A Warrior’s Debt
By
Trudy Thompson
(C) Copyright September 2006, Trudy Thompson
Published by New Concepts Publishing
Smashwords Edition
Cover art by Jenny Dixon, (c) copyright June 2006
ISBN 1-58608-917-x
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
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.
CHAPTER 1
Menila
Halfway to the village, a strange sound filled the darkness. Shana Kerr paused and turned about, searching for whatever made such an anguished noise. The strangled groan of an injured animal called out to her. She glanced around again, hoping to find a break in the dense trees that would offer a minimum amount of light to guide her but found none.
Shana ignored the rapid pounding of her heart and listened carefully. To her left, undergrowth rustled as something thrashed about. She stepped from the path, ignored the heavy dew that clung to her cloak and soaked through to wet her gown. She pushed aside a vine of wisteria, shoved away a dew-brightened web of an industrious spider that stuck to her hair and continued through the dense forest.
The trees grew thicker. Darkness closed in around her. She shoved her hands into her cloak pockets and continued, ducking low branches, twisting to avoid thickets and decaying leaves.
She paused in a clearing where the moonlight was sufficient to gather her bearings and listened. She heard only the normal sounds of the forest.
Yet something out there needed her. The healing gifts long nurtured within her awoke. Her fingers tingled. Warmth flowed through her body and centered in the palms of her hands.
Shana drew deep for the inner sense that had guided her through many seasons. She concentrated on the forest and searched for something that might be out of place. She pulled her hands from the pockets of her forest-green cloak and, trusting her instincts to guide her steps, walked forward.
Another deep groan split the silence.
A creature lay enveloped in a white aura of moonlight filtering down through the trees.
Shana raised her hand to shield her eyes from the brilliant light. She walked forward slowly to pause less than four steps away from a man lying on the forest floor.
Another step. Two. Shana dropped to her knees.
She reached out to him, hesitated, and then rested her spread fingers on her bent knees as she searched for an injury.
Never had she seen such a man. Even lying on the forest floor, his height surpassed hers by several feet. Shana glanced down his long legs to his booted feet, and then up to study the strange leather leggings that covered his muscular limbs. She paused when she saw the enormous sword encased in a leather scabbard, etched with foreign symbols, belted at his hip.
A rush of apprehension caused by the mysterious weapon shook her. She pushed caution aside and continued her examination of his wide shoulders and strong arms bared by a dark leather vest etched with similar markings open across his abdomen, exposing ripples of muscle beneath his taut flesh.
A deep groan spilled from his lips.
Shana reached out to grasp his hand. The instant her fingers touched his, arcs of white light erupted from his fingertips. Burning her flesh. Repelling her touch.
She jerked her hand away. "What just happened?" she mumbled as she put her fingers into her mouth to soothe the burns blistering her fingertips. "Did I cause that?" Knowing the man must be seriously injured and she might have made matters worse, she struggled to her feet. She turned and ran for help, unmindful of branches that slapped her face, tore her clothing, and prodded up through her slippers.
On the outskirts of her village, she paused to search the darkened cottages for any sign of life. Seeing no light reflected from the draped windows facing the dirt roadway, she pulled her woolen cloak tighter around her body and hurried down the rutted cart path toward home.
She stepped upon the stone stoop and pushed aside the latch on the heavy wooden door. The door opened with a squeal, exposing her adopted mother, Hilda, in the chair before the glowing hearth.
“There’s an injured man in the forest.”
“Where?” Hilda rose unsteadily from her chair and shuffled to the door to grab her wrap from a nearby peg.
“He’s like no one I’ve ever seen. He could be one of Zandicol’s men. We can’t--”
“Nonsense. Have your studies taught you nothing? Our duty is to assist those who need our help. Wake several of the village men. Have them accompany us into the forest.”
Shana watched Hilda hobble around the cottage, securing the tools of her healing. She wanted to explain what happened when she touched the man, about the strange aura glowing so brightly it lit the forest, but couldn’t find the proper words.
“Come, Shana. We are wasting precious time.”
Shana fled the cottage. She knocked on several nearby doors, rousing the families within and requesting assistance. When she’d gathered ten men, she joined Hilda and led her back to the spot where she found the downed man.
The aura of moonlight, previously surrounding the stranger, had disappeared as the moon moved behind a passing cloud, leaving nothing more mysterious than a tall man in need of assistance. Voices around her dulled to a murmur as Shana concentrated on his form, wondering again who he was and how he happened to be in the forest of Verdun.
Her fingertips began to tingle in a way she’d never experienced. She studied her hands and found the blisters had miraculously disappeared, but pulses of energy crawled up her arms, reminiscent of the arcs of fire that erupted over her hands. She rubbed her palms over her cloak and stepped back to place a greater distance between herself and the man who, had somehow, created her strange distress.
Several of the village men hurried off, and then returned moments later with a cart. She noted the caution the men used when removing the huge scabbard from the man’s side. She heard their grunts and groans of exertion as they lifted his large body into the bed of the cart.
She wondered why the villagers were not affected when they touched him. Could it be her gifts warning of danger? What about Hilda?
She reached forward to warn Hilda not to touch him when her mentor climbed into the back of the cart, but she was too late. Hilda placed her palm against the stranger’s forehead.
Nothing happened.
Confused but cautious, Shana followed behind as the villagers pulled the cart out of the forest and down the dirt roadway between the rows of little cottages. Her footsteps faltered when she realized that Hilda intended to take the man into their home.
Premonition tugged at her mind. This man should be taken far away from Verdun.
“Hilda?”
Hilda scooted down from the cart. “Be careful when you move him,” she instructed. “Place him on the fur mat in front of the fire so I can tend his back and whatever else ails him.”
Hilda turned from the men struggling under the stranger’s weight. “Yes, Shana?”
“Do you think it wise to bring him here?”
“What is wrong, my dear? Where else would we take him?”
“Nothing important. We’ll discuss it later.”
Hilda touched her arm. “Are you sure?”
Shana watched as the village men carried the injured man into the cottage and placed him before the hearth. She then followed Hilda into the cottage. She removed her damp cloak, draped it on a peg next to Hilda’s, and walked across the plank floor. She watched Hilda bend beside the man before the hearth.
“I need to turn him so I can look at a wound I discovered when he was lifted into the cart.”
Several of the men hurried to do Hilda’s bidding. Shana watched as they positioned the man on his stomach, slipped the heavy leather vest from his arms, and bared his wounded back. She listened when they asked if they could do anything else.
Hilda told them to go back to their homes.
Shana heard their whispered comments about the man’s size and identity as they left the cottage.
She watched Hilda work, using her magic touch and healing herbs to make a poultice for his wounded shoulder, and then as her wrinkled fingers disappeared into his long, dark hair.
“I have done all I can for him this eve. Please find something large enough to cover him.”
Shana hurried across the floor and gathered a coverlet from a trunk beside the far wall. She averted her gaze from his exposed flesh as she approached the hearth and bent to spread the coverlet along his body.
“Help me up.”
She grasped Hilda’s hand and steadied her as she straightened. After Hilda took her favorite chair before the fire, Shana made them both a cup of herbal tea.
She glanced at the stranger sprawled on the floor. “What about him? What if he wakes up during the night?”
Hilda chuckled. “He will sleep for the remainder of this eve.”
Shana sat on the stool next to Hilda’s chair. “I’ve been thinking about all you told me of my heritage.” Hours before Hilda had explained to Shana that she was not the orphaned daughter of the healer of Napul to the south, taken in by Hilda so she might learn her deceased mother’s skills and return one day to treat her village. She was, in truth, the daughter of a queen murdered on the eve of her birthing and stolen away to live in seclusion because, like her mother, Shana carried the power of the Chosen of the Temple of Havenshire.
“What is it you do not understand, my dear?”
“You said you were a guardian for my mother, Dedra of the Chosen, when she traveled from Havenshire to wed my father, Mordith.”
Hilda nodded.
“What happened to my father?”
“A few months after your mother’s death, Mordith died of a mysterious sickness that rendered him incapable of carrying out his duties as leader of Soras. His younger brother, Larus, took his place on the throne. Throughout the years that have followed your birth and your parents’ deaths, Larus has continued to rule Soras, but Zandicol rules Larus.”
“I still don’t understand. Who is Zandicol? Where did he come from and how did he gain such control?”
Hilda sighed. “No one knows where Zandicol came from, Shana. Some say he is descended from the invaders who threatened our world decades ago. Others whisper he is a castoff of the Chosen, excommunicated from Havenshire.”
“The only thing I know for certain is Zandicol thrives off others’ weaknesses and possesses a dark magic stronger than any force we know to destroy it.”
“Why didn't the Chosen destroy Zandicol before he became so powerful?”
“The Chosen have dwindled in numbers over the passing of time, my dear. Once a great race sharing an immense power, those powers have now weakened until they do little more than preserve the Old Rights and protect the Temple. None remain strong enough to overthrow the evil that eats away at our lands.”
Shana glanced around their tiny cottage, at each piece of hand-carved furniture. She remembered the good times she shared with Hilda. She studied her small alcove, the tiny cot where she slept, and the table where she practiced her many lessons. If she heeded Hilda’s latest teachings, her life would be in jeopardy, and everything she ever believed in, destroyed.
She turned to study the tall man sleeping before the hearth.
“The Chosen aren’t strong enough to stop Zandicol, yet you say it’s my destiny to travel to Havenshire, accept the teachings of my ancestors, and then journey to Soras to challenge Zandicol.”
“No one can force you to make this journey, Shana. Each of us must choose the crossroads we take carefully, for there is no turning back. No escape to a safer life.”
“Why wasn’t I told of my heritage sooner? Surely an innocent child could have done nothing to prevent Zandicol’s rise to power.”
“I can only assume Zandicol suspected Dedra might know of his plans for Soras and would use her magical gifts to prohibit his evil goals. He must have wanted you destroyed because he believed you would carry the same power.”
Hilda touched Shana’s cheek. “It is very late, my dear. You need rest.”
She rose from her stool, bent and kissed Hilda’s cheek, and then walked to her alcove to prepare for sleep. Moments later, she watched Hilda take to her own cot for the night.
Shana listened to the popping and hissing of the logs in the hearth and watched the red glow of the flames dance over the stranger’s body, still motionless before the fire.
She exhaled in a gush and flopped over to her back to stare at the ceiling of her tiny alcove. After a few moments, she forcibly freed her mind of the tumultuous thoughts that created such uncertainty, but she couldn’t keep her gaze from straying to the mysterious man before the hearth.
Frustrated, Shana eased her legs to the side of the cot and dropped her feet to the floor. She stood and walked slowly across the room.
She bent to study the stranger’s face in the firelight.
Dark shadows emphasized the strength of his jaw and cheekbones, his square chin. His nose straight and perfectly sized to compliment his angular features. Long lashes dusted darker circles beneath his closed eyes and softened the hard lines of his face. A tiny scar separated the dark hair of his right brow, changing the arch and giving it a sinister appearance.
Shana shivered, knowing she should place as much distance as possible between her and this male, but curiosity formed a stronger bond. She studied the dark hair that fell straight from a part at the center of his bronzed forehead to sweep his wide shoulders.
The strange tingle she felt before in her fingertips, when she was this close to him, reappeared but Shana pushed aside her reaction. She wondered again who he was, and how he happened to be in the forest of Verdun.
Shana jumped back when the man suddenly moved his head and opened his eyes as he attempted to gain a seated position. “Who are you?”
His voice was gravelly, deep, and his words slurred, but she had no trouble understanding his question.
“Who are you?” she responded.
“Are you real?”
“Why would you ask such a ridiculous question? Of course, I’m real.”
He reached up to touch her arm, but Shana pulled away.
“Don’t touch me.”
The mysterious gifts within her awoke, causing every hair on her body to stand on end. “Go back to sleep.”
A premonition she couldn't quite grasp slipped through her mind and deepened her apprehension of this man. They knew nothing about him but Hilda had willingly taken him into their home. First thing in the morning she planned to let her feelings be known and beg Hilda to have this stranger taken to another cottage until he recuperated.
She scooted behind Hilda’s chair. She used the tall wooden back as a shield as she watched him drop his arm across his chest, turn his head slowly from side to side, then close his eyes.
Shana gripped the chair back hard. His many unanswered questions caused her unease to grow. She raised her hands to rub her forearms.
Memories of the strange aura of moonlight in the forest, the sparks of energy that now tingled over her flesh, reinforced her determination to maintain a safe distance from this stranger.
Closing her eyes, Shana prayed he’d recuperate with all possible haste and make his exit from Verdun before the dangerous force she sensed within him awakened to manifest itself into something evil that would rival Zandicol’s threat.
CHAPTER 2
Ryder fought the weakness threatening to drag him back into oblivion. Pushing up slowly into a seated position, he blinked several times to judge his surroundings. He wondered how he came to be here in this tiny cottage instead of along the shore of the Great River as he remembered from his last bout of consciousness. He studied the room, the hand-hewed furniture placed upon the polished floor, and then gazed at the rafters. Multitudes of different dried herbs hung over his head.
“I’m surprised you are awake this soon. Your constitution must be stronger than I thought.”
A tiny old woman stepped into the firelight. Ryder noted her bent frame, the wrinkled features of her face, and the long gray hair that swept the ties of her faded blue robe. He wondered who she was, and again, where he was.
“Who are you?”
Her soft chuckle filled the room. She took another step and paused a few feet from him. She held a steaming cup in each hand.
“I must ask you the same question.”
Ryder cast another glance about the tiny structure. Unsure of his circumstances, he decided to evade the old woman’s question. “You need not fear me. I present you no danger.”
The old woman took a step closer. She handed Ryder a cup of hot broth. “You are from the East.”
He thought it odd she didn’t wait for his response, but turned and took a seat in a comfortably worn chair on the other side of the hearth. Her pale gray eyes were inquisitive as she watched him over the rim of her cup.
He raised his arm and turned his head until he could see the wounded portion of his back. A thick swatch of white cloth covered his left shoulder. He shrugged, lifted his arm, and bent it several times. Surprisingly, he felt little pain. He turned to meet the old woman’s gaze.
“Did you treat my wound?”
She nodded and took another sip from her cup. “You must have lost a great amount of blood to make you so weak that you would lose consciousness.”
Ryder thought about the length and diameter of the chunk of wood that had punctured his shoulder, of the pain encountered when he tried to remove it, and of his blood loss. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the amount of time that might have passed since he plummeted into the raging waters of the Great River.
Warm fingers touched his cheek and scattered his thoughts.
“I have seen your arrival many times in my dreams, warrior.”
Ryder opened his eyes and met the old woman’s gaze, curious how she knew he was a warrior, and even more anxious to hear of her dreams. “Where am I?”
She leaned forward enough to place her wrinkled hand on his bare shoulder. The warmth of her touch sent a pleasant, relaxed feeling to encompass his flesh beneath her spread fingers.
“My ward found you in the forest of Verdun. The men of our village brought you to our home.”
Ryder searched the cottage for his possessions and his father’s sword.
The old woman touched his hair. “Your packs and weapon are secure.” She spread her palm over his forehead. “I am pleased you caught no fever from your wound. With proper care and nourishment, you should be renewed to your former self in a matter of risings.”
He raised his hand, wrapped his fingers around the slender bones of her wrist. “Old woman--”
“I am called Hilda. I am the healer of this village. Now, I believe it is time for you to answer some of my questions. Truthfully.”
Ryder released her arm but kept his gaze locked with hers. He remembered only portions of his journey. The many nights he traveled alone through the Tundra, the midseason storm before reaching the small fishing village on the shore of the Great River. He had made camp on the white sands and waited until he thought the weather calmed before loading the horse he’d purchased and his provisions on the old boat provided by the fisher folks, and then trying to cross the turbulent waters.
“I am Ryder L’Syr of the Freelands.” He watched her face for a reaction and, receiving none, continued, “For many months I have traveled to reach your lands.”
“You crossed the Great River? How?”
Not why, but how. Years of strategic training placed his senses on alert. He glanced once more around the cottage. Two shuttered windows flanked the heavy panel door. Sheltered sleeping alcoves took up each side of the cottage. The central opening served as a sitting and eating area. A cupboard covered the wall on the left side of the hearth. The right side held a tall chest filled with multitudes of tiny drawers. Another study of the rafters and the medicinal plants suspended there confirmed the woman’s claim as village healer.
“By boat.”
The old woman shook her head. “Many decades have passed since anyone from the East journeyed to our lands. Why would you undertake such a perilous voyage to Menila now?”
Ryder sipped from his cup as he weighed any answer he might give. His circumstances demanded study, but he sensed no harm in telling this woman enough of his plight to appease her curiosity.
“I am but a wayward traveler. My boat disintegrated beneath me in the aftermath of a storm, leaving the animal I had with me dead and a chunk of wood thick as my wrist protruding from my shoulder. I made it to the opposite shore, but most of my provisions were lost. I took the wood out of my shoulder the best I could, and then I must have lost consciousness. I have no idea how much time as passed or how I happened to travel from the shores of the river into the forest where you claim I was found.”
The old woman nodded.
“I owe you a great debt, Hilda of Verdun. I also owe your ward.”
She leaned forward to touch his forehead. Ryder again felt the hypnotic pull of her pale eyes before she dropped her hand to her side. “We will talk more later. You should rest now.” She struggled to her feet, took the cup from his hand, and walked across the floor.
Ryder wanted to call her back, to ask her to tell him of the dreams she spoke of, but his eyelids were suddenly too heavy, the effort it took to remain seated too great. He shifted into a comfortable position before the warmth of the fire and closed his eyes.
* * * *
Hilda watched the tall warrior in the firelight. She studied his even breathing and knew he heeded the words she placed into his mind and fallen back to sleep. She leaned against the table edge and closed her eyes, summoning again the dreams that reoccurred several times over the past few months. Dreams she took as a sign that the time had come to tell Shana of her identity, and to prepare her ward for the task that would restore her rightful place in Menila.
Hilda knew not to discount her dreams. In the past, her dreams or premonitions always seemed to ring true. And, this particular dream had haunted her for far too long to be ignored because it was always the same dream.
Out of the mists from the East, a dark warrior rode into her sleep, brandishing a magnificent sword that would help vanquish all evil from their lands. She never saw the warrior’s face, nor could she determine his age. A great white aura cloaked him, hiding everything but his black silhouette.
Hilda rubbed her arthritic hands together. Destiny sometimes needed a guiding force--a little shove to nudge it in the proper direction. She felt no remorse at the manipulation she contemplated, secure in her belief nothing but good would come from her actions.
The warrior was beholden to her because she treated his wound and probably saved his life. It would take little to turn his gratitude into acquiescence when she told him of Shana’s quest.
The difficult part would be convincing Shana to accept his aid.
Hilda cast one more glance toward the warrior’s sleeping form, and then left the cottage.
Outside, she paused on the well-worn path and watched Shana pull weeds from the neat rows of herbs in the garden.
“Our houseguest has awakened.”
* * * *
Shana swallowed hard in an attempt to push aside the apprehension those few simple words sent careening through her body. She’d spent a sleepless night watching the man before the fire and thinking about the mysterious control he appeared to have over her sanity.
Hilda obviously sensed no danger from the stranger or she would not have allowed the village men to place him into their cottage. However, she was distraught; her emotions were on edge. She’d left the cottage before the sun broke through the thick forest, determined to find something to occupy her time. Anything that would place her far away from the strange man and the peculiar unrest his presence created.
“He is weak and it will take a few more sunrises for him to regain his strength, but I am pleased with his recovery so far.”
Shana jumped when Hilda placed a hand upon her shoulder. Hilda then cupped her chin and lifted her face until Shana met her mentor’s gaze. “What is the matter with you? You have been acting strangely since we brought the man into our home last eve.”
Shana shook her head. "I can't understand the unsettled feelings I've had since I found the man in the forest. Something just does not feel right, Hilda. I can't fully explain why I feel this way, but something deep inside keeps telling me we should not trust him and we should move him to another cottage away from our own."
Hilda shook her head. "I've felt nothing strange from him, Shana. To me he is a wounded man badly in need of assistance to recuperate from his accident. Moving him out of the cottage when he desperately needs our help would be a disservice to our profession and to the Chosen.
“Come with me,” Hilda said.
Shana glanced over her shoulder toward the cottage door and, based on Hilda’s offering that the man had awakened, expected to see him at any moment. The need for distance, at least until she could figure out why he caused so much upheaval, became urgent. She stood and followed Hilda’s bent form down the path through the gardens and out into the rutted roadway.
She kept several paces back and hesitated when Hilda paused then turned into the forest. Anticipating Hilda’s destination, Shana drew a deep breath and followed Hilda to the spot where she’d found the man the eve before.
She watched Hilda walk around the clearing and pause at several intervals to kick aside the wet, fallen leaves.
“What are you looking for?”
Hilda met her gaze. “The warrior said he lost consciousness on the shoreline of the Great River. He claims to have no memory of how he came to the forest, so many leagues from the water.”
“Warrior?”
“Our guest also claims to be a traveler from the East. He said he journeyed far to reach our lands."
Every instinct demanded she ask Hilda how she knew the male was a warrior, but she fought down the urge. “You said the people of the East are our enemies, yet you allow one into our home.”
“What I have said before has no bearing on now, Shana. Many things will change over the next few risings. The time for your journey is close and we must prepare. Come.” Hilda retraced her path away from the clearing.
Her mentor’s words were full of riddles. Everything that molded her life from the time she was old enough to hold coherent thought was now falling apart. All she once believed to be fantasy, was now real.
In a few short hours, she’d gone from being the daughter of a healer apprenticed to Hilda to learn her healing skills, to an orphaned princess stolen away at her birth because she was a descendent of the Chosen of Havenshire.
“Is there anything else you’re not telling me, Hilda? Anything more I should know before I place my life into the hands of Fate and journey to Soras?”
Hilda shook her head and continued walking toward the village. “The whys and wherefores of what I do or say are no longer important, child. Much haste is needed. Too many signs are present to delay. Please, do not dawdle.”
Confused by her teacher’s actions and words, Shana hurried after Hilda, surprised the old woman had lost some of her hobbling gait and moved with a grace missing for many years. She followed Hilda down the rutted cart path that separated the tiny cottages of Verdun, through the garden to their cottage door, dreading what awaited her within the walls of her home.
“You should be sleeping.”
At Hilda’s words, Shana cast a glance over her shoulder to confirm her path of retreat. She then turned back to the door only to meet the stranger’s blue eyes.
“Shana Kerr, this is Ryder L’Syr. He will be our guest until he regains sufficient strength to return to his travels. Please set an extra place at our table for him. Since he has stubbornly refused to take the sleep he so desperately needs, he might as well fill his stomach.”
Wanting to offer protest, but deciding now was not the time, Shana made a silent promise to share her opinion of their guest with Hilda at the first opportunity. She hurried across the room to the cupboard for their dishes. She imagined the heat of the man’s glance burning into her back with each step. She shoved the thought quickly aside and concentrated on filling their bowls with grain mash, their cups with herbal tea.
“Our fare is simple but filling, Ryder. Come. Join us,” Hilda said.
The plank floor groaned beneath the man’s weight as he neared the table. Shana noted her mentor took the seat across from hers, leaving the end of the table open for their guest to occupy.
Appetite suddenly lacking, Shana concentrated on the curious tingling she related to the stranger as it spread slowly over her body to center in the palms of her hands, instead of listening to the conversation taking place between Hilda and their houseguest.
The need to escape overwhelmed her. She shoved her bowl aside and was about to ask to be excused when Hilda’s words, rather than the deep tone of the stranger’s voice, finally penetrated her discomfort.
“Verdun has, thus far, gone unscathed by the strife that plagues the rest of the lands of Menila. The location of our tiny village makes it inconvenient for an invading force to overtake. Hidden in a deep valley between the highest peaks of Hyden Shelf to the North, a fierce desert to the West, and a vast river, then the Tundra to the East, Verdun’s vulnerability lies only in its Southern exposure. Thick forests and forbidden swamps stretch out for league after league southward, preventing unwanted intrusion by anyone other than those familiar with the passageways that offer safe travel.”
Alarmed to hear Hilda trusting this Easterner when they knew so little about him, especially when her instincts continually warned of danger, Shana finally found her voice. “I don’t think you should be--”
“Nonsense, my dear. Ryder wishes to travel through Menila. If that is his desire, he should be well aware of the obstacles he will face.”
In Shana’s opinion, he asked too many questions.
She wondered about his interest in the strategic locations of nearby villages, the distance from Verdun to Soras, and any other problems he might face during his travels.
Perhaps their warrior was more than he claimed to be.
Hilda’s responses were even more confusing. She answered each of his questions candidly, giving graphic details of the bloody carnage that swept over their lands. Creating mental images many times more vivid than the tales she’d told to her last eve when she had explained her heritage.
How had Hilda acquired such detailed information? To the best of her knowledge, Hilda had spoken to no one who’d traveled beyond the borders of Verdun. Nor had she left the tiny hamlet to see these horrors firsthand. Could her old teacher have retained more of her mystical powers than she professed?
Needing time alone to explore these developments, Shana pushed her chair back and stood. “I have much to do before the sun rises directly overhead and the air becomes too hot. Please, excuse me.” She scooted around the table then through the door without a backward glance.
“You must forgive Shana’s rudeness,” Hilda explained. “Though the men of Verdun grow larger than average in height, and many are big and strong because of the hardships of their lives, Shana has never seen someone your size. I suspect your presence is confusing her greatly.”
* * * *
Ryder paid little heed to the old woman’s words. The enchanting creature that slipped out of his line of vision occupied his thoughts. He remembered the slender legs he glimpsed when she entered the cottage. Long legs the skirt she had outgrown winters before could not disguise. Nor could he ignore the shock he experienced when she turned away to fill their bowls and he discovered a wealth of golden hair that fell down her back to reach mid-thigh.
“Shana has a perilous journey to undertake, Ryder. One that will place her life in great danger.”
Thoughts of the young woman in jeopardy set his heart pounding. The old woman had obviously been speaking the entire time he allowed his attention to lapse and, judging from her last words, he missed something important.
Ryder shoved his bowl aside. “Why?”
For the next hour, Ryder listened in awe as Hilda told him of Shana’s birthright. She explained the quest Shana must undertake and the danger she would face in order to bring lasting peace to their lands.
The blight the Prophet Jordan had foreseen sweeping across the continent of Menila and endangering the Freelands now had a name.
Zandicol.
Ryder remembered the hours spent in his father’s tent before the storm abated enough for him to travel the hundreds of leagues from Darden’s Field to the Great River.
Jordan had come to share his vision, telling Ryder and his father, Travol, of a great stone keep and, beyond its high walls, a ramshackle village sprawled out for several leagues. Hundreds of different pairs of eyes filled the Prophet’s vision. Young eyes, and old eyes, all sad, all lacking. Thick forests, swamp lands, blazing deserts, and mountain peaks of unfamiliar stone jutted high into an overcast sky, creating a panorama vastly different from anything Ryder or his father had ever seen.
Jordan also told of darkly clad men brandishing swords backed by evil until the earth ran red with blood and a thousand voices cried in terror.
The old woman reached to place her palm on his forearm, bringing Ryder’s attention back to the present. She closed her eyes. A strange lethargy flowed over him. He fought the feeling and studied her wrinkled face. Her lips moved silently as if speaking a prayer. She then raised her lashes and studied his face.
Ryder’s listlessness vanished.
“It had been my plan to employ several of the village hunters to accompany Shana to Havenshire, and then on to Soras, but the men of Verdun are not warriors. Though they will surrender their lives to see Shana to safety, I fear they will be useless when confronted with the danger Shana is destined to face.”
She tightened her grasp on his arm. “I feel in my heart you are a good man, Ryder L’Syr, though you have not been truthful about your presence in Verdun.”
Ryder placed his hand over the wrinkled one on his arm. “I represent no danger to you or Shana.”
“I believe you. Did I not, I could never request of you what I feel in my heart is necessary.” She looked down at the table. “I beg you to use your skills to see Shana safely to Havenshire, so that she might complete her training before beginning her quest.”
Ryder wouldn't dream of denying her request. He was a stranger in a strange land with a mission of vital importance to the survival of his people. Hilda had been very helpful acquainting him with the lay of the land and the dangers he might face as he traveled through Menila.
It wasn’t enough.
If Hilda’s words were truthful, Shana Kerr held the key to destroying Zandicol before his father’s armies were in danger.
Avoiding war had been the directive of Travol L’Syr for the past five decades. Before that, his ancestor’s had kept peace in the Freelands since their defeat almost two centuries ago when his great, great, grandfather Fallimar led an army to conquer the continent.
Images of Hilda’s beautiful ward floated into his mind.
Accepting protection of the young woman meant he would give his life to protect her against all aggressors--even himself.
Hilda had saved his life. A Warrior’s Debt was owed. One he could repay by using his skills, his father’s sword, to see to the safety of Shana Kerr as the young woman traveled the path that would lead to her destiny.
And, ultimately to his.
Ryder gritted his teeth, knowingly condemning himself to continuous agony as he spent time with Shana. Close enough to touch, but forever out of reach.
“It would be my honor, Hilda of Verdun.”
CHAPTER 3
The late afternoon heat combined with the cooling of dusk to create eerie mists that rose from the shimmering pool and filled the air with moisture that clung to each leaf, every branch and flower like the fine sheen of morning dew.
Shana sat upon a flat rock and watched nature’s miracle envelop her special place. Wiggling her bare foot in the cool water, she studied the ripples that spread into wider and wider circles. She inhaled deeply to capture the many fragrances in the humid air.
The beauty of the haven escaped her, as did the calm she’d sought since leaving her cottage many hours before. For the first time in her life, she was afraid. She didn’t like the sensation. She hated not being in control of her life, her emotions, and blamed the strange warrior’s presence more than her own impending journey for her discomfort.
Shana closed her eyes and reached deep for the special gifts within her. She whispered words Hilda taught her years before, soothing phrases that would help her escape and free her mind from the tumultuous thoughts that had plagued her since learning of her heritage.
Breathing deeply, she concentrated on the quiet, allowed the peacefulness of the forest to seep into her mind until she became one with the mists, still as the rock she sat upon.
Her heartbeat slowed. Blood whispered through her veins. Every muscle relaxed, creating a sense of calm weightlessness. Her mind registered only the soft flutter of the leaves, the pleasing gurgle of the pool and songs of the night creatures, allowing each melody to take her deeper and deeper into a trance.
* * * *
Ryder dropped the cloth Hilda provided. The pool and all thoughts of bathing were forgotten as he stared at the mist-enshrouded vision seated before him on the rocks in the moonlight.
He looked at her. Golden hair shimmered like a gossamer curtain around her shoulders and fell into a curling mass about her folded legs, her bare feet.
He tensed every muscle in his body and allowed the torment of physical restraint taught to every warrior of the Freelands to encompass his being. After several seconds, and twice as many words of denial, Ryder relaxed.
He lost touch with time as he watched Shana, curious how she could remain still for so long, until reality claimed him. Concern over her statue-like pose surfaced.
He took three strides forward, paused, and deliberately crunched a thick twig beneath his boot.
Shana never flinched.
Ryder pushed caution aside and knelt before her seated form. He studied her shallow breathing, the rise and fall of her breasts beneath her tight bodice. He watched her face. Her closed eyes. Long lashes brushed her cheeks. Her lips were slightly open and so inviting Ryder wished he could set aside his oath and sample her sweetness.
He brushed away a long strand of golden hair that fell across her brow, and then fought the urge to wrap the silky length around his hand and bring it to his nose to test its sweetness.
Instead, he grasped her shoulder. “Shana?”
Her lashes fluttered several times, but her eyes remained closed.
Ryder tried again, this time adding a gentle shake in hope of gaining a reaction. “Shana?”
Troubled by her lack of response, he raised his left hand, grasped her other shoulder, and rose to his feet, bringing Shana’s pliant body up with his. He cursed again the oath sworn to Hilda, cradled her spine with one hand, and lifted his other hand to place it under her chin.
“Shana, answer me.”
Her lashes opened, exposing brilliant eyes to the moonlight filtering down through the branches overhead. She blinked several times then gasped, sending chills down his spine when her body became rigid against his. Ryder eased his grip, but he did not release her.
“Unhand me!”
“I mean you no harm,” he reassured.
Her scream of outrage echoed through the forest.
Ryder refused to give up his hold until he was certain Shana was capable of standing on her own. He did the only thing he could think of at the moment to quiet her.
He bent his head and kissed her lips.
* * * *
Shana tried desperately to pull away, but his hold on her back, the pressure he applied to her chin, was too strong. However, neither caused her pain. She panicked, remembering the currents passed between them in the forest, the fire that burned her fingertips. She tried to wiggle free of the persistent force of his lips, away from his touch, but found movement only increased the tingling that began at her fingertips and slowly flowed throughout her entire body.
She tried to kick him.
He was too strong for her to break away.
She raised her hands, dug her nails into the exposed flesh of his waist above the leather leggings, prepared for the arcs of fire that would char her flesh. She felt nothing more dangerous than the heat of his flesh beneath her palms.
Something deep inside insisted she yield. Drew her into a maelstrom of emotions she’d never felt. Warmth flowed through her body. Her stubborn hands ignored the command she tried to send with her mind and slipped up the contours of his muscular chest, higher to glide through his midnight hair. Her lips softened in rebellion at her command to draw away.
* * * *
Ryder’s conscience bellowed his error when Shana stopped struggling and molded her lush body against his. No matter how hard he fought, he couldn’t pull away, couldn’t relinquish the sweetness of her lips, the warmth of her mouth. He tasted her fully, leaving no crevice unexplored, returning repeatedly to partake of all she would give.
He released her chin and pulled her closer. Dug his fingers deep into her glorious hair, and then downward until he could draw her lower body closer to the part of him that hardened and grew, despite his best efforts to control his lust.
Her hand slapped his cheek with a loud crack.
He raised his head to look into her eyes.
“Release me immediately.”
Her swollen lips trembled. Glorious strands of golden hair entangled his arms, clung to the perspiration beaded on his chest, and tickled his abdomen.
He dropped his hands and stepped away.
“Don’t say a word. I don’t care to hear your excuses. I only want you gone so I never have to see you again.” She staggered back, placing a safe distance between her body and his.
“Shana.”
“Go.” She turned and started along a path that led deep into the forest.
“I cannot.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Your wound’s healed sufficiently for you to be up and about. I suggest you find your way out of Verdun the same way you found your way in.”
“I can’t leave until you are ready to accompany me.”
She turned so quickly her hair flew wildly about her body. Fisted hands found her hips as she advanced to pause only a few feet away. “Until I what?”
Ryder choked away the need to smile at the way she shifted from terrified to enraged in the span of a heartbeat. “I owe Hilda a Warrior’s Debt to see you safely on your journey to Havenshire.”
Her eyes widened to almost twice their normal size as her face lost all trace of color. “I release you from your debt.”
Ryder shook his head. “My debt is not yours to release.”
“We shall see.”
* * * *
“I don’t want the warrior’s company on my journey.”
Hilda turned from packing foodstuffs into the satchel on the table. The red glow of the fire in the hearth outlined the wrinkles on her face and cast a warm glow to her gray eyes. “He will protect you.”
“No.” Shana backed away from her mentor until her buttocks bumped the table edge. She stared into Hilda’s eyes, wondering if the old woman had finally lost control of all of her faculties.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, but she resisted the urge to raise her hands and cover the sides of her head to still the pounding. She curled her fingers into the palms of her hands until her nails dug tiny crescents into her flesh. She hoped pain would abolish the sudden need to run her fingertips over her lips, to relive the memory of the warrior’s kiss.
Perhaps, it was she who’d lost control.
She unfolded her fingers and shoved her hands behind her to grip the table edge tightly.
“Why not?” Hilda asked.
Did Hilda truly believe she’d travel across league after league of strange land with a man who happened into their lives less than two nights ago? One they knew nothing about other than what he chose to tell.
She studied the interior of their cottage, praying for time to explain her objections about the stranger, objections she’d delayed relaying to her friend and teacher for too long.
Until a few moments ago, she hoped he would have recovered sufficiently to take his leave--in the opposite direction from the one she’d be traveling--before she began her journey. Now, it seemed Hilda had been conspiring with the warrior behind her back.
“I don’t want his help. My journey will be dangerous enough without a companion I can’t trust.”
“Ryder L’Syr is an honorable man, Shana. I sense much goodness in him. Not evil. Besides, he is trained in making journeys such as the one you will take. His resourcefulness may astound you. His sword skills and intelligence will be of great value to you as you travel through unknown territory.”
Shana shook her head adamantly. “I already have my journey planned. I’ve studied the maps you provided and believe I can succeed quite adequately on my own. I won’t have need of him, nor do I wish his presence.”
“I do not think you have given your journey as much consideration as you claim, my dear. Many dangers await you beyond the forest.”
Shana didn’t need Hilda’s reminder of the dangers she’d face. She’d lost many hours of sleep thinking about everything from injury to being taken captive. No matter how terrified she was of the upcoming months, she’d done her best to put on a brave face for Hilda’s benefit.
“I would have faced these same dangers had the warrior not happened into our village.”
Hilda lifted her hand to brush a stray tendril of hair from Shana’s forehead. Tears glistened in her gray eyes. “I have loved you as if you were my own child, Shana. Throughout the years of your life, it has given me great pleasure to guide and nurture your growth. Now, when you will be tested beyond anything you have faced in your short lifetime, it pains me deeply that I am not strong enough to accompany you on your journey.”
Hilda wiped away a tear. “I should be at your side, using whatever remaining gifts I have to assist you in your quest. However, I fear with my advanced age, I would only hamper your progress.
“Ryder is young, strong, and healthy. He trained long and hard to achieve his status. Despite your misgivings, I sense a conviction within him capable of much good. Accompanying you to Havenshire will relieve him of a Warrior’s Debt, and he will do his utmost to see you arrive safely.”
Shana turned away from Hilda’s sad eyes and tucked several small, empty flasks into the corner of her pack. “I have a strange feeling you’re hiding something from me. The way you evaded my questions in the forest, the riddles you’ve spoken since the warrior appeared in Verdun, and now, your insistence I accept him without knowing anything about him or his origin, confuses me.”
Hilda touched her shoulder. “If I tell you everything I suspect, will you then accept Ryder’s company?”
“You spoke of omens.”
“Omens are not always signs of evil, my dear. Much good can be foretold if one knows how to interpret the evidence.” Hilda grasped Shana’s hand. “Join me by the hearth.”
Shana allowed Hilda to lead her across the room. She sat as instructed on the stool beside Hilda’s chair. She studied the paleness of her teacher’s kind face, the deep circles beneath her eyes. The events of the past few months had taken a heavy toll on her mentor.
She reached up to touch Hilda’s cheek. She recalled the many wonderful seasons she’d spent at her side, learning to heal, to pray, and to love.
A deep ache grew in her heart. Shana felt the need to forsake the quest set before her, fearing if she left Verdun, she’d never see her beloved friend again.
She forced a smile. “You must know how much I love you, Hilda.”
“And I you, child.”
“I can’t leave you. You said I could choose my own path, and I think I should--”
“I believe the Chosen had a part in bringing Ryder to Verdun.”
Shana stared into Hilda’s eyes, trying to comprehend the meaning of her words.
“I knew he would come. Many months ago, and several times since, I dreamed of a magnificent warrior brandishing a mighty sword. He appeared through the mists of the forest and offered assistance in attaining Menila’s salvation.”
“I would hardly call our warrior magnificent. Nor do I recall seeing anything but an ordinary sword in the decorated scabbard the village men took away from him.”
A strange smile creased Hilda’s lips as she placed her wrinkled hand upon Shana’s forearm. “You see only what you wish to see, my dear. An ordinary rock can be magnificent if it is sufficient to disable a foe.”
The cottage door swung open.
Shana turned to find the warrior’s tall form filling the opening, his flesh bathed in firelight, and rivulets of water dripping from his long hair. She made the mistake of meeting his intense gaze. However many seconds passed as they stared at one another, Shana could not guess.
Hilda’s words finally broke the spell. “Come, Ryder. Warm yourself by the fire. Shana and I were just discussing her journey and you should be involved in the planning.”
“A moment, please,” he said.
He shook his head as if shaking off the same disturbing trance that had captured her, and then walked across the room.
Shana studied the hard muscles at the back of his thighs as he knelt to draw something from his possessions. Muscles rippled across his back, shifting the white bandage Hilda placed over his shoulder as he stood and slipped a soft gray tunic over his head.
Magnificent whispered through her mind before Shana chased the thought away and forced her attention abruptly to the other side of the cottage.
The floor creaked as he walked across the room and took a seat next to hers at the hearth.
Shana slid closer to Hilda’s chair.
“I studied the maps you gave me and, with the changing of the seasons you described so close, I believe we cannot postpone our departure any longer than a few moonrises.”
His deep voice sent shivers up her spine and raised the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck. Wanting to offer more words of protest, but unable to coerce her vocal cords into action, Shana listened as Hilda and the warrior discussed the best route to travel through Hyden Shelf.
“Shana will need suitable clothing and sturdy boots,” he said. “I was able to save the tent I carried with me from my homeland, so shelter from the elements will not pose a problem.”
The tent? Surely, he didn’t expect her to share his tent.
“Clothing will pose no problem. I have prepared sufficient foodstuffs and I agree your journey must begin immediately. As we speak, Zandicol’s wrath spreads,” Hilda warned.
Shana’s shattered dreams fast turned into nightmares. Determined to make her position abundantly clear and let the warrior know she wanted no part of his participation on her journey, she glanced up, only to lose her train of thought when she met his blue eyes.
“Shana?”
She tore her gaze from his and noticed his extended hand--a hand that could easily enclose hers twice over. The strange tingling sensation she felt when he was near rekindled, along with the memories of the warmth of his hard body, the tenderness in that same hand as he held her chin, and the taste of his lips.
Renouncing the queer emotions that ran amuck in his presence, Shana refused his offer of assistance and rose slowly. She turned her back to him as she addressed Hilda.
“Please release Ryder from his debt. His wound has healed sufficiently to allow him to continue his journey, separate and apart from my travels. My life will be in danger because it’s my destiny, but I won’t place his life into jeopardy to protect mine.”
Hilda glanced at Ryder then met Shana’s gaze. “I cannot.” She placed her hands upon the worn wooden arms of her chair and rose slowly to her feet. “Now, if you both will excuse me, I will gather the clothing that the villagers promised me.”
Hilda left the cottage.
Shana hugged her arms over her chest and refused to acknowledge Ryder’s presence. She didn’t count on the pressure of his fingertips upon her shoulder. She shrugged away from his touch and walked to the other side of the cottage to pause against the table. She offered a prayer for strength before she turned to meet his questioning gaze.
“I don’t want your company. I don’t trust you.”
He nodded as he walked to stand before the fire.
“I’m not a fool, Ryder L’Syr. I don’t perceive the world by blind faith, as Hilda is prone to do. Nor do I hold any hope of accomplishing this task that the Chosen are not strong enough to undertake.”
When he refused to comment, Shana continued, “though Hilda claims the mystical powers in the blood inherited from my ancestors are still vastly untested, I believe my journey will be futile and, in the end, my life will probably be forfeited. I’ve no wish to spend what could be the last few moments of my existence guarding myself not only against forces I cannot foresee, but also against you.”
Other than tightening his fists at his sides, he did not move.
She wondered what thoughts must be running through his mind, and then dismissed him as she considered a plan that would not only appease Hilda but would give her the opportunity to evade the warrior at her first opportunity.
“Against my better judgment, I’ll allow you to accompany me to relieve Hilda’s worries, but only as far as Hyden Shelf, where we’ll go our separate ways.” She watched as he opened and closed his fists. The muscles in his biceps bulged, as did the veins that covered the tops of his hands. He stared at her, a dangerous gleam shining in his pale eyes. His lips thinned to a grim line. A tiny twitch appeared in his right cheek.
He stepped closer.
Shana backed up until she pressed into the hard wooden edge of the table. She could do little more than look up into his eyes and pray he meant her no harm.
“I would suggest you get a good night’s rest, Shana Kerr. We will leave at first light.” He turned and walked out of the cottage.
* * * *
Shana tugged on the strap of her pack to position it more comfortably against her back, winced, then yanked her braid free and dropped it over her shoulder to dangle down her chest. She glanced up. The warrior had disappeared into the thick fog that hugged the forest floor like a blanket in the gray light of dawn, obscuring even the trees until she stepped within an arm span of the moss-covered trunks.