes leave the room, neither looking back at his father. He saw Ching-Ching bow respectfully to the true King of Serenia and then walk gracefully to the door where he turned and smiled warmly at Conar McGregor.
"Baby bird will be careful?" Ching-Ching asked in his sing-song Chrystallusian.
"He'll try," was Conar's answer.
"All I can ask of him," Ching-Ching replied before exiting the room.
Prince Kalli Jaborn rose from his seat and bid Catherine a good morning. "If you should need me, I will be outside." His young eyes crinkled with happiness. "Enjoying my freedom!"
The men of the Samiel also slipped quietly from the room, the warriors of the Outer Kingdom following, leaving Conar alone with his wife and his eldest son. The silence was loud in the room as the door closed behind the last man.
"Are you sending me away, also?" Catherine asked, fearing what Yuri had warned her about might well come to pass.
Conar shook his head. "No. If you would, I would like you to stay until I can take you back to St. Steffensburg, myself."
"You're going to the Outer Kingdom?" Wyn questioned.
Conar came from behind the chair and sat down again. He let out a long, weary exhalation of breath. "There are five coffins lying in the throne room, Wynland. As soon as Balizar's men bring Storm's body here, there will be six. I can not, nor will I, allow those men to be buried in Rysalian soil." He looked down at his hands. "Nor can Serge transport them back to Serenia." A look of pain crossed his face. "The journey takes too long and the bodies would not......"
"We would be honored to bury them in the Field of Honor outside St. Steffensburg, milord," Catherine interrupted, saving her husband from explaining to his son that the bodies of the men he loved would be long-since decayed and posing a health hazard before reaching Serenia.
"I would like that," he answered, glancing up at her. "It is a very beautiful place."
Catherine stood up, smiling shyly at Wyn. "If I do not see you again before you go, Lord Wynland, I bid you a safe and pleasant journey home."
"Thank you, Your Grace," Wyn replied, taking the hand she offered him and bringing it as gracefully and sensually to his lips as he father ever had. "And I pray for a safe delivery for you." He glanced down at her burgeoning belly. "And maybe a little sister?"
Catherine's face split into a wide smile. "We'll see," she said, standing on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his cheek. She turned and looked at her husband. "I will be in my room, milord, if you should need me."
Conar nodded, thanking her silently for the time she was willing to give him with his son. He watched her until the door closed behind her and then lowered his head, putting his hands up to his temples.
"Papa?" Wyn asked, kneeling down before his father once more. "Will you please let me stay?"
His father looked up and it was obvious to the young man that another agonizing headache had come to claim his parent's attention.
"Wyn," Conar said with mild exasperation, "of them all, you would be the last I would allow to stay."
"But why, Papa?" Wyn whined. "I am your son. Of them all, I should be the very one to be at your side!"
"Of them all," Conar said, leaning forward so that he could put his hands on his son's neck, "you are the one I love the most. You are the one it would kill me to lose." He laid his forehead against Wyn's. "I may not have shown you how much I loved you when you were growing up, I might not have given you the time with me you wanted or needed or deserved, but Wyn …," he drew his son's head down and put an emotional kiss on the young man's head, cradling that head against his chest. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, "you are my favorite son and I love you more than you will ever know."
"Then let me stay with you, Papa!" Wyn cried, pulling back and fusing his gaze with his father's. "Let me be at your side where I belong!"
"Your place is where I send you, Wyn, and I am sending you home."
The young man knew it would be fruitless to continue pleading with his father. Not only was there a warning of parental authority in his father's face, there was a hint of a royal order in the firmness of his parent's voice.
And a steadfast spark of denial in the too-bright sapphire eyes.
Wyn lowered his head. "Is there anything you want me to do when I get home, Father?"
"Father?" Conar questioned, not sure he liked that title. When Wyn shrugged, without looking up, he figured it was his son's way of letting him know he hadn't agreed with his decision but would abide by it anyway.
"Is there anything you want me to tell Uncle Legion?" Wyn stressed.
"Aye," Conar said, his voice turning just a bit cold. "You can tell him to mind his own damned business from now on and that if I see his ass over here, I'll sell it to a breeding farm!"
Wyn looked up, his face piqued with interest. "A breeding farm?" At his father's nod, Wyn smiled. "They really have such places?"
Conar's lips twitched although he did not smile. "Aye, they really have such places." He ruffled his son's hair. "Once you are on board ship, you might ask the Lady Sabrina all about it. She'll be going back to Ionary with Chase. And," Conar slid his hands to his son's shoulders, "You will see to Mistress Ruck for me. I've already told her she'll be going back with the men and she's not happy about it."
"But you're her Overlord, too," Wyn chuckled. "She has to do as you say, doesn't she, Papa?"
Conar didn't answer. "Make sure she stays in Serenia once she gets there, Wynland. That is the only thing I ask of you."
Wyn's face lost its smile. "I will miss you, Papa."
"I will miss you, too."
"And I love you, Papa!" The young man put his arms about his father and hugged him only briefly, then leapt up from the floor and was out of the room before Conar could answer.
Conar McGregor, the rightful King of Serenia, the Dark Overlord of the Wind, the man freedom fighters on three continents called Commander, sat where his son had left him and stared across the still room, his hands loosely gripping the arms of his chair. He could not remember a time in present memory when he had felt so alone, so cast away from those he loved. He had sent his son and the men of the Wind Force back to his homeland. He had ordered Meggie Ruck back, as well, even though it had been a hard-won battle between Mistress and Consort. Now, he thought, as he sat there, his heart aching inside him, he had just one more person's safety to insure before he could begin his fight in Rysalia.
And that was the one person in all the world he wanted least to send away.
Chapter Three
"Do you think he'll come to say goodbye?" Holm asked as he looked out over the yarboard rail of the Anna Katrine.
"Not a chance," Thom replied, squinting as he gazed up at the crow's nest where Wyn had climbed aloft to view Asaraba. "You know how he feels about goodbyes."
"Aye," Holm sighed. "That I do." He turned his back to the rail and leaned against it, folding his beefy arms over his wide chest. "I ain’t so sure we're doing the right thing in leaving him here."
"It is what he wanted," Ching-Ching reminded the captain of the Ravenwind. "We must abide by his wishes."
"Even when you know he's making a mistake?" Paegan grumbled.
"Even then, young one," Ching-Ching answered.
Prince Lares Taborn, the youngest son of King Shalu knocked politely on his father's cabin door and waited patiently for the command to enter. When no such order came, he knocked again. "Papa? It's me, Lares."
"I've already tried talking to him," the Lady Sabrina told the young man. "Your father is most rude. He did not even show me the courtesy of answering."
Lares looked down at his boots. "Sometimes he can be a bit …." He searched for the right word, could not seem to find one adequate to the situation and shrugged. "He's just angry."
"And hurt," Sabrina replied, putting a gentle hand on the young black man's back. "Maybe even a bit disappointed."
"He thinks of Lord Raven as one of his own," Lares mumbled. "Sometimes I think he loves him better than any of us."
Sabrina smiled. "I would not think so. Perhaps he just gives him more notice than he does the rest of you." She rubbed Lares' back. "Isn't it usually the child who gives the parent the most trouble who gets the most attention?"
Shalu's son thought about that for a moment and then grinned. "Aye," he agreed. "I see your point."
"Give your father time," Sabrina advised him. "He will adjust to the situation. It is never easy for a parent to admit his child has grown up under his very nose."
"HE AIN’T GROWN UP!" came the thundering boom from behind the cabin door.
Sabrina's smile widened and she shook her head. "Neither, it seems, has the father."
Captain Serge Nickolayevich Kutuzov glanced once more to the wharf. He strained to see the one face he hoped might be there. He had held back their sailing time by nearly forty minutes in the hopes the Serenian would appear. Now, he had to admit Prince Chase had been right: the man would not come.
"You might as well hoist anchor, Serge," Holm advised him. "If the lad was gonna show, he'd have done so by now."
Serge nodded and reluctantly gave the order to cast off. His blue eyes were disappointed for he had wanted to try one more time to talk Conar McGregor into letting him leave a large company of warriors behind.
"And I told you no," the Outlander had said in a stern voice. "Take them home with you, Serge. All of them."
Two other Outer Kingdom ships lay in the harbor, awaiting the sailing of the Anna Katrine before tacking north. Their captains were no less concerned than Serge was with leaving the Tzarevna and her husband behind.
"The Tzar will most displeased," Serge had informed the Serenian.
"Let him be," McGregor had answered. "Tell him I will protect his daughter. If he had worries about my ability to do that, he should never have desired the union between us."
"Will we be sailing up to St. Steffensburg?" Chase asked.
Serge glanced at Holm and then shook his head. "The Ravenwind is docked in Odess. We will drop you off there and then the rest of us will travel on to St. Steffensburg."
"Once they're assured we have hoisted anchor and are beyond the reef," Holm grumbled. "Once we're committed into the North Boreal sea lane, we can't turn around. I've no charts for that part of the ocean."
"A precaution, Captain," Serge told him. "His Grace asked that I make sure you did not attempt to …."
"Foil his bloody plans!" Holm snapped.
Chase looked up as the shrouds filled and the winds grasped the Anna Katrine. He turned his attention back to the docks where a steady stream of humanity was hawking its wares and thieving and insulting one another. His gaze traveled over the shiny bulbous roofs of the Rysalian towers and slid past the warehouse where his life had changed so drastically.
"It is best to think of the future, not dwell on the past," Sabrina told him as she joined him at the rail.
"Aye," he answered. "I know." He drew her to his side and cradled her against him. "What will be, will be, eh?"
"Yes," she agreed. Resting her head on his shoulder, she looked out over the city where she had spent most of her life and was not unhappy to be leaving. She was with the man she loved, who loved her, and she was traveling to a new part of the world she had only glimpsed in Liza's letters.
"Do you see the man in black standing by the basket maker's stall?" Chase asked her quietly.
Sabrina narrowed her vision and finally saw the man he was referring to. "McGregor?" she asked.
"Aye."
"So he came to bid you farewell, after all," she said.
"When he knew we couldn't do a damned thing about it," Chase grumbled.
She looked up at her lover. "Will you wave to him or pretend you don't see him?"
"He knows I see him," Chase answered.
Looking back to the wharf, Sabrina watched the man in black turn his back on the ship and then disappear into the bustling crowd around him. No one seemed to notice his passing.
"May the Wind be favorable to you, Lord Khamsin," she heard Montyne whisper.
From the porthole of his cabin, Shalu followed the man in black until he could no longer see him among the crowd. The Necroman laid his head on the cool porthole glass and cried.
* * * *
Balizar handed the reins of the magnificent black stallion to his new owner. "I paid a goodly price for this beast, Khamsin," Arbra groused. "He'd better be worth every goddamned Ryal!"
Conar ran his hand down the steed's front legs, lifted his hoof to inspect it, then patted the horse's neck. He moved back to flanks, running his hand along the sleek ebony side, then patted the horse's rump.
"He'll fly, Arbra," Conar prophesied. "Like the wind."
"The thought of that bastard Belial selling Mistral makes me so damned mad I wish the Daughters had not lost him in the catacombs," Asher spat. "That beast was the finest piece of horse flesh I've ever encountered."
"This one will make you eat those words, Stone," Conar told him. "Mistral was fast, but this steed will be faster still." He grasped a handful of the stallion's mane and swung atop the broad back.
"What will you call him?" Azalon asked.
Conar bent over and patted the sleek neck. "I'll name him after what I plan," he answered. He straightened up. "His name is Revenge."
* * * *
Conar looked up from the papers spread across Jaleel Jaborn's desk. "Come," he ordered.
The door to the dead Prince's office opened and Rachel Stone, Asher's sister, peeked around the panel. "You wanted to see me, Khamsin?" she asked.