A Battle Lord's Heart

A Battle Lord’s Heart Book Three of the Battle Lord Saga

by

Linda Mooney

Copyright © 2011 by Linda Mooney Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author. ISBN 978-1-4507-1946-9

The Battle Lord Saga The Battle Lord's Lady Her Battle Lord's Desire A Battle Lord's Heart

For more information about Linda Mooney books And titles, please visit her website. www.LindaMooney.com

Chapter One Target Practice

“Battle Lord about!” Although the call had been made loud enough to be heard on this side of the compound, it filtered much softer through the closed windows. Atty slowly opened her eyes to the empty indentation beside her on the bed. If she put her hand on the pillow she knew she’d find it still warm and smelling of him. That man could dress faster than anyone she knew. Atty grinned. He could also strip faster. After her revelation yesterday, Yulen had gone outside and personally rung the bell to gather the townspeople together. She’d watched from the bedroom window as he proudly announced the news that she was pregnant. Then, to her surprise, he confided in them the additional problems they would be facing. He told them about the high infant death rate among Mutah, and the undeniable risk of miscarriage and stillbirth. Once he had explained, he’d asked for their help in watching out for her, requesting that they notify MaGrath if at any time they saw she was in distress or needed help. When he was finished, he’d stepped off the short dais into a sea of congratulatory wishes and handshakes. That night, when he’d made love to her, she could tell something had changed between them. At first Atty couldn’t put a clear definition on it. It wasn’t until he had fallen asleep with his warm palm resting possessively on her abdomen was she able to grasp a small sense of what it was. In his well-ordered yet highly stressful life, she was the one thing that remained elusive. His most cherished thing in life, even greater than life itself. But she was Mutah, and because she was, there would always be the chance she could or would leave him again—voluntarily or involuntarily. Deep down, somehow, he had managed to keep that fear of losing her at bay. Yet, the wound inflicted upon him when she’d been removed to Wallis on their wedding day had not healed. Neither would it ever be forgotten. Until now. Until the moment when she’d whispered for the third time the news of his impending fatherhood against his lips. The news had acted like an all-encompassing salve, soothing over that wound, that fear. Healing him totally, and finally ridding him of the rank blackness that had been festering in him these past months. The baby was part of him, and the legacy of Alta Novis. The baby could never be taken away from its destiny. Which meant Atty would never again leave him, or be forced to leave him, as no one would dare to separate the mother from her child. That hope and belief was what he now clung to and fervently believed. At that moment she had become that much more precious to him. So when he had taken her into his arms and made mind-numbing love to her last night, it no longer had the frenzied sense of fear it had always held. He would no longer allow those demons to pursue him or cruelly taunt him with the possibility it might be their last night together. Their last night in each other’s arms, in each other’s bodies. Her eyes widened. Suddenly it became clear why he’d treated her with such venom when she’d gone outside the compound in pursuit of the Bloods. It was because she’d left him. Not because she’d left the compound or its protection. Not because she’d disregarded his strict orders.

She had left him. A soft knock at the door drew her attention. A scant second later a familiar round face popped around the edge of the door. “Oh, good, you’re awake! You know it’s well past breakfast, and the tables have been cleared,” Berta told the figure partially wrapped in a sheet. Seeing the woman’s face fall at the loss of a meal, the housekeeper grinned. “Ah, but I knew you’d be starving, so I brought up a tray.” She opened the door wider and bustled in with a fully loaded tray, and sat it on the small writing table. “The Battle Lord said to let you sleep in if you wished.” She smiled even wider. “It’s wonderful news to hear you’re carrying a baby, Atty. You know you can count on me if there’s anything I can do to help you out.” Getting up on her knees and drawing the sheet tighter around her, Atty brushed a long lock of hair out of her face. “Thanks for the tray, Berta. What would I do without you? Yes, there are a few things you can help me with! I just wish I knew where to begin first.” She gave the woman a look of absolute confusion. “Berta, how long have you lived at Alta Novis?” “Ah.” The housekeeper dropped her chin as she thought. “Fortyyy- four years, Atty. In that time I’ve seen this place grow and get busier. I worked for your husband’s parents, and I’ve married and had four of my own children.” “Four?” Atty sat with mouth agape. “And they all lived?” Berta started and opened her mouth to make a comment, when she remembered what the Battle Lord had told them. Mutah women had difficulty conceiving and carrying a child, with the odds heavily against them that the baby would be born alive even if they did manage to make it through the nine months. Immediately her slight irritation was replaced with deep sympathy. “Yes, all four nice, healthy children. Three boys and a girl. They’re all grown up now, with families of their own. My two youngest live here. Blakeney and his wife live in Port Destiny, down to the south. And Dannson and his wife live in Foster City.” Berta cocked her head as she watched the woman get up from the bed and go over to the tray to reach first for the mug of milk. “You already know my daughter’s husband. He’s the compound’s knifesmith.” Atty’s eyes brightened. “Cavender! Your son-in-law is Cavender? He made my Ballock.” “I know. He told me all about his encounter with you. Life here in the compound is the same as it is where you’re from. Everyone is connected to everyone, one way or another, or knows all about everyone else. Whatever you do to one of us, you do to all of us. The compound grapevine is strong and thriving in Alta Novis,” she smiled. Her observant eye noticed how the Mutah woman wrapped a link of sausage in a slice of toast, rolling it together before taking a bite out of it as she went over to the bureau to get out some clean clothes. When Atty dropped the sheet to dress, the housekeeper was taken aback by the woman’s ease with having her in the room. Then again, she told herself, there weren’t many people she was comfortable enough having around in close proximity. Atty made friends easily, but the housekeeper had quickly learned she trusted only a handful. “Damn.” Walking over to where the young woman was trying to button on her pants, Berta chuckled and shook her head. “You’re getting a bit too big for your britches already. Well, it was bound to happen.” “What do women do when their clothes don’t fit anymore?” Atty asked, clearly unhappy to learn her favorite pants were no longer an option. “Let me take these over to Mr. O’Meyers and see if he can replace these buttons with

more buttonholes. That’ll give you a few more weeks where you can lace them up. After that, we’ll get you something you can be comfortable in. Don’t worry, Atty. I’ll take care of it. In the meantime, you don’t need to be wearing anything tight or binding.” Her eyes glanced over the woman’s trim figure, the already perfect breasts and long, statuesque legs, and noticed the subtle swelling of her abdomen. From the moment she first arrived, it was clear Atty truly was a beautiful woman despite her battered, half-starved appearance. But in the few months she’d been living at the compound she’d gone from scrawny to shapely, from budding to blossomed, molded by enough food and the Battle Lord’s love. Even without the wealth of dark indigo-colored hair, she turned men’s heads whenever she passed by. And she had no idea how she appeared to others. For Atty, as long as she had a clean pair of pants and a tunic, she was happy. She had no use for fashion, no need for all the niceties other women gawked about and tried to emulate. No urgency to have the right color or fit or fabric. Berta smiled. The Battle Lady fit no mold. She was as open and bright and refreshing as a new day, without any expectations but hope. She was as different from anyone else the woman had ever known, and there was no doubt in her mind that was the biggest reason why the Battle Lord had fallen in love with her. “Your body is going to change a lot, Atty. Better be expecting it.” “Yeah. I heard.” The woman looked down at herself, and ran her fingers over her slightly protruding tummy. “Still hard to believe there’s another living person in there.” For a long minute she remained staring at the first true evidence of what she’d only heard stories about, then Atty turned around and wrapped her arms around the matronly woman’s waist, laying her cheek against the ample bosom. Berta held her, understanding how frightened the woman was about the future. “You are going to be the most beautiful, the most fortunate woman I’ve ever known. Even more than Madam was when she was carrying your husband.” Blue-gray eyes glanced up at her. “You were here when Yulen was born?” “Oh, yeah. I helped deliver him. We had no doctor at the compound at that time. Vernon Galway, our old physician, died five months before she was due.” “What about Liam?” “He was up in Far Troit, learning to be a doctor. He’d worked under Dr. Galway for about two years before he went up there. Never knew the old man had a heart attack until he came back the following year to take up the residency.” “What do you mean, he never knew? You didn’t send word the doctor had died?” “That was Rory’s decision. He wanted Dr. MaGrath to finish all his studying. He said that if he sent word that Galway was dead, the man would feel obligated to come back here early, and lose out on his studies.” “Yeah, he would have.” Atty released her and dug back into the drawer, pulling out another pair of pants which she managed to button. As she concentrated, she unconsciously tossed her head to get her hair out of her way. Berta reached over to hold it back for her, running her fingers through its thickness. “What do you have planned for today?” the housekeeper asked, then suddenly bit her tongue. It was none of her business what the Battle Lady had planned, and she’d just stepped beyond her duties when she’d asked. Who did she think she was? The girl’s mother? Mortified by her breach of etiquette, Berta dropped the double handful of hair once Atty snatched a longsleeved tunic to drop over her head. To her complete astonishment, Atty didn’t appear to notice

or even care the woman had made the inquiry. “I’m going over to the archery field to practice,” the Mutah woman announced, tying the rich blue strands into a loose ponytail behind her neck. “If this baby is going to play havoc with my skills, I’m just going to have to work all that much harder to keep them honed. Right?” “Oh, before I forget.” Berta dug into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a folded piece of paper, handing it to her. “I was told to give you this.” Atty quickly read the brief note, smiling. “It’s from Yulen. Thanks.” She tucked the paper into her pants pocket and walked over to the closet to fetch her lightweight jacket. If today was anything like yesterday, it would be warmer than usual, despite the small mounds of snow doggedly hiding in the shadows and refusing to admit defeat after the last snowfall. Giving the stunned housekeeper a kiss on the cheek, Atty grabbed her bow and the last sausage link off the tray, and left the bedroom. Berta sighed, one hand unconsciously raising to cup the still-warm spot on her cheek. Okay, not her mother, the woman conceded, but the Battle Lady definitely needed an adult confidante, and it appeared it was going to be her. **** Skipping down the stairs, Atty pulled the slip of paper out of her pocket and re-read it, a tender smile reaching from her lips to her eyes. It was the first note Yulen had ever written to her. She wondered if he realized it. In the past he’d always left a message for someone else to relay to her regarding his presence or requests. Word of mouth, usually sent via a soldier-in-training, or left with Berta, or sometimes with MaGrath. A gust of freezing cold air nearly tore the door from her hand as she left the main lodge by the back door. A cacophony of sound also greeted her, and Atty remembered it was Market Day. Another first was about to occur. This would be her first outing among the residents of Alta Novis since Yulen’s announcement yesterday afternoon. Atty took a deep breath and giggled. The last time she’d felt this apprehensive, it was spring, and she was the compound’s newest resident. The Mutah woman sleeping in the Battle Lord’s bed, the one rumored he would soon wed. The biggest scandal and juiciest bit of gossip to hit Alta Novis in years. The day that woman slugged her in the face with an oak bucket. A lot has happened in a few months, the Battle Lord of Foster City had commented to Yulen. “Boy, you said a mouthful,” Atty muttered under her breath, stepping out into the walkway. Her appearance was met with shouts of good morning and congratulatory wishes as a sentry overhead gave the announcement, “Battle Lady about!” Blushing furiously, she gave several a little wave as she hurried down the lane, brushing by people standing in the way as they conversed in pairs or small groups. Most smiled, but none tried to stop or touch her with a pat or handshake. They knew Atty wasn’t the type to stand around and converse. Besides, they could see she was wearing her bow, which meant there was a purpose to her being outside. She had a mission, and no one dared to slow her down or delay her. She saw the huge man and his companion standing near a stall selling freshly roasted nuts. In the back of her mind she took note of him blowing on his burnt fingers as he ate the hot nuts, but she paid no more attention to him than she did all the other strangers taking advantage of the Saturday to do their shopping. There were so many new people moving in or stopping at the compound for a few days, she could no longer keep track.

Slipping past two women carrying baskets of eggs, Atty caught sight of Cavender standing outside his little lodge where he displayed the knives and daggers he made. She graced him with a big smile when a fur-covered arm and shoulder came from out of nowhere and sideswiped her, knocking her heavily into the stall on the other side of the roadway. Atty twisted her body, trying to break her fall with her hands and arms, instinctively protecting her stomach. She landed amid the barrels of drink, scattering mugs, as several people shouted out a warning. A stab of pain went up one leg, but fortunately that appeared to be the worst of her injuries, other than a few bruises. Her jacket had protected her from anything more serious. Heat infused her as her anger flamed. From where she lay sprawled on the ground, she looked up at the big burly man she’d seen at the nut stall standing a few feet away, calmly munching on his purchase as he gave her an amused grin. Turning to his companion, he said, “Hey, look at the Mutah bitch” and chuckled. “You never know what they let in here, do you?” “Excuse me,” Atty said tersely as the people around them grew quiet, “but I think you did that on purpose. Therefore, you owe me an apology.” The burly man gave her a surprised look. Leaning over, he exaggerated holding a hand to his ear in her direction. “Huh? What was that? Anders, did the little bitch try to say something?” His expression suddenly went dark. “Come on. Let’s go see what else this burg has to offer. I’m beginning to feel sick to my stomach, having to smell this Mutah at this close range.” A sword suddenly descended between the two men from behind them, its point pressed to the burly man’s shoulder. Both men halted in surprise as a calm voice said, “The Lady asked for an apology. I strongly suggest you give it.” The men stepped aside to where Atty could see the person at the other end of the sword. “Who the fuck are you?” Burly Man demanded irritably. Mastin gave a semi-dramatic half-bow. “Second-in-command Cole Mastin. Now, about that apology.” He turned to Atty with troubled eyes. “Are you all right?” Atty opened her mouth to reply when the burly man suddenly knocked the sword upward, throwing Mastin off-guard. Unprepared for a retaliatory attack from the man’s companion standing behind him, the Second never anticipated the roundhouse blow to the back of the head that dropped him to the dirt. Several women screamed as the Burly Man reached down and grabbed Mastin’s sword from the man’s nerveless hand. Somehow, Atty managed to find her footing as the men were dealing with the soldier. She cursed herself for not bringing her quiver of arrows with her, but the Ballock slid into her palm, warm and ready to do her bidding. Before the Burly Man could lift the sword for whatever purpose he had planned, the dagger was digging its point into the thick part of his Adam’s apple. Atty stood at arm’s length, her eyes darting between the bent-over man and his partner. She had no idea what to do next, or even how to protect herself. But she knew that at some point one of them would have to end the stand-off. “Leave this compound. Now,” she ordered, panting slightly. Burly Man growled as his eyes raked over her face and figure. “Anders, get this bitch’s pig sticker outta my throat before I ram this sword up her pretty ass.” “Touch her and I’ll kill you,” another voice menaced darkly. Before anyone could comprehend the swiftness, the companion melted to the ground in an unconscious heap. Yulen stood behind him, the pommel of his sword held high from where he’d bludgeoned the back of the man’s head. Casually, the Battle Lord advanced toward the burly man,

twirling his sword expertly before stopping its point inches away from where Atty held the man at bay. “You were ordered to leave this compound. I expect you to obey,” Yulen told him, his face as flushed with anger as were his words. He made no attempt to disguise his temper or disgust. Burly Man gave him an astonished, disbelieving look. “Who the fuck are you?” Rather than answer the man, Yulen glanced over the hunched back at his wife. “Are you all right?” She gave him a quick nod. “What happened?” “He knocked me into the beer stand,” she indicated with a nod of her head. Yulen’s eyes swept over the mess. “Did he hurt you?” “A few bruises, but I’ll be okay,” she assured him. Burly Man gave a loud snort and a groan. “Oh, fuck, I don’t believe this! Who the hell cares whether this Mutah bitch is hurt or not?” For his remark, Yulen smiled cruelly and jammed his sword a quarter-inch into the man’s neck. Burly Man gasped with pain as a thin line of blood began to drip onto the ground. “What is your name?” “Herridge. Tall Herridge.” “What is your business in Alta Novis?” “N-no business. My partner and I are on our way to Port Destiny.” “Then I suggest you take your partner and leave immediately,” Yulen ordered, still in that soft voice filled with darkness. “You are no longer welcome here. By the way, my name is Yulen D’Jacques. I’m the Battle Lord of this compound. And the Mutah ‘bitch’ you so forcefully denounced is Atty, my wife and the Battle Lady of Alta Novis.” Releasing him, Yulen stepped back and raised his sword to his shoulder. “Guards!” Appearing like spirits drawn from the air, two soldiers came to attention at Yulen’s side. “Escort Mr. Herridge and his partner to the main gate and have them evicted.” Without a sound the two armed soldiers grabbed both men and dragged them down the walkway, out of the market area. The moment they were seized and pulled away, Atty dropped to her knees beside the soldier still lying comatose on the ground. An egg-size swelling radiated heat from the back of Mastin’s head. Yulen knelt down beside her. “I’ve sent for Liam. How is he?” “I don’t know. He tried to come to my aide, but that guy’s friend pulled an unexpected.” “Are you sure you’re okay?” “Yeah.” She gave him a sincere smile. “At least it wasn’t a bucket this time.” The remark brought a smile to his eyes that vanished as quickly as it had appeared. In the sunny, cold morning she appeared to glow, as if an inner flame had been lit to spread its radiance throughout her body and her face, and shine in her eyes. It took Yulen several seconds to collect himself enough to remember what he meant to ask her. “Did you get my note?” “Yeah. I was heading for the archery field, but I was going to drop by on the way.” MaGrath threaded his way through the crowd and made a quick examination of the man before ordering several men nearby to carry the soldier to the clinic. “Atty?” “I’m fine, Liam. Honest.” Nodding, the physician took her word and hurried after his comatose patient. Yulen looked back at his wife. “Archery field?” he reiterated. “Can I watch?” “Okay, but no snide comments, or I just might be tempted stick this Ballock up your—” “Atty!”

“Well, he pissed me off!” “Same here. So let’s go take it out on the target.” “What about the—” “We can do that later,” he told her. Getting to his feet, Yulen took her hand and helped her up, and together they headed for the back of the compound.

Chapter Two New Home

The men who were already on the field readily relinquished it to her when Atty arrived at the range. However, that didn’t keep them from backing away a respectful distance to watch. After news of what had happened yesterday, they were more than a little bit curious to see how she would fare at practice today, and wondering if they would witness another debacle. The first target was a mere thirty yards away, but it was farther away than the one she’d twice missed the day before. The day she had finally admitted to herself, to Liam, and to her husband that she carried their future in her womb. Atty stared at the target, unmoving, for a full minute. Moving over to where his men were standing, Yulen crossed his arms to watch. He knew she still had her skills. When the Blood army had almost managed to ambush them, she had been carrying their child, and it hadn’t interfered with her abilities. No, yesterday was a fluke, but a fluke she had to be prepared for in case it happened again. Yulen hoped that it wouldn’t happen when he most desperately needed her bow for their protection. A slight wind gusted over the field. Atty lowered her head and closed her eyes. Faint noises from the compound and market wafted over to them, but they weren’t loud enough to break her concentration. Yulen realized she was centering herself, trying to find that inner calm from where she drew her unerring eye. Behind him the men also seemed to notice, and one man whispered, “I wouldn’t doubt if she’s telling the babe to settle down so she can make the shot.” Yulen chuckled. Neither would he. There were less than a handful of people standing at the outer edge of the circle marking the circumference of the practice field, but more were slowly climbing up the small rise to join them. Silence sat over the stretch of dead grass. Suddenly, Atty lifted her head and grabbed an arrow out of the little barrel beside her. In one smooth flow she nocked and fired. As if guided by a wire, the barb buried itself in the direct center of the red bull’s eye. Snatching another arrow from the barrel, she began to walk toward Yulen and the group of men standing at the edge of the field. Yulen instantly knew what she intended, and he mentally began to tick off the additional yards: five...ten...twelve. She whirled, without even aiming, and fired the next arrow. The first arrow now became two halves as the second one split it cleanly apart. Atty was back in full force. Yulen let out a low whistle. She heard his appreciation and turned around to give him a wink. Returning to the barrel, she grabbed two more arrows, nocked one, and placed the other in her teeth. This time she gave the target another good stare before she turned her back on it and closed her eyes. Slowly, gradually, she raised the bow and turned it sideways, aiming it behind her. The sub-lieutenant beside Yulen gasped. “She’s going to attempt to hit it for memory?” The wind gusted again. Atty waited for it to die down. The bow lowered slightly as she adjusted, remembering how it felt, the position of her arms and hands, the tension on the string. Her eyes remained closed. Everyone held their breaths. They’d all seen blindfolded shots before, but those had been nothing more than trickery. They were never meant to be actual, honest attempts. Yulen didn’t know he was holding his breath as well until she released the arrow. A

heartbeat later, she nocked the second arrow she’d been holding in her teeth and let it fly directly behind the first one. The crowd gasped. There were still only two arrows on the target. The original two. Confused and surprised, they all turned to look at the woman standing with a smug grin on her face. Yulen blinked, then he let out a bark of laughter and pointed. A second target sat, unobserved and unnoticed, twenty feet beyond the one they’d been watching. A second target that now held two identical arrows, one embedded in the other, just like the closer one. Oh, yeah. He smiled to himself as she walked over and into his arms amid the cheering. His Atty was definitely back. Once the congratulations were over, the couple linked arms and walked back to the compound. Inside, Atty accepted several more good wishes from people who had been standing on the parapet to watch. It took them a while before they were able to make it over to the new lodge where Yulen had planned to take her originally. To Atty’s surprise, the lodge looked complete. There was even a door. “Okay, this is going to be interesting.” “How so?” he asked, opening the door and waving for her to step inside ahead of him. She did as requested, halting just inside the doorway. Atty gasped, unable to believe what she was seeing. The living area extended upward to the vaulted ceiling. An enormous rock fireplace was almost finished being constructed along one wall, disappearing just beyond where a railing marked off a hidden area upstairs. “What’s up there?” she asked. “Let’s go see,” he grinned, pointing to the stairwell behind them. Atty ascended first, following the curving steps to the narrow landing at the end of the railing. It was then she noticed that the entire area upstairs was not enclosed, but rather opened up to the living area below. Here, the roof was pitched another good fifteen feet overhead. The fireplace that had been started below had branched over and filled the same north wall of the room. One fireplace, two flues. Atty glanced over where her husband stood, waiting for her reaction. “That’s our bedroom, isn’t it?” “Keep looking.” The east wall held one enormous window made up of many small panes of glass. Atty knew she would love watching the sun rise in the mornings from that window. Behind her, facing west, was the bannister overlooking the downstairs area. The only other wall to her right was solid, braced by small doors on either side. “Where do those go?” Yulen cleared his throat. “I’ve already spoken to you about those, remember?” She paused, racking her brain. “Something about ‘in case’. Was that it?” Rather than answer her, he motioned with his hand for her to look. Atty went to the door closest to the bannister. Opening it, she stepped into the bathroom. “Oh, my God.” She heard him chuckling as he came up behind her. “Like it?” “That is the biggest damn tub I’ve ever seen in my life.” Yulen had to agree with her. “Berta had a fit when she saw it,” he confided. “I don’t doubt it,” Atty laughed. “It’ll take two trips to fill it!” Looking up, she paused. “Yulen?” “What?”

“Why are there two more doors in the bathroom?” “That one leads to the closet,” he told her, motioning to the one in the wall directly behind the tub. “Closet?” Seeing him grin, she walked over and pulled on the latch. It swung inward, revealing a large storage area where the Battle Lord’s ceremonial armor already sat, if the huge leather sacks held what she thought they held. To make certain, she rapped her knuckles against the largest one, and met the resistance of metal. She stepped back into the bathroom and went to the second door on the opposite side. “How about this other one?” “Keep snooping, my love.” Giving him an exasperated look, Atty opened the second door. Walking into the smaller room, she froze in place as she spotted the tiny cradle sitting in the middle of the floor. Yulen stopped behind her and drew an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him until he could press his cheek to her hair. “‘In case’ we ever had a baby,” he said softly. “The cradle was mine. Madigan kept it in storage, hoping one day I would end my wild ways and settle down.” He turned her around and settled her body along his, feeling her warmth despite both their jackets. Atty snuggled against his chest, closing her eyes as he held her tightly. Nudging his chin into her temple, Yulen let her know he wanted to kiss her. She lifted her face as he lowered his, and she hungrily accepted his lips. How long they stood there touching, kissing, stroking a cheek, a brow, or the tender skin under an ear, they had no idea. Yulen had sent the workers home early so he could show Atty the lodge, leaving them all alone inside the unfinished building. The solitude was intoxicating. Slowly, Yulen lowered them down to the bare wood floor until she was lying on her back and he was stretched out beside her. Undoing the buttons at the neck of her jacket, he found the velvet warmth of her throat and the hollow where her pulse beat strong beneath the skin. As his mouth and tongue rasped over it, Atty caught her breath and shivered. “Cold?” he murmured almost too quiet to hear. No. She wasn’t cold. Just the opposite. She was burning up. Burning up with the need to feel him against her overly-sensitive skin and breasts. Panting softly, Atty struggled to undo the fasteners on her jacket as Yulen began to unbutton her pants. He rolled onto her side, sliding along her hip, until she could feel his hardened erection straining against her thigh. His mouth found the tip of one breast beneath her tunic and he teased it with his teeth until her nipple ached for him to suckle it. Atty groaned, and she heard him echo the sound. Rolling onto her side, she reached for his erection, finding it bulging within the tight confines of his pants. Grasping it, she gave it a squeeze and began manipulating it, pulling and tugging on it until he slipped his own hand down the back of her pants. Atty whined softly as his fingers traveled between her buttocks, then dipped further. He began to insinuate one finger into her anus as another found her clit. He had played with her before in that fashion, telling her that at some point in the future he planned to take her from the rear. Her body shivered at the erotic electricity sizzling through her. Atty lifted her rear to give him easier access, when something alerted her. Faintly she thought she heard the sound of a door closing, when a voice called out. Every nerve immediately tensed, and Yulen shuddered as he likewise stopped to listen. “Sir?” came a tentative voice for the second time.

He let out a choice expletive. Atty smiled to hear it. “At least it’s not Cole this time.” She tried to make light of it, knowing how much her husband detested having his second in command interrupt them during moments like this. It was a habit Mastin was trying to break. “No,” Yulen admitted, knowing the man was still recovering in the clinic. “It sounds like Paxton.” Reluctantly he got to his feet and jerked his coat down over his hips. “Stay there,” he ordered down at her as Atty pulled the edges of her coat together to preserve her warmth. “I’ll be right back.” Atty watched and listened as her husband left the nursery through a door that opened back into their bedroom, and went to see who was looking for him. “What is it?” she heard him inquire in a peeved tone. His voice echoed eerily in the empty building.. “A messenger just arrived from Bearinger, sir,” Paxton relayed from the living area below. “You need to come hear this.” “Give me the short end of it,” Yulen demanded. “Bloods.” Atty was up and fastening her clothes before he got back to the room to fetch her. She followed behind him as they descended the stairs, only stopping just as they got to the front door. “Oh, damn! I left my bow upstairs!” she remembered. “Go ahead. I won’t be but a sec.” “We’ll be in the main lodge,” he told her, and went on ahead. Quickly Atty hurried back upstairs to find where she’d propped her weapon on the wall near the bathroom door. Snatching it up, she turned to go back downstairs, but for some reason the wooden steps wanted to sway under her boots. She paused, hoping to get her sense of balance back. Taking one careful step at a time, and holding onto the curved bannister with her free hand, she managed to get to the bottom landing to find the floor there was also tilting at an odd angle. Worse, there seemed to be a roaring in her ears, as though a great wind was blowing with tremendous force through the living area. Reaching for the door, she tried to make the last few steps, hoping that once she got outside, the strange topsy-turvy floor, and now the room, would stop moving. Relentlessly, the roaring noise became so loud as to drown out everything, including her call for help. The last thing she remembered was the floor rushing upward to strike her in the face, and the world went from day to night in the blink of an eye.

Chapter Three Liam’s Theory

Yulen rushed into the main lodge where the dozen men who had arrived minutes ago were waiting. “Powell? Report.” “We’ve been hit twice by a rather large army of Bloods,” the sub-lieutenant responded. “How large? What would be the estimate?” The man thought for a moment. It was clear their escape from the compound had taken a great physical as well as emotional toll on the party. All of the men from Bearinger were close to total exhaustion. “Around two hundred, but it could have been more. Hard to tell in the middle of the night.” “They attacked at night?” “Yes, sir. Both times.” “Casualties?” Yulen asked as his eyes swept back to the side door where he’d entered. “Four, but casualties were heavier on the enemy’s side. Better than a few dozen.” “Is the compound secure?” “Yes, but Verris sent me to see if we could have more men. And to see if you had any specific instructions.” Again Yulen’s eyes locked onto the far door. This time the sub-lieutenant felt obligated to mention it. “Sir, is something the matter?” “Matter?” The Battle Lord stared at him. Blue-gray eyes quickly assessed who else was in the room, finally resting on a trusted face. “Sorcher, see if Atty’s still at the new lodge, or if she got sidetracked.” The soldier rushed out as the messenger from Bearinger began to elaborate on the circumstances regarding the attacks. “The attacks are crude. Nothing more than a massive surge coming straight at us.” “What kind of weapons are they using?” Powell shook his head. “Mostly ineffective swords and a couple of crude bows. Quite a few axes. It was as if they just wanted to swarm over us. Several times they pressed up against the walls and tried to chop their way in.” “Was there any sign of a leader or someone who seemed to be giving the orders to attack?” Yulen questioned. “Not that we noticed.” “How far apart were these attacks? When was the last one?” “The first one was a week ago. The second, the night before we left to come here. It was during the second raid that we noticed something unusual, which prompted Verris to send us here.” “Noticed what unusual?” Yulen asked, his gaze swinging back to the side door. It was obvious to everyone who he was waiting for. “This, sir.” The soldier stepped forward and handed the Battle Lord a small wrapped object. “They were carrying it when they attacked.” Yulen quickly unfolded it to find himself holding a ragged, blood-stained pennant in colors that were half red and half blue. The colors that were the symbol of Alta Novis. He glared at the sub-lieutenant. “Where did they get this?” he demanded softly. The pennants were not easily

obtainable. Without exception, they flew from the top masts of the highest buildings in a compound, or from observation towers set along the perimeter, so that people approaching could see which Battle Lord was in charge. It was clear the one he held had been torn from its moorings. Again, Powell shook his head. “We don’t know, sir. It’s not from Bearinger, that we know of.” Not from Bearinger. And definitely not from Alta Novis, or he would have been informed. Yulen felt an iciness crawl over his skin. That left one other compound that was flying his colors. “Sir!”It was Del Ray yelling at him from the side door. The man’s face was white. “Sir, Sorcher’s taken Atty to the clinic!” Without taking time to question the man further, Yulen jumped off the table where he’d been sitting and ran for the door under the stairwell that led directly into MaGrath and Madigan’s private quarters. From there he knew he could go straight into the adjoining clinic, rather than have to go outside and around the lodge to the main entrance in the back. Several people looked up at the man who strode past them with long, hurried steps through the outer waiting room and into the back area where the physician did his examinations. MaGrath was already leaning over the prone body of his wife when Yulen arrived. Sorcher stood to one side, his eyes on the wilted figure beneath the single blanket on the narrow padded table. “Sam?” Yulen asked briskly. “I noticed the front door was open at the new lodge, sir, so I looked inside. That’s when I found her just inside, lying on the floor, out cold.” “Was there any sign of a struggle? Any sign she’d been attacked?” Yulen snapped, more harshly than he realized he was asking. “No, sir. It was like she’d just—” “She fainted, Yulen,” MaGrath’s calmer voice interrupted. He looked up from his examination as Yulen turned toward him. “She passed out. There’s no need to worry. Pregnant women are notorious for it. Their hormones are going crazy, they get a bit over-stressed or overexerted, and down they go.” His eyes drifted over to where the soldier nervously stood. “You’re dismissed, Sam. Thanks for bringing her in. She’ll be all right.” His last remark managed to calm the lieutenant. Nodding, Sorcher left the room. Yulen crossed over to the table until he was standing directly over Atty’s still form. MaGrath had opened her jacket in order to check her heart and the baby. He found her cold hand lying beside her, and wrapped it inside his warmer one as he stared down at her face. Other than a small scratch right above her left eyebrow, she looked as if she were asleep. “The baby’s fine, Yulen,” the physician reassured him. “It was the second thing I checked.” “You’re sure?” MaGrath sighed loudly, letting Yulen know he was quite good at his job, despite the man’s hesitation. “I heard Bearinger got hit by Bloods.” Yulen met the man’s dark gaze. Without a doubt the physician was trying to draw his concern away from the woman resting beneath the blanket. “Yes, they did.” “What do you plan to do about it?” “I don’t know yet, Liam. I can only worry about one thing at a time, and right now all I can think about is Atty. Are you certain she’ll be okay?” “Well, if you’re asking me if she’ll faint again, the answer is I don’t know, but it’s

possible. We’ll just have to keep an eye on her to make sure she doesn’t injure herself or the baby.” MaGrath cocked his head at the Battle Lord. “Have you got an extra minute before you go back to those men?” When Yulen glanced back at his wife, the physician added, “She should be coming out of it pretty soon. I’ll ask Maddy to stay with her in case she does before I return.” He walked around the examination table and gestured for the man to follow him. “Come. There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.” Reluctantly, Yulen laid her hand over her slightly swollen belly and bent down to place a gentle kiss on her forehead before turning to follow the older man into an adjoining room. MaGrath left him alone momentarily while he summoned his wife to watch over Atty, then quickly rejoined him, closing the door behind them. They were in what Yulen thought of as the physician’s inner sanctum. Here the man played around with experiments, mixed noxious concoctions, and basically performed a lot of physician things the Battle Lord had no way of perceiving, much less understanding. MaGrath waved him over to one table where there were several glass vials seated in wooden trays. A small journal was open before them, and Yulen immediately spotted Atty’s name on one of the pages, along with the name of Wallis and other notations he could identify. He waited for the man to continue. “When we got back from Wallis, I started doing a little investigating on my own time. Ever since I had all those discussions with Gilter...you remember him, their physician?” At Yulen’s nod, MaGrath picked up the journal and flipped over a few pages. “I’ve been making some notes and doing some comparisons.” Taking a moment to heave a big sigh, MaGrath asked, “Do you realize how incredibly lucky we are that Atty hasn’t miscarried by now? Do you have any idea what kind of odds she’s dodged at this stage?” He smacked the journal with the back of one hand. “In the past six years every single woman with the exception of two, every single female who’s managed to get pregnant has lost their first conception. All of them, Yulen, except for two. Two, Yulen. Two who didn’t originally come from Wallis, but who got pregnant elsewhere before moving to Wallis.” Yulen swallowed. Hard. “You’re saying that every woman who’s gotten pregnant in Wallis has lost her first child.” “Yes. That’s what the records say, and they don’t lie,” MaGrath concurred. Then a big grin spread over his face, and he stuck an index finger in Yulen’s face. “But! I want you to think back, Yulen. Think back to the first time we saw Atty. Think about how the people of Wallis appeared. What they were going through. What do you remember?” Yulen dropped his head as he searched his memory. He remembered the terrified faces. The sunken cheeks and wide eyes with dark circles around them. The gaunt frames of a compound facing starvation near the end of a cruel winter. Then he remembered when Sorcher had dragged the semi-conscious figure of the skinny kid they’d found shooting arrows at them with deadly accuracy from the top of a building. A skinny kid who turned out to be a thin, hungry woman who had fiercely struggled to protect her people against overwhelming odds. “I remember the people were starving. Trying to survive.” MaGrath nodded emphatically. “That’s right. They were malnourished. They’re still malnourished, Yulen. They eat well when there’s plenty for their hunters to bring back, but did you notice there wasn’t one overly plump person at Wallis? Okay, I’ll give you Twoson, but he’s got all the signs of a pancreatic imbalance. But on the whole, they’re not getting enough to

sustain them at a healthy level. And they haven’t for generations. It doesn’t take a super smart person to understand that if you keep a whole compound of people near starvation levels for generations, it will eventually kill them off.” Flipping the pages of his journal, he continued. “But for the past six months Atty’s been living here, she’s been fed and fed well. She’s been drinking milk like it’s going out of style. Milk full of rich butterfat. And you can tell by just looking at her that she’s filled out. She’s lost that sunken appearance. Her hair is thick and glossy. Her eyes are bright. Her skin glows. And although I’ll give you that some of that right now is because of the baby, our little bluebell has gone from a scrawny young woman to a full-fledged, ravishing beauty, if you haven’t noticed the looks she gets.” Yulen perked up. “Looks? What looks?” The physician barked out in laughter. “My God, you are the most unknowledgeable lovesick sap I’ve ever known. Atty, our sassy little Mutah, draws men to her like bees to a flower. But Atrilan, our beauty, has those same men seated at her feet, ready and eager to do her bidding. I’m told strangers to the compound have been known to become enthralled when she walks by them. Oh, don’t worry, Yulen. She’s so deeply in love with you, you’ll never have to worry about another man catching her eye. But you need to be aware of the power she has over others, a power I don’t think even she realizes she has.” He turned to plop himself down on a nearby stool. “As long as we’ve known her, Atty eats as if every meal is her last meal. As a result, her body has adapted, and she’s no longer suffering from a lack of essential nutrients and vitamins. However, if she were still living in Wallis...” His voice trailed off to allow the Battle Lord to draw his own conclusions. “She would have lost the baby by now, simply because her body wouldn’t have been able to adequately nourish it.” “Yes!” MaGrath affirmed. “At least, that’s my theory. Oh, but I’m not finished. Look at these.” He lifted the tray of vials, many of which contained dark-colored liquids and sediment. “Atty found that pouch of tunsul leaves. You know, the pouch she couldn’t find before we left for Wallis? Anyway, I caught her throwing away the leaves and I asked to have them, to run them through a few experiments. Just to chase a hunch, you understand.” “Did you find anything?” Yulen asked. The physician gave a low chuckle. “Ohhhho-ho, I found plenty, my boy. Plenty. Look at this vial. See the green leaves and green tint? Okay, I’ll admit a lot of my methods are somewhat unorthodox, but I chewed up a leaf and spit it in here. The dried leaf stayed green. I did a few cultures on it, and I suspect it was because the testosterone in my saliva didn’t affect it. Yulen, you remember what a contraceptive does, don’t you?” “Yeah. It keeps the woman from releasing an egg to be fertilized.” “Mm-hmm. Keeping that in mind, I had Maddy chew up a leaf. Don’t look at me like that, Yulen. Your mother is still capable of bearing children, even if she’s up in years, and it’s time you realized it. Anyway, I also had her chew up a leaf and spit it in here. Notice anything different?” Having recovered from MaGrath’s announcement of his mother’s fertility, Yulen glanced at the second vial. “The contents are red.” He looked back at the physician. “The leaves turned red,” he repeated. “Yeah. Dark red, because of her estrogen. This is how the leaf changes when it goes into Atty’s system. And that’s when I did a few chemical experiments.” Deftly, he pointed to the other five vials filled with five other different-colored compounds. “Maddy was nice enough to

give me five more samples. I tested each and every one, and what I found has left me speechless. Yulen, the leaves do what they’re expected to. They prevent the women from producing enough estrogen to release an egg for fertilization. But it also poisons their inner workings. Until I do a little more research, I can’t be for certain. But at this point, I’m willing to bet that over time, if used consistently, the damn stuff coats the inner lining of their wombs with a thin sheet of some kind of toxin. Even if the woman stops taking the leaves, hoping to get pregnant, this toxin prevents any fertilized egg from becoming attached to the inner walls, which means the egg dies. No pregnancy. But if the egg somehow manages to find a break in the lining, there’s still the chance of that egg never reaching maturity, and you get a miscarriage. If the egg manages to grow into a baby, the lining may keep the fetus from getting enough oxygen or nutrition from the mother, even if the mother somehow manages to eat enough and eat properly during pregnancy. Then you have a stillborn. Take it to nine months, give birth, and...well, I’m pretty sure you’re getting the whole picture by now. Of course, this is all my theory, Yulen, such as it is.” Yulen could only stare at the man as a hundred scenarios raced around inside his head. Finally, after a long moment of deliberation, he commented, “Would any amount of exposure to these leaves cause the toxin to coat the inner lining of her womb? Or would it have to be over an extended amount of time?” “Ah. Good question. I thought of that myself, so I went back to Gil’s records. But this time I had to check to see how long a woman had been having intercourse before she began to try to conceive. Conceptions were more frequent in the earlier years, and practically nonexistent later on. So I’m willing to bet that there would have to be repeated exposure to these leaves for the toxin to fully coat the interior lining.” MaGrath shook his head, setting the container of vials back on the table. “Atty only took the leaves for a few short months. Between that, and her nutrition, I believe that’s why she hasn’t been plagued with the problems we’ve been expecting her to have. That doesn’t mean she can’t still lose this baby, Yulen, but I feel confident enough to say that the biggest problem has been averted.” He got to his feet and walked over to lay a hand on the Battle Lord’s shoulder. “We’ve been more than lucky. We’ve been blessed.” “If Atty never takes any more of those leaves, will whatever toxins she’s gotten from the leaves she took earlier eventually wear off? Reverse, or something like that?” “Perhaps. I honestly can’t tell you at this point.” “Atty had a sister many years younger than her. How could that have been possible, when we know for a fact that her mother took the leaves?” MaGrath shrugged. “I’m going to guess that Eenoi stopped taking the leaves once she got that infection. Remember what we were told? Atty’s mother was never expected to have another child after her sickness. That’s when she got pregnant with Atty. And, after that, she maybe never took them again, which gave her body a chance to remove the toxins, which allowed her to get pregnant with Atty’s sister, albeit years later. And, remember, too, Keelor was always a sickly child, at that.” Shaking his head, MaGrath closed his journal and placed it back on the table, next to the vials. “We’ll never know for certain, but I’m positive about what’s in those tunsul leaves. They’re poison, and the sooner I get word to Gil, the sooner we can start to remedy that problem.” A sharp rap at the door interrupted them. It was MacIntyre, who informed them that Atty had come out of her faint. Yulen and MaGrath hurried into the examination room, only to find the warrior woman sound asleep, curled on her side on the table. Madigan stood next to her, shaken and white-faced. MaGrath went over to take her in his arms.

“What, Maddy? What’s wrong?” He turned his attention to the dozing woman, but his expert eye could see nothing amiss. “We got word Atty had come to.” Madigan nodded slowly. “She did. She asked for Yulen. I told her you two were in the next room. I...I asked her if there was anything I could do for her, or get for her, but she said she was tired, and she rolled over and went to sleep. But, uhhh, before she did, she wanted me to relay a message to Yul.” “What?” Yulen’s eyes narrowed. “What else did she say, Madigan?” Madigan rolled her eyes to look up at her son staring intently back at her. “She said to tell you the baby was a boy.”

Chapter Four Split Decision

She was back in her own bed. She was warm and comfortable, and her favorite pillow was scrunched against her middle, between her arms and drawn-up knees. A faint breeze blew against the back of her neck, making her smile when she realized it wasn’t a breeze. Atty rolled over to find a gaze lovingly observing her. She grinned. “Hi.” “Hi. How do you feel?” She didn’t have to think about it. “I’m starved.” Yulen chuckled. There was just the one lantern hanging by the door to give them any light. It cast partial shadows over his features, and for a second Atty could envision how her husband would look many years in the future. She could see how his already strong facial lines would deepen. The creases about his eyes would lengthen, leaving him with a stronger, more imposing visage, especially with the elongated scar. “I had a feeling you’d be hungry, since you missed dinner and supper.” “Really? What time is it?” She stretched, long and supple despite the little bulge in her middle. Yulen couldn’t help but admire the increased fullness of her breasts. “Close to midnight.” She gave him a hard stare. “Have you slept any?” He chuckled again. “Who are you, my mother?” “No, but I’m going to be one. Gotta get some practice in before then, don’t you think?” Laughing softly, Yulen suggested, “Want to go downstairs and raid the larder? I told Berta to keep a tray for us.” Giggling with him, Atty crawled out of bed as her husband pulled on the pants he’d dropped on the floor. Once her skin hit the chilly air, she opted for a soft, warm gown from the closet. Hand-in-hand, they tip-toed barefoot down the stairs. The empty main hall was eerie to behold. Atty could not remember ever seeing it totally void of people. Once inside the kitchen, Yulen lit a second lantern. As promised, the housekeeper had left a loaded tray in the cold room. Yulen placed it on the small chopping block and pulled up a stool next to his wife. Atty was already popping grapes into her mouth. “God, it’s amazing how good stuff tastes when you’re hungry.” “I don’t doubt it.” Yulen poured them both a mug of milk, handing one to her. “My love, how much do you remember about today?” “What do you mean?” “I mean, do you remember fainting?” Atty blinked. “Is that what happened?” Giving a half-laugh, she bit into a slice of honeyed bread. “Never done that before,” she murmured with her mouth full. Casting her eyes at him, she noticed he was sitting like a typical man, spread-legged on his stool. As a result, his thigh and knee were pressed along hers. The contact was warm yet stimulating. “Do you remember waking up in the clinic?” Yulen continued. For some unexplainable reason, sitting with her in the kitchen seemed more intimate than when they’d been lying face to face in their bed upstairs. In the back of his mind, he wondered why. Atty screwed up her nose as she tried to think. Yulen snorted softly. It was an affectation of hers that he loved. “Yeah. Sort of. Madigan was there. I remember I asked for you. Didn’t I?”

He nodded. “Yeah. She said she told you I was with Liam in the next room. Do you remember what you told her to tell me? What message you wanted her to pass along to me?” This time there was no mistaking the mischievous grin she wore. “Uh-huh. I told her to tell you our child was going to be a boy.” She waited to see the look on his face. He didn’t disappoint her. “Atrilan, how do you know that? How can you be...sure?” There was caution in his eyes, a hope he didn’t want to admit to having, in spite of the odds. She shrugged. “How do I know a lot of things, Yul? How do I know when Bloods are around? How do I know the exact center of a target when my back is to it and my eyes are shut? How did I know the moment I first saw you without your helmet on, so many months ago, that you were going to be my destiny?” She gazed into his blue-gray eyes now softened with his love for her. “I just know, my love,” she whispered. “That’s all the reassurance I can give you. I just...know.” She also knew from his kiss that words had escaped him. After breaking away from her lips, Yulen tenderly pressed his mouth to her cheek before seeking the warmth of her neck and shoulders beneath her wealth of morning glory hair. Atty shuddered slightly from his touch, forgetting for the moment how hungry she was for food. Instead, a different kind of hunger was growing, spreading a different kind heat down to her toes and into her fingertips. Its center was between her thighs, searing and stinging with heat. Atty pressed herself tighter against him, throwing her arms about his neck and wide shoulders as his face followed the curve of her throat. His hands were at her back, at her buttocks, and slowly she felt herself being dragged off the stool and into his lap. “Yul, what if someone comes into the kitchen?” she panted into his ear. “Their mistake,” he whispered. He leaned her back against the empty edge of the chopping block and lifted her gown, drawing it over her head. Knowing she could easily become chilled in the room, Yulen draped his hands and arms over her as he began tonguing the sides of her swollen belly, knowing she was sensitive in that area while their child was growing inside her. His mouth found her beautiful breasts, and he suckled them, taking extreme care not to hurt her. It had not taken him long to realize her nipples had grown excruciatingly sensitive, more than any other part of her body. Even with care, he heard her whimper slightly, and she dropped her hands over them, blocking them from his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, looking up at her. Pulling her back toward him, he lifted her up until she was sitting in his lap, her legs straddling him. Only the fabric of his pants separated them, keeping them from making love right there on the stool. Yulen gave her a lop-sided grin as he fished behind her for her discarded gown. “Let’s finish eating first, and then we can have dessert afterwards.” Atty pouted, holding out her arms as he slipped the warm gown back over her head. “I’d rather have dessert first.” “Oh, no,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Too may sweets are not good for our son.” He paused, then drew her tightly against him. A shiver ran through him as he repeated, “Our son.” He felt her arms give him a strong squeeze, then she leaned back to snatch a piece of cold meat off the tray. Yulen laughed softly and also reached for the tray. Neither of them moved from their position. In spite of her additional weight, he felt no discomfort holding her between his legs. “What else happened yesterday that I missed,” Atty asked. “How’s Cole?” Yulen tilted his head. “He’s fine. Liam let him go yesterday. He’s feeling a bit sheepish. He

feels like he let us down.” “That’s BS. That partner came out of nowhere. I wouldn’t have seen it,” Atty said. “No, but a trained soldier like Cole should have been prepared for anything.” “Again, you’re talking BS.” She reached for some more grapes. “You can’t be prepared for everything. It’s an unreasonable expectation. His first concern was my safety. He had the culprit at the end of his sword, and he was checking to make sure I was all right.” She paused, adding, “It was like the guy you conked over the head. He should have seen you coming.” “Nevertheless, I know he learned his lesson, even if it was a painful one.” Yulen looked over his mug and up at her. “I’m shipping him and fifty more men to Wallis tomorrow morning.” “Oh? Why?” Her eyes widened. “What’s happened?” Quickly, Yulen told her about the Bloods attacking Bearinger, and about the pennant that had been recovered. “I need to make sure Wallis is still standing. I also want to send three more wagons of supplies to them before the worst of the snows hit. And...Liam has to get in contact with Gilter as soon as possible.” Before she could again ask why, he explained the physician’s theory about the compound’s declining birthrate. Atty listened attentively, without interruption, as she ate. When he had finished, she carefully asked, “How much longer do you think the Bloods will keep attacking?” “Can’t be much longer, unless they’re starving. The cold will sap all their strength. We can only hope. Otherwise...” He took a deep breath and kissed the soft inside of her arm where she’d draped it over his shoulder as her hand played with his hair. “I’m also sending Paxton to Bearinger with a hundred men.” His wife froze. “You’re splitting the forces?” “I have no choice. My men in Bearinger need replacing. They need to come back to their own families, if just for a brief while. Both compounds are too green for me to just send or leave orders. It will take at least another year or two until they can run themselves with only a small battalion in attendance. Until then, I’m going to have to do some judicious juggling.” Her fingers grabbed a handful of his golden-red hair at the nape of his neck and pulled down on it, until she’d lifted his face to hers. Yulen could see the question in his wife’s expression before she could voice it. “I’m trying to do everything I can so I can be here when our son is born,” he tried to reassure her. “But, yes, there’s the chance I may have to leave you to protect our people.” “No.” She shook her head slowly. “If you have to leave, I’m coming with you.” “No, Atrilan. Not with the baby.” “No!” Atty repeated more strongly. “You promised me we’d never be separated again. You promised me.” Yulen drew her tightly against him as she rested her cheek against his hair. “It may not come to that, my only love. There’s no sense in us becoming agitated when there’s no reason to.” “But—” He shushed her as he pressed his hands into her lower back, kneading the muscles he knew were beginning to become a source of discomfort to her. Atty sighed loudly, a low moan rumbling inside her where he could hear it with his ear pressed to her breasts. There was a heat emanating from her, along with a scent, and overall aura of womanliness, enveloping him. Yulen could feel himself stiffening when she lifted her other arm to complete the circle of her embrace around his face and head. Turning his face slightly, he pressed hot kisses

through the fabric of her gown, along the ripe curves of her breasts. Already he could feel the hard buds of her nipples trailing down the sides of his cheeks, and it took great effort not to touch them with his hands or mouth. Atty shifted in his lap, exciting him further. Yulen groaned, soft and deep, and moved his hands down to her firm bottom, lifting her slightly before raising the hem of the gown above her hips. Once done, he lowered her directly on top of him, until the buttons of his pants pressed into her. She shuddered. Lowering her face, she sought his mouth, placing soft, whimpering kisses against his forehead, brows, and the bridge of his nose. He lifted his lips to find hers wet and tasting of blueberries. His tongue sought entrance to her mouth, separating her lips to find more heat and the sweetness of the jelly she’d been eating. The world came to a complete standstill as his hands slowly slid over her thighs and into the ready moisture between them. She leaned back just enough so he could begin to unbutton his breeches. The kitchen was cold without the fires inside its many ovens, yet they felt none of the chill. Although shirtless, Yulen could already sense the first wave of perspiration covering his chest and back as he delved further into Atty’s mouth, using his tongue in the same manner as he would be using his erection. She trembled and clutched his hair even tighter. “Yul,” she somehow managed to whisper hoarsely, lifting away from his incredible mouth for a brief second. “What, my beautiful love?” “How...how long can we still make love before we have to stop?” she panted. She pressed her breasts against his face again as the ache to have him play with them grew stronger. He immediately understood her question. How long could they continue to make love before the burgeoning nearness of their son’s birth prohibited such intimacy? “I don’t know,” he whispered thickly. “You’ll have to ask Liam. But right now, it’s not an issue, Atrilan.” He’d managed to finally undo the buttons, releasing his hardened length from its restricting confines. Before he could lift Atty off of his lap long enough to slide his pants to his knees, she jutted her hips into his groin, ready for him, needing him, wanting him without further delay. Yulen took a deep, shaky breath as he felt himself sliding deeply into her velvet heat. Her muscles were already contracting around him as she remained unmoving in his lap. She sought his mouth again, but this time it was her own tongue that parted his lips and plunged inside to taste him, taunting him with its sweetness. For several long seconds they remained still as every sense heightened, igniting the flames inside them as their breathing grew heavier and faster, racing along with the beat of their hearts. Dimly Yulen thought he felt the intrusion of another person, but by the time he could glance beyond Atty’s shoulder to the door behind her, there was no one there. No matter. She was sucking on his tongue, and the incredible sensation was making him lengthen and harden even further. “At-tri-lan.” It came out like a prayer, soft. Worshiping. She hooked her feet on the rungs under the stool and moved herself upward, coming down slowly over his aching shaft. She gasped, releasing his mouth to raise her head, exposing her throat. Yulen pulled her forward until he could mouth its silken arch. Her long, lustrous hair brushed against his abdomen and over his shoulders, and he wished he could have a blanket of it to cover with each night.

Again she lifted herself, and again she lowered herself down around his thick length. Yulen grabbed her hips to take some of the strain off her legs and prevent a muscle from cramping. He worked her up and down, slowly upward before pounding her downward. With every stroke she moaned, lost in the mounting storm rising inside. Yet it wasn’t enough. Carefully, Yulen pushed aside the tray and rose to his feet. He laid Atty back across the chopping block until she was perpendicular to him. She released his hair and reached to pull the gown over her head. Cupping her breasts, she offered them to him as he bent over to lose himself in her moist, incredible depths. Now when his hot mouth closed over a pale pink nipple, she cried out softly from the river of passion flooding her. She arched her back as he firmly held her hips unmoving against the coarse grain of the wooden block, so as not to scratch her skin, yet giving him unrestricted access. Over and over he pounded into her, pushing them harder and further and higher toward their release. By now Atty was crying out softly with every deep, penetrating thrust as she lost herself in him and in his lovemaking. And when the overwhelming rush suddenly enveloped them, swallowed them, and cancelled out every thought and sensation, her hands found his face in the valley between her breasts and held it there as he gradually slowed, stretching out the final moments, the final sweetness of their ecstacy, until he shuddered violently to a halt. They were panting, enclosed within each other, and holding on tightly. After a long minute, Yulen reared up to look into her own blue-gray eyes so similar in color to his. “Where did that come from?” he breathed. Atty could only shake her head. They hadn’t had a session of lovemaking this intense, this rapturous, in a very long time. “Maybe it’s the baby.” He shrugged slightly and bent his face to caress her upper chest and collarbone with his lips. “It was incredible. You are incredible. My love...my only love...” Lifting her suddenly to a sitting position, he reached behind her and helped her to put the gown back on. Atty watched mutely as he buttoned himself back into his pants. “Are you still hungry?” he asked with a grin. “For you,” she told him honestly. “I want you. I want more.” “Then we are of like mind.” He leaned over to kiss her, while at the same time he gathered her into his arms. With the half-empty tray of food forgotten, Yulen carried his wife upstairs to where they could remove their clothing without fear of discovery, and together they proceeded to try and rekindle the bonfire that continued to smolder. It wasn’t long before the bonfire became a raging inferno.

Chapter Five December Snow

The first major blizzard struck in mid-December, two days before Mastin and the men returned from Wallis. The whole compound came to a screeching stop for one full day and night, until most of the twenty inches of snow could be dug out. Around the outside of Alta Novis, every man pitched in to clear the white powder at least ten feet away from the walls. Otherwise any enemy approaching could easily climb over the walls by building up the drifts. During that time, when the world settled in for a few days to let Mother Nature blow unrelentingly over them, Yulen and Atty spend an exorbitant amount of time upstairs in bed. Atty now was in her second trimester, and not only had her hormones gone totally off the scale, so had her sex drive. And somehow, for some inexplicable reason, her need and desire had transferred over to Yulen. As a result, for the two days of the snowstorm, they never got out of bed except to eat whatever Berta brought upstairs and left by their bedroom door. Even being apart from each other didn’t seem to diminish their heat. All Yulen had to do was get close enough to her to smell her scent, or feel the brush of her quivering skin against his, and he was instantly in lust, with a depth of passion that surprised them both. One afternoon, Yulen had sought out MaGrath to ask him about the effect of their lovemaking on the baby, but the physician had laughed off the Battle Lord’s concern. “When Atty starts to feel uncomfortable, that’ll be your cue to back off,” the older man informed him. “Until then, you’re not going to hurt her or the boy.” Apparently Atty’s determination to call the child a boy had rubbed off. Even the soldiers were heard referring to the unborn babe as the Battle Prince. Once the snow was cleared, life resumed somewhat on a normal level. On the morning of the fourth straight sunshiny day, Yulen did a final inspection of the new lodge before pronouncing it ready to move in. And while Atty was taking her customary afternoon nap, he had the new furniture and last of their belongings settled into it. When she woke up, he would take her over and show her their new home, and then they would christen the lodge properly in their new bed upstairs. “Sir!” Yulen glanced up from the paperwork he was signing to see one of the sentries approaching him. Reading the man’s face and not seeing any sort of emergency, the Battle Lord let his emotions take a step down. “Dillion?” “It’s Mastin, sir. He and the men have returned. They’ve been sighted at the top of the hill.” Smiling, Yulen shoved the paperwork back into the carpenter’s hands and followed the sentry back to the main gate where he climbed the ladder to the catwalk to watch the battalion’s return. A quick glance reassured him their numbers had not decreased by any significant numbers, which told him the regiment either hadn’t encountered any Bloods, or if they had, their casualties had been negligible. A second later he caught sight of a wagon in their midst, and he frowned. The three wagons he’d sent to Wallis were supposed to remain at the compound, not brought back. Well, there had to be a good reason why Mastin would bring the one wagon back. Determined to question his Second, Yulen descended the ladder as the main gates slowly opened to allow the

returning soldiers entrance. Smiling broadly, Mastin led in the troops, who were happily greeted by their comrades and family members. Sliding off his horse, he strode over to his Battle Lord, and they exchanged warm handshakes and pats on the back. “I’m wanting a full report,” Yulen ordered, smiling in spite of his curiosity. “You’ll get it,” Mastin promised. “And then some!” He glanced back over his shoulder just as two more people approached them. “Yulen, I hope there’s room for two more this winter,” the Second commented. Yulen turned in time to see two familiar figures stop just beyond where the other soldiers were dismounting. Eyes wide, a slow smile spread over his face. “Fortune? Tory? What in the world!” Tory Kalich crossed the narrow strip of dead grass to greet the man, only to find herself encased in a sincere hug. Fortune was offered a hearty handshake. “What brings you to Alta Novis?” Yulen asked. “We heard the news that Atty is pregnant,” Tory said, her nose red from the cold as she huddled inside her thin coat. “Blame me. I told Fortune she needed me to be with her. How is she, Yulen? Is she still with child? Has she had any complications?” “Atty’s doing excellently,” Yulen smiled. “She’ll be overjoyed to have you. Fordyce! Take whatever our guests have brought with them and put them in the new lodge. Welcome to Alta Novis, Tory, and welcome back, Fortune. We have much to talk about, but before then, I need to get with my men. Fortune, why don’t you take Tory over to the main lodge and tell Berta I ordered warm drinks for everyone. Have you had anything to eat? Tell her to warm up some stew.” Yulen excused himself again and left them to handle his duties. Taking his wife’s arm, Fortune proudly started to lead her toward the main lodge. He was well aware of the awe-struck look on her face as she took in everything going on around her, clearly remembering the first time he had beheld the immense compound. “Oh, my heavens, Fortune! Would you look at this place!” Nodding, the Mutah hunter told her, “And it’s gotten bigger since I was here last. I’ll bet you could fit all of Wallis in just the courtyard.” They continued their almost leisurely stroll toward the main lodge. Twice Fortune caught his wife’s hesitation, and once she flinched when one of the soldiers burdened down with an armload of lances almost mowed them down in his hurry to finish his work. “It’s okay, Tory,” he patted her arm. “We’re safe here. Safer than we would be in Wallis.” He gave her a sincere smile. “Come on. There’s more I want to show you.” By the time they entered the lodge, a large majority of soldiers who had been with them were already seated and being served. A young woman wearing an apron and a hair cap motioned them over to an empty table. They took their seats, and presently another young man in an apron brought them each a steaming bowl of stew and two mugs of cold cider. As they ate, Tory kept sweeping the huge room and large fireplace with misting eyes. “Our Atty is queen here, isn’t she?” Fortune nodded. “Yep. They call her the Battle Lady, and rightly so. See all those weapons on the walls? Yulen told me once she’s been keeping herself trained in using them all.” He almost snickered. “See that staircase at the other end of the room?” “Yes.” “See the door at the top of the stairs?”

“Yes.” “That’s the Battle Lord’s suite of rooms. It’s Yulen and Atty’s bedroom.” Tory turned back to her husband. “All of that upstairs?” At his nod, she shook her head. “Oh, my.” They continued to eat as several servants from the kitchen checked to see if everyone needed anything else. Besides the stew, large loaves of freshly baked bread were brought out, along with new butter. Tory could warm her hands over the wrapped loaf in its shallow trough. She started to inquire about where they were going to be staying the night when a shout went up in the room, followed by several more hearty hails. Tory and Fortune glanced up to see a figure draped in a loose velvet gown the color of dark cherries slowly coming down the stairs. The indigo hair told them what they needed to know. Tory got to her feet and began to walk toward the young woman, her eyes raking over the beloved figure and taking in every aspect of Atty’s condition. The Battle Lady was welcoming back several of the men from their campaign, when she glanced up to see the woman standing a few feet beyond the circle. Her eyes literally grew as wide as saucers. “Oh, my God! Tory!” Both women collapsed into each others’ arms, both hugging as tightly as possible, but with care for the baby. Finally, Tory pulled back, still holding onto Atty’s arms. Tears were freely flowing down each woman’s face. “You look...oh, my sweet heavens, Atty, you’re positively radiant!” Giving her another warm smile, Atty hugged her again. “Did you come with the battalion? Of course you did! Listen to me. I’ve gone senile. Where’s Fortune?” Fortune took that as his cue to step forward, and was greeted with an equally welcoming hug and a kiss to the cheek. He stared at Atty in disbelief and pride. “How are you feeling, Atty? Any problems?” “No. None!” Atty shook her mane of abundant, dark hair. It was evident the baby had brought about many positive changes, especially to her body. Tory clucked her tongue, smiling to herself. Atty had the scent she knew too well, and it was strong. Powerful. It made the Mutah woman wonder how Yulen was handling it. Apparently she and Fortune had come at the right time. “Have you eaten yet?” Atty asked, breaking Tory from her reverie. “Yes. We’ve just finished.” “Does Yulen know you’re here?” “He sent us over,” Fortune told her. “Well, I just got up from my nap, and I’m famished. Let’s go over to my table, and you can tell me everything that’s been happening in Wallis since we left. Oh, Carlyse! Can I have a bowl of that stew, too, please? And bring a jar of the blueberry jelly when you bring out the bread,” Atty ordered one of the passing help. That done, she linked an arm through Tory’s and led them to the table nearest the fireplace. As they took their seats, Atty continued their conversation. “How long are you staying? Please tell me you’re not going back tomorrow!” Laughing, Tory took her hand and patted it. “We’re here for as long as you need us, Atty,” she told the young woman. Atty blinked. “Really? But what about Memnon?” “He’s a big boy,” Fortune answered. “He can take care of himself until we get back.” “You just don’t know,” Tory smiled, shaking her head. “We were stunned when Mastin

arrived with the extra wagons of supplies. But then, when he just casually mentioned that you were expecting a baby, well! Talk about knocking the lot of us over with a feather!” She laughed, remembering how the entire compound had gone totally silent for nearly a minute as the news sunk in. Their Atty, the tomboyish girl hunter who’d once vowed never to physically know a man. It had been a severe shock when they’d learned she’d taken a Normal—and a Battle Lord, no less—to husband. Now, the additional news of her expecting a child had become the talk of the compound. “I told Fortune that night that you needed us. You needed another person you trusted to be with you at this time, in case...” Tory stopped and chewed her lower lip. Atty immediately knew what she’d meant to say, and finished the sentence for her. “In case I lost the baby?” “I’m sorry,” Tory hastily whispered, squeezing the woman’s hand. “Forgive us, Atty, but there’s always the chance—” “Tory, have you spoken with Gilter since Mastin arrived?” Atty interrupted. The Mutah woman shook her head. “No. Why?” To her surprise, Atty laughed. “Ohhhh, boy, do we have a lot to talk about!” Turning to Fortune, she grinned. “So, how hard did she have to twist your arm before you agreed to come here?” “Not much.” The food arrived just then, and Tory and Fortune began to fill her in with the latest news as Atty dove into the stew. At one point, she apologized for her appetite. “I can’t seem to get enough to eat. I know I’ll be as big as a horse by the time this baby’s ready.” She paused slightly, then told them, “It’s going to be a boy.” Tory squealed with glee and wrapped her arms about the woman. At the other tables, the soldiers saw the commotion but ignored it. They were used to Atty’s mood swings. And apparently, they surmised, such erratic behavior was common among other Mutah women. It wasn’t much later when the buzzing in the room shifted noticeably, and the entire focus turned to the man walking purposefully down the aisle toward the head table. The three people sitting near the fireplace looked up to see the Battle Lord coming their way. By this time Atty had finished eating, and they had been conversing over steaming mugs of hot cider. Tory’s experienced eyes noticed how the Battle Lord stopped a few feet away from his wife, and a small smile creased her face. Somehow she needed to get the man aside and have a talk with him. The sooner, the better. “I’ve had Tory and Fortune’s things moved to the new lodge. I hope you don’t mind,” he told her softly. As he knew she would, Atty screwed up her forehead in confusion. “To the new lodge? Is it ready?” “It’s more than ready, my love.” Looking to the couple, he grinned. “If you don’t mind I’m absconding with her for a few minutes. This surprise has been on hold for many months. It’s now time for me to show my wife our new home. You’re welcome to come view it as well, if you want, since you’ll be staying below.” He took Atty’s hand and began to walk her toward the side entrance. Tory continued to watch them. It was immediately evident to her Atty’s second trimester was more than potent. It was overwhelming. “Coming?” Fortune placed a hand to her back. Tory gave him a smile. “Do me a favor?” “What?”

“I’m going to need to talk to Yulen as soon as I can.” “Oh?” Fortune raised both eyebrows at her. “That bad, huh?” She laughed softly. “I don’t think either of them have any idea what’s hit them.” “Tory, I don’t think either of them are complaining.” “No, but it’s only right they both find out what they’re facing,” she giggled. “All right. I’ll keep Atty occupied while you speak with him,” Fortune promised, and they followed the couple out of the lodge. At first it appeared that the new lodge was as immense as the main lodge, until they walked through the front door. Then they could see that, although it was as long as the old building, it was actually much shorter in depth. The downstairs living area, once dust-strewn and empty the last time Atty saw it, now had new hand-loomed rugs on the floor and two stuffed chairs near the crackling fireplace. Yulen pointed to the doors on either side of the curving stairwell. “Those go to the back bedrooms. That’s where you’ll be staying as long as you’re here,” he told the couple. Giving his wife’s hand a squeeze, he urged her to proceed upstairs, missing Tory and Fortune’s glance at each other. Atty gave her husband a questioning look, then started up the steps. Yulen followed closely behind. As she reached the top landing, she stopped, a hand over her mouth as she gasped in surprise. “Yul! Oh, my goodness!” None of the furniture from their old bedroom had been moved to the new one. Instead, Yulen had ordered all new furniture made. “The old furniture was my father and mother’s, and my grandparents’. I wanted something just for us. Something that reflected us. What do you think, Atrilan?” Atty continued to stare at the large bed with the elaborately carved headboard. The massive oak trunk that was at the head of the bed bore two intricate designs. On the left, on the side where Yulen slept, a sword had been cut into the wood at a right diagonal. On the right side, on Atty’s side of the bed, a longbow was facing the opposite way at a left diagonal. In the center of the bed, the very tip of the sword pierced the end of the bow right where the string was tied to the shaft. The cuttings were life-size. Atty shook her head in disbelief. “Atty?” “It’s...Yul, it’s beautiful!” She quickly looked around the rest of the room. The bureau was no longer a tall, fivedrawer structure. It was now a lower standing, squatter chest containing four drawers on both sides. One side boasted the sword on each drawer panel, the other side, the bow. There was another padded chair sitting near the huge window, although it was not as thick or as large as the chairs downstairs. And the braided rug beneath her feet was in intricate designs of blues and silvers. Like the living room’s, the fireplace upstairs was cheerfully warming up the upper area. She glanced at him. “Did you make a lot of changes to the bathroom? Or dare I ask?” “It’s pretty much the same as when you first saw it,” he admitted. “How about the baby’s room?” When she saw his silent grin, Atty strode over to the far door and flung it open. Slowly, she walked into the room as her eyes drank in the changes. She gazed in astonishment at the huge, carved crib with its detailed sides. Throughout the room were varying shades of blue, from the quilted comforter in the cradle to the painted walls and the scatter of rugs on the floor. She was vaguely aware of her husband coming up behind her until he drew his arms around her

swollen middle and pulled her against him. His touch sent bolts of lightning through her, making her quiver as he spread his fingers and cupped her breasts. Bending over, Yulen buried his nose into her hair and inhaled deeply. “You told me we were having a son, so I ordered the room done in blues. You’d better not disappoint me,” he teased, half-serious. Atty turned around and lifted her face as she lifted her arms. It had only been a few hours since they’d held each other, but it felt like years had passed since then. His mouth was hot upon hers, hot and intrusive and begging to take the rest of her skin between his lips. She whimpered as his hands slid down the side of her hips, down her thighs, and stopped to clutch her buttocks. He devoured her, tasted and probed and demanded more. A gentle clearing of a throat from behind them brought them suddenly into the present. Regretfully they both remembered they’d left company downstairs. Instead of drawing apart, however, they each turned their heads to see both Fortune and Tory standing in the doorway of the nursery. “This whole place is incredible,” Fortune whispered in awe. “Did you design this all yourself?” he asked the Battle Lord. “I had two of my main contractors here in the compound help me with the logistics,” Yulen responded. He detested the thought of having to release Atty from his embrace. And for a brief second a thread of irritability raced through him at the thought of the Mutah couple interrupting something that would have eventually led to him and Atty christening their new bed. He could feel his wife pressing closer to him, laying her cheek to his chest. Looking down, she appeared content and patient. It was a deceptive calm. He knew that a small fire remained banked beneath her embers. It wouldn’t take much more than the right kiss, or the right touch of his hand, and it would burst into flame. To his amazement, Tory crooked a finger in his direction. “Yulen, would you be so kind as to show me something downstairs? Please? It’ll only take a minute.” Reluctantly, he let go of his wife and followed the woman out the door as Fortune began to tell Atty some nonsensical story about a person they both knew in Wallis. Following Tory quickly downstairs, he went through the doorway and down the hallway to the bedroom at the farthest end. So far it was the only other bedroom furnished with a bed, in case of unexpected company. Yulen was glad to be have had the foresight. When they reached the room, Tory sat on the edge of the bed and patted the quilted cover with her hand, inviting him to sit down beside her. Yulen opted to stand a few feet away, one hand unconsciously resting on the pommel of his sword, the other hand on his hip. Taking a deep breath, Tory looked up at the clearly impatient man. “Yulen, there were many reasons why I asked Fortune to let us come here. But, in the end, Atty is the main one. You already knew that, didn’t you?” “Of course. To be honest, I’m glad you’re here. There aren’t many people Atty trusts, or whom I trust to be with her. Your presence is unexpected but very welcome.” “And, you know you can speak bluntly with me, right?” Yulen tilted his head at her. His expression was unreadable. “I’m listening.” “What I mean is...” She tried to find the right words, but gave up. This man valued honesty above all else. Well, then, he would get blunt honesty. “Yulen, there’s something about a Mutah woman’s pregnancy you don’t know about. At least, I’m pretty positive you’re not aware of it.”

A flash of fear appeared in his eyes. She quickly tried to quell it. “No, no. It’s nothing dangerous. It’s something that happens during our second trimester. In Wallis, it’s an expected benefit. Something we know about and anticipate. But with you being a Normal...” “Go on,” he urged, curious and cautious. “Yulen, in the past couple of weeks, have you and Atty found yourselves overly preoccupied with sex?” She loved the way this giant of a man not only started, but had the decency to blush at her question. Smiling, she made every effort not to giggle. “It’s okay, Yulen. It’s Atty’s pheromones. She’s producing an extraordinary amount, and we know what they do to the husband.” She gave him a soft smile. “Mutah men look forward to their wives coming into heat at that time. It’s a natural thing, Yulen. It’s a beautiful time, especially with the changes coming over her body. It’s also an exciting time. Kind of like the feast before the famine.” Yulen’s expression remained blank, although she could tell a hundred thoughts were going through his head. “Feast before famine?” he reiterated in a deeper voice than usual. “You know. Near the end of the pregnancy, when you can no longer make love. And then the few weeks afterwards, after the baby comes, when she has to heal enough before you can resume.” Tory took a deep breath, suddenly glad to have gotten that part out in the open. “Does it affect other men?” Yulen asked her. “Actually, no, because we don’t tend to exude them until our husbands are around. And even then the husband is the only person affected. They’re kind of selective.” Her eyes glanced toward the bedroom door. “I noticed that back at the big lodge you seemed to keep your distance from Atty. Is it because you can’t keep your hands off of her when you’re together?” He finally seemed to let go of a bit of his stiffness. Slowly shaking his head, a small grin came over his face. “You have no idea how many times I’ve wished I could come right out and ask you what in the hell you told Atty back in Wallis.” The remark was so off the wall, Tory burst out in laughter. “Surprised you, did she?” “Very.” Tory tried to swallow her joy. “I didn’t do anything more than any mother would have done for her daughter. Atty never got the proper...let’s call it ‘explanation’. She never got the proper explanation about making love. Eenoi gave her the rudimentary discussion about babies and sex and contraception, but that was all. But there’s a huge difference between procreation and recreation. You know that. Or, at least, I’m assuming that you’ve had the experience to know the difference. After talking for hours with Atty, and being very open with each other, I realized two things about you. I found out you were very, very patient with her. I also found out you were not the kind of man who took sex as simply another basic drive, like eating or sleeping. You love the exploration and discovery as much as a gourmet chef discovering a new dish. So I just gave Atty some suggestions. That’s all. She took it from there. You know how Atty is.” Yulen crossed his arms over his chest and smiled. Tory felt herself melting under his gaze. No wonder Atty had fallen so hard for this incredibly handsome and strong man, especially if he was as passionate as she said he was in bed. Even the glaring scar down the side of his face seemed to emphasize his masculinity. “She also told me about how she lost her virginity,” Tory confessed. Her nose tickled, letting her know she was on the verge of tearing up. “As a mother, as her pseudo-mother, and as someone who cares for her as deeply as any mother could, I want to thank you for loving her that much. For all you’ve done for her. I’ll never forget it.”

He bowed his head to her without a word. Getting to her feet, she swiped at the tears in her eyes and sniffed loudly. “Oh, gosh, look at me, getting all maudlin. We’d better be getting back before Fortune comes looking for us. Heaven knows he’s probably having a hard time trying to keep Atty occupied.” “Tory?” She paused to look up at him. “Does Atty know about this thing about her second trimester?” Shrugging, Tory said, “I don’t believe so. It wasn’t something we discussed, or discussed with Teal.” “Teal?” “The woman with the baby, back in Wallis.” Yulen’s smile grew wider. “That was deliberate, wasn’t it?” he accused her. “Oh, yeah,” Tory nodded. “Thank you.” “You’re welcome. So, do you still want us to stay here with you?” “What do you mean?” Tory pointed a finger upward. “You know. New bed. I’m assuming you’ve yet to spend your first night in it.” This time Yulen chuckled. “Don’t worry, Tory. The walls are well insulated. I made sure of it.” “We’ll see about that,” she challenged him, adding a wink. Laughing out loud, Yulen grabbed her hand and led her back into the living room where Atty and Fortune were waiting for them beside the fireplace. Seeing her husband and Tory emerge from the back in such good spirits, she asked them what they’d talked about. For some reason, her inquiry only made Yulen laugh harder. She didn’t mind, though, when he picked her up and whirled her about, and promised to tell her later. They were finally in their new home, away from the kitchen, away from the curious eyes watching their every move when they went in and out of their bedroom. And soon, they would find out how comfortable their new bed was.

Chapter Six Surprise Attack

It was quiet. Too quiet. It was because there was no muffled clanking of pots and pans coming from the kitchen below. There was no softened laughter or the murmur of a hundred voices seeping through the bedroom door. This was their new home. Peaceful. Secluded. Private. Perfect. Atty rolled over in bed and opened her eyes to a glittering morning. Laughing throatily to herself, she tried to scoot over to the edge of the mattress, except her body had a little more trouble than normal obeying her. That’s what having a baby will do to you. And I’m not even close to my due date. Of course, the lengthy amount of lovemaking they’d done last night might also have something to do with her layabout lateness in rising. Getting up, she first went to the bathroom before grabbing a gown from the closet and padding barefoot downstairs to find a breakfast tray sitting on the side table by the front door. Amazingly, the oatmeal was still steaming beneath its lid. “You have no business going barefoot this time of year,” a voice behind her fussed. Atty giggled and popped a piece of bacon in her mouth. “Hush. If you don’t tell, he’ll never know.” Tory emerged from the hallway. She was dressed and looking like she always did, which made Atty wonder how long she’d been awake. “It’s a crying shame,” Tory smiled. “What is?” “That you should look this beautiful when you’ve just woken up. I know women who would kill for that ability.” Atty gave her a playful wink. “Maybe it’s my pheromones.” “He told you.” “We don’t keep secrets from each.” Grabbing one of the bowls of oatmeal, Atty poured a generous amount of milk into it and carried it over to one of the large stuffed chairs by the fire. She replenished the wood, then crawled into one of the chairs and began to eat. Tory followed her with a bowl as well, and parked herself in the chair opposite. “You haven’t eaten?” Atty asked in mild amazement. “Fortune and I have been out and about sightseeing. I’m still trying to get used to the size of this compound,” the older woman confessed. “I just came back a few minutes ago to get another sweater. It’s going to be a gorgeous day, but it’s definitely nippy.” “Do you know where Yulen is?” “Yeah,” Tory smiled over her bowl. “He’s having sword practice with his men. Fortune’s over there now, watching.” She licked her spoon and gave Atty a lopsided look. “I was planning on going over to watch, too. Do you mind?” “Give me a couple of minutes to get dressed, and I’ll join you.” As she got up from the chair, she threw Tory an exasperated grimace. “How come you and Teal didn’t tell me about the aggravation involved with becoming overloaded? I feel like I’m carrying a backpack across my middle.” Giggling, Tory warned her, “It’s only going to get worse. But trust me, Atty, it’s worth

it.” “All my actions are delayed. I can’t move as quickly as I used to. I feel like I’m running against a heavy wind.” Atty continued to complain to her as she went upstairs to dress for warmth. Tory listened to the woman gripe about her difficulties, even though she knew Atty was only talking to be talking. There was no irritation in her words, nor was there any remorse. Clearly Atty was as much in love with the thought of becoming a mother as she was in love with her husband. Once the woman was ready, which definitely took more than a couple of minutes, they left the lodge and walked over to the rear compound wall where the narrow door would let them out onto the field beyond. On the other side of the wall sat a small set of risers for people to sit and watch as the soldiers took sword practice. Farther away, at the top of the small rise, was the archery field where Atty realized she hadn’t practiced in several days. As the flush of guilt faded away, she let Tory lead her over to the seats where a group of soldiers readily relinquished an extra pair for them. Yulen was out among the small group of men. His back was to her, so he wasn’t yet aware of them being there. It was clear he’d already had a turn. His shirt was off, and his upper body glistened with sweat, despite the near-freezing temperature. Atty eyed the expanse of his shoulders, the hard muscles knotted like burled wood beneath the skin. So much strength, she mused to herself, and so much gentleness. Corianne was right. He does have great looking buns. Off to the side, Baylynn, one of the sub-lieutenants, barked off adversaries. The men sparred with wooden swords with the same heft and weight as their own swords. Yet, because their weapons were wood, there was no chance of an accident. At the moment a man Atty vaguely recognized and one of the soldiers she knew as Verdella were circling each other, throwing lunges and parrying. The slap of wood blade on wood blade was a loud, flat sound. The clashing continued until the new man managed to graze Verdella across the shoulder. Symbolic first blood drawn ended each match, and Atty wondered how her husband had fared earlier. “This is fascinating!” Tory confessed sotto voce. She glanced at Atty to see the woman was equally enthralled. “I bet you love coming out here to watch, don’t you?” “I’ve never watched before,” Atty admitted, not taking her eyes off the circle of men. “You’re kidding, right?” This time Atty cut her eyes to the older woman. “I’m not kidding. I usually take practice at the same time. Yulen often comes to watch me. I just haven’t had the chance to reciprocate.” “I’ll bet you he’s good,” Tory challenged. The remark, meant to get a rise out her, only made the young woman chuckle. “He’d better be,” Atty said. “If not, he doesn’t deserve the job or the title.” “That’s not what I meant,” came the insinuation. “I know, Tory. Now hush and watch.” Baylynn glanced up and noticed the Battle Lady sitting in the stands. He gave her a slight nod, then announced the next pair. As she’d half-suspected, it was to be Yulen and Mastin. Neither man reacted to the call. Neither knew how closely they were being watched. The other soldiers around them, however, seemed to perk up as the two men entered the ring. This was the Battle Lord against his Second, and that suddenly made the stakes very high. As Second, Mastin would be expected to run the compound and all the territorial compounds under Alta Novis’s banner in the event Yulen went down in battle or was unable to perform his duties.

Atty drew her coat closer around her. This was going to be good. Slowly the men circled each other, both in a crouched position. Mastin took the first swing, which Yulen expertly avoided. Coming back with a side cut, the Battle Lord’s sword barely missed grazing Mastin’s shoulder. The near miss brought out a small cheer from the crowd. “You know, this is the first time I’ve seen him without a tunic on,” Tory tried to mention nonchalantly. Atty threw her a humorous smile. “Nice, huh?” “He’s so...golden. Not quite a redhead. But blond.” “Strawberry blond,” Atty quickly corrected her. Tory tore her eyes away to see Atty’s sparkling in fun. She giggled. “Right. Strawberry blond. Sooo, is it that color all the way down?” At Atty’s deep blush she grinned. “Thought so.” It was also the first time Atty had seen Mastin shirtless. As light as Yulen was, the Second was equally dark. It was like watching complete opposites at war, as neither man expected to lose. Wooden sword met wooden sword with hard, unrelenting smacks. First Yulen would advance, forcing Mastin to retreat, then it would be the other way around. Sometimes they held their faux weapons with one hand, sometimes with two, depending on how quick they wanted to strike. Around them the men yelled out encouragement and taunts to try and break the opponents’ concentration. At one point Yulen lunged and almost snagged the inside calf of Mastin’s breeches. The Second barely managed to dance out of the way, avoiding the fatalistic first blood. Several men booed. Mastin wiped the sweat off his face with the back of one arm, and resumed his stance. Yulen had tied his hair behind his neck, but it didn’t stop the tiny trickle of sweat from rolling down the side of his face. Atty wondered if it stung when it reached the scar. Again, sword descending met sword parrying. By now both men were breathing heavily, their arms burning from the weight of their weapons. Mastin tried to uppercut, but met the edge of Yulen’s blade, knocking his own blade aside. Knowing the Second suddenly had left an opening, the Battle Lord pivoted and brought his sword downward, aiming for the man’s upper arm. Miraculously, Mastin managed to duck as the dull wooden weapon slid over him within a hair’s breadth. The near miss drew another round of catcalls from the crowd. Even Atty joined in the intimidation. “Good heavens, Yulen! Getting slow in your old age?” At the sound of his wife’s voice, Yulen started and paused, turning his head toward the risers. The hesitation cost him, and Mastin’s blade caught the small of the Battle Lord’s back with a loud and definitely painful sounding fwack! Yulen flinched and hissed at the pain, falling forward slightly until he caught himself from stumbling, and straightened up. Once he readied himself, he turned to give Atty a definitely irritated look. She knew that expression too well. Her remark had managed to distract him, and it had cost him the match. Around her, the other soldiers backed off slightly, knowing what was to follow would be worth every second. Atty gave her husband an impish smile. “Oooohhhh ho ho. Lost that one, didn’t you?” she teased. To one side, she noticed that Mastin had backed away, a big smile already on his face. Suddenly the confrontation had shifted from the two leaders to the Battle Lord and his Lady.

“Old age?” Yulen finally echoed in his deep voice. “How dare you criticize me, when the sword isn’t even your weapon.” Although his words were cutting, his tone was not. Atty, as well as everyone else, realized he was playing with her. “Hey, given the right weapon, there would be no match,” she taunted. He paused only for a fraction of a second. “Care to put a wager on that?” The dare immediately set the crowd around them into an eager and alert mode. Atty could only blink unbelievingly at her husband. “Hey, no fair! I’m middle heavy!” Slowly Yulen raised his hand and, with three fingers, gestured for her to come join him. He swung his sword in wide arches overhead to keep his muscles from tightening up. “Come on, Atty. Just a little practice to keep your arm limber.” “Yulen, what are you doing?” This came from Tory, who wanted it made known she didn’t like where this challenge was going. Ignoring her, the Battle Lord turned his head and issued a curt order to Mastin, who dropped his weapon and hurried off. Turning back around, he gave Atty a slow grin. “You’re quick with the mouth. Now let’s see if you can back all those words.” To the crowd’s surprise, Atty got to her feet and proceeded toward the circle. “All right,” she acquiesced. “But I want it on the record that you waited until I was under a severe handicap before you issued the challenge. What’s the matter, Yulen? Afraid that when I was still skinny you couldn’t best me?” The soldiers roared with laughter as Mastin finally returned with the two foils he’d procured from the wall inside the main lodge. Yulen thanked him as he took the weapons and made sure the tips were securely covered. Giving his wife a smile, he tossed one to her. “You told me once you detested a sword because of its weight. Fair enough. But you also mentioned you’d gotten quite good with a foil. Well, I know for a fact you haven’t had a chance to renew your acquaintance with the weapon, and I haven’t worked with one for a couple of years. So we should be pretty much on equal footing, my love. Now, nothing daring. Nothing dangerous. The tips are nicely blunted.” He saluted her, then waited. Atty stared at her weapon, then glanced up at him. She dropped her coat on the ground and took a stance. “What if I still manage to kick your butt?” she mocked him, laughing. “Are you still willing to make that wager, my love?” “Damn right, I am.” Yulen chuckled. “What could I possibly have that I wouldn’t already give you willingly?” “Our son’s name.” The announcement caught everyone off-guard. Lifting an eyebrow, Yulen asked for clarification. “You want to give our son his name, without me saying yea or nay on the matter?” Atty nodded. “Yeah.” “And if I win, the same condition applies? I get to name him, without you being able to agree or disagree on my choice?” “Fair enough.” “Okay. I accept your terms. En guarde, my love.” They crossed tips, and Yulen backed off slightly to give her a little more room. From the first thrust, he realized she was better than he’d expected, and he chided himself for once again underestimating his wife’s abilities. Although the added weight in her belly made her slower than she normally would be, she

still managed to keep him on his toes. Several times she almost managed to peg him, but Yulen danced out of her range at the last second. The group of bystanders cheered and jeered and kept their bets going as to who would win. In the meantime, Yulen kept his eyes drilled on her to make sure she didn’t over-extend herself. This was meant to be all in fun, and nothing more. Despite her handicap, it didn’t affect Atty’s arm or her aim. She knew most of her husband’s weaknesses. She just never expected to have to apply them to actual one-on-one combat. However, he did have one major, crucial advantage, not counting the pregnancy. He was left-handed. That in itself was enough to tilt the balance in his favor whenever he faced a righthanded opponent. And although Atty could fire her bow with equal dexterity with either hand, she was definitely right-handed when it came to everything else. She batted away a half-dozen partial lunges aimed at her chest with sweeping downstrokes. Earlier she’d tried to lunge, but her awkwardness prevented her from completing the movement. Instead, she twirled around on the tips of her toes and tried to mow him down at the waist. It wasn’t until Yulen pivoted that she saw the wide, almost bloody red mark above the waistband of his pants where Mastin’s broad sword had gotten him. Stunned, she missed seeing the tip of his foil coming toward her, and a heartbeat later the capped end was pressed against upper edge of her collarbone. “Touché, Atty,” he whispered. Around them, the crowd erupted in applause. She glanced up into his eyes. “You’re hurt.” “Comes with the territory,” he acknowledged above the din of the spectators. “Admit defeat?” “You fought me when you were hurt?” “Not fought. Practiced. Admit defeat?” “On one condition.” He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Now what?” “That after I have this baby, you and I have a rematch. I feel like I’m moving through mud when I’m like this.” Smiling, Yulen relented, taking her foil from her. “And I get to name our son, no argument on your part?” “That was the deal,” she relented. Yulen caught the twinkle in her eye, and realized she had something up her sleeve. Atty never relented so easily unless she had other intentions. He chuckled as he retrieved her coat and handed it to her. Walking back to the circle from where he’d been watching from the stands, Baylynn called out another pairs of names. The couple proceeded through the crowd and began to head back toward the compound. Presently, Tory caught up with them. “Hope you don’t mind me accompanying you. Do you know where Fortune is?” Yulen motioned with a nod of his head as he pulled his tunic back on. “He went out to the archery field to watch the men practice. Doesn’t he shoot a bow as well?” “Yeah,” Tory admitted. “He’s probably getting in a little practice, too. You know, Yulen, you had me worried there for a moment when you challenged Atty.” “I knew what I was doing,” he answered her. “Atty was never in any danger. I was watching her every moment to make certain she wasn’t over-exerting herself.” Atty piped up, “And I would have won, too, until I saw that ugly mark on your back. Bet it stings like the dickens.” “I’ll be okay. I’ll get Liam to look at it.”

They were interrupted by one of the young solders-in-training, who came running up to the Battle Lord with an urgent message. “It’s from Paxton,” the lad said, handing Yulen a folded piece of paper. “A messenger accompanied by two of our men just arrived. They’re in the main lodge now.” Pulling back his arm from where he’d had it around Atty’s shoulders, Yulen opened the paper and read it aloud. “‘Bearinger under siege. Being overrun with Bloods. Need help, supplies now.’ It’s signed ‘Paxton’.” He only took a second to make his decision. “Tory, take Atty and go to the lodge and wait for me there. What is your name?” he asked the young man. “Pike, sir.” “Pike, go get Del Ray and Sorcher, and have them meet me at the main lodge,” he ordered. The boy ran off. “Yulen, what are you going to do?” Atty called out to him as he turned and headed back the way they’d come. If he heard her, he didn’t answer. Tory grabbed her arm and tried to lead her back to the lodge. “Come on, Atty. It’s too cold to be standing out here.” It was as if Atty had already made up her mind. Relenting to Tory’s insistent tugging on her arm, she followed along until they reached the cut-off leading to either the main lodge or her new home. Without a word, Atty suddenly turned toward the main lodge with Tory in tow. “Atty, what do you think you’re doing?” “It’s not what I think I’m doing,” she responded tightly. “It’s what I know Yulen is going to do.” “What do you mean?” Fighting back tears, Atty gritted her teeth. “He’s going to leave me,” she told her.

Chapter Seven Rescue Mission

Within a quarter hour every officer in Yulen’s army had gathered in the main lodge as news swept the compound about Bearinger. When the Battle Lord strode into the hall to give them their orders, he was aware of the figure standing before the fireplace with a devastated look on her face. He took a deep breath and turned to face his men. “Bearinger is under siege from the Bloods. They need reinforcements, and they need them now. I’m taking a hundred men in full battle armor. Mastin, you’re staying here.” “Sir?” The Second was stunned to hear his orders. “I need someone I can trust to guard Alta Novis. With my forces depleted, it’ll leave this compound a ripe target for takeover if the Bloods decide to redirect their attack.” Inadvertently his eyes swept back to the figure by the fireplace, and Mastin followed his glance. Immediately the Second realized the Battle Lord wasn’t just trusting him with the safety of the home compound. He was trusting him with his most cherished possession—Atty and their unborn son. The Second grimly nodded. Gripping the pommel of his sword, Yulen added in a harsher tone, “This is a rescue mission. It will also be an extremely dangerous one. Let the men know first consideration will go to those who volunteer. The rest will be chosen by my lieutenants. Get your gear ready and be ready to leave before the hour. Dismissed.” That gave everyone a little more than half an hour to prepare and be saddled. Yulen watched his men hurry out, leaving him alone with a small handful of people scattered about the huge hall. Slowly, he turned to face his wife. The caustic retribution he expected from her was swift and heated. “You promised me you would never leave me,” she spat through gritted teeth. Her face was pale, her eyes glittering with anger and unshed tears. “And I told you my first duty would always be to this compound,” he calmly responded. The bile in his stomach could not compare with the venom she was unleashing at him. Atty wasn’t as furious as she was terrified. They both knew it. From the corner of his eye he caught the figures of Fortune and Tory standing back in the shadows, waiting and watching. Fearful for the both of them. “And you expect me to just sit here, with the agony of not knowing what’s happening to you eating at my heart, while you’re out there facing God knows what?” Atty cried softly. She was clutching the edges of her coat, as if she were freezing. Yulen started to walk toward her when the import of what she’d said slammed into his brain, and he gasped. In a dark voice, he ordered, “You’re staying here, Atty. You’re not coming after us.” Her reply was a stony stare. Yulen could feel the heat of his anger flooding his face and neck. “I forbid you.” Still she remained silent, except for the slight upward tilt of her chin. She was daring him, and her audacity, for the first time in their marriage, grated on him. “Promise me you will not follow us once we leave.” Blue-gray eyes challenged blue-gray eyes. The air between them sizzled with tension. Behind her, the fireplace crackled and hissed, throwing sparks into the air, giving Atty’s figure an

almost ethereal halo of fire. Realizing that force would not persuade her, Yulen tried a different tactic. “Atty, why would you even consider coming along? Why would you even risk our son?” “You need me,” she whispered. “I need you safe!” he immediately argued back. “I need to know you’re here, alive and safe and waiting for me. I need my mind clear of any worry about you so I can concentrate on what I need to do to save my compound and my people.” “And who’ll watch your back?” she demanded tearfully. “Who watched my back before I found you?” he challenged in return. “My men are very capable of backing me up. It’s what they’ve been trained to do. You, on the other hand—” “Do you honestly think I can sit here day after day and do nothing?” she cried out to him. “I want your word, Atty. Give me your word you’ll remain in Alta Novis.” “I...can’t.” “Damn it, Atty!” He slammed his fist on the edge of the table, splintering the wood plank. “Don’t do this to me! Don’t force me to do something I’ll forever regret.” Her eyes widened as she took in his threat. “Do what?” she ask loudly, haughtily. “If I have to, I’ll have you imprisoned in our home and keep you guarded ‘round the clock.” She took a step sideways, away from him. “You’d keep me a prisoner?” “If it’s the only way I can be certain you won’t hurt yourself, yes, I will,” he replied bitterly. Tory started to take a step forward to intervene, when her husband grabbed her arm and pulled her back. He nodded violently to her. This was something Atty and Yulen had to work out on their own, without any interference. But in the meantime their argument had caught the ears of several more people, and the number of onlookers around the perimeter of the room had doubled. Yulen appeared ready to boil at Atty’s disobedience. On the other hand, Atty seemed ready to cave, despite her show of backbone. A long moment of silence passed between them, yet neither showed signs of yielding. The tension grew and became strained, threatening to snap and recoil like a thin, deadly filament of wire, until Atty dropped her eyes and folded her arms over her chest. “We’re connected, Yul,” she spoke softly. Hesitantly. “You and me...if something happens to you, I’ll know. I’ll know, and then I won’t be able to live with myself, knowing I might have been able to save you. Knowing I might have made a difference.” She lifted large eyes swimming in tears. “We’ve had such a short time together. It’s not enough. I’m jealous, and I’m selfish. I want more, Yul. I want more time with you.” “Atrilan...” All of his anger washed out of him, as surely as if he’d poured it out with his own two hands. “I want...I want to spend...forever with you.” She couldn’t speak anymore. The pressure in her chest was too great, stealing what air she could breathe in, and her words hiccuped out of her as she tried to tell him how much she loved him. How much she needed him, to be with him, to have him with her. “You...are...my life...Yul...Yul...” He held out his arms to her, and she collapsed against his strong chest. Holding her, it took every ounce of willpower not to break down with her as she trembled violently. Her arms clutched him. Her fingers dug painfully into the burn on his back, but he could accept it. He closed his eyes and memorized how she felt. The scent and texture of her dark blue

hair. The silkiness of her body. The beating of her heart. He bent his head and sought her mouth for a goodbye kiss. Her lips tasted of salt. “You know you are my very heart, my very life,” he whispered in her mouth. “You’ve known it ever since that day I took your hand and led you out of the forest on the outskirts of Foster City. You’ve known it since the first time I kissed you after you saved me from the bull ferret. You’ve known it since I removed the rope from your wrists in that little shop in Wallis.” He kissed her as his hand cupped her neck and throat, and he could feel the wild pounding of her heart beneath the thin, velvety skin. “I’m leaving here without my heart because you will be holding it here, inside you, next to our son, until I return to claim it. Do you hear me, my Atrilan? Keep my heart safe with you, within you, where I know it will be warmed and loved and protected by your strength and courage. Atrilan. My beautiful, passionate Atrilan. My only love. My wife.” He kissed her again, and this time she gave him her answer with her lips. Holding her tightly, he allowed himself one last, slow taste of her incredible mouth, then gently released her. Turning on his heel, and without another word or look back, Yulen walked out of the main lodge to retrieve his horse. Atty remained by the fire, shaking with grief and fear, until she could hear the sound of the soldiers departing. Breaking out of her numbness, she hurried to the front doors. Tory and Fortune and Mastin bolted after her, not knowing what she would do, yet knowing she would do something. When they reached the outside, it was Mastin who spotted her climbing up the ladder to reach the parapet where she could watch Yulen’s departure. Once she reached the narrow ledge, she edged over to the main gates and remained there until the last of the army had disappeared over the ridge. After a few more minutes had passed, she slowly climbed back down the ladder and began to walk back toward her new lodge. She never made it, as she sank into an unconscious heap in the middle of the roadway.

Chapter Eight In Interim

Three days passed with excruciating slowness. There were hours when Atty would stay in bed, drifting between sleep and restlessness. Several times she would climb the ladders up to the parapet to stare out over the compound walls, toward the direction where Bearinger lay. The rest of the time she would prowl the perimeter of the compound, walking in endless circles around and around the interior, sometimes for hours at a time. Countless eyes watched her guardedly, protectively, but only a small handful of people dared to approach her. Talk with her. Try and coax her back into the warmth of the lodge. To many she resembled a caged animal relentlessly pacing the limited confines of her cell. She ate alone, taking all her meals in the new lodge. MaGrath checked on her every day to make sure at least her physical health wasn’t suffering. One afternoon he reentered his clinic, bypassing a couple of waiting patients, and exited into the inner sanctum of his own quarters. Madigan was seated before the fire, trying to relearn how to knit, now that she had a grandson on the way. She looked up when he came in and collapsed in the chair opposite, and remained silent, knowing he would speak when he was ready. “I should have gone with them,” he finally remarked. “You gave your word to Yulen. Besides, MacIntyre’s more than capable. It was time he got his hands dirty.” She swore softly to find she’d dropped a stitch and was forced to go back and unravel what she’d done to pick it up. As he rubbed his forehead, MaGrath noticed her irritation. Her concentration brought a smile to his face. “You haven’t touched a pair of needles in how long?” “Let’s see...Yul’s thirty? Thirty years.” She glanced up at him. “How’s she doing?” His sigh was explosive. “I’m reminded of Yulen when she was taken away to Wallis. Remember how he just seemed to fold into himself and die bit by bit? She’s like that, only she’s making sure the baby isn’t suffering because of her. So, on one hand, you have a woman emotionally losing her sanity, and on the other you have an expectant mother going through the motions to protect her unborn child. What’s today? The ninth? They should’ve gotten there by now. Give or take another day, and the trip back, we should be getting some sort of message by the middle of next week.” Madigan swore again under her breath, and this time the physician chuckled. He got to his feet and crossed the short distance to her chair, leaned over, and gave her a soft kiss. “I’m going back to the clinic to see the two people still waiting, and then I’ll hang up the ‘emergencies only’ sign. After that I’m coming back in here to take my favorite girl out to eat.” He got a sweet smile from her for that remark. “And then what?” she coached. “And then I thought we could see if Berta has ready what I asked her to bake. We’re going to take them over to the new lodge and try to blackmail Atty into spending an evening in conversation with us. Her sweet tooth has grown enormously with her cravings. Let’s see if our blue-haired wood sprite can resist hot apple dumplings.” A little more than an hour later, MaGrath rapped on the front door of the new lodge. Tory answered the door. A look of surprise came over her when she saw the doctor and his wife standing outside in the cold and dark. “Come in! Come in, before you catch your death.” She ushered them into the living area and took their coats. Madigan held out the tray of wrapped

dumplings she’d brought with them, straight from the kitchen oven. “We brought apple dumplings,” she explained. “Watch it. They’re still hot.” Tory gestured for her to place the tray on the small table by the door. “I don’t think you’ve met my wife,” MaGrath did the introductions. “This is Madigan. Maddy, this is Tory Kalich. And this gentleman finally getting out his chair and coming over to meet us is her husband, Fortune.” They shook hands politely as they exchanged greetings. Atty’s non-presence was very noticeable, and Madigan looked up at the loft-style bedroom in expectation. Like a good hostess, Tory led them over to the fire where two more comfortable and identically padded chairs had been added since Yulen and Atty had moved in. This was Madigan’s first time to be in the new lodge, and her mother’s eye saw all the touches that spoke of her son, but the absence of any woman’s touch was glaring. “Maddy, remember me telling you that Tory and Fortune are Atty’s guardians?” her husband commented. MaGrath turned to the Mutah couple. “Madigan is Yulen’s mother.” “Oh!” Tory’s gaze riveted on the woman sitting opposite of her. “I didn’t know.” Immediately her brows bunched together, and Madigan laughed softly. She’d seen that expression too many times. “I know, I know. He looks nothing like me. But, trust me, he’s almost the spitting image of his father except for his coloring.” “His coloring?” Tory repeated. “Rory was dark-haired. Dark, dark brown.” “Then where...” MaGrath grinned. “Maddy’s mother was a redhead. We figure he got it somewhere down the line on that side.” “When did Yulen’s father die?” Fortune spoke up. “Two, no, three years ago. He was killed in a Mu—” Madigan caught herself. A hand flew up to cover her mouth. Taking a couple of steadying breaths, she lowered her hand to continue. “Forgive me. He was killed in a Blood ambush. I would have lost Yulen, too, except he’d been injured in an earlier raid and was recovering when they attacked again.” “Oh? How was he injured?” Tory inquired. “He took a short dagger in the back,” MaGrath told her. “The scar on his lower back! That’s how he got it!” a voice from upstairs exclaimed softly. The two couples glanced up at the balcony to see a pale face staring down at them. MaGrath smiled to himself. Silently they watched as Atty carefully descended down the spiral staircase. She was warmly dressed in her favorite cream-colored gown. From the slightly tousled hair flowing loosely over her shoulders, they could tell she had been lying awake in bed, listening to them talk. She approached them hesitantly, as if she was unsure she could join in on their conversation. Locking onto the physician, she told him, “He wouldn’t tell me how he got that scar. Just said it was a battle wound.” MaGrath nodded. “It was a bad knife wound. Barely missed his kidney, but it put him down for the count. A group of four of them swarmed his horse and cut its hind tendons, bringing it down. The second the horse began to falter and drop, they jumped him. We had two things to be grateful for that day. The first being that Bloods will strike and move on, without

checking to see if the enemy is dead or incapacitated. The second being that right after they got to Yulen, they retreated, which gave us the chance to get out in the field and bring him in to tend to him.” He looked over at Madigan to see how she was coping with the memory. “Yulen’s always blamed himself for being partly responsible for his father’s death. He still believes that if he hadn’t gone down, Rory would still be alive today.” He reached over and patted his wife’s hand where it rested on the arm of her chair. She flashed him a smile that let him know she would be all right. Tory scooted over in her chair and patted the seat. Atty accepted her invitation and joined her, curling one foot beneath the other leg. Madigan studied the paleness in the woman’s face and the shadows that haunted her eyes. Yulen wasn’t the only one fighting the Blood army. Atty was fighting demons as well. Getting up from her chair, she went over to fetch the tray of apple dumplings and proceeded to pass them around. Tory excused herself and disappeared through the second downstairs door on the other side of the staircase, emerging a minute later with plates, forks, and cloth napkins. Atty stared in disbelief at the utensils. “Where did these come from?” she asked. “From the kitchen.” “What kitchen?” Tory burst into gentle laughter. “Goodness, Atty! Haven’t you checked out any of the lower section of your new home yet?” At the young woman’s stunned expression, she informed her, “There’s three bedrooms, a bath, and a kitchen area with a really nice brick oven. I guess Yulen had it built in case you ever wanted to have just a private dinner between the two of you. Or the three of you.” “Is it stocked?” “There’s some pots and pans, plus dishes and utensils, but no food. I guess you’ll have to get someone from the main lodge to bring it over.” “Atty, mind if I take Maddy upstairs to see the baby’s room?” MaGrath asked. She shook her head to give permission, but continued to dive into her apple dumpling as the physician took his wife upstairs to look around. Once they were in the loft, Madigan paused to study the elaborately-carved headboard with its intimate design. She also noticed the fact that only Yulen’s side of the bed was mussed. MaGrath observed her scrutiny. “What’s the matter, honey?” he inquired in a soft voice. “He built all of this for her.” “Yeah. He did.” She was silent for another moment, then said, “They love each other so much, don’t they?” “Yeah, honey. They do.” He paused, then said, “There’s stories about them, you know. Stories being spread all up and down the roadway.” She shivered slightly, making him wonder if it was because of a chill or something else. Her next words surprised him. “I gave him life. She gives him life. We have a lot more in common that I ever realized.” Drawing an arm gently about her waist, he led her into the nursery. Yulen’s cradle sat prepared and waiting next to the door, anticipating the time when it would be brought into the bedroom to receive the next Battle Lord of Alta Novis. Madigan ran her fingers over the crib and the small changing table that had only arrived that day. Despite the scrollwork on the wood, there seemed to be a conspicuous blank area on the

front of each drawer, and on the sides of the crib. “Liam, what’s missing?” “Missing?” She pointed to the bald spot in the woodwork. “Here. And on the front of the changing table. Was there supposed to be something carved here?” MaGrath stared intently at the noticeably bare areas. “You’re right. It looks like something’s been left off. Maybe Atty knows. Let’s go downstairs and finish our dumplings before they get cold.” He led her back to the staircase, but not before she got one last good look at the design on the headboard. Once they were downstairs, a tray of drinks had been delivered from the main lodge. Tory handed them their mugs of hot cider. “The nursery is beautiful, Atty,” Madigan commented. “Out of curiosity, is there something that’s going to be added to the sides of the crib? Another design?” Atty looked down at her lap where the empty plate lay. Pushing her hair over her shoulder with one hand, she said, “Yulen said something about the baby having his own symbol, but we’d have to wait until he was born to come up with it.” She lifted her face. “They’re fighting them now, as we speak.” Her unexpected, almost nonchalant comment, washed over them like a bucket of cold water. They sat frozen. Stunned. “How could you know that, Atty?” Tory finally managed to whisper. “Y-You must be imagining it.” Slowly, Atty shook her head. The expression on her face was distant. Her eyes were glazed, as if she were watching from a great distance. “They struck in the night, hoping the darkness would provide enough cover,” she barely whispered. “Atty...Atty...you’re mistaken. Your mind is playing tricks on you.” MaGrath leaned over to give her a fatherly pat on the knees. It was Fortune who broke in to ask the unspoken question. “Is Yulen...” Atty sat perfectly still, her eyes remaining focused, yet unfocused, on some far away, unseeable sight. “He’s on the battlements, directing the archers.” A small smile creased her lips. “My archers. They’re doing me proud.” Then, as if someone had cut the string, she blinked and leaned back into the chair. One pale hand lifted to her eyes, and she rubbed them with her knuckles. Tory bent over and kissed her forehead. “Rest now,” she ordered the young woman. Snorting softly, MaGrath refused to believe what he’d heard. “She’s becoming delusional,” he admitted sadly. “No.” Fortune shook his head adamantly. “You keep forgetting we’re Mutah. Even we don’t understand how. Or why. Or when. But tales of lovers so intimately connected that they can sense each other over vast distances have been documented for years among our people. Don’t scoff at what she shares with us, Dr. MaGrath. Don’t ever scoff at it.” Tory squeezed the hand that remained in her lap. “Can you still sense him?” Atty slowly opened her eyes and winced. “Sort of. But I keep getting... I’m so damned uncomfortable.” She shifted in the chair, scooting back in the seat. “Does your back hurt? Here. Move right up to the cushion, Atty. It should relieve some of the pressure.” She tried to help Atty adjust to more comfortable position, but it didn’t seem to be working.

“No, I don’t feel...it’s very awkward...I can’t figure out... Oh, my God!” Her eyes flew open wide, and her face went stark white. Her hands flew to her belly, fingers splayed over her gown. “What? Oh, God, Atty, what happened?” Tory was instantly alarmed, and began searching for whatever was wrong. Equally frightened, MaGrath fell to his knees before the chair as Fortune and Madigan leaned forward. Rolling her eyes down to her abdomen, Atty bit her trembling lower lip. One hand remained pressed to her swollen stomach. “It...moved!” Wide eyes filled with tears as she repeated, “He moved! Our son...h-he kicked me!” She reached for Tory, who drew her into her embrace as Atty continued to press her palm where the tiny bit of life shifted within her. MaGrath noticed that Atty’s breathing was becoming erratic, and knew there was the chance she might hyperventilate if she didn’t calm down. “Watch your breathing, Atty,” he cautioned gently. “Not so fast. Slow it down, bluebell. There you go. Deep breaths now, not short, shallow ones.” “He moved, Liam!” “That’s great,” MaGrath chuckled, giving her a big smile. “That’s wonderful!” “No. You don’t understand,” she reiterated. “He. Moved. There’s really a baby in here!” She looked to Tory, who was laughing softly. “Is it supposed to be funny?” “No,” Tory admitted, although she was having a difficult time not to giggle. She was relieved and delighted and worried all at the same time. “I think this is the best news I’ve heard all week,” she smiled. “Why?” Atty asked. The baby must have made another movement, as she suddenly glanced downward at her stomach and jumped slightly. “That one tickled.” An accusing stare at MaGrath gave the physician pause. “Why are you looking at me?” he chuckled, throwing his hands up in the air. “You never told me about this part! Neither did you!” she accused Tory with a glare. “Okay,” Tory grinned. “Then let me remedy that omission right here and now. Atty, you’re going to have to be prepared to feel the baby move inside you. He’s going to kick, and stretch, and poke, and as long as he does you’ll know you’re going to have a strong, healthy baby when he finally arrives. Now are you satisfied? Does that make you feel better? Atty?” She gave her a little shake, but Atty seemed mesmerized by what she was feeling both within herself, and on the outside of her belly. Two sensations simultaneously coming from the child she and Yulen had created. A child created when they had made love. “It...stopped,” Atty whispered. “He’ll do it again,” Madigan told her. “There may be nights you won’t get much sleep because he’ll keep you up with all the kicking. I know Yul did it to me.” “It’s a shame Yulen isn’t here for this,” MaGrath commented sadly. “He would have been ecstatic to feel his son’s movements.” “He knows,” came Atty’s barely audible response. The other four people stared at her in silent surprise. “What was that?” Fortune whispered, urging her to repeat what she’d said. Atty smiled, a tremulous, almost secretive smile. “Yul knows our son is moving inside me.” “How?” Tory asked, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear it from Atty’s own lips.

“Because I just told him,” she murmured, and laid her head on the woman’s shoulder.

Chapter Nine Breaking Oaths

It was Fortune who carried the sleeping Atty upstairs and laid her on the bed, covering her with the quilt before going back downstairs. “Do you really believe she could talk to Yul?” Madigan whispered once the Mutah hunter had rejoined them downstairs by the fireplace. “Not talk,” Fortune corrected her. “It’s not like that. From what we’ve been told, and from what we’ve seen, it’s more like an understanding. I’ve already seen them correspond that way in the past. Just looking at each other and knowing what the other was asking, or saying. No reading thoughts or any nonsense like that. This latest, though, this has me completely spooked.” “Well, on that note, I believe we need to say our goodbyes and let these good people retire to their own bed,” MaGrath comment. He gave Tory’s shoulder a sincere squeeze. “I know that keeping watch on her has been very tiring for you, but know that Maddy and I appreciate you both being here to help.” Smiling, Tory laid her hand over his. “We fought for Atty to be returned here when she was recovering. We’ll fight for her again. As often as she needs us. As often as Yulen needs us. I’m just glad we’re able to help.” Her eyes lifted upward, and she added, “Do you think she’ll be all right tonight?” “More than likely,” MaGrath commented, also glancing up. “This latest discovery seems to have given her some peace of mind.” He snorted, grinning. “‘There’s really a baby in here!’” he quoted. Both Tory and Madigan giggled softly at the memory. The couples said their goodnights before the doctor and his wife departed. Fortune closed and locked the door behind them. Once he was certain the fire in the fireplace was adequately screened, he turned down the other two lanterns in the living area and retired to the back bedroom where Tory was waiting for him. **** Although muffled, the scream was high-pitched and filled with stark terror. Tory jerked awake, flying into a sitting position in bed as her heart thudded sluggishly in her chest. “Fortune!” Something had awakened him as well. Already his hunter’s instincts were primed to any danger. “What was it, Tory?” he hissed in the darkness. “I don’t know. It sounded—” The scream came again, but this time it took on a name. “Yullllllll!” “Oh, God! Atty!” They scrambled out of bed and raced down the hallway and up the curving stairway as another blood-curdling shriek of pure horror reverberated against the log walls of the lodge. Suddenly the scream abruptly stopped. They heard a loud thump, and the sound of retching. Tory reached the landing first and ran for the bed. It was empty. Stumbling over to the far side, she found Atty hunched over on the floor, overcome with deep, dry, retching heaves. The young woman was rambling incoherently as her stomach bunched repeatedly, trying to throw up

whatever it was that was upsetting it. A thin line of saliva ran from her mouth to the floor, but otherwise there was nothing for her body to expel, her last meal having long since digested. Atty was clearly upset to the point of being maniacal. Sobbing, she fought off Fortune’s hands, scrabbling backwards across the rug, until her back hit the side of the bed. Only then did she appear to calm down enough to where Tory could approach her. Wordlessly, Fortune bolted back downstairs and raced out of the lodge to fetch the physician. Once he was gone, Tory tried to calm the distraught woman, but Atty started to whip her head from side to side, her eyes squeezed tightly shut as if she were in great pain. Every time she felt a hand touch her, she fought it, striking it hard and painfully to keep it from holding her down. She whimpered, a high, keening whine from inside her throat, but she uttered no more words as she continued to retreat against the heavy bed frame. Tory tried to talk to her in soft, soothing tones, but her words didn’t appear to be making any difference. Atty was lost somewhere in a place too deep within herself, lost where the worst of her nightmares and fears had taken hold of her mind. Presently the sound of feet pounding up the stairwell echoed in the room, and MaGrath appeared around the side of the bed. He had a leather satchel with him, which Tory recognized as his medicine bag. “Has she screamed again?” he asked. “No.” He reached for the woman, but she resisted vehemently, scratching the back of his wrist for his effort. “Atty! Atty! It’s me! It’s Liam! Open your eyes, Atty! It was just a nightmare! Atty!” He grabbed for her again, and this time he managed to snag one hand. Before she could attack him with her other, Fortune snatched it. Holding her down, together they advanced closer and tried to calm her. “Atty! Wake up, Atty!” She stopped the violent shaking of her head, and sagged against the bed as she wept openly. Heartbreaking moans accompanied by the shaking of her shoulders. “Yul!” The single word made their hearts stop. “Oh, God, what’s happened?” MaGrath looked up to see his wife’s terrified face peering at him from the foot of the bed. Vaguely he was aware of the sound of more feet rushing in through the front door. They belonged to the guards who had been alarmed by Fortune’s calling out for the physician. Calling out the one word, the one name that had sent everyone into a total panic. Taking a deep breath, he reached over and cupped Atty’s face between the palms of his hand, lifting her head until he could get a closer look. “Let her go,” he told Fortune, who released her other hand. Bending closer, he whispered tenderly, “Atty. Open your eyes. Look at me.” She was breathing heavily, but she heard him. Slowly, thick dark blue lashes lifted to where she could focus on the face staring frightened but lovingly at her. Without warning, she launched herself into the man’s arms and grabbed the shoulders of his tunic where she shuddered in his embrace. Several minutes passed as MaGrath held her, allowing her time to calm down, until her violent trembling ceased. He felt her lips pressed against his neck, her wet face buried in the collar of his shirt. When she was able at last to gain control of herself, she pulled away, releasing her vise-like grip on the physician’s clothes.’

“Fortune?” she murmured. He inched a little closer. “Yes, Atty?” “Go get Cole Mastin for me, would you, please?” “He’s downstairs,” Madigan interjected, having overheard her request. Atty breathed, filling her lungs and letting her breath out steadily to help further calm her shattered nerves. “Cole?” she called out loudly, clearly. “Here!” “Come up here, please.” “Atty, what’s going on?” MaGrath asked her, keeping his grip on her arms. He was too apprehensive to let her go, although he could see she was clearly back in control of herself. The Second walked around the side of the bed, pausing only a moment as he noticed the carved headboard. “Yes, Atty?” “I’m calling a Code Four. Now. Immediately. How many men can you spare?” Both Mastin and MaGrath reacted instantly and angrily to her order. “Atty!” “Code Four? For God’s sake, why, Atty?” the physician cried, giving her a little shake. “Wh-what’s a Code Four?” Fortune hesitantly asked. Shakily, Atty rose to her feet, brushing off MaGrath’s hands, and began to walk around the bed, passing Madigan and Mastin, and heading for the door leading to the bathroom and to the closet. But instead of going through the door as they expected, she stopped at the balcony railing and looked down at the sea of alarmed and worried faces staring upward from the living area and doorway. In a voice careful to hide her hysteria, and keep it from overwhelming her once more, she told them, “The Bloods have breached Bearinger’s walls. The compound has fallen. We’re leaving within the hour to bring back the survivors...and the dead.” “Oh, God, Yul!” Madigan screamed. She wavered on her feet, but MaGrath managed to reach her and pull her tightly against him before she could collapse. “Atty, are you sure?” the physician called out to her. She turned to give him a blank, almost dead look. “I just...know.” “What about the Battle Lord?” Mastin demanded. He was still disoriented from the suddenness of being pulled out of sleep. “What about Yulen? Is he...dead?” Atty opened her mouth to answer, but no sound would come out. She closed her lips, licked them, swallowed hard, and tried again. “I can’t feel him,” she confessed in a wavering voice as her hand convulsed around the carved railing. “I don’t know. I can’t feel him.” Her knees shook. Her entire body felt strangely light and disconnected. The ugly possibility no one could imagine, much less voice, sat over them like a thick, suffocating cloud. In every man’s mind, they could envision the terror. The Bloods had managed to penetrate the compound’s defenses and were now pouring into the citadel. A swarm of crazed, blood-hungry mutants were descending upon soldiers and citizens alike. Men, women, and children were being mercilessly slaughtered at that very moment. And somewhere in that morass of humanity and inhumanity was Yulen. Mastin hurried over and grabbed her arm. “We’ll find him, Atty. I swear to God, we’ll bring him back.” “Yes. We will,” she replied. “We will? What are you talking about? You’re not going,” MaGrath began to argue. Before anyone could comprehend her swiftness or her anger, Atty snatched up her

longbow from where she kept it propped against the wall on her side of the bed. Two arrows were nocked on the string. Standing before them, and looking every bit like an avenging angel, the Battle Lady drew back and took deliberate aim at the small group of people in her bedroom. Her lips were drawn over her teeth. Her eyes glittered with the fire of her determination as she hissed, “I am going to Bearinger. I will find my husband, and I will bring him back to Alta Novis. Anyone who tells me no will find an arrow in them. Don’t try to stop me, because I swear on the life of my and Yulen’s son I will shoot every one of you if I must. Cole? I am the Battle Lady. Therefore I order you to prepare the small wagon and have however many men we can spare to leave within the hour.” The Second bowed slightly and hustled down the stairs to make ready. Turning back to the others left in the loft, she never took her eye off the upper arrow’s shaft. Her aim never wavered. “Time is short. I want all of you to leave my home. Now. So I can prepare.” “Do you know what you’re doing?” MaGrath asked her warily. She was distraught and extremely agitated, but he had no doubt in his mind Atty would do exactly as she said if anyone tried to stop her from going to Bearinger. “Get out of my house, Liam. You, too, Madigan.” “Us, too?” Tory asked softly. Atty paused only for a second. “You and Fortune may stay, but, Fortune, I want you to go down that staircase right now. Tory doesn’t have the ability to stop me, but you are one of my caste mates, and I cannot trust you not turning on me.” “No need for that. I’m going with you,” Fortune informed her. Before she could respond, he started for the staircase. Atty watched him go as Tory followed him. “So must I,” MaGrath spoke. Madigan clutched her husband, but their eyes locked as the truth passed between them. He patted her hand that lay curled against his chest. “I’ll bring him back, Maddy. I swear to you. One way or another.” Dead or alive. “I love you, Liam,” she murmured possessively. If he had ever doubted her true feelings before now, she had to make certain he wouldn’t face his own possible death without knowing. Her answer was a warm and heady kiss that seared definite emotions deep inside her. For the hundredth time Madigan wondered why she had waited so long to accept him. “You can put the bow down, Atty,” he finally spoke, turning to the desperate woman still standing by the railing. A moment of apprehension came and went. Then, unexpectedly, Atty lowered her weapon. Letting out a quick, explosive breath, she sniffed. “I’ll be out in front as soon as I dress,” she told them. Tossing her longbow on the bed, she walked quickly into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

Chapter Ten Razed Compound

“It’ll be dawn in a little more than two hours, sir,” Sorcher informed the Second. “Good. That’ll give us a good head start,” came a voice approaching the wagon. Atty stopped short of climbing aboard to stare at the armed soldiers mounted and waiting for the signal to head out. Seeing her blink in astonishment, Mastin reminded her, “You said as many as we could spare. Trust me, Atty, I’m leaving as many here to defend Alta Novis as I believe we’ll need.” She blinked again in disbelief at the nearly one hundred men ready and willing. Had the compound grown so much? Tossing her pillow into the back of the wagon, she started to climb into the small, narrow seat when an unexpected arm reached out to assist her up. She turned around to see a familiar, yet unfamiliar face holding the reins. “I know you,” she announced, trying to place him. “You’re the man who defeated Verdella at practice.” The man gave her a little bow. “Yes, Madam. Garet Renken. You also gave me a little welcoming demonstration in the main hall a few weeks ago when I first arrived,” he reminded her. Her eyes flew open wide, and a mischievous grin lit her pale face. “Ah! Now I remember. You’re the Doubting Thomas Yulen wanted me to convince.” At his surprised expression, Atty snorted. “You didn’t think I heard you from way over on the other side of the room, did you? I was looking for my husband, and he made a signal for me to snag you.” She tilted her head at him. “You’re coming with us?” “Try to stop me.” “You’re not one of the soldiers. You’re not under any obligation.” Renken shrugged and gave her a lazy grin. “Regardless.” “Thank you, Mr. Renken. You’re sword is welcome. Mastin, let’s get moving!” Atty snatched the reins from his hands and slapped the leather across her mare’s back. The little wagon jerked forward, and the rest of the forces closed around it, taking their respective positions as they had always done, as they had been trained to do. Swinging into his saddle, the ex-mercenary hurried to catch up with the formation, and soon found himself side-by-side with the Mutah hunter who was staying in the Battle Lord and Lady’s new lodge. On the other side of the mutant rode the doctor. The three of them instinctively took up the Battle Lady’s rear. Mastin called for an increase in speed before they were all out of the main gates, and for the next six hours the caravan was unusually quiet. Unlike before, when the men would converse on horseback to fill up the time, everyone seemed withdrawn into their own private world of fear and trepidation. For those men who had not been at the lodge when Atty had announced the downfall of Bearinger, word had spread quicker than a flash flood. A least a dozen seasoned veterans who had retired from the service, but who still maintained their agility and health, had volunteered to accompany the hastily-gathered force. Seeing this as his chance to redeem himself from his dubious past in the eyes of the Battle Lady, Renken had been among the first to approach the Second and offer his services. “With her permission,” was all Mastin would say. Renken grinned. Well, he’d gotten it. When they stopped for a quick noon meal, he found that by hanging around unobtrusively

he could often glean valuable information. It was a method that had repeatedly served him well in the past, and hadn’t failed in the short time he’d been living in Alta Novis. Renken realized he was very lucky to have ended up parked next to the Mutah hunter and the doctor. When Mastin called for the stop, no one objected to him taking his meal along with them. “Do you think we’re going to battle with these Bloods when we get there?” Renken casually asked Fortune. It was the first conversation he’d struck up with the man since they’d left the compound. And although the Mutah hunter definitely looked normal, it took him aback to see the long tail with the tuft of hair at the end whipping about the man’s legs. Stranger still, the sight of the appendage soon stopped bothering him. Fortune slid his eyes sideways at the obvious stranger. “I think that’s pretty much uppermost in everyone’s mind, but it’s the not real reason why we’re going. You know that, right?” Renken nodded. “Right.” The Battle Lady was kept in guarded seclusion the entire trip. Even now she was seated on a bare rock, surrounded by the doctor and two sub-lieutenants. Despite her condition, she was wearing a pair of laced-up leather pants and an oversized tunic, which he suspected originally belonged to the Battle Lord. The pillow she’d brought along with her had puzzled him at first, until he later saw her use it to pad her stomach against the rough jarring the wagon often took along the rutted roadway. Someone behind him made an off-the-cuff comment. “Hope this good weather holds out.” “Same here,” Fortune agreed. Despite the near-freezing cold nights, the days had been unseasonably mild. Even today had dawned bright and clear, without a hint of a cloud in the sky. “That’s why they struck,” Renken drawled softly. His remark was immediately pounced upon. “How do you figure?” someone behind him challenged. “Calm before the storm. You know the next big one’s gonna hit soon. That’s why they attacked now. So that when they get socked in by the next blizzard, they’ll already have what they need to sustain them through the worst of it.” He was pleased to see Mastin and a few others digest his theory and agree to it. Casually, almost nonchalantly, he got to his feet and meandered over to see if he could eavesdrop on the conversation by the Battle Lady’s fire. Atty shook her head slowly. “No,” she responded softly to whatever question he’d missed. “I sense nothing. Nothing.” Her face appeared more strained than normal, and her cheeks glistened with tears. “The moment you do, let us know,” MaGrath gently ordered her. At her nod, he got up and left, casting a watchful look at the ex-mercenary as he passed by. Hoping it wouldn’t be seen as being too presumptuous of him, Renken took the seat the man had vacated. Silently he watched as Atty took another two bites of the apple she was making suffice for her lunch. She chewed slowly, thoughtfully, lost in whatever she was holding inside herself, then tossed the rest out into the dirt before burying her face in her hands. Behind her, Sorcher laid a comforting hand on her shoulder as he remained on guard. Minutes later, Mastin called them to their horses, and they were back on the road. The second half of the day passed a bit more quickly, despite the fact that conversation remained hushed and limited. During the late afternoon, MaGrath transferred Atty to the back of the wagon to rest, and took the reins himself. As soon as she curled up on the pile of blankets, she

fell fast asleep, and the ranks suddenly closed around her, keeping the wagon in the center of the caravan. This was an army fiercely protective of their Battle Lady, something Renken had discovered from day one of his relocation to the compound. Where their respect and loyalty to Yulen D’Jacques was unquestionable, the soldiers’ devotion to his wife was something he’d heard about but never witnessed until he moved to Alta Novis. Neither did it take long for Renken to find out that all the other stories and rumors—what initially he had truly considered as outright fairy tales—were not fabrications. The Mutah woman’s abilities were one hundred percent golden. Moreso, the fabled love between the two leaders was greater than anything he had originally expected. There were days when Renken would sit in a small patch of winter sunlight as he polished his weapons, and quietly watch the interaction between the Battle Lord and Lady. Atty, he realized, had a mercurial mood, but she was nothing if not passionate in everything she did, whether it be breaking up an argument between two merchants on Market Day, or the way she would go running up to D’Jacques when he least expected it and launch herself into his arms, right in the middle of the compound, ignoring the looks and smiles of those around them. When she had drawn a bead on those people gathered in her bedroom and threatened them with bodily harm if they denied her going along on this rescue attempt, Renken had laughed to himself. It was just like her, and he for one wouldn’t expect her to do anything else. Why did they even think they could talk her out of going? Yes, traveling with the babe in her womb seriously complicated things, considering she was Mutah, but if the situation at Bearinger turned out to be a tenth as dangerous as everyone believed it would be, she was still a potent and critically needed weapon. “You don’t talk much, do you?” Fortune probed next to him. One side of Renken’s face creased into a grin. “Guess it’s from being alone too long.” He raised his head and turned it toward the hunter. “You’ve known Atty all her life, right? Has she always been like this? Obstinate and the like?” Fortune grimaced. “This is way beyond obstinate. We’re going to be making history with this trip. I just pray we find the Battle Lord’s remains.” “You think he’s dead?” “I don’t know what to think. I just know Atty can’t sense him any longer, and that’s a bad sign. A bad, bad sign. That’s one reason why we’re watching her like hawks. Your name’s Renken, right? For some reason she’s letting you ride her rear. She has good instincts about people, and her letting you ride back here so close to her tells me a lot about you. Listen, if you start to see her looking as if she’s awake but a million miles away, let me or Cole or the doctor know immediately, will you?” Renken nodded. “Anything else?” “Yeah. Are you willing to give your life to protect her?” “Why else would I be here?” the ex-mercenary challenged a bit more gruffly than he intended to. Although he was used to people questioning his motives, for some reason this hunter got under his skin. Maybe it was because it felt like the Mutah could look right through him. Instead of being irritated by the man’s answer, Fortune chuckled instead. “Good. Glad to hear that. ‘Cause she’d defend your worthless ass in a split second.” He waved a hand to encompass the entire entourage. “They all know this. I just wanted to make sure you did, too.” They reached a widening in the road soon after dusk, and Mastin ordered camp to be

raised in the middle of the roadway, as far away from the dubious protection of the trees as possible. Small campfires were lit, suppers were cooked, and everyone bedded down for a short night. They would resume before daylight. On the second day, while Atty was riding in the seat alongside Fortune, who held the reins, Renken noticed a funny expression cross her face. Her head was down, and everyone assumed she was dozing, until he saw the rise and fall of her shoulders. Catching the physician’s attention, he pointed at her, and MaGrath immediately signaled for a halt. Pulling his horse up to the wagon, the man first gave Renken a questioning glance. “She’s gone under,” he told him, hoping the physician would understand. He did. MaGrath quickly slid off his mount and took one of her hands that rested limp beside her. “Atty? Atty, can you hear me?” She lifted her face, but it was immediately obvious she was not seeing him or the battalion surrounding her. “Atty, what do you see?” MaGrath softly insisted. He stroked her hand, hoping to keep her grounded enough to answer him. “I...smell smoke.” Her voice was low and gravelly. “Yes. Go on.” “Smoke.” She blinked, but not to clear her vision. “Smoke.” “Have the Bloods set fire to Bearinger?” “Smoke,” she managed again to say. Before she could say more, she closed her eyes and rested her head on Fortune’s shoulder. She was asleep moments later. “Do you think the Bloods torched the compound?” Fortune spoke out as MaGrath remounted and Mastin got them moving again. “The bigger question is, are the Bloods still at Bearinger? Or have they moved on?” Del Ray voiced. He was riding in front of the wagon. The questions were now being asked almost unendingly. How many had attacked the compound? How had they managed to breach the walls? What weapons did they use? Who had survived? Who hadn’t? Would there even be any survivors? Were the Bloods still present? Or had they moved on? What had they done to the compound? What had they done to the people living there? What had they done to the soldiers defending it? What had they done with the Battle Lord? By that evening Atty had come out of her trance. Many were surprised to discover she remembered saying she’d smelled smoke, but she became upset when she couldn’t give them any more details. That night she couldn’t sleep, and spent hours standing in the middle of the roadway, gazing into the distance, as if she could see the compound. Or force herself to sense another clue, another hint of what they would find there when they arrived. Or learn what had happened to the only love of her life. Despite the distance, their sense of urgency never wavered. Mastin kept the caravan quickly moving so that they traveled the long miles and longer days in record time. As they grew closer to the small valley where they knew Bearinger sat, they were beset with a growing odor. The air soon became thick with the rancid stench of rot and decay. And smoke. Coming over the last rise, every man stared or shuddered in horror at the remains of the once beautiful compound lying below. Small fires continued to burn, sending choking tendrils of

black ash and smoke spiraling upward into the sparkling blue sky. Overcome with what they were viewing, they advanced cautiously toward the main gates that, like the rest of the reinforced walls, were no more than burnt stubs, most less than six feet high. All of the centralized buildings were gone, torn down or collapsed from the inferno. Outside the walls, the bodies of Bloods littered the ground. The scene of gruesome carnage was exacerbated by the small clusters of vultures feeding here and there on the dead. From the decayed conditions of the carcasses, MaGrath determined they had fallen at about the same exact time Atty had announced their attack that evening in the lodge. They paused in front of the partially-open main gates. Atty climbed out of the wagon and slowly began to walk into the city that was eerily quiet. Quickly the others dismounted and followed her inside. Inside the compound, the horror was even greater. The bodies of Bloods, soldiers, and the inhabitants of Bearinger were scattered about like chunks of slaughtered cattle. Multi-colored ichor, mixed with splotches and pools of red blood, was splattered across the ground, on walls, on wagons, on posts. For as far as anyone could see, not a living creature or person was left standing in a citadel of what should have been over three hundred people, not counting the troops D’Jacques had brought. The amount of savagery evident was indescribable. Several soldiers vomited at the sight and stench. MaGrath, Mastin, and Renken kept close behind Atty as she stepped over the hacked torsos and separated body parts strewn everywhere. She moved purposefully but without any true direction. She kept her bow in front of her, nocked with an arrow already drawn and ready. Even the animals had not been spared. Many of the compound’s horses lay in huge, meaty chunks. Some bore teeth marks in the hacked flesh. Sections of armor gleamed like jewels from hell amid the human remains. Stained red pieces of metal reflected the sunlight, and many of the soldiers blanched at the knowledge that their own friends, family members, and battle mates had been wearing them when they left Alta Novis. It was Renken who paused as he surveyed the unbelievable, unforgettable destruction. “Something’s not right here!” he called out to the others. Mastin stopped. “I can feel it, too. Sorcher?” “Here, sir!” the lieutenant called out a few yards beyond. The soldiers had fanned out, looking for possible survivors, although it was evident to everyone there would be none. As badly as the bodies had been mutilated, it also didn’t seem likely they would be able to identify many of the dead. “Nothing!” he yelled in answer. Glancing at Atty, Mastin saw her heading toward a nearby tower that lay on its side just inside the demolished east wall. His trained eye noticed that this part of the structure appeared to have borne more of the brunt of the battle. The fallen tower had not just been burned, but it had been chopped like firewood, as well. “They came over the east wall,” he announced loudly. A quick glance over his shoulder gave him a quick indication of where his men were located. When he turned back around, he saw Atty throw down her bow and fall to her knees the same moment the others did. All three men reached her simultaneously as they saw her digging frantically in a pile of dirt and rubble. A keening whine was coming from her as she bent over to retrieve whatever it was that had caught her eye. Sheathing his sword, Renken dropped beside her and reached in to help her, pulling aside

charred sections of wood and bloody chunks of meat and flesh he didn’t want to examine too closely for fear of recognizing them. “Oh...God!” Her soft, agonized cry raised the hairs on the back of MaGrath’s neck as he leaned over to see what she had found. His stomach tightened to the point of pitching him forward into the devastation to vomit what little he’d eaten. Light-headed with fear, he prayed she hadn’t found what he knew she had. Slowly, her whole body shaking uncontrollably, Atty drew Yulen’s sword from under the pile of human refuse. Bracing her body against it as she clutched the bloodied hilt, she began to weep in loud, raspy sobs. MaGrath fell to his knees. His legs would no longer hold him up as he stared at the sword he knew had been Rory’s, and which had been passed to Yulen after his death. Which would be passed to Yulen’s unborn son— “Sir!” The call seemed to draw everyone’s attention to Flacker standing a few yards beyond them. The soldier had a look of disbelief on his face. He leaned over and pulled on something, propping it up for the rest of them to see. To MaGrath’s surprise, the horrified oath he heard came from his own mouth. It was the head of Yulen’s big gray stallion. Only the head remained, removed at the chest like some bizarre wall trophy. The reins and bridle dangled from the gaping mouth. A scream overhead came from a predatory hawk, hungry for an easy meal, but not trusting to land as long as the men were gathered below. Death, weighing heavier than the air they were breathing, was so palpable, it seemed to threatened those who had ventured inside the compound to claim its victims. “Let’s get the fuck out of here!” one of the men yelled out. His voice trembled. The others felt equally spooked, equally uneasy, and it was evident they wanted to remove themselves from that place as quickly as possible. “Head out!” Mastin yelled back. “Call a retreat!” Taking another step toward where Atty remained kneeling and clutching Yulen’s sword, he held out a hand and begged her, “Let’s go, Atty. There’s no one left alive here.” Blue-gray eyes reddened with tears flashed at him. “No. I have to find what’s left of him. I won’t leave until I do.” “Atty.” MaGrath tried to reason with her. “Atty, there’s nothing left to find. And even if we did, we wouldn’t be able to reasonably identify the remains. Atty—” “No.” “Atty, listen to me.” “No.” She hoisted herself to her feet, using the sword to lever her bulkiness. Turning to face them, she took two steps backwards and raised Yulen’s sword with both hands, keeping the gory point at eye level. “I’m remaining here until I find proof. I...I have to find proof. Do you understand? I have to!” MaGrath cursed under his breath. Her emotional upheaval was too dangerous for the welfare of her baby. Regardless of where they stood at the moment, he knew he had to get her calmed, if not in a reasonably less agitated frame of mind. And searching amid a field of dissected body parts for ones that looked like they belonged to her husband was not going to help matters.

“Atty, you have to think of the baby,” he said in what he hoped sounded like a soothing tone of voice. God knew he was about ready to fall apart at any second. Yulen! Oh, dearest God in heaven, Yulen! What were you forced to endure? “Your son is part of Yulen. You created him together. Don’t lose him now. Not after all you’ve gone through. Not because of this. Think of what Yulen would be telling you if he were still alive, Atty,” MaGrath pleaded with her. “Protect that part of Yulen that’s still alive in you. Let’s get out of this place and go back outside the walls. At least long enough so we can come up with some plan of action.” He shuddered, reaching for her as well. “I promised Maddy we’d bring him back. Trust me, Atty. We’ll find him. But, right now, come with me.” Atty continued to hold up the blood-encrusted sword as she took another half-dozen steps backwards, afraid to stop looking when they’d already found his horse and weapon. Her back bumped up against the side of the fallen tower, and she pressed herself along the scorched wall of the lookout station. As many soldiers would later retell of that day, no one knew the wounded Blood was lying in wait in the nest. Atty never felt its presence, never anticipated it, and they figured it was because her immense grief had blinded her to it being in hiding. All they remembered was the screeching shriek made by the leathery creature as it reared up behind her, grabbed Atty by her thick length of braided hair, and pulled the Battle Lady backwards, bending her over the wall of the lookout. Drawn over the narrow ledge, her feet flailed uselessly as Atty struggled to right herself. Unable to scream, she reached behind her head with one hand, hoping to pull her long hair out of the thing’s clutches, but she couldn’t reach it. Neither could she reach her Ballock. The Blood glared with obsidian black eyes at the men who stood frozen in stunned terror. It was Renken who managed to break out of fear’s hold first, and he started to rush the creature when it lifted its other taloned hand and proceeded to bring it down across Atty’s exposed throat—effectively slicing it open to the spine at the least, decapitating her at the most. From somewhere inside her, a soul-wrenching yell came out of Atty’s mouth. She hadn’t lost her grip on Yulen’s sword, and with a burst of adrenaline, she grabbed the hilt with both hands. As she saw the razored claws descending, Atty lifted the heavy weapon and continued to swing it upward and over her head as she screamed in anger. The finely honed edge sliced through the creature’s hand and buried itself halfway through the Blood, cleaving into its neck and chest at an angle. As the sword ground to a stop in her hands, Atty released it and twisted out of the thing’s dying grasp as she fell away from the lookout to tumble to the ground. A heartbeat later, MaGrath was clutching her in his arms, and they shuddered together in the aftermath. Infuriated with himself, Mastin barked out orders, and the men scattered to check for other possible survivors in hiding. When MaGrath helped the dazed woman to her feet and began to lead her out of the compound, the Second was near tears, realizing how badly he’d messed up. The encounter had been too close. Cursing himself, he tried to apologize, but a dark glare from the physician shut him up. It was Renken who stayed behind long enough to retrieve her longbow and the sword from the dead Blood, double checking to make sure the creature could not give them any more trouble before carrying the weapons back to the entrance of the compound where he returned them to the nearly unconscious Battle Lady. To him, it seemed fitting that her husband’s sword would remain faithful to his love, and help her to destroy the thing before it destroyed her. Even after the man’s own death, his spirit

continued to watch over her and protect her.

Chapter Eleven Harsh Discoveries

“Take five, men, before we go in and start making sense of the dead.” Mastin rubbed a hand over his face, then pulled it away to discover he was shaking as if he were palsied. He refused to glance back at the unspeakable nightmare behind him. Not just yet. He needed another moment to gather himself, and to steel his nerves before leading his soldiers back through those smoldering doors to begin the grisly task of searching for recognizable pieces of their men. For recognizable pieces of their Battle Lord. The funeral pyres would be many in Alta Novis when they returned. He walked over to where MaGrath sat huddled on the ground next to the wagon, tightly holding onto Atty. She was rocking in his arms, her eyes wide and unseeing as a tiny, high-pitched moan came from her throat. “Cole, get my bag.” The Second flinched at the iron-like command in the physician’s voice. He retrieved the leather satchel containing the man’s medicines from the back of the wagon and handed it down to him. MaGrath snatched it from the man’s hands and released Atty to search for something to calm her down. Her next movements were precise and unanticipated. Seeing her whipping out her Ballock, Mastin’s first instincts made him scream in fear. “Oh, God, Atty! No!” But what he’d dreaded she would do never happened. Barely giving him a glance, Atty reached around and grabbed her thick braid. Without a second thought, she started to slice through the rich, glossy length, hacking at it, sawing the razor-sharp blade back and forth, until she’d cut the entire piece off at neck level. Everyone stared at her in mute, stunned surprise. Her trademark hair with its long, luxurious thickness they had seen the Battle Lord fondle and smooth and comb with his fingers countless times was now gone, until all that was left was a short crop of dark blue, wispy, ragged curls that ended below her ears. Forcing herself to draw deep breaths, Atty tossed the braid at Mastin, who caught it and flushed a dark red. “Never...again,” she rasped. “No one, and no thing, will ever be able to do something like that to me again.” Turning back to MaGrath, she buried her face in the man’s shoulder. Speechless, Mastin carefully rolled the nearly yard-long braid into a neat ball, then tucked it into his saddlebag. The Bloods had claimed another victim, only it would take a little while longer before she succumbed to her wounds. Calling out to his lieutenants, the soldiers were regathered and given their orders to begin the task of claiming the dead. Fortune helped the physician lift the now unconscious woman into the back of the little wagon. MaGrath had managed to give her a sleeping potion, and in her exhausted state, Atty had gone under quickly. “She’ll be out for at least a couple of hours,” MaGrath said. “I only gave her a small amount, more to keep her calm than anything else.” “We’re going to need you out in the field,” the Mutah hunter told him. MaGrath nodded solemnly. As the compound’s physician, he knew every soldier’s body

almost as intimately as the men did themselves. He would be able to identify scars, tattoos, birthmarks—those marks which would tell him which of the dead belonged to Alta Novis. Most of all, he would be needed to help them identify the Battle Lord. “I can’t leave Atty alone,” he told the Second. “She might wake up while we’re still in there.” “I’ll remain with her,” a voice behind them said. Both men turned around to see Renken standing on the other side the wagon. It took Fortune only a second to make his decision. “Atty allowed him to ride with us and help guard her back. I trust him.” Dark brown eyes stabbed the ex-mercenary, and Renken felt his skin crawl. The doctor was not a man to cross. “I’ll yell if she comes to,” Renken promised. The physician relented. Quickly the pair hurried, if reluctantly, back into the destruction. Once they were gone from sight, Renken moved to the rear of the wagon where he could keep a better eye on their surroundings. And on the Battle Lady. To the northeast a bank of dark gray clouds was forming. A storm was building, gathering strength to blow another foot or more of snow across the land. Already the wind was picking up slightly in anticipation. Renken’s gaze swept back to the woman lying on her side in a semi-fetal position. Other than that day when he’d first arrived at Alta Novis, this was the closest he’d physically been able to approach her. If he reached out, with little effort he could touch her boot. She was taller than she first appeared. The Battle Lord was a good six foot two or three, Renken’s own height. Many times he’d seen D’Jacques rest his chin or cheek on the top of his wife’s head when she leaned against him. Renken guessed it was her puckish nature and joie de vivre that made her seem more petite and delicate. A deceptive description, he quickly discovered. The woman could kill and gut a two hundred pound wolverine without batting an eye, but she was reduced to a helpless kitten if she raised D’Jacques ire. Or his desire. He sighed noisily and scratched the several days’ growth on his face. God, if he could only find a woman even remotely like her. For the next hour the soldiers hunted diligently. A blanket was laid out near the main gates, and already Renken could see some partial bodies lying there, awaiting the time when they’d be wrapped securely for transportation back home. But none of them were of the Battle Lord. Three sections of his armor had been found in the same area where they’d discovered his sword. When Renken questioned one of the sub-lieutenants how they could be certain it belonged to him, the man explained that the armorer had engraved the last name of its wearer inside each piece as it was being made, since each section was specifically fashioned to fit just one owner. Renken picked up one of the pieces they’d placed on the blanket behind the wagon. Yep, up near the edge of the shoulder cap was the single word: D’Jacques. Mastin walked up to drop another sword on the pile of weapons. Renkin motioned to him. “Hey. Look at this.” The Second paused and glanced over before heading back inside. Holding up the piece of armor, Renkin fingered what was left of the leather strap used to buckle it on. Blood, once red but now a sticky brown, had soaked into it. “What does that look like to you?” Mastin’s eyes narrowed, and he reached out to finger it with bloodstained gloves. “It’s ragged.” “Yeah. That’s because it was chewed apart. Those things chewed his armor off.”

Mastin’s face went a shade paler, and he turned and walked back into the compound without further comment. Laying the piece down, Renken glanced over at the two blankets spread on the ground. One held various swords and weapons the men were recovering from the site. Another had a pile of armored pieces. He swallowed hard. It was the third blanket containing the body parts MaGrath had identified as belonging to some of the men from Alta Novis that sent a chill down his back. After years of being a mercenary, he had developed a pretty thick hide when it came to death and destruction. But the aftermath of what he was seeing here from the Bloods was making him sick to his stomach. For the umpteenth time he checked the Battle Lady. A coldness suddenly swept over him. She was...different. Narrowing his eyes, Renken shifted modes. The skilled eyes of a seasoned mercenary raked over her to spot what had alerted him. She took another shallow breath— Renken raced for the main gates where he could alert the nearest man. “Atty!” he yelled, needing no further explanation, and rushed back to the wagon. Behind him he could hear the word pass, until presently he heard the sound of running feet. “What?” MaGrath panted, gasping for breath. Renken pointed toward the still unconscious form as the others joined them. The physician gave her a cursory glance, and turned back to Renken. “I thought you were signaling us that she was waking up,” the man loudly exclaimed. “She’s not asleep,” Renken curtly corrected him. “Look at her, Doc. She’s sensing!” There were several gasps behind him, but Renken grimly smiled to see the look of incredulity on the doctor’s face. For the barest of moments everyone’s mind wondered as to what she could be sensing—when the answer nearly knocked them over. Her sallow complexion had changed. A pink flush now infused her, giving her face an almost normal, rosy glow. Atty took another hitching breath, and to their astonishment her hand lifted. Slowly, cautiously, almost reverently. Reaching out as if she could touch... A bright wail of anguish tore from her lips. Several of them jumped in their skins at the sound. Before he was aware of what he was doing, Renken edged around to the side of the wagon and lifted her into a sitting position. Atty’s hands flexed once, twice, and she reached outward imploringly as her wail formed into a single word. “Yuuuuuuulllll!” “Oh, sweet Jesus, she’s deranged!” someone stated in a shaky voice. “Shut up!” Renken barked. The soldier returned the icy stare but did as he was told. Slowly, Atty raised her hands to her face. Her whole body jerked spasmodically. Finally, a tiny voice came from behind quivering lips. “Cole?” “I’m here, Atty,” the Second was quick to answer, moving closer to where he could hear her better. “Gather the men. Now. We’re heading west.” “West?” Mastin repeated, hoping he’d heard her right the first time. “Why?” Atty lifted eyes now haunted with images only she could see. She was aware of them, aware of where she was, aware of what surrounded them, yet her gaze remained inward, stubbornly refusing to let go of the thin, impossibly tenuous thread of her connection. “He’s alive, Cole. Yul. He’s...alive!” No one questioned her sanity. No one questioned the insanity of her orders. To a man, they gathered their weapons and supplies, and in less than five minutes they were in exact

formation, ready for the go-ahead. “Which way, Atty?” Fortune called out. Renken sat at the reins as the Battle Lady leaned heavily against him. Weakly, she pointed toward the forest on the other side of the roadway. Mastin signaled them forward. The soldiers advanced over the wide, rutted lane, toward the dense growth. But as they neared the tree line, they could see where a distinct path had been trampled in the wake of the Bloods’ retreat. Boldly, the battalion entered the forest. The path was irregular and not difficult to track. “It’s as if they never expected to be followed,” Fortune half-whispered. “Of course not,” MaGrath hissed. “But this is wrong. All wrong,” Renken insisted, thinking aloud. “There’s more to this than we’re seeing.” He turned to the woman sitting with her head on his shoulder. He caught of whiff of her scent and the slightly minty smell of her hair. His stomach tightened. “I’m right, ain’t I, Atty?” She lifted herself into a sitting position and clutched her pillow closer to her abdomen. “They’re on foot. They can’t move as quickly as we can on horseback. We’re already starting to gain on them.” “Where are they heading, Atty?” Mastin asked from where he rode to the left of the wagon. “I don’t know,” she confessed softly. She shuddered slightly, but she remained awake. Awake, but sightless, as if all her energy was directed inward to focus on their single goal. Their ultimate, top priority. “He was unconscious,” she suddenly blurted out. “That’s why I didn’t feel him. He’s...he’s confused. He’s hurt.” She jerked unexpectedly, and a tear ran down her cheek. “Oh, God, they hurt him so terribly.” “Why did they take him prisoner?” Fortune questioned aloud. “Since when do Bloods take prisoners?” “Not prisoners,” Atty corrected him. She blinked, and it was as if a veil dropped from her face. She turned a bright, clear, if somewhat sad pair of eyes in her friend’s direction. “There’s nearly a hundred of our men with them.” “What?” “What?” Not realizing he’d pulled up the mare and stopped the wagon, Renken was surprised when Atty reached over and slapped his hands. “Don’t stop this caravan!” she heatedly ordered. The exmercenary was quick to obey. “Repeat what you just said,” MaGrath asked her. Behind and before them, the soldiers’ strained to hear what she had to say. “The Bloods are dragging almost a hundred of our soldiers along with them. But Liam, they’re not being taken as prisoners.” She paused to swallow hard. “They’re being taken as food.” Every man shivered in the wake of her admission, then waited to hear more, but Atty leaned back against the man holding the reins and closed her eyes. As twilight darkened the wood, Mastin finally called a halt. “We have to rest if we’re going to make any progress tomorrow,” he announced. “Atty, how far behind are we?” She shook her head. “Not far. They can’t move too fast with the number of prisoners they’re having to deal with. And it’s harder progressing straight into the woods. We’re in their wake. They’ve done the hard part, clearing the path for us.”

“Still, I don’t like being out in the open like this,” the Second noted. “We may not have to be,” Fortune said as he stood up in his stirrups and sniffed loudly. Sitting back down, he smiled at Atty. “Bumblebee, bumblebee,” he sing-songed lightly in a teasing tone. “Tell me what you hear and see,” she automatically answered, then started. “Or, in this case, smell,” the Mutah hunter clarified. She turned to stare at the man. Slowly the old Atty could be seen pooling back into the blue-gray depths of her eyes. It was like watching life reemerging, filling her with hope and purpose. Carefully, with Renken’s arm to steady her, Atty stood up in the little wagon and tested the air. MaGrath was quick to notice how subtly she slipped into her hunter’s mode, and the knowledge gave him hope. This was the Atty he knew. It was like a ray of sunlight to his frantic soul to see that side of her reappear. “Bear. We’re in bear country.” She looked to Fortune for confirmation. “And where there’s bear, there’s bear caves,” Fortune explained to Mastin. “I bet we can find a den or two that we can fortify for the night. Give me and a couple of your men a few minutes, and I’ll lead you to them.” He glanced back at the woman opening her mouth to volunteer. “Not this time, Atty-cake. You stay here and keep that connection going. This won’t take but a few minutes.” Mastin peeled off two men to follow the hunter further into the dense underbrush. MaGrath turned to Atty with a silly grin spreading over his face. “Atty-cake?” For the first time in days, she returned a small smile. “It was what my parents often called me when I was growing up. You know, ‘pattycake, pattycake, baker’s man’? Well...Atty-cake.” “Of course, you having an inexhaustible sweet tooth wouldn’t have anything to do with it, either, would it, bluebell?” To his delight, she grinned. “Maybe,” she admitted, elaborating no further. As he promised, Fortune quickly returned and directed them back the way he’d gone. Within minutes the battalion happened upon a large clearing surrounding a tall, rocky abutment. The entrance to a small cave lay close to ground level. “It’s abandoned, or else I would’ve found an animal hibernating in there this time of year. It’s large enough to comfortably fit Atty and a couple more. The rest of us can form a semicircle in front of it.” Mastin agreed. They would be able to create a reasonably safe sanctuary with the abutment at their backs. It was the best they could do under the circumstances. He called for the men to set up camp, and the soldiers wearily dismounted to follow orders. With only a quick breakfast and no lunch to sustain them, the men were already being pushed to their physical limits, not to mention their emotional limits as well. Yet they knew they were heading into something infinitely more dangerous than they could ever imagine. They had no doubt that their Battle Lord was still alive. And with Atty’s proclamation that nearly another hundred of their fellow soldiers, friends, and kinsmen alike were also alive, it was more than enough to keep them going for as long as they needed to. Fortune managed to snag a fox, which he cleaned and cooked over the open flames of their small fire in front of the cave. MaGrath had taken up residence with Atty, and the Mutah hunter and Renken had assumed positions right outside the cave entrance. As the meat dripped fat into the fire, the two men glanced up when the doctor and the Battle Lady joined them.

“How do you feel?” Renken inquired. Atty tucked a stray strand of hair over her ear. Her fingers encountered air, and for a second she paused in surprise before she remembered she’d shorn off her locks. “Drained.” “How’s the baby?” Fortune asked. “Active. Unrelenting. Tory owes me a big apology.” “Oh?” he chuckled. “Why?” “She conveniently forgot to let me in on this part of being pregnant. Not only do I have to be uncomfortable, but I have to be a human punching bag, too.” It seemed the air around them grew cooler, cleaner. Fresher. This was the old Atty. Their sassy, feisty Atty. She was completely in control of herself, and her spirit was quickly rising back to the surface. It was enough to give them all hope. “Atty. Tell them what you just told me,” MaGrath urged. Taking a deep breath, she glanced around to see where a large majority of the soldiers had gathered around to hear her. Those left on the fringes were posted on guard duty, but knew they would be given the specifics when she was done. “Yulen is alive, but seriously injured.” She clasped her hands in front of her and hunched as far over as she could with her rounded belly. “The reason I couldn’t sense him before was because he was unconscious.” She hesitated, searching for her next words. “There had to have been nearly a thousand Bloods descending on Bearinger. It was hard to get a more exact number in the darkness, but the troops managed to decimate a goodly number of them. There’s barely a little over three hundred of them left, and most of them, if not all, have some sort of injury.” “Tell them about our men.” She nodded slightly. “They’re being given water, but nothing else. Like the Bloods, they’ve suffered. They’re hurt. Bleeding. Many are suffering broken bones. Some are missing limbs. A few have critical wounds. They’re being herded like cattle in ropes. By the end of the day a couple will have fallen.” Atty paled, but managed to continue. “Those fallen are eaten.” Several men swore softly at the news. “And the Battle Lord?” Del Ray inquired. Her reaction was immediate. A cloak of despair appeared to drop over her face and shoulders, and Atty lowered her face for a minute in order to compose herself. “They know he’s the Battle Lord,” she told them in a barely audible voice. A shudder ran through her. “The Bloods are keeping him separated from the rest because they’re afraid he would rally the men to attack. They—” She flinched as if she’d been slapped. “They torture him in front of the men, hoping to destroy him and the men’s spirits. They’re venting their anger and hostility on Yulen but they’re keeping him alive. They don’t want him dead. Not yet. They want him alive as long as one soldier remains on his feet. But when the last of our troops are gone, then they’ll kill him outright.” She raised her hands to bury her fingers in her short hair. “He’s trying...so hard...not to have me know the extent of his agony and pain, but he can’t hide it all from me.” Lifting her face, her eyes had turned a dark, smoky gray from what she’d seen. From what she’d learned. “Does he know we’re here? That we’re coming after them?” Mastin softly questioned her. “Have you told him?” Atty nodded slowly. “He knows, but he’s not letting the men know. He’s afraid they’ll let it slip, and that’ll force the Bloods to backtrack. As long as he remains mute, we’ll be able to get close enough to formulate an attack strategy.” Looking directly at Mastin, she added, “He’s

counting on you.” The Second gulped audibly. “Tell him we’ll be able to handle it.” “Are you mad?” Fortune exclaimed, startling them with his outburst. “There’s more than three hundred of them! We’re barely a third of that.” “But we’re a healthy, fully-trained battalion, and we have the element of surprise,” Renken informed him. “In addition, there’s nearly a hundred of our troops in their possession. Right now the Bloods believe they’re in the clear after razing Bearinger. They have the Battle Lord in their midst, and they’re set for food for the winter. Plus, a large majority of them are still suffering from the wounds they received in this last battle.” “As are the men they’re holding hostage,” Fortune was quick to remind him. “True,” Mastin stepped in. “But our men are trained. Honed by the Battle Lord’s training sequences to be as keen as the edge of a sword. When the time comes for us to descend on them, once the hostages see us and realize what we’re doing, they’ll grab anything they can get their hands on to fight. Or, if they can’t find a suitable weapon, they’ll use their bare hands.” Renken glanced down to see that Atty had touched very little of her meal. He opened his mouth to admonish her lack of appetite but she beat him to it. “I know I should eat more,” she tearfully said, “but I don’t feel hungry.” “You’ve hardly eaten anything all day. Would you like it if I put a little jam on that bread to make it more palatable?” Atty gave him a surprised yet curious stare. Giving her one of his slow grins, Renken got to his feet and went to fetch the small jar of blueberry jam he had hidden in his saddlebag. Handing it to her, he admitted, “You’re not the only one with a sweet tooth.” She stared at the jar before opening it. “Berta will have your hide when she finds out she’s missing a jar of her best preserves from her pantry.” “Actually, she’s missing three.” Their eyes locked for a second. Suddenly Atty started giggling and gave him a shove with her arm and elbow. Renken glanced up to see three men giving him identical astonished looks. But it was the intense gratitude evident on their faces that gave him that feeling of accomplishment. He belonged now. Not completely. Not just yet. However there would no longer be any doubt in anyone’s mind where his loyalties lay.

Chapter Twelve Deepest Love

It was her soft whimper that awakened MaGrath from sound sleep. Aching from sore, overused muscles, the physician wearily rolled over in his sleeping bag to find Atty slowly writhing in her sleep. Her face was contorted; her breathing was becoming shallower and more rapid. No, he quickly corrected himself as he rose to a sitting position. Something’s happening. Her bedroll lay next to his in the small, cramped confines of the shallow cave. After they had eaten, she had quickly fallen asleep, exhausted beyond measure from the day’s events. Watching her, MaGrath tried to see what would be causing her to act in such a manner. Perspiration beaded on her face and neck, yet the night was cold in anticipation of the coming storm. Throwing back the corner of the bedroll, he checked on the baby, but there was nothing there to alarm him. Then why is she acting like this? he questioned himself as he felt his alarm rising. She’s acting as if she’s in great pain. His eyes widened into disbelieving pools of shock as another possibility came to him. Or making love. The physician continued to stare down at her, unsure as to what to do, but frightened by what doing nothing might entail. Leaning over to whisper in her ear, he called her by name. A quick glance over his shoulder reassured him no one else was aware of her behavior. He called to her again. Slowly her eyes opened. In the distant glow of the fire, he could see her eyes were swimming in tears. And torment. “Liam!” Her lips formed his name, but so softly he couldn’t hear her. He bent his ear closer. “Liam...he’s...he’s in such agony!” “What’s happening, Atty?” She arched her back. Her arms came up, stopping in midair, and she spread her fingers. “They...they tortured him.” Her voice wavered as the tears slipped down the side of her face. She closed her eyes again and gasped softly as her whole body lifted off the ground. As a protective measure, MaGrath lifted the edges of the blanket that had been covering her before she’d kicked it off, and draped it back over her, hoping to shield her from any prying eyes in case someone should come into the cave. Patiently, he waited for her to continue. “Liam.” “I’m here, Atty. What’s wrong?” Her eyes were unfocused, her sight straining over the distance separating her from Yulen. “He nearly went insane from the pain,” she gasped. “He’s...he’s crying. Oh, God, Yuuulll!” Somehow she managed to keep her cries silent, afraid to awaken anyone else to this private moment. “Liam?” “Yes, Atty.” To his surprise, warm tears coursed down his face. He wiped them away with a swipe of his arm. “You have to help us.” MaGrath started to assure her he would do everything in his power to help, when her face

went slack. Her vision and her sight turned suddenly inward. “Come to me, my love,” she whispered. “Come. Take me. Lose yourself in me.” She inhaled slowly, languidly, and her arms tenderly wrapped around an imaginary body. No, not imaginary, MaGrath realized. She was embracing Yulen’s spirit. His essence. The man was seeking solace from his living nightmare in the only way he could. He was reaching for Atty, pleading for her warmth and love and strength, and she was bringing him into her. Giving herself to him through that connection that bound them through their deep love. Atty writhed again. She spread her legs, lifting her knees for her husband. Her hands moved independently of each other. MaGrath watched in fascination as one hand trailed down an invisible back, over a narrow waist, to hips and the curve of the man’s buttocks where her fingers came to rest just above her pelvis. As there was no real weight to press against their son in her belly, Atty felt no discomfort. Her other hand trailed upward, across his wide shoulders, along his neck and throat, until she reached his amber-red hair. Fingers clutched the air just as her fingers would have entangled themselves in the real thing. She turned her head, exposing the moist column of her throat, and she bit down on her lips to stifle the deep groan coming from within her. However, it wasn’t enough, and a head poked into the cave. “Doc? Is she okay?” Holding out his hand behind him, palm outward, toward the man, MaGrath reassured him. “She was having a nightmare,” he told Renken. “I just gave her something to calm her down. Go back to sleep.” Not waiting to hear the man’s answer, the physician turned his attention back to the woman before him who was clearly in the throes of a bout of slow, sensuous lovemaking. He listened in silence as she continued to talk to her husband through their connection, reassuring him. Comforting him. “It’s all right, my love. My deepest love. Lose yourself in me. Yes. Yes, beloved. Let me fill you with my love when you fill me with you. Touch me. Sense me. Can you sense me, Yul? It’s going to be all right. Trust me, beloved. Shhhhhh.” She continued to stroke the unseen figure who covered her, taking her sexually as she soothed his broken mind. With her hands she outlined his shape, his contours, his very skin, as if he were actually lying in her embrace. Her hips moved with a rhythm as old as creation, and MaGrath could see her slowly ascending her peak of ecstasy as the rhythm steadily increased. Now her hands were crossed above her head, as if they were being pinned by a strong hand. Sweat freely poured over her face from her exertions. Her skin was flushed. She radiated heat from her inner fires. Before he was aware of it, her body convulsed. Atty threw back her head and started to cry out, but MaGrath managed to clap a hand over her mouth, muffling the sound of her climactic release. Slowly, gradually, Atty lowered her arms back to her stomach before she rolled onto her side, drawing up her knees until she was a small ball. Within moments she was sound asleep.

Chapter Thirteen The Rescue

They rose before dawn to resume their tracking of the Blood army and its prisoners. MaGrath opted to drive the little wagon. Atty sat next to him, lost within herself but not sensing anything since the incident last night. By tacit, mutual agreement, neither one brought up the details, except for the one time when the physician leaned over and asked, “How is Yulen doing?” She answered him with a silent shake of her head. Around noontime Mastin came to see if the men should stop to eat. “The horses need watering,” he told her. “There’s a small creek running parallel to us,” Fortune volunteered. “About twenty or so yards in that direction,” he added, pointing. “Make it brief,” Atty said in a low voice. The men quickly dismounted. MaGrath climbed down from the seat with the excuse “I need to get the kinks out of my back.” The wind was blowing colder. Already tiny flakes of snow sifted through the bare limbs of the trees. By the evening they would be in the middle of a full-fledged storm. “You’ve been staring at me all morning,” Atty said loudly, never lifting her face from her hands lying in her lap. Renken started. He hadn’t spoken to her, nor drawn any kind of attention to himself the entire time they had been traveling that morning. “Forgive me,” he offered, wondering why he was apologizing. It wasn’t as if he’d done anything wrong. “Aren’t you going to water your horse?” “I’ll fill my bag after the men return. Someone has to remain with you until then.” “So you appointed yourself to be my guardian?” Dark brows lowered over darker eyes. “Why are you mad at me, Atty? What did I do?” “You were watching.” Almost immediately a deep red heat reached his face, covering it with a crimson stain. Renken had no idea when was the last time he’d blushed. Heaven knew it hadn’t been because of a remark a woman had made to him. “I was concerned,” he defended himself. She sniffed loudly. He could see her nose was turning pink from the cold. A miniature snowflake landed on a wing of morning glory hair beside her cheek, and he had the irresistible urge to reach over and brush it away. So intent was he on the flake, he didn’t expect her to turn around and lock gazes with him. Something inside himself told him not to flinch, not to break away, nor to challenge her steady blue-gray investigation. “Who are you, Garet Renken?” she calmly asked. “I’m an ex-missionary. I’m a bastard in every sense of the word. I’m considered by many to be the scum of the earth because of my ex-profession.” “Then why do I see a man burning with ambition and the desire to acquire greatness? Why do I see a man who’s yearning for adventure, yet tired of the journey?” God, she’s magnificent, he realized to himself. And discovered too late that he was in love with the woman. Would he willingly give his life for this fierce, passionate person? Was there any reason on this earth why he wouldn’t? He had pressed himself against the wall of the cave, watching in disbelief as she tried to

assuage her husband’s grief and agony through their tenuous connection. Giving him life and love with her own. Keeping his sanity intact as she helped him fight his demons. Afraid to breathe for fear of being heard, unable to move for fear of being seen, he had remained like a shadow against the freezing rock and hard-packed earth, and he’d known without any further doubt that no story or tale about these two people would ever match what he had witnessed in the tiny cave that night. His only regret was that he hadn’t been present at the very beginning, when D’Jacques had first raided her compound and taken her prisoner less than a year ago, so he could watch the wondrous unfolding of their love over time. He knew so much about them, but there was tenfold he would never discover. Atty saw the range of emotions pass through his eyes. Smiling softly, she fluffed her pillow in her arms and laid her cheek on it. The men returned, and Renken quickly broke away to fill his waterskin and give his horse a drink. By the time he was ready to rejoin them, the caravan was almost passed. The snowstorm that had threatened them all day turned the sky prematurely dark in the late afternoon. Mastin halted the caravan and rode back to the small wagon to consult with the Battle Lady. “Wind’s picking up something fierce. We’ll need to look for shelter for the night.” Atty shook her head. “Keep going,” she ordered. “Atty, we didn’t bring enough clothing for this kind of weather,” the Second argued. A flash of lightning brightened her eyes, until they turned a cold gray that equaled the roiling clouds. “The Bloods are doing exactly as you suggest, Cole,” she told him. “We’re almost upon them. Tonight we strike. Tonight. Keep going!” Giving her a nod, he ordered them to continue, but the soldiers had overheard their exchange, and the air suddenly began to crackle with anticipation. Barely another two hours further into the wood, Atty laid a hand on MaGrath’s arm and squeezed. A quick look askance told him all he needed to know. He lifted his arm in the signal to halt. She was lost in that glazed, half-here-half-elsewhere netherworld they had come to recognize. Gently, the physician helped her off the wagon and sat her against a large, sheltering spruce where she could at least be somewhat out of the direct force of the wind. As soon as he released her, she clutched his arm again, and he leaned forward. “I must speak with the men.” They gathered quickly as they finished putting on the last of their battle gear. Once Mastin was aware of what they were facing, he would give them their orders. Their recovery mission would take on a double meaning that evening. Getting to her feet, Atty drew her coat tightly about her and crossed her arms over her chest. “The Bloods are readying for the snow. They’ve gathered our men in a small area in the center of their circle, which is going to prove much to our advantage not having them spread out. Yulen is being kept apart from them, but where they can see him. I...I don’t know exactly where yet. All I can sense is what I’m seeing through his eyes, but there’s a large bonfire nearby.” “Atty.” Mastin moved closer. “Does he know it’s coming down tonight?” She paused, unmoving. “He’s...he’s drifting in and out, but I’ve let him know.” She gave a violent shake of her head, and an errant lock of hair flew into her eyes. She brushed it back with one hand. “It has to be tonight, men. Each day that passes, my connection with my husband grows weaker, and for shorter and shorter periods of time.” Atty blinked, and suddenly they knew she was totally with them. Her nostrils flared, and a

dark, violent side of her they had rarely, if ever, seen came rising from the depths of anger she had nursed these past few days. “There is one Blood,” she told them. She held one hand tightly fisted in front of her, the knuckles starkly white against the redness of her face. “He has the muzzle of snake. It’s wide and flat, and perpetually smiling. He’s tall. Thin. Whip-like. And he’s wearing a vest of human skin. When you see him, leave him be.” Her face literally turned crimson with hate. “He’s mine!” The soldiers nodded, understanding. Many of them had personally witnessed Atty’s revenge on Tosh Karv when he had attempted to overtake Alta Novis on MaGrath’s wedding day. The man had also attacked and further threatened the Battle Lord. He had even tried to shove a sword intoYulen’s neck before Atty punctured him three times with her arrows. The woman had ice water in her veins when she took her revenge. First she had told them about the Battle Lord being tortured on a nightly basis. Today she gave the description of the creature responsible. They were looking forward to being first-hand witnesses when Atty confronted the creature. Her brand of justice would be neither swift nor merciful. Atty stepped away from the bole of the spruce and stopped a few feet beyond. Renken left the group of men who were getting directions and orders from the Second, and walked over to her. “I would’ve thought you would be chomping at the bit by this time,” he tried to make light of the seriousness of the situation. By all accounts they were still vastly outnumbered, but too many odds were in their favor. Yet, the chance remained they could lose. Lose lives. Lose D’Jacques. Atty glanced up at him and frowned. “Twenty-twenty hindsight,” she admitted. From the corner of her eye she could see MaGrath checking his supplies and readying the back of the wagon. Earlier she had confided to him that the rest of the soldiers taken prisoner were probably able to follow along on foot. They were suffering from hunger and the cold, not to mention what injuries they’d sustained in battle, but she had a plan once the rest of the Bloods had been conquered. The men would make it, and they would be able to return to Alta Novis, hopefully without any further casualty. But Yulen’s wounds were too severe. He would have to be transported by wagon. In spite of their attempts to keep him alive, the Bloods’ treatment and torturing of him had been worse than they’d thought. Atty closed her eyes and prayed he would make it. When she opened them, she saw Renken giving her a questioning look. “I only have my quiver of arrows. I didn’t think to pack more. I wasn’t expected an all-out war with Bloods.” “Hey!” MaGrath’s yell of surprise caught her attention. Atty hurried over to the wagon to find him pulling away a stack of blankets they’d initially brought to wrap and transport the bodies in. Underneath lay several piles of arrows—all lengths, all sizes, bearing all types of barbs and colored fletchings. Atty picked up one to examine it. The arrowhead tip was dark with congealed green blood. She turned and held it out toward Renken. “You?” The man shrugged. “Call it twenty-twenty foresight. You were unconscious in the back of the wagon. The men were inside the compound searching for bodies. I was supposed to be watching you, but there were all those bodies scattered everywhere. And lots of arrows. I had time on my hands. I figured you could probably use them sooner or later.”

For his confession, he got a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. It was more than he could have asked for. Mastin pushed through the crowd to stop before her. “We’re ready. How far, Atty?” She pointed in the direction they’d been heading. “Three, maybe four hundred yards. Past a grove of wild apple trees. Cole, how can we keep the horses from giving us away?” “We can’t,” he answered. “That’s why we have to be in position and wait for my signal to charge in all at once.” “What signal?” For a moment he appeared irritated that she hadn’t witnessed his speech to the men. “Two shrill whistles,” he repeated for her. Atty shook her head. “Won’t work, Cole. Wind’s picking up. It’ll drown you out to the other side.” “Do you have a better idea?” the Second questioned her. Smiling faintly, she bit her lower lip and nodded. **** The Blood army was spread out in a rough circle around an enormous bonfire. The ground in front of the small inferno had been scoured to prevent the fire from spreading during the night and engulfing the creatures while they slept. Inside their circle, the last of the defending force of Bearinger lay or sat huddled against each other for warmth. Another one of their own had died on the trek through the dense winter refuse. Thankfully they didn’t have to witness his body roasting on the spit on the other side of the fire, as they’d been forced to do in nights past. Or watch the creatures tearing chunks from the carcass as they ate. The prisoners had been given water twice that day. It was one of the rare times cold weather did them in good stead. Had the weather been hot and muggy, more of them would have fallen from dehydration. Paxton painfully lifted his head, only to have his gaze fall on the lone figure on the extreme edge of the circle. Tonight the Battle Lord was hanging by his wrists from one of the old apple trees. From the limpness in his figure, the lieutenant could tell the man was unconscious. Thank God. But once their meal was over, the torturing would begin again, and he wondered how much longer D’Jacques could take their abuse. Paxton ran a filthy hand over his face and hoped he could get some sleep tonight, snowfall or no snowfall. A movement from the corner of his eye gave him pause. He turned to see one of their captors, a Blood that wore a human skull like a cap on its head, approaching. It had a waterskin it would let the men share. One skin for eighty-one men. It would barely make the rounds, even if they each took a sip. “Better drink fast,” the creature taunted, “before the cold turns it to ice.” It dropped the skin at Paxton’s feet and walked away. Or started to walk away. Slack-jawed, Paxton watched as a flaming arrow arched out of the forest like a shooting star. More golden than a beam of light, it gracefully danced out of the treetops, toward their little group, moving faster and angrier as it approached. Until it sought out the Blood with the skull cap

and drilled directly into the back of the thing’s head with a screaming eeeeeeee-fump! The Blood was lifted off its feet by the impact, flying forwards to land less than a yard away from their enclave. For precious seconds Paxton stared at the Ballock dagger lashed to the arrow’s shaft, and the pennant dangling with it. A pennant that was half-red and half-blue. Energy from some reservoir of power he never knew he had saturated every fiber in him, and he lunged for the arrow, pulling it wetly out of the thing’s body. At the same time the men who had witnessed the attack were ready for the lieutenant when he untied the dagger and began to hack away at the ropes binding them together. Unfortunately for the Bloods, the men had been kept tied together by two half-hitches around their necks. The creatures were so self-assured in the knowledge that none of their prisoners could escape without being caught, they hadn’t individually bound each man before tying him along with the rest of the prisoners. Their lack of preparation proved to be their undoing. Paxton was vaguely aware of the growing sound of screaming and thunder. Horses were bursting from the woods all around them. Armored riders on horseback, brandishing swords and taking on the Bloods, literally cut them down where they stood or ran. Arrows were raining all around, flying fast and thick. Once the men were released, he shouted for them to grab anything they could find to use as a weapon. Several snatched large rocks, tackling a nearby Blood to the ground before pounding its head into pulp with the stones. Paxton raced for the bonfire for a length of burning wood. Hefting a long branch that felt a little like his own sword, he started running toward the grove of trees, toward the Battle Lord. Before he’d taken a dozen steps, a figure stepped out of the woods a few yards away. She continued to fire arrow after arrow, and her targets continued to drop. Paxton’s figure floated through her range of vision, and she hesitated, lifting her face from her bow. “Warren!” “Atty?” He found himself suddenly wrapped in the woman’s arms. He squeezed her as tightly as he was able before she pulled back from him. “Yulen?” “This way!” He turned and continued to run toward the apple grove. Atty spotted her husband before Paxton had the chance to point him out. She stopped, aimed at the ropes suspending him overhead, and fired, slicing through the thick cord. Yulen’s blood-drenched body dropped into Paxton’s waiting arms. She shook her head, focusing all her skills, all her attention, on what she had to do next. “Take him over there!” she yelled at the soldier above the noise of the attack. Paxton turned to see a small trail leading from the clearing. “Liam’s waiting for him!” “What about you?” he cried out, hoisting the Battle Lord over his shoulder. “Don’t worry about me. I have a score to settle.” Giving him a push, Atty watched her husband being carried away. He was still alive. She knew it. She could feel it. She would take him where he could recuperate, and she would love him through the worst parts. He would recover, even if it took months or years. But before that happened... Atty stepped back into the clearing and crouched, waiting. She could feel all of her senses coming alive as Atrilan, the huntress-warrior, staked a claim to her body. To her far right she could feel a fellow spirit take her back. Fortune would protect her while she sought her prey. “Atty!”

Her head jerked up as Renken wheeled his horse around and pointed behind him with his bloody sword. Rising to her feet, she turned to see the reptile-looking Blood with its vest of flayed human skins standing by the bonfire. It was tapping the blade of a dagger in the palm of one hand. And it was staring directly at her. “D’Jacques!” it called out. Atty faced it, every nerve singing. In her belly, she felt a slight movement, and a splitsecond of fear burst through her. “Not now!” she urgently whispered to her unborn son. “Mohmee has to save your father. Please. Not now.” As if hearing her and understanding her need for him to be still, the babe ceased moving. “D’Jacques!” the Blood screeched again. All about them the soldiers of Alta Novis ceased their slaughter to watch the Battle Lady’s face off with the creature. Even with the numbers in the Bloods’ favor, having sheer determination, skill, the need for survival, and the surprise advantage had rapidly shifted victory in the other direction. The Blood army was all but nonexistent now. This leader with its human vest knew that. The Battle Lord had been absconded, but his Battle Lady stood a few yards away. Vulnerable. And with child. “You destroyed us today, D’Jacques, but you haven’t destroyed all of us. We will be back.” “So will we,” she promised it. Her bow remained by her side, even with the nocked single arrow, and the Blood began to wonder if it might have a chance. “Eventually we’ll overcome you,” the creature boasted. “We heal faster. We reproduce faster. We are the superior race.” Atty lifted her chin. “Show me.” A chilling wind swept over them. Both adversaries rocked on their heels in its wake. They stood, eye to eye, neither one moving. Neither giving ground. Faster than the eye could follow, the snake-like Blood lifted the dagger by the blade and flung it with deadly accuracy. With deceptively calm movements, Atty raised her bow and let the arrow fly. Barbed tip met steel, to ring in the freezing air like crashing bells. The Blood stared in disbelief as Atty slowly pulled another arrow from her quiver, never taking her eyes off the creature. “I am unarmed. You would kill me in cold blood?” it hissed. “Yeah,” she breathed, and fired. The arrow ripped through the Blood’s chest with a wet, hollow sound. The point poked out from its back. Staggering backwards, the creature somehow managed to remain on its feet. “Go ahead. Kill me. Your man will die anyway,” the creature swore. “Nope.” She took two casual steps forward as she pulled another arrow and fitted it against the string. Her movements were deliberate, smooth, and determined. There was no hesitancy in what she intended to do. And no remorse. “He was weak, but I had great fun with him,” the Blood laughed. “I crushed his heart.” “There you’re wrong,” Atty informed him, drawing a bead. “How?” “Because he left his heart inside of me before he left. And I’ve kept it safe until he needs it back. Now, say ‘ahh’.” As the Blood stared at its death, his jaw dropped obligingly. Atty pulled even further back

on the bow and released her third arrow. There was a gurgling noise as the shaft came to a stop half-in, half-out of the back of the thing’s throat, the fletchings fluffed around its mouth. Still, it refused to die. Mortally wounded, the Blood reached up with both hands and tried to jerk one of the arrows free. Swaying on its feet, it hissed through its pain while Atty pulled a fourth arrow from the quiver slung across her back. Without warning, the creature shrieked and flung itself toward the woman. Its arms reached outward, clawed hands extended, hoping to tear her apart at the throat and belly. She let it get closer before she sent her final shot into the left eye socket. The force was so great the side of the creature’s head exploded, sending chunks its brain and skull into the air. Bits of matter and blood hissed as they flew into the bonfire. The Blood leader whirled halfway around from the impact before collapsing in the dirt in a heap. Slowly, Atty walked away from the squirming, dying Blood, never glancing back to check to make sure it would no longer be a threat. She didn’t have to. Around her, the soldiers of Alta Novis, both prisoners and rescuers, turned and followed her into the woods as the bonfire continued to crackle and burn brightly. By the time the snows arrived, not a single Blood from the original amassed army was left alive.

Chapter Fourteen West Crestin

Atty climbed into the back of the wagon as the blankets were being distributed to the survivors. She pulled Yulen into her embrace and settled next to him. Come hell or high water, she wasn’t budging. MaGrath crawled in on the other side of the Battle Lord as Fortune took the reins. “Now where?” the Mutah hunter asked. Flakes were falling faster. If they remained immobile much longer, they would soon be covered. “West Crestin,” she told him. Fortune gave her a disbelieving stare. “Atty, are you sure? There’s nearly two hundred Normals with us!” “Fortune, it’s Yulen’s only hope!” He needed no further urging. She was right. It was the closest chance of shelter out of the weather, not to mention additional medical help. Slapping the reins, the wagon lurched forward. The rest of the men slipped into formation. Every man, save a small handful, were riding double. “How far is West Crestin?” MaGrath asked her. “I’m not quite sure. I wasn’t that observant on our way over here. Fortune, how far do you think it is?” “Maybe a couple of hours,” he estimated. The physician nodded and bent over his task. Renken watched the doctor carefully work as he examined the extent of D’Jacques’ destruction. He knew very little about medicine. Even less about the inner workings of the body. Yes, he could sew up a wound or set a broken bone, but other than that he was as ignorant as was possible. However, he also knew how close this man was to death simply by looking at him. The Bloods had done their worse to him, yet somehow the Battle Lord was managing to cling to life. Renken’s eyes went to the woman lying beside him, cradling him against her breasts, sharing her body heat the same way she’d shared her body and her love last night. Undeniably, she was the reason why the man continued to fight for every breath and every heartbeat. “Atty. Atty.” MaGrath shook his head. “Oh, God, there’s so much damage.” “You’ll save him,” she stated convincingly. “We just know it. He has faith in you, and so do I.” The physician glanced up at her. “When did he tell you that?” She licked her lips. “Just now,” she confessed. “You’re in touch with him? He’s aware?” “Uh-huh.” “Sweet Jesus.” They moved as quickly as they could through the forest. This part of their journey hadn’t been made easier with the earlier passing of four hundred pairs of feet. Mastin had a dozen men stationed in front of the wagon, hacking away at the growth with their swords, clearing a way for them. Fortune promised a trail would be showing up pretty soon as they forged ahead. A mile passed. And another. One hour merged into its twin. Then, suddenly, they were on a road. It was overgrown with dead weeds and rutted, but a

trail nonetheless. Fortune turned the wagon and urged the little bay mare to go faster. The army increased its speed, now that they were in the open. The road dipped and curved, almost aimless in its meanderings, finally rounding an outcropping of shale and limestone. And there it was. Fortune pulled up and waited for Mastin to halt the troops behind them. “What now, Atty?” “Advance slowly.” She gazed up at Mastin riding along her side of the wagon. “I’ll talk to them, but we can’t hide anything. They need to see all of us, understand? No surprises.” At his nod, she tenderly lay Yulen’s head on her pillow and got to her knees. She seemed oblivious to the wide patches of blood staining her shirt and pants. Within seconds the challenge went out. “Ho! Strangers! Identify!” Stopping the wagon, Fortune got out to help Atty out of the back. Leaving her weapons behind, she advanced confidently. Once she had placed adequate distance between herself and the troops, she called out, “West Crestin! My name is Atrilan D’Jacques! Of the compound Alta Novis! I am Mutah!” Silence. A minute passed, stretching into two. “Ho! Strangers! State your business!” “We survived an attacking Blood army! My husband and his troops need medical assistance immediately!” “Your troops are Normals!” Turning on her heel, Atty stalked back to the wagon, reached underneath the planking running behind the buckboard, and drew out Yulen’s sword. She heard gasps from the rescued men and remembered the last time many of them had seen his weapon had been during the massacre at Bearinger. Walking back to where she’d previously stood, she raised the weapon over her head, hilt-up, in the sign of peace. “I seek the Three Laws of Equality!” This time a different voice called out to her. “State your name again!” “Atrilan D’Jacques!” “Of Alta Novis?” “Yes.” Inspiration hit, and she added, “The last time I was here, though, I was Atty Ferran from Wallis. Does that make a difference?” Silence was her answer. The wind blew stronger, bringing larger flakes with it. The sun had gone down, and it was growing almost too dark to see the walls of the compound, much less the sentries posted at the top. A small door suddenly opened in the wall, and a man dressed in a full-length fur coat approached her. He carried only a lantern. Seeing he was unarmed, Atty dropped the sword. She didn’t recognize the man who stopped mere feet away. He peered closely at her and her bloodsoaked clothing, finally raising the lantern closer to her face. “You are Atrilan D’Jacques of Alta Novis?” “Yes. My husband is Yulen D’Jacques. He is that compound’s Battle Lord. He had gone to defend Bearinger from the Bloods, but they overran the com—” “You are from Wallis?” Atty paused. “Yes.”

“You are the Mutah huntress warrior married to the Normal battle warrior, who forged a treaty with Wallis?” “Yes.” He turned his head and glanced past her at the men standing silently in the gathering shadows. It was then Atty could see the ridge of quills running down the back of the man’s neck. “How many of you are there?” “Two hundred. Half need immediate medical help, including my husband. We all need refuge from this blizzard.” He looked back at her. “Only Mutah know of the Three Laws of Equality. Do I have your word your men will not seek to harm us?” “My word,” she promised. “Very well.” Glancing upward, the man swung the lantern five times. Almost immediately the huge double doors began to swing outward. “Thank you,” she said. The man motioned toward her distended belly. “The Three Laws will apply the moment you set foot inside.” Having done his job, he disappeared back through the little door in the wall. Atty quickly picked up the sword and hurried back to the wagon. Fortune helped her up. “What’s the Three Laws of Equality?” MaGrath asked. “I’ll tell you later. Cole!” “Yes?” “Tell the men this is a Mutah compound. I’ve given my word no one will be injured or harmed, but that applies to both sides. Should any of us harm someone in the compound, I will be the one punished. Let them know that.” “I think they already know,” MaGrath drily said. Fortune urged the wagon forward. The troops formed in ranks of three, and they entered the compound of West Crestin that, a year ago, only two of them had even known existed.

Chapter Fifteen Sanctuary Found

Paxton was standing outside the small apartment when Mastin walked up. The Second took in the Lieutenant’s bandages and the way the man’s shoulders drooped. Paxton had been through hell and back. It was a badge of honor the man would forever wear, and one that Mastin would never envy. “How are you doing, Warren?” The man nodded. A darkness still crept around his eyes. Nightmares would continue to haunt him for God knew how long. But he was free. And alive. He had everything to be thankful for, and it all centered upon the small figure waiting for them inside. “Better than some.” Reaching out, he grasped his superior by the upper arm. The two men had always been close friends ever since they were young boys going to school together. And had entered the academy together to become part of the Battle Lord’s troops. The gesture was second nature. “Thanks, Cole.” Mastin nodded toward the door. “Have you been in yet?” “No. I was waiting for you.” “Any word on D’Jacques?” This time Paxton shook his head in answer. Taking a deep breath, Mastin knocked twice on the wooden door, then opened it. The tiny living room held only a single straight-back chair and two stools, all of which were parked in a semi-circle in front of the blazing fireplace. Atty was sitting on one of the stools in a way where she could see anyone entering the apartment. She never moved or made any gesture to show she was aware of the two soldiers as they entered the apartment and came to a halt across from her. A long moment went by. Then she softly said, “Have a seat.” Gratefully the two men took the other two seats. Mastin opted for the stool before the Lieutenant could object. Normally the subordinate would bow to his superior and allow the man the chair. But this time Paxton understood why he was given the straight-back. He tried to muffle the low groan as he sat. Mastin’s veiled glance mirrored the man’s pain. Atty remained staring at the flames dancing across the logs in the fireplace. The apartment was small, even for Mutah standards, but she had insisted on the simple two bedroom dwelling. With Yulen ensconced in the infirmary, she didn’t have need for anything big and fancy, despite the Elders’ urging to take an apartment more suited for someone of her stature. But Atty had held firm as she thanked the Council for their offer. MaGrath would be spending the majority of his time caring for the Battle Lord. She would also be spending as much time as she could over at the clinic. All she and the doctor needed was a place to sleep and refresh themselves. It was evident that in the short few hours since their arrival Atty had not taken the time to see to her own comfort. Her tunic and cloak were still smeared with Yulen’s blood. The slender hands lying limp in her lap were also coated with gore. A patch of dried blood edged her left cheek and jaw where she had obviously brushed back her hair. The bulge of her belly was pronounced in the flickering light. From the way she was sitting it was clear she was uncomfortable but too exhausted to get up and go into the bedroom to lie down. She had just come in from the clinic a few minutes ago and had sought the warmth of the

fire first thing. When she finally lifted her face toward them, they were surprised by the sadness in her eyes. Immediately Mastin grew alarmed. “Yulen...” Atty sighed loudly. “He will live, but his wounds are severe. Liam thought they might be too great to survive, but I won’t let Yulen leave me.” She shook her head slowly. “I won’t let him. Not now. Not yet.” Her gaze took in Paxton’s appearance. “How are you faring, Warren?” “Physically I’ll be one hundred percent within a few days.” Somehow he managed a weak grin. “The mental part, ehhh, that may take longer.” She snorted softly and gave him a warm smile, then turned to the Second. “Are the men taken care of?” “Yes. There’s about a dozen of them who’ll need to stay abed for a few days. But for the most part they were lucky.” “Damn lucky,” Paxton added. “That’s because you’ve been trained well,” she complimented them. “Those two weeks every year that Yulen takes you into the woods to track and hunt and struggle to survive has paid off. So don’t ever let me hear the men bitch about the sabbatical again.” One corner of her mouth lifted. “At least, not without a smile on their faces.” She ran a blood-stained hand through her closely cropped hair. “God, I’m tired.” “Have you eaten anything?” Mastin inquired. “Yeah. A couple of bites. I’m too nauseous for anything heavy. I don’t know if my stomach’s upset because of the baby, or because of the circumstances we’re in.” Atty stretched her legs out toward the fire. They watched the fire lap at the logs until Atty softly said, “Do you know why I called you here?” When she didn’t get an answer, she looked up to see the two men studying her. “Last night I claimed the right to the Three Laws of Equality. Do you know what those are?” When she got blank looks from the soldiers, she gave a little chuckle and turned her attention back to the fireplace. “No. Of course not. You wouldn’t because you’re not Mutah. The Three Laws are quite simple. When a man or woman, a Mutah, seeks help from another compound, he is able to guarantee his entry into the compound by calling for and adhering to those laws.” Wiping her nose with the cuff of her tunic, Atty continued. “Food, shelter, and aid. That’s all.” “Dr. MaGrath said something about making sure the men understood that if they harmed anyone, that you would be the one to suffer,” Mastin said. Atty nodded. “Yeah. That’s right. The laws are simple but... precise. We will be given all the food we need to survive, just as long as we don’t take more than our fair share. We will be given shelter as long as we don’t take shelter away from others.” “And we’ll be given aid and medical help so long as we don’t harm others while we’re here?” asked Paxton. “Yeah. Basically, that’s it. No one in this compound will hurt us while we are staying under the rights granted by the laws. But, by the same token, we can’t injure or hurt, or in any way accidentally cause harm to any of the inhabitants. Understand?” “But if something should happen, and it’s our fault, they’ll punish you for it?” Mastin clarified. He looked confused and increasingly angry. “Why? When you weren’t the person directly responsible?” “Cole, you should know the answer to that already,” she admonished him with a tired but

warm look. “I’m the one who brought you here. I’m directly responsible for putting this compound in the position it’s in.” Paxton shook his head. “I can’t see them laying a finger on you in your condition,” he argued. “Not after all I’ve heard about how Mutah bless and care for every birth.” To his surprise Atty leaned over and laid a hand on his knee. In the partial light he could see her expression was clear and unworried. “Just be sure the men know about the laws and respect them. I don’t know how long we’re going to have to stay here. Yulen keeps sliding toward death, and it’s taking everything in me to prevent it from happening. I know some of the men may chafe after we’ve been here a few weeks, but I have faith you two will find a way to manage. Warren?” “Yes, Madam?” For once Atty didn’t seem perturbed by the title. “For the last few months the soldiers have been calling me the Battle Lady. But Berta told me the title was simply ‘Lady’, as in the Battle Lord’s Lady. Or Lady Atty. Is that right?” “Technically, yes,” Mastin answered. “Then why do they call me the Battle Lady? Because I fight alongside my husband?” Paxton chuckled. “You have to admit, Atty. Someone of your ability is... rare.” The remark got a chuckle out of her. “So, what you’re saying is that I’m the first Lady that you know of with the title of Battle Lady?” “Yeah. Pretty much,” the Lieutenant told her. Mastin added, “Of all the Ladies I’ve known or heard of, they’ve all been like Madigan. Very strong-willed women, and powerful in their own right. But none of them have been like you.” “Then it wouldn’t surprise anyone if I took up the armor?” “You already have,” Mastin admitted. “Then if I’m equal to my husband in sending out commands... and I’m equal to my husband on the battlefield...” Her voice was teasing although they knew she was serious. “Out with it, Atty,” Mastin grinned. “Then I’m going to need my own Second, don’t you think?” Both men were stunned. “Your own Second?” they almost chorused. Before they could object, she pointed at Mastin to state the obvious. “You’re Yulen’s Second. You help him with his strategies. Well, I need someone who can help me the same. I need someone who has the know-how when it comes to fighting and actual warfare. I need you, Warren. I want you to be my Second.” Paxton tried to find his voice to reply, but Atty continued. “I’m making you a true Second. Cole, get me Yulen’s sword.” She motioned toward a corner of the room where the men noticed for the first time the blood-encrusted blade propped in the corner. Mastin got up to fetch it as Atty slowly got to her feet. “No, Warren. Stay seated,” she gently ordered as she took the weapon in both hands. Hefting it over the man’s bowed head, she tapped each shoulder. “Co-captain of the guard, Warren Paxton. You and Cole will work in tandem. That won’t be a problem, will it?” “No, Madam,” both men answered simultaneously. Their sudden stoicism made her smile. “I didn’t think it would.” She handed her husband’s sword to her new Second. “Your first official order is to clean and polish Yulen’s sword, and get it back to me when you’re done. I also

want a daily report on the injured. Cole, I’m placing you in charge of the uninjured. Keep them at battle ready just in case there’s another army of Bloods out there we didn’t know about. We’ll defend this compound the same way we defended Wallis.” “Do you honestly believe there could still be more of them out there?” Paxton asked. Atty tilted her head as she reached inside herself for the answer. “I don’t know, Warren. Right now all I can focus on is Yulen. But it would be wise if we didn’t tempt fate, don’t you agree?” Both men nodded in unison. “Also, we need to start paying our way. West Crestin isn’t a big compound, and with our troops, we’ve probably doubled the population. If we stay any amount of time, our men are going to quickly deplete the stores. Cole, get a dozen of our best hunters and seek out the caste here. Offer to help with the hunting.” “Think they will?” Mastin asked. Atty gave a slight nod. “They will if you tell them you will follow their rules, and let our men know those rules are absolute. So be sure you pick only those men you can trust.” She sniffed again, finally becoming aware of her bloodied state. “I need a bath and a few hours of rest. Warren, please tell Liam I’m going to go lie down for a while so he’ll know where I am in case Yulen starts to fail again.” Flashing them a weary but sincere smile, Atty added, “Thank you for your friendship and loyalty, gentlemen. I will never forget it.” Giving them a final warm look, the Battle Lady slowly walked into the back rooms to rest. Mastin and Paxton let themselves out, closing the door to the little apartment firmly behind them. It was snowing again. All the signs pointed toward harsh, early winter. But once again they were safe, thanks to the generosity of people they once considered little better than wild animals.

Chapter Sixteen Slow Recovery

MaGrath walked into the clinic, dusting the snow off of his jacket before going over to the medicine cabinet to extract the syrup he planned to administer. Walking through the little interconnecting doorway, he glanced up at the patient bed to see a pair of blue-gray eyes calmly watching him enter the room. MaGrath nearly dropped the bottle in surprise. “Dear God! Yulen! How long have you been awake?” “I have no idea.” His eyes searched the room for something to jog his memory, but nothing clung. “Where am I? This isn’t Alta Novis, is it?” “We’re in West Crestin.” “West Crestin? Who all...how long...” Laying a hand over the man’s parched and peeling lips, the physician chuckled and proceeded to uncork the bottle, extracting a spoon from his coat pocket before pouring a portion of medicine into the bowl. “Take this first.” To his amazement, the Battle Lord obediently opened his mouth for the medicine. Before he could completely screw up his nose at the taste, MaGrath offered him a glass of water from the jug on the bedside table. “What the hell was that?” Yulen objected as the physician helped ease him back down on the pillow. The water had helped. His voice sounded stronger. “Well, it’s easy to see you’re feeling better. It’s an elixir to help your body replenish itself. You know the good stuff is always the worse-tasting stuff.” “And it’s definitely worse.” “Worse than lemon verbossa?” “Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Yulen relented with a crooked grin. MaGrath threw back his head and laughed. He looked down at his patient, and a ribbon of almost fatherly love suddenly tied around his heart. “It’s good to have you back,” he honestly admitted. “That bad, huh?” “Excruciating. How much do you remember?” He pulled a three-legged stool out from under the bed and parked himself on it. “Damn little.” “I wouldn’t doubt it. I think your mind’s blocked out a large part of it. Do you remember any of the fall of Bearinger?” Yulen gave him a blank stare. “I know it’s been burned to the ground. I don’t know how I know, but I just do. I get vague images of the forest. I keep seeing this big, giant snake getting right up into my face, but that’s about all. Want to fill me in on the rest of it?” A past memory found its way into the present, and before the man could answer his previous question, he gave the physician a scowl. “Did you say West Crestin? That’s a Mutah compound.” “Yeah, it is.” “What the hell are we doing in a Mutah compound? Wallis I can und—” Looking like a man who’d just had all the air knocked out of him, Yulen threw his head back onto the pillow, his eyes drilling into the ceiling. “Oh, God, if you’re here, who’s watching

after Atty and the baby? Liam, how’s Atty? Who’s taking care of her at the compound?” “Why don’t you ask her yourself?” “What?” Getting to his feet, MaGrath reached over and took one of the man’s hands between his own. “Listen carefully to me, Yulen. Don’t interrupt. Don’t even think about starting an argument with me until I’m finished. Okay?” The man nodded silently. “I’m going to take this nice and slow. You left to go rescue Bearinger from a Blood attack. Let me know at which point you lose track, Yulen.” “I will.” Giving himself a second to mentally prepare, MaGrath gave Yulen’s hand a quick squeeze. “All right. We got word Bearinger had fallen. So Atty called for a Code Four—” “Atty? She what?” “Just shut up and listen. Atty called for a Code Four. We left for Bearinger with about—” “Who all is ‘we’?” “Am I going to have to surgically stitch your lips together before you let me get through this?” MaGrath glared at him. Yulen backed down silently. “We went to Bearinger and found...we found it completely gone. Burned to the ground. Not a living soul. Not a body left in one piece. Blood running in rivers on the ground. We...we were devastated. We thought you were somewhere underneath all those body parts, especially after Atty found your sword. It wasn’t until after the Blood attacked her—” “She was attacked?” “Dammit, Yulen! Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you’re not ready to hear all this.” The physician angrily got to his feet and turned as if to leave. But when he heard none of the pleading for him to come back, he abruptly stopped and looked around to find the man with his hands over his face. The broad shoulders moved slightly. Shaking. Uttering a vulgarity, MaGrath rushed back over to gather the man into his arms. Psychology had never been his strong point, and he knew it was very dangerous, very risky ground he was treading upon by telling the man the details of his rescue this soon after regaining consciousness. Even knowing that the only way to completely heal both body and mind was to get the raw truth out into the open, it tore at his soul to have this man who was the son he never had weeping against his chest. “Just...just tell me she’s okay,” a trembling voice begged. “You have my word. She and the baby are doing fine. She’s getting fatter, and a day doesn’t go by that I don’t get reamed out about her discomfort.” This last statement earned him a watery chuckle. Gradually, Yulen drew away and accepted the man’s handkerchief. Seeing that the man was more in control, MaGrath sighed loudly and sat on the edge of the bed to continue. “A wounded Blood we didn’t know was still around grabbed Atty, but she managed to kill it by swinging your sword and planting the damn thing in its head. But, between the attack and the belief you were gone, Atty went into shock. I had to dose her to calm her down while we searched for enough body parts to identify you. We found your armor and your sword, and what was left of your horse, but nothing else. “It was at that time Atty came around and sensed you were still alive. She was connected to you, Yulen. She directed us into the woods to rescue you and the rest of the men. Yeah, nearly

a hundred survivors,” MaGrath answered the unspoken question in the man’s reddened eyes. “Atty stayed in touch with you through that connection. I’d never heard of such a thing before, but Fortune told us stories of people in the past, about other Mutah who... I’m getting off the story. Sorry. “She could sense things you were seeing, Yulen. Things you were feeling. The Bloods were herding the rest of your men and you to be used as food to help them through the winter. They took special delight in torturing you in front of your men. They meant to break your spirit and keep the others cowed. Damn near worked, too, except for one very special, very unique attribute they never suspected.” “Atty.” Yulen’s voice was soft, the two syllables caressed. MaGrath shook his head. “Not so much Atty, but the love between you two. Yulen, without that love, Atty wouldn’t have been able to keep track of you, or show us how to get to you. That snake face you said you see in your dreams? That was the Blood who tortured you.” “What happened to the thing?” The man shrugged. “Vulture poop by now, more than likely. Atty marked him for personal execution. From the story Renken told me, what she did to that thing made Karv’s death look like target practice.” He paused to let this much sink in, closely watching Yulen’s face for any sign of emotional trauma. The man closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Presently he opened his eyes, and MaGrath was relieved to see them clear and free of demons for the moment. “Mastin led the attack after Paxton and Atty freed you.” Yulen suddenly stuck an index finger in the air. MaGrath paused for his query. “Renken? Who’s Renken?” “The ex-mercenary.” Yulen blinked as he recalled the man. Nodding, the physician added, “The man’s been invaluable. He’s earned Atty’s trust. Mine as well.” Sniffing, the Battle Lord said, “Go on.” “It started snowing. Hard. You were dying. The nearest compound around that I knew of was Alta Novis, but she was a good week, if not further, away. But Fortune and Atty knew this place existed, and it was close. Real close by. A couple of hours, thank God. If you would have had to have been carried any further without proper medical attention...” MaGrath’s voice trailed off. Rubbing his eyes with his sleeve, he continued. “You did die, Yulen. But for the miracle of Mutah medicine and that damn connection you and Atty have, you wouldn’t be here now. She brought you back. She fought for you, and...dammit...they’re still talking about it around the compound.” “How long have I been here, Liam?” The physician thought. “A little over two months now.” “Two months? What day is this?” “The sixth. Of March.” It was a while before Yulen could fully grasp the reality of the moment. “We couldn’t move you. You were critically injured, Yulen. Besides, Mother Nature’s been pretty uncooperative. We were socked in by that blizzard for almost five weeks. It’s been snowing on and off since then.” “How have the men been getting along with the inhabitants?” “Very well. Better than that, actually. A small group of our soldiers have been unofficially

adopted by this compound’s hunter caste. They’ve been helping with keeping the compound in meat while we’ve been here. And I know of at least two men who’ve found sweethearts here.” That last remark brought a weary grin to the Battle Lord’s face. The sound of creaking came to them. MaGrath realized that was how Yulen knew he’d come into the clinic. The hinges on the front door needed greasing. A beloved figure padded slowly through the doorway. She was wearing a full-length coat, but the increased swelling of her belly was profoundly evident. Apparently she’d been awakened from a nap. She was still yawning and rubbing her eyes. She must have felt his coming to, MaGrath told himself. He knew he would never scoff at anything told him about Mutah any more. He had witnessed too much between these two lovers to have any lingering doubts. Yulen gazed at her in silence. Emotions ran rampant over his face and reflected in his eyes. More than that, his expression was infused with love. He wished he had the strength to hold out his arms to her, but the last quarter hour talking with MaGrath had worn him out. The physician got up and moved away from the bed as Atty stared, stunned, at her awakened husband. “Hi, Atty-cake,” Yulen whispered tenderly. She moved like silk, despite her bulkiness, rushing to the bed and reaching for him, reaching for his face, reaching for his lips. Despite his weakness, his mouth burned hers, and Atty found herself whimpering with joy to finally have him back. Her fingers slid up the sides of his face and curled around two handfuls of red-gold hair. MaGrath helped her into the bed, next to him, so they could be together to talk. To kiss. To weep with joy and stroke each other with healing caresses. To fall asleep in each other’s arms, and awaken the same way. As he unobtrusively snuck out of the room, the last thing he heard was Yulen’s surprised exclamation, “What happened to your hair?”

Chapter Seventeen Next Time

It felt good to finally leave the clinic on his own two feet. Of course, MaGrath had protested, bless his over-protective heart, claiming it was too soon after coming out of his coma a few weeks ago, but Yulen was damned if he would take audience in that patient bed. Since his awakening, Atty had been by his side unceasingly, taking her meals with him as she sometimes fed him. Sleeping beside him. Cleaning and bathing him. Changing the dressings on his wounds. And they had talked. For hours they would talk. Or she would talk and he would listen, paying more attention to the emotion in her voice. Or just for the sake of hearing her voice glide over him like a soft afternoon shadow, lulling him to sleep. His men had requested to visit him, but Yulen had refused. He did relent to see Mastin, however, who almost cried like a baby when he’d been ushered in. It was imperative he get well enough so they could return to Alta Novis as soon as possible. Although Yulen knew he’d been away from the compound for longer periods of time, especially in the pre-Atty years when he’d led his men on their annual cleaning sweeps, this time was different. MaGrath often spent long chunks of time with them in the clinic to talk. He enjoyed teasing the couple about their celebrity status. Apparently word had been spreading far and wide about the Normal Battle Lord and his Mutah Lady, especially with regards to Yulen’s unconventional knack of forming treaties between compounds. The night they had approached West Crestin, seeking sanctuary and help after defeating the Blood army, the head of the Council of Elders who’d personally ventured outside the walls to confront Atty had been unable to accept the fact of who they were, in spite of Atty’s claims. It wasn’t until everyone had gotten a good look at the dying man, and a better look at Atty, that they had believed. Now the Council was wanting a formal audience with him. Had been for the past several days. For what purpose, Yulen still had no clue. Tying his bootlace into a bow, he took his foot off the stool and straightened up. His sword lay waiting for him on the rumpled bed. He’d lost his weapons belt and scabbard in the Massacre at Bearinger, as the men referred to the confrontation now. Atty was returning soon to bring him a new one she’d had made for him by one of the compound’s leather workers. Smiling, Yulen glanced down at the thin sheath tucked inside his boot. Atty had convinced him to keep his dagger hidden and separate from his sword. In case an enemy managed to get to his weapons belt again, he now had an extra weapon at the ready. It felt awkward having the blade there at first, but she assured him he’d soon get used to it. He slid the leaf-like blade out of his boot and ran a thumb over the tiny nick near the base of the handle. Atty had explained that was where her arrow had struck it when the Blood had thrown it at her. The Blood who had used Yulen’s own dagger to carve into his flesh. The Blood who’d had his brains sprayed across the clearing from one of Atty’s arrows. The dagger would stay as it was. Yulen had no intention of having the nick polished out of it. Sliding the dagger back into his boot, he straightened up as the front door to the clinic creaked open and close. Atty walked in a moment later, not stopping until she walked right into

his arms, lifting her face for his kiss. With her second trimester past them, so were the dizzy, lust-filled days of pheromone poisoning. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable and cranky with the approaching birth, just as he was slowly regaining his strength. It would be some months before either of them would be able to fall into the sheets again for hours of carefree, sweaty sex. Right now, however, it didn’t matter. “Well? How does it feel to be back in clothes again?” she smiled as he finally lifted his mouth from hers. “Good, actually.” “Are you really up to this, my love? I mean, the Council can wait another few days.” “I’ll be fine,” he promised. “So, did you bring me a present?” He’d already seen the new weapons belt and scabbard when she’d thrown her arms around him. She handed it over, giving him a moment to examine the workmanship. He was surprised to discover the beadwork on both sides of the buckle, small flags in half-red, half-blue. Quickly, he buckled it on, settling it around his hips as Atty handed him his sword. The blade slid into its new home like satin on glass. “Ready, beloved?” he asked, tilting her chin up for one last kiss. “Right beside you.” The weather had been clear for the past two days. Today was no exception. The sun shone brightly in the cloudless sky, reflecting off the patches of snow in the compound with a brilliance that bordered on blinding. Yulen and Atty emerged from the clinic into a scene that widened their eyes in astonishment. It seemed the whole of the compound was waiting for the couple. A path had been cleared from the clinic to the courtyard where the Council had set up chairs and a table for their meeting. Yulen gave his wife a reproachful look. “Did you know about this?” he asked in a halfway serious voice. “Swear, Yulen. They weren’t here when I came back.” Smiling down at her, he took her hand, and they started for the courtyard. The crowd stared at them in silence, bringing back a comment that MaGrath had thrown out one afternoon. You two have made a name for yourselves. Sweet heavens, there are stories and songs about you from Far Troit to Port Destiny. And that’s just the Normal compounds! As this was Yulen’s first excursion outside since his convalescence, he took the time to greet each of his men who was waiting for him on the sidelines. At one point the Battle Lord’s eye caught sight of a tall, rough-looking man standing to one side. Instinct made him pause and give him a solid look. “Renken?” The ex-mercenary blinked. He hadn’t expected D’Jacques to single him out. Hell, the man hadn’t had a personal encounter with him since the first day he’d arrived at Alta Novis. Renken raked his eyes over the man’s figure. The Battle Lord was thinner and paler from his ordeal, but another couple of months would take care of that. Two more months. Tops. Then again, under Atty’s love and care, maybe less, he figured. After all, look at what she had been able to accomplish so far. Yulen extended his hand. “My deepest thanks.” Renken took his hand, and they shook. “My door will always be open to you,” the Battle Lord added. Taking his wife by the

hand, he continued on through the crowd as Renken watched them go. They proceeded to the courtyard as the crowd closed in behind them. The council of five men was already sitting behind an ornately-carved table. Two chairs had been ceremoniously set to the side. Yulen guided Atty into one before moving his chair closer to her and taking a seat. It was a simple gesture and second nature to the Battle Lord, but it sent a ripple through the crowd. The man who had questioned her by lantern light so many weeks ago stood and rapped his staff on the short wood dais. “This public forum is now in session. The rules of formal presentation will apply.” Turning to Yulen, he introduced himself. “I am Fareth Gins Smallworth. I am the head of the Council.” Yulen silently studied the other four men present, noting their marks which distinguished them as Mutah, as Smallworth finished their introductions. He inclined his head to acknowledge them. “We have called this forum to discuss the possible alliance between West Crestin and Alta Novis.” Atty gave a sudden intake of breath at the announcement. She could see Yulen’s eyes narrow as he also took in the news. The crowd, however, seemed unusually quiet. Obviously they had already been made aware of it. “You want an alliance between my compound and yours?” Yulen reiterated slowly in his deep baritone. “That is correct,” Smallworth said. Yulen thought slowly, tapping his fingertips together right above his waist. “With or without a treaty?” The crowd began buzzing. Smallworth was forced to rap his staff for quiet. Behind him, his fellow Council members were whispering among themselves. “Can you explain what you mean by ‘with or without a treaty’?” the Council head requested. “I believe the term is self-explanatory,” Yulen said slowly. He’d stopped tapping his fingers together. They now lay laced together across his middle. Atty glanced at his stomach, thinking of the wide bandage still wrapped around his abdomen. And beneath the bandage, some of the worst damage that had been done to him. She shifted in her seat for a more comfortable position, knowing it was useless. Their son was active almost constantly. Even Yulen had commented on more than one occasion that he didn’t appreciate the little kicks and jabs against his ribs and back whenever they were trying to sleep. She had been quick to remind him that he was only having to endure them from the outside. “Try imagine having this going on inside you! At least you can get away from it!” Smallworth moved from behind the table to stand in front of it. Apparently the move was unprecedented, as the noise from the crowd once more increased. Atty tried to figure out why. A hand reached over the arm of the chair and took one of hers, entwining their fingers together. Again, this contact, this gesture, was as natural for them as breathing, yet the crowd was quick to notice it. “How can there be an alliance without a treaty?” Smallworth challenged. “From what I’ve observed in the past, most treaties are nothing more than veiled threats on a piece of paper. A ceremonial line drawn down the middle of a room, with expectations on one side, and consequences on the other if they’re not met.” Yulen shook his head. His loose redgold hair was like a halo of fire about his face. “I firmly believe now that a true alliance cannot be

formed as long as both sides have to tiptoe around each other for fear of upsetting the balance. Your compound has commodities I know my compound would enjoy acquiring. That other Normal compounds would enjoy trading and bartering for.” He pointed to his new weapons belt. “The craftsmanship on this is exquisite. Once I show it to my leather workers back in Alta Novis, they’ll be green with envy. On the other hand, my compound has goods I’m certain your people would want. Not counting the fact that my compound is on the main trade route, and work like this would garner a lot of attention.” Atty could see where he was going with this. She just wished she could give it her full attention. At the present, their son was bearing down on her lower belly. She could feel his tiny feet through the small lump protruding from her stomach beneath the thick material of her gown. Groaning, she had no idea she’d done so quite loudly until she felt her hand being squeezed. She looked over to see a pair of blue-gray eyes silently questioning her. “I’m okay,” she whispered. “He’s being restless.” Thankfully Yulen accepted her excuse with a little grin, and turned back around to resume. “If West Crestin wasn’t a Mutah compound, we wouldn’t be talking,” the Battle Lord pointed out. “We would simply open our doors to each other and begin a mutual exchange of commerce.” “But we are a Mutah compound, D’Jacques,” Smallworth said. “And not all Battle Lords are as open-minded as you. We still fear for our safety. We only feel comfortable having a ‘mutual exchange of commerce’, as you call it, with others of our kind. That’s why we’re wanting an alliance, and a guarantee of safety, so we can join with Alta Novis.” Yulen was quick to pounce on the man’s unintentional faux pas. “So you can join with Alta Novis?” he repeated with a slow smile. As he expected, Smallworth did a mental step backwards. Behind him, his fellow Council members went into a private, heated discussion. The crowd, as well, had heard the gaff, if the increased noise level in the courtyard was any indication. Glancing out over the populace, Atty could see several familiar faces, but not MaGrath’s. He had promised earlier to be in attendance as soon as he finished handling an emergency with one of the soldiers. It was becoming quite painful now, as if someone was pressing a heavy weight on her belly. She bit her lips and tried to remain quiet as this tricky bit of diplomacy over word play was being conducted. “I believe what you meant to say was that you are wanting an alliance so you can benefit in all that Alta Novis has to offer, be it goods, commerce trade, or...protection?” Yulen deliberately added the last word as a question, leaving it up in the air. Smallworth saw his inquiry for what it was and smiled. “We’ve been in contact with Wallis. I’m sure you know that, D’Jacques. We know you originally had a treaty based on those so-called threats and consequences, but it no longer exists. Today there is free trade and enterprise between that compound and yours. You’ve also helped to fortify them.” Yulen waited. He wanted see how much the man had left to say. It would be interesting to find out if the Council of West Crestin included their people in all their decisions, or if it was just another little demagoguery like the one in Wallis. Atty was beginning to feel light-headed. Sweat was popping out on her forehead, and a fine, thin trickle of it was slowly rolling over her skin underneath her gown. Atty shifted again in her chair—just a little bit, so as not to alarm her husband.

The pressure was greater and steadily growing more painful. Breathing was restricted to short gasps of air. It was only whenever their son would stop kicking that she’d get a few moments of respite before he’d start up again. She closed her eyes and hoped he would stop soon, or else she’d have no choice but to ask Yulen to excuse her from the proceedings, no matter how much it meant to him to have her with him. Smallworth raised a hand to his chin. He rapped his staff twice to bring down the volume on the babble coming from the crowd, then glanced at his Council members for a signal. He got it from the man with the bear-like nose. “D’Jacques, we’re going to put this out on the table. We know the price Wallis is having to pay for your protection and all that they’re benefitting from it. Is there any way we can get the same amount of protection, the same services, and the same promise of aide?” Very softly, Yulen answered, “Only if you fly my banner.” A warm, sticky wetness filled the seat cushion beneath her. Atty could smell the hot, metallic scent, and knew what it was. It felt distant and strange, but she was too far along to care any longer. “Yul.” It came out as a low moan. “Atty?” He was kneeling before her, moving from his seat the instant he’d heard her use the diminutive of his name. A name kept exclusively for times of love...or danger. A cool hand touched her hot, sweaty cheeks. Somewhere before her, she could see his worried face floating in and out of a reddish fog. “Dear God, what’s wrong, Atrilan?” She was pale and shaking, and on the edge of blacking out. Instinctively Yulen got to his feet and started to lift her from the chair, until a sharp, stabbing pain in his stomach reminded him he was nowhere near healed enough to carry her, much less lift her. He turned around to face the curious stares of the crowd, searching for a familiar face to help him with her. “I’ll take her,” a voice behind him stated. Yulen stepped nimbly aside as Renken rushed onto the podium and leaned over to lift Atty out of the chair. As the man gathered her into his arms, the back of her heavy, cream-colored gown fanned out below her, soddened with a wide swatch of bright red blood. Several women in the crowd screamed as fingers pointed at the rapidly spreading patch. Renken stepped down into the mass and began to plow through them, with Yulen directly behind him. Within seconds the soldiers of Alta Novis were clearing a path to the clinic. Renken covered the distance in record time with his long-legged strides. Atty had lost consciousness before he’d picked her up from the chair. Her head rolled limply against his shoulder. He could feel the heavy, damp material of her gown slapping against his thighs. His pants would be covered in her blood by the time they got to the clinic. MaGrath caught up with them before they got to the front door, having been summoned by Mastin the moment Renken had pulled the Battle Lady into his arms. “Put her on the table. Yulen, cut that damn gown off of her,” the physician barked as he rolled up his shirt sleeves and washed his hands in a bowl on one of the counters. Renken and Yulen locked gazes for a long moment. Then, without a word, the exmercenary left the clinic. Yulen watched him leave as the truth touched him. The man was in love with his wife. A sense of sadness came over the Battle Lord with the realization. Nothing could

ever be more painful than unrequited love. Renken knew he would never have a future with Atty, but the man couldn’t help himself. Pulling the dagger from its sheath, Yulen proceeded to saw the heavy winter gown off Atty’s limp frame. There was more blood coming from between her thighs, spreading slowly outward beneath her and across the leather padded table. Pulling back the fabric, he saw her swollen stomach glisten in the lantern light. Yulen could see movement inside, and for a fascinating second he couldn’t take his eyes off of it. “Liam, it’s too soon. She isn’t due for another couple of months!” “We can’t dwell on that,” MaGrath tersely replied as he pulled supplies from the cabinets. Seeing the long, thin, pincer-like instrument being laid out across the linen-covered tray, Yulen felt himself grow cold as his imagination tried to envision how it might have to be used on Atty’s tender flesh. “If you’re going to faint on me, at least have the courtesy to step away from the table so you don’t land on her.” To emphasize his point, the physician gave him a shove with his hip as he rounded the end of the examination table. Yulen flashed him an instantly heated glare. Hearing MaGrath’s chuckle, the Battle Lord knew he’d deliberately been chastised to help him get re-centered. “Damn you, Liam.” “I need you sober, Yulen. We’re on borrowed time here.” Before he could say more, the door to the clinic squeaked. Almost at the same time, Click Torbeth, the compound’s doctor, pounded into the room. His eyes widened to see the flow of blood coming from the woman lying unconscious on the table. “When did you say she was due?” He kicked the door shut behind him and hurried to wash up over at the basin. “End of May or early June. She’s needing to be put under. I don’t want to cut on her until I know she won’t be waking up from the pain.” “What?” Hearing that MaGrath would be slicing her open, Yulen placed himself between the man and his wife. MaGrath eyed him cooly. “She’s hemorrhaging. Unless we stop it now, she’ll bleed to death. Now, get out of my way, and then I’ll explain more. Click? What can we use on her?” “I’ll have to use the ether,” the man replied, already pulling a mask and a small vial of liquid from a nearby cabinet. Placing the fabric over Atty’s nose and mouth, he proceeded to administer the agent. “Yulen, are you going to help me or not?” MaGrath’s heated question stung as he painted Atty’s belly with alcohol. “What can I do?” “Have you washed up? Tie down her arms and legs.” He quickly obeyed, lashing her to the rings embedded on the undersides of the table with strips of soft cotton Click handed over to him. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest as he fought the fear that wanted to choke him. Atty never moved. Her skin had taken on a sickly gray pallor as blood continued to pour out of her. Several drops fell to the floor, right where they would have to walk on them. “You might want to turn away, son,” MaGrath softly whispered, but his command made Yulen want to observe all the more. The scalpel slid into her lower abdomen, cutting a slit seven to eight inches long, coming to rest right above her soft nest of deep blue curls. Yulen shuddered involuntarily, eliciting a quick look from MaGrath, but he refused to yield.

Grabbing another tool from the linen-covered tray, MaGrath inserted it into the slit and slowly, carefully, spread the flesh apart. There, mere millimeters beneath the skin, a thin, pinkish sac vibrated in the light. “Yulen, get a clean, folded blanket.” There was a stack on a stool by the door. Yulen snatched one and stepped back to the table as MaGrath dipped his hand inside the womb and withdrew the tiny body from within. “He’s a fighter. That’s good,” the physician said, struggling to keep his hold on the slick sac. He lifted out the fetus, membrane and all, and laid it on the unwrapped blanket in Yulen’s arms. Before the Battle Lord could comprehend what he was doing, MaGrath ripped open the sac, releasing a watery substance that cascaded over Yulen’s arms and shirt, and dripped down his legs. A flick of the scalpel, and the umbilical was severed as Yulen stared at the still form. Finally, the doctor turned the baby onto its stomach and began lightly slapping the infant’s back and buttocks. “Rub him like this,” the man instructed, bringing one of Yulen’s hands out from under the blanket. “Atty needs me.” The Battle Lord massaged the incredibly little back, lifting the edge of the blanket and using it to rub circulation into the skin, hoping the rough material would help. “Come on. Cry for me. Get that crap out of your lungs. Come on. Show me those lungs are ready. Let Grandpapa Liam hear that famous D’Jacques cry,” MaGrath said, glancing up at Yulen’s ministrations. There was a minuscule coughing sound, and then two small lungs filled with air. A distinctly loud wail of protest filled the room, and MaGrath lifted a tear-stained face to the new father. “Atty’s never let you down. You have a son, Yulen. There’s a suction bulb in that corner drawer. Use it to suction out the last of amniotic fluid from his lungs and nose. Click, how’s she doing?” “Hurry, Liam.” Drawing his son to his chest, Yulen quickly found the bulb and used it to clear the tiny infant’s airways. At the same time, his eyes shunted between the bit of life in his arms, and the motionless figure, as he emotionally seesawed from elation to worry and fear for his love lying deathly pale on the examination table. The baby boy wriggled, kicking out a foot, bringing a sad smile to the Battle Lord’s face as he drew the edges of the blanket tight around the miniature frame to keep his son warm. “Liam, what caused the hemorrhaging?” “Hell if I know,” the man replied. He had spread Atty’s abdomen wider, hoping to find the problem. His fingers were probing her insides, searching for the source as he cleaned out the afterbirth. Yulen stepped backwards until his backside bumped against another examination table. Frightened by the unexpected jolt, his son open his mouth and let forth another long, quivering cry. His tiny jaw trembled. “For God’s sake, Yulen! Hold him against you. He’s probably freezing to death! Remember, he’s been inside Atty’s warm body.” MaGrath glanced up at the Mutah doctor. “I think I’ve found it. I need a clamp.” “Second drawer behind you.”

“Suturing thread?” “Same.” Yulen heard the physician mutter something about a “fucking artery” as he slammed the drawer shut and bent back over the woman. “Sweet heavens, there’s so much blood loss. Click?” “Better start closing, Liam. If I give her any more of this, she’ll go into shock.” MaGrath started. “I think she already is.” All the blood drained from Yulen’s face and pooled at his feet. An echo of something MaGrath had told him, what seemed like ages ago, when they were in Wallis, came tumbling into his head. For all we know, the idea of becoming pregnant and having a baby is like a game of chance. Put the right card on the table, and you live, but you lose the baby. Put another card on the table, and you just might give birth, but the child dies soon after. Another card, and the baby lives. But have the wrong card dealt to you... He clutched his new son closer to him as a cold, unrelenting sense of loss coated his skin like a pall. “Liam?” he whispered shakily. It was evident MaGrath was trying to staunch the blood flow coming from the ruptured artery inside Atty’s abdomen. “Liam?” “Click! Help me out here. I’ve almost got it tied off.” “She’s lost too much blood, Liam,” Click whispered. “She’s going into shock.” “I’m not going to let her go so easily!” MaGrath suddenly yelled. “Not without a fight!” He took a deep, frightened breath. “Help me, Click!” The room grew hazy, filled with diamond-shaped patterns of light until Yulen blinked the tears away. The two men continued to labor over her, trying to save Atty’s life, trying to preserve the body that contained such a rare and beautiful spirit. He felt like he was slowly sinking. It was a feeling that continued to spread through him with black tendrils. Instinctively, he clutched his son more firmly against his chest. He slowly walked over the table, near her head, and gazed down at the way her skin had taken on a porcelain hue. Her thick, dark blue lashes fanned out on her cheeks, the same way they did when she was asleep. Kneeling down, Yulen leaned over to the table, brushing away her shoulder-length hair until he bared one small, perfect ear. “Atrilan? I-I know you’re in there. I can still feel you, but you seem to be getting fainter. Atrilan, I’m jealous. And I’m greedy. I want more, my love. I want to spend all of my life with you. Together, the both of us, for years to come. You gave me a son, like you promised. Thank you, my only love.” He pressed his forehead to her hair and fought to collect himself. More tears rolled down his face, but he ignored them. “Atrilan. Don’t go away. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave your son. Our son. W—... we made this baby. Together. You and me. We made love, and from it we made a baby. He needs you, almost as much as I do. He needs to learn from you. I want him to learn from you. Your skill, your compassion, your sassiness, and your love. He needs you, but I need you more.” “Yulen?” MaGrath’s voice permeated the blackness in his mind. Yulen managed to swivel his head around to look down the table at the doctors. “Can you still sense her?” the physician asked. They were sewing her up now. At least, MaGrath was. The Mutah doctor was pouring

something into her mouth, stroking her throat until her muscular contractions made her automatically swallow. But in spite of their ministrations, that sinking feeling inside him continued to grow colder and thicker. “She’s going away,” Yulen whispered. His tongue felt thick. Something was clogging his throat, nearly suffocating him with its sourness. Heat flared in his face as more tears coursed over his cheeks. “Keep talking to her, son. Give her something to focus on. You know she doesn’t want to leave you, but you have to help her fight.” Yulen took a deep breath. “Atrilan. My incredible Atrilan. I...I remember...things. Scenes. Bits and pieces of what may or may not have happened while we were apart. Words that were never spoken. I remember you telling me the first time you felt our son moving inside you, but I was fighting the Bloods. I was miles away, days away from you, but I heard you. I heard you inside my head and inside my heart. I-I don’t know what connects us, my beloved, but if there’s any way I can give you what strength I have...if I can reach out to you, and hold on to you, and keep you from moving farther away from me, I’ve got to try. You’ve got to try. Atrilan. There’s a specialness inside of you that makes you unlike anyone else who’s ever lived, or ever will live. If you fight this, you will win. Aim for it, just like you aim for your targets. Set your sights on me, on our love, and run for it. God damn it, run back to me!” Above him, Click jerked off the fabric mask covering her nose and mouth, and lifted her head to forcibly pour another concoction down her throat. He stroked her esophagus until the involuntary reaction took over, and she swallowed it. MaGrath threw another blanket over her chilled skin, and began to vigorously rub the fabric across her nude body. Throwing Yulen a desperate look, he said, “We lost you once because of blood loss, but Atty brought you back. It’s time you returned the favor.” “What do you need me to do?” He saw Click checking her heart beat and breathing. Both were excruciatingly slow. “Stop talking to her and see if you can’t make that connection work for you.” Click looked up. “What do you mean? He can’t do that. He’s a Normal, Liam.” “I’ve seen him do it before!” MaGrath argued tightly. He glanced at Yulen, at the confused question in the man’s eyes, and whispered, “In the cave. In the forests outside Bearinger. They had tortured you, Yulen. You were crying. You were broken, hurting, and ashamed. You sought out Atty, and she drew you into her. You sought solace in her body. In her heart. In her love. Through your connection, you made love to her as she healed you. She soothed you and comforted you. The connection does work both ways for you two, Yulen! So go get her.” Go get her. For God’s sake, Yulen, go get her. Memories of a miserably cold, dark, and rain-soaked evening in a forest clearing came back to him. She had drawn a bead on him, claiming she was heading west. Telling him not to follow her. Begging him. He had told her he would never let her go. He had told her he wanted to spend his life with her. And then, later, they had confessed their love to each other, once over a tub bath, and then later amid the sweat-soaked sheets in the guest room bed at Foster City. She was still a virgin, but Yulen had known even then he would become her first true lover. That he would be her only lover. For the rest of their lives.

For God’s sake, Yulen, go get her. He sat on the floor and tucked his sleeping son beneath his chin. The small figure, delicate and fragile, somehow smelled of her. Closing his eyes, he reached into himself and waited. Searched. Hoped. She was still there, but she was at the end of a cold, rain-soaked clearing. She didn’t have her longbow. She was completely weaponless. He started to go to her, running through the wet, slick leaves, not caring how much noise he made as he approached her. She looked so incredibly beautiful with her long, thick, morning glory-colored hair that was spread like a cape over her shoulders and down her back. He could tell she was tired. Still in pain. At every turn in the pregnancy, when they had expected the worse, only to have no problems occur, they’d gotten slack. They had forgotten to follow her every step of the way, and they had failed to keep her safe right up to the end. They didn’t need to have any more children. Their son would continue their legacy. All that mattered was Atty. All he needed was to have her with him until they both drew their last breaths together. Either in battle, or withered from age, it didn’t matter. Just as long one didn’t leave the other behind. Because that is the way it would have to end. The both of them, as one, closing the door on life with her hand firmly entwined with his. The rain was freezing. It was dangerous to be in the woods after dark. He reached for her. But then, to his horror, she turned her back to him and began to walk away to disappear into the forest where he would never find her again unless she so wished it. She was too far out of reach, and there was no way he would be able to get to her before the trees swallowed her. Unless... He held out his hand, fingers spread. “Noooo! No Atrilan!” His scream awoke the baby in his arms. Their son answered with a terrified, loud, wavering howl. On the table above him, a blood-smeared arm fell over the edge of the leather padding, to hang out above the floor. Beneath the pale blue hairs covering the skin, Yulen saw a muscle twitch. He pulled himself up until he was standing. The wounds in his stomach seared him, making him grit his teeth against the pain. The infant settled against his father’s warmth, relaxing back to sleep with his head nestled under Yulen’s chin, exactly the way Atty would after they’d made love. A soft sigh came out of her. Click reached to prepare another drought. Dropping the edges of the blanket, MaGrath came around the table and checked her heart. “We’re not out of the woods yet,” he commented even while a glimmer of hope colored his words. The man’s analogy was startling. Yulen watched as Atty opened dazed eyes. Lost and disoriented, it took a moment for her to finally settle on him. “Yul?” she croaked almost inaudibly. “Yes, my beloved.” He moved close enough for her to see their baby. She closed her eyes, then opened them again. She swallowed drily. “Yul?” “Right here, Atrilan.” He could see her fighting to focus. “The baby.” “A healthy little boy. We have a son, Atrilan.” “Can we name him Mattox?” For some reason, Yulen couldn’t help but chuckle. “Very well. His name is Mattox.”

She smiled, closing her eyes as she neared the edge of sleep. Yulen could feel its irresistible pull reaching for her. A pull that was entirely different from the thick blackness that had tried to suffocate him. The sickening fog was gone, leaving behind a clear and bright emptiness. She was very, very weak, but she was damned and determined to have him take her hand and lead her out of the rain-soaked clearing in the forest. “Yul?” He leaned over and kissed her temple, tenderly nuzzling the soft hairline. He knew she felt it. A ghost of a smile settled over her lips. “What, my only love?” “Next time, can we have a girl?” “I’ll see what I can do,” he whispered lovingly. She sighed contentedly. A moment later she slipped into a deep, healing rest, leaving her husband to take over protecting their newborn son. For the time being, her job was done.

Chapter Eighteen Emerging Feelings

It was turning out to be a gorgeous spring day. Okay, so the weather wasn’t quite as cooperative as it was last week, Atty told herself, but it was certainly making up for it today. She was stretched out in a chair, feet propped up on the edge of the bed, head resting on the back of the seat, while the sunshine coming through the window bathed her in its warm, bright rays. It wouldn’t be too difficult to fall asleep right where she was, but it wouldn’t be possible. Not in her present “condition”. The door in the next room squeaked. Atty snorted, smiling, yet refusing to budge. Everyone knew the damn thing’s hinges needed greasing, but apparently no one wanted to take the time to do it. She waited to hear who would be entering the room, knowing it could only be one of three people. When no footfall came to her ears, she had no doubt as to who was standing in the doorway. “Good heavens, Atty, what do you think you’re doing?” “Enjoying the warm sunshine,” she answered, neither moving nor opening her eyes. “You’re bare-ass naked.” “Good eye, Yulen. The heat feels good on my stitches. Care to join me?” To her surprise, a clinic blanket was draped over her. Making a face, she lifted her head and opened her eyes to give her husband an annoyed look. “I wasn’t going to fall asleep this way. I just wanted some sun. Besides, the window’s way up high. No one can see in unless they’re over eight feet tall.” She watched as her husband sat on the edge of the bed, next to her feet, and crossed his arms over his chest. “What if it had been Liam? Or Click coming in?” She snorted again. “Oh, like they don’t know what I look like without my clothes on? Geez, Yulen! They’ve seen parts of me even I haven’t seen!” Her last statement made him grin. Atty had made a remarkable recovery in the past week, especially with the help of Click’s medical expertise. Both Yulen and Atty knew they owed their lives to this compound, and it was a debt they intended to repay. “Okay,” he relented. “Then let’s just say I have a personal reason for covering you. And requesting that you not do it again.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “You haven’t got a jealous bone in your body, Yulen D’Jacques. So why can’t I sunbathe in my birthday suit?” “Because you provide too much of a temptation to me, and we both know neither one of us is ready or able to resume that part of our relationship just yet.” Atty met his steady gaze with her surprised one. This was one topic that had not come up in all the time they were convalescing. In the back of her mind, she knew it eventually would. But since he had broached the subject first... “How are you feeling, my love?” she inquired in a more serious tone of voice. Yulen nodded. “I’m doing very well. In fact, I found out I’m doing much better than I originally thought.” “Oh?” One dark blue eyebrow went up. He sighed and scratched under his jaw. “Don’t worry about it, Atty. I’ll be okay.” “No. It’s not okay. You’re my husband, and I love you. I would do anything for you.”

“And you just gave birth to our son,” Yulen quickly interceded. “Plus you ruptured a blood vessel during delivery. It’s going to take a few weeks before we can make love again. Not until Liam thinks you’ve healed enough.” There. It was out in the open. “But you’re starting to get those feelings again, aren’t you?” she asked softly. No wonder he had covered her up. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “Don’t be. Shall we talk about something less stressful? Like...going home?” She was up and in his arms at the announcement. The blanket slipped, revealing her satiny back and buttocks as she threw her arms around his neck to hug him. Atty felt his arms go around her, then suddenly stop and withdraw. Surprised, she pulled back and tried to look into his eyes, but he avoided her gaze. Neither could she miss the tell-tale clenching of his jaws. “Well, this is quite a pickle we’re in, isn’t it?” she breathed. He tried to laugh it off. “Forget about it, Atty.” Curious, she leaned forward against him, rubbing her newer, rounder, fuller breasts along his chest as she placed a soft kiss on his chin. This time she felt a definite tremor go through him, and he grabbed her arms to push her away. Looking down at his lap, she saw visible evidence of his arousal. “Yul, how long have you been this way?” “Atty, let’s not talk about it ri—” “We have to talk about it,” she insisted. “This is something new for us. I mean, at least it’s something new for me. To be quite blunt, I’m not feeling particularly amorous at the moment.” “And you won’t,” he told her. “Not for a few more weeks. Right now your body is doing what nature created you to do. You’re the mother of our son. You’re feeding him, caring for him, and all your energy is focused toward doing that. As it should be. And that’s not taking into consideration the trauma your body went through when you went into premature labor.” He patted her arm, and Atty found herself not liking that kind of endearment from him. “Give it time, my love. We’ll have our moment soon enough.” “And what are you going to do about your...um...needs, in the meantime?” Yulen smiled after a short hitch in his throat. “What other men in my condition have done since time began.” He didn’t elaborate, but Atty got the impression it was a matter where she wouldn’t be involved. A tender smile came over her. “I think that’s one of the sweetest things you’ve ever said to me,” she confessed. Even his puzzled expression was endearing. “After I got fat, and irritable, and all waddly. And then you saw me being cut open and all that messiness that went with it. And now I’m standing here still bloated and stitched up tighter than a hog for a celebration barbeque... you’re telling me you still find me desirable?” She was rewarded with a boyish grin. “Atrilan, let me tell you something. When we first met, you were gawky, gangly, skinny as hell, like a stick with long blue hair. After we were married, and Berta took you on as her personal crusade, you changed. You filled out, you lost that gangliness, and your movements became smoother, more assured. You became...sexy.” His hands moved from her arms to her face. His thumbs traced little semi-circles beneath her jaw as he lightly kissed her. “Then you became pregnant. Your skin took on this incredible sheen that you haven’t lost. Your hair became thicker, your eyes brighter. Even the pitch of your voice dropped a little, so now it’s a bit huskier. Definitely, definitely more alluring. Yes, you still have a little paunch around your tummy. A little more roundness to your hips. Your breasts were perfect before, but now they’re incredible. My God, Atrilan. You went from sexy to breathtaking,

and then several notches above that. Do I desire you? Damn right, I do. That’s why, at this very moment, I’m wishing I was still needing a few more days’ recovery time, because when I was too sick to do anything but eat and sleep, and my body had nothing to do except worry about healing itself, sex was way at the bottom of my list of necessities.” He kissed her, branding her mouth with his, to show her how far his need for her went. Atty tried to kiss him back with the same desperation, but there was no way she could disguise her lack of passion. Her body just wouldn’t respond, no matter how hard she tried. When Yulen regretfully drew back, she murmured a thoroughly disgusted, “Shit.” He burst out laughing. “What if...” She bit her lower lip. “There were those methods Tory told me about. I could make you happy with my mouth. I mean I could—” He quickly cut her short, although she could tell that the suggestion was not meeting any resistance. “Enough of that, Atty-cake. I would love to take you up on your offer, but this is neither the time or place. It’s time we pack our bags and catch the first caravan for Alta Novis tomorrow morning at dawn. Once we get home, I promise you can show me what Tory mentioned, and I can give you a few pointers on how to perfect that technique. How about it, my love? Ready to sleep in our own bed again?” “You damn right I am!” His eyes slid over to the small crib by the head of her bed. “So am I. We need to let Alta Novis know we have a son, and they have a future leader.” She nodded. It would indeed be a very unusual homecoming. **** As the cock crowed, signaling the coming sunrise, everyone in the compound gathered at the main gates to bid farewell to the Battle Lord and his Lady. Overhead, above the central lookout turret, a half-blue, half-red banner lay limp against the pole, waiting for the next March breeze. As a going-away gift, Atty was presented a hand-tooled leather carrier for her son. It had padded straps she could wear over her shoulders, enabling her to carry the infant either on her back, or in front where she could nurse him unobtrusively. Atty thanked the child who presented it to her with a kiss on the cheek. Yulen thanked everyone for their help and assistance during their time of great need, and promised to send a replacement battalion to begin re-fortification construction as soon as they arrived back at Alta Novis. The night before, Atty had assured her husband she could seat a saddle, but if it got too uncomfortable, she promised to transfer to the small wagon. So it was, before dawn topped the trees, one hundred and eighty-nine men, one woman, and one newborn infant left West Crestin on horseback. When Yulen gave the signal to increase speed, the nearly two hundred soldiers breathed a sigh of relief. The world had righted itself. Life was back the way it was meant to be, with the Battle Lord and Lady once more in total control.

Chapter Nineteen His Eyes

Yulen and Atty were in discussion, away from the main group, when MaGrath rode up. Seeing him approaching, they abruptly ceased their conversation and waited for him to join them. Their actions were not lost on the physician. “Go ahead and tell me to butt out, and leave you two alone,” he admitted. “I don’t have anything important to report. I’m just wanting some company.” “It can wait. What’s up, Liam?” Yulen asked. “Well, the men aren’t going to say anything because they trust you beyond a shadow of a doubt. I, on the other hand, can’t help but ask. Where the hell are we?” “Taking a short cut.” “No shit.” Chuckling, Yulen grinned. “The Council showed me a map with a quicker way back to Alta Novis without having to go back the way we came.” “You mean, back to Bearinger?” Yulen nodded. “It’s mostly through the forest, but it’s not as dense. Once we get to Fort Park, we’ll turn east. We should hit the main roadway within another day. Altogether, it’ll take a good two days off our trip home.” MaGrath scratched his head. “Fort Park? Another Mutah compound?” Atty made a face. “Yes and no. It’s not as big as a compound. It’s much smaller. No more than a hundred people, if that many.” “Then why have it if it’s so small? Why not incorporate it into a full-fledged compound?” “Because it’s the hub. It’s the..” She searched for the right word. “The...oh, damn, what’s the term? Mid-way?” “Mid-way between what?” “Mid-way between compounds. Our compounds are spread out like spokes in a wheel, if you look at their placement on a map,” she explained. “Fort Park is a resting place for those of us traveling from one compound to the next. It has an inn, a tavern, an eating establishment, and several stores where you can get clothing and the like. You can even trade in your horse for a fresh mount at the stables, if you need.” She grinned at him. “We don’t have a main roadway like you Normals do. Can’t be too obvious. It would be too dangerous.” “Well, you’re right about that,” MaGrath admitted A faint, muffled whimper came from the pouch strapped over Atty’s shoulders. Wordlessly, she handed Yulen the reins and reached inside the carrier, lowering the front of her gown so she could feed their son. Yulen lifted a corner of the leather covering to peer inside, earning a playful slap on the hand for his effort. “What do you think you’re doing?” she giggled. “Getting jealous.” MaGrath snorted with laughter. Several minutes passed as Atty nursed. Behind them the drone of the men talking was a familiar and strangely comforting background sound. MaGrath watched the couple unobtrusively, watching their interplay, their attentiveness toward each other. There was no mistaking the extent of their love. It was in every movement they made. In every meeting of their eyes. The furtive touches with their hands and their tone of

voice when they spoke to each other said more than mere words could describe. His eyes traveled down to the leather carrier, noting the fine toolwork on the wide straps. For the first time he saw the embossed letters stamped across the middle of the carrier. MATTOX “Hey, I’ve got a question to ask you. A little birdie told me about that impromptu fencing match you had out on the practice field a while back. Yulen supposedly won some sort of bet that he would get to name my grandson without any interference from you, Atty. Yet, I distinctly remember you telling Yulen to name him Mattox.” “So what’s the question?” Atty nudged. She reached inside the carrier to switch the baby over to her other breast. As the infant latched onto the other nipple, an expression of contentment crossed her face, and she sighed. It was enough to make MaGrath smile again. “Whatever happened to the conditions of the bet?” “Well, some of your information is erroneous,” Yulen told him. “Yes, I won the bet, but the condition was that I would get to name him without Atty having any say-so whether she approved or disapproved of the name.” He cast a sidelong look of amusement at the physician. “I never said I wouldn’t take suggestions.” MaGrath turned to Atty. “Why ‘Mattox’?” She was long in responding. When she did, her voice was low. Mournful. “When I was a little girl, I once knew a boy named Mattox. He was so kind. He had a gentle soul. But he was diseased, and no one was allowed to play with him. His own parents gave him up. I felt sorry for him, so I’d creep out of the house and go over to his tent after dark, and we’d sit and tell stories to each other.” She paused. Inside the carrier, her hand caressed her son. “Mohmee found out I was going over there, and she forbid me to leave again. But I did anyway. He...he wasn’t like what they said. I just knew it. He had no other friends.” She suddenly bent over the pouch, her face pinched in grief. Silent sobs shook her shoulder. Yulen reached over to touch her shoulder. “What happened to him?” he asked gently. “He...he was diseased. Eventually they had to take him outside the compound and leave him there.” She broke down again, leaving them to guess the boy’s eventual outcome. “Sons of bitches,” MaGrath muttered under his breath. Slowly, Atty regained control of herself, wiping her eyes and nose with the sleeve of her gown. “I cried for days after they found what was left of his body. I swore I’d never forget him. If no one else on this earth cared nothing for him, at least I would. At least there would be one person who would keep his memory alive, one way or another.” Impulsively, she lifted her son from the pouch and kissed the dark downy hair on his head before laying him over her shoulder to burp him. They traveled another couple of miles in silence. Eventually MaGrath excused himself and returned to the middle of the caravan. Yulen took the moment to check the shift. “My love, I need to check-in with my men before we break for noon meal.” She nodded, watching as her husband drew back on his horse. The big Palomino stallion protested the bit for a second before wheeling around. The new mount was a gift to Yulen from West Crestin, and the Battle Lord had his hands full breaking it in. Left alone near the head of the line, Atty continued to hold her son tucked under her chin, allowing the gentle bobbing of the mare’s smooth gait to help her put him to sleep. She caught the faint whiff of his warmth mixed with his unique scent, along with her milk. It was enough to put her at ease as she allowed herself to drift back to that moment when she first met her new son.

And discovered his specialness. **** The burning in her belly sent little knives of pain up through her body whenever she tried to turn over or change sleep positions. But lying on her back was a bitch. She had never been able to get comfortable that way. She gradually rolled onto her hip, and tried to lift her knees in order to obtain a more fetal-like curl. It was as if someone grabbed her skin at both hips and pulled outward. “Ow! Damn it!” Atty woke up to an early afternoon sun streaming through the high windows to find herself in the clinic. And, oddly, in the same bed Yulen used to lie in when she’d brought him to West Crestin. The room was empty. Quiet. Instinctively, she felt for her round belly. She wondered if the baby was being overly rambunctious, which was what had hurt so much and woken her up. Her stomach was flat; her womb was empty. Sheer, stark terror ripped through her heart. She struggled to sit up, but the stitches in her lower abdomen dug in with thin, blackened fingers. Atty cried out from the pain, but more from the loss of child she had carried, nurtured, and come to love over the past few months. “Where’s my baby?” she wailed out loud, hoping someone would hear her and come running in to answer her question. To quell her worst fear—that she had lost the son she’d promised Yulen. Miraculously, she managed to swing her legs over the side of the bed, just as a tiny cry came from beneath her feet. She stopped, automatically pulling her legs back up in case an animal had gotten trapped inside the clinic and was crying to be let out. The thin wail came again, but as it rose in intensity and volume, Atty felt a new, strange, blossoming sensation occur in her body. Her breasts began to fill out, growing rounder and fuller as they responded to the cry. She whimpered at this new sensation, at this betrayal of her flesh. When she grasped the moon-shaped globes, her nipples taut with expectation, they felt as hard as rocks. And they were rapidly becoming more painful than the fire around her belly. The clinic door squeaked. Before she could comprehend the fact that someone had entered the outer office, Yulen was with her, calling out to her. “Atty? Atty, are you all right? We heard you yelling.” He sat on the bed next to her and tried to draw her into his embrace. She was overwhelmed with these new and utterly horrible feelings overtaking her body. There was pain when she had no recollection of becoming injured. Worse, there was no longer any baby inside her. Shaking uncontrollably, she tried to hug herself, but touching her engorged breasts only made things worse. Dazed, she stared at the streaks of whitish fluid on her arms where they’d brushed against her tender nipples. She panicked. “What’s happening to me, Yul? What’s wrong with me? Oh, God, did I lose our baby? Where’s our baby?” It was too much to try and take in all at once. She broke down, bending over in his lap as she prayed he would forgive her for their loss.

It was all her fault. It had always been her fault, from the very beginning when she’d started eating those damn tunsul leaves because she thought she didn’t want a child in the first place. Now she was being punished for those thoughts and actions. “Atrilan. My beautiful love. Hush! Shhh. Look at me.” She remained supplicated and shook her head. “Atrilan.” He was chuckling. The sound was as unexpected as it was comforting. He lifted her face and placed the tenderest kiss she’d ever felt on her lips. “Atrilan, we have a son. Don’t you remember?” Patched pieces of memories drifted into her consciousness. At the moment, though, they refused to form any sort of whole for her to see. She started to shake her head when the cry came again. Once more her breasts seemed to reach toward the sound. The pressure grew to the point where she clutched them, gasping from the pain. Through her tears she watched her husband slip over the side of the bed and bend down. Carefully he lifted a tiny bundle up over the side, bringing it to her and placing it on the mattress next to her knee. It was a baby. A tiny, perfect little baby. With the most beautiful little face. Even more beautiful than little Valla. Were baby boys suppose to be this pretty? She looked at her husband. She noticed the way he was watching the minute bit of life lying between them. There was love on his face. Not just love for her, but love for this child they had created between them. It shone from his face with a light all its own. Her breasts throbbed for relief. Atty clutched herself, tears welling up in her eyes, when Yulen smiled and lifted their son to her chest, actually pressing the miniature lips that looked just like his father’s against one heated nipple. Her eyes widened as the baby reacted almost instantaneously. His mouth attached itself to her swollen bud, closed over it, and he started suckling. Pulling, tugging, almost frantic in his attempt to draw her milk into his hungry body. The pressure, the throbbing, eased. The relief she felt was indescribable. Together they watched as their son continued to feed, snorting softly through his little nose every so often as he was forced to take a breath. Without thinking about it, Atty lifted him away from that breast and laid him against her other to help relieve it also. The baby snuffled, searching for her, and almost attacked when she guided his mouth to it. “Oh, sweet heavens, you’re voracious!” she giggled throatily. “He’s probably starving,” Yulen whispered, taking a strand of her hair that had fallen into her eyes and tucking it behind her ear. “Feeling better now?” She had to tear herself away from the miraculous sight in her arms to look up into her husband’s face. “Did we do this?” “Yes, Atrilan. We did. You’re a mother now. Does that still frighten you?” No. Not anymore. She shook her head. Not anymore. “What did you name him?” she asked. Yulen chuckled. “You really don’t remember, do you? His name is Mattox.” “Mattox?” Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Yes, my Atrilan.” He kissed her. It was a gift of pure love, this kiss, pouring his soul and his love into her mouth above their son’s body. When he sat back, they both looked down at their son. And their son looked back at them. Atty’s reaction was protective and automatic. Tightly clutching him to her, she scooted

back across the mattress so fast, her back slammed into the wall at the head of the bed. Her breath was coming in hard jerks as every nerve in her body went alive to defend the infant in her arms. A long minute passed as she stared into Yulen’s eyes, waiting for his reaction. Waiting for his condemnation. Waiting to see— “Atrilan, it’s okay.” His voice was gentle. He reached out toward her, fully trusting. “Let me hold him. I want to show you something.” Maybe it was because she knew beyond any doubt that Yulen would never hurt his son that Atty released her hold on the baby, pulling his off her nipple, and gave him over to his father. Gathering him against his heart, Yulen gave her a quick grin. “First things first.” He lifted the child onto his broad shoulder and started patting the little back. Before long, a loud burp issued out of the baby’s mouth, along with a bubble of milk. “Did that come out of him?” she whispered. In answer, Mattox opened his eyes again and stared up again at his mother. Atty shivered involuntarily. His eyes were red. Not reddened in the way eyes become after excessive crying, but fiery red. Both entire eye was the color of new blood—the sclera, the iris, and the pupil. As if someone had taken out the orbs and replaced them with smooth, perfect rubies. “He’s...” “He’s Mutah, Atrilan. Like you.” She looked at her husband. She wanted to apologize, to tell him she was sorry their firstborn had to turn out like this, when Yulen smiled. “We knew the chances, but it doesn’t matter, my love. In the brief time we’ve been together, you’ve taught me that the differences between us are for the better. That being Mutah is like having an extra specialness inside you. Watch. I want you to see something.” Holding up his son, Yulen began to nuzzle Mattox under the chin. Nuzzle him, tease him, playing with the baby as he crooned softly. Atty watched in fascination when her husband laid their son in her arms, and she looked back down into the baby’s face. Mattox’s eyes had gone from bright red to a warm, soft, pinkish hue. “His eyes reflect his emotions,” she breathed. She felt Yulen combed his fingers through her hair. “His emotions. His soul. His happiness. His sadness. You need to notice them when he’s hungry. Or when he needs changing. Boy, he hates being wet. His eyes could practically set you on fire.” “When did you find out?” she asked. “Find out what? That he’s Mutah? The moment he took his first breath. He squeezed up his face and just yelled like you wouldn’t believe,” Yulen told her. “He was frightened and cold. His eyes were the color of rust. He’s our son, my beloved, and we’re going to have to give him all the strength and love we can as he grows up, because you know how the world will react to him the first time they learn of his specialness.” “And you...you’re...” She licked her lips, trying to find the courage to ask him. “How do you feel about that, Yul? Does it bother you he’s not Normal? Not perfect?” “Does it bother you I’m Normal? That I’m not a Mutah?” “That’s a stupid question,” she snapped back heatedly. “And so is yours,” he smiled.

**** “A penny for your thoughts.” Atty’s eyes flew open. Mastin was grinning as he pulled up beside her. “Yulen sent me up here to see how you were doing. I can watch Mattox if you want to go lie down for little while,” he offered. “Thanks, but no. I was just thinking.” They rode a little ways in companionable silence, when Mastin chuckled, shaking his head. Atty gave him a sidelong glance and smiled. “What?” she asked. “That was some shindig those people threw last night,” he commented. “You know, Atty, maybe it’s a blessing in disguise that Mattox turned out like he did.” “Oh? How so?” She wasn’t wary. Just curious. “You know. A Mutah Battle Lord over all these Mutah compounds Yulen plans to accumulate. Those people back there weren’t just happy to know their future leader was one of them. They were ecstatic.” “How do you feel about it, Cole?” She watched closely for his honesty. The Second shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me, if that’s what your asking. In fact...” A grin spread over his lips. “I’d really like to hold the little Battle Prince, if you don’t mind. I didn’t get the chance to last night, what with everyone else vying for the chance.” Atty smiled. The man had commented twice now that he’d like to hold her son. Last night plenty of other people had held Mattox, cooing and fawning over him. Mattox had watched them with quiet disinterest as he was passed from one person to another, while his mother stayed close by nervously watching, protecting, and guarding. The baby’s eyes had been wide open, their color like wild strawberries. However, it wasn’t until Yulen snatched him away for himself that his son’s eyes changed. They softened, literally fading to all shades of pale pink as the Battle Lord cuddled him along his neck. The sight had melted her. Without reservation, father and son were bonded. Carefully, Atty lifted the sleeping infant from her shoulder and passed him over. Mastin took the baby in his large hands, holding him out in front of him so he could look upon the child. “Hey, Matt! Glad to finally have you all to myself!” The infant opened his eyes to stare at the strange person grinning at him. Awakened from sleep, his eyes looked like russet velvet, softened and drowsy. “Where’d you get that dark hair, boy? From your grandpa Rory?” “You knew Rory?” Atty asked. She suddenly realized there was so much she didn’t know about Yulen’s right-hand man. “I entered the military a year before he was killed.” “Who was his Second then? Yulen?” “Of course. Who else?” “Then how did Tosh Karv get to be Yulen’s Second? The man was abysmal.” Mastin shot her a cautious look. He knew too well what the man had done to Atty when she’d first been captured. When she had killed him, he had threatened Yulen’s life and was prepared to take over as the new Battle Lord of Alta Novis. There had been a lot more justification to her actions than just protecting the man she loved. “Karv had been a lieutenant. Yeah, the man was an animal, but he also had a cunning,

analytical mind. Given another couple of years, I’m pretty sure the Battle Lord would’ve appointed another Second. Well, actually, he did. But what I meant was, Yulen kept him on a short leash. He needed him, but he knew from the beginning he couldn’t trust him. Yulen was still mourning his father when he tapped him. He made a bad choice at the onset, and he knows that now. Hey, look at this! His eyes are pink! Just like when Yulen holds him!” Smiling, Atty told him, “That means he likes you. He accepts you.” “Of course he accepts me. Me and Matt are gonna become good buddies, aren’t we, Matt?” “Ah, yes. Nothing turns a grown man into a blubbering idiot faster than a newborn baby.” MaGrath rode up to join them and gave the Second a nod. “Just wait until he pees in your face the first time you have to change his nappie, and we’ll see if you two are still ‘good buddies’.” The dry comment elicited a good laugh from them all. Handing her son back to Atty, Mastin watched as she nuzzled the baby’s cheek before kissing it, and safely stowed him back into the carrier. “What are you going to do when he gets too big for that thing?” “I don’t know. I refuse to think that far ahead anymore,” she replied. “Life is too precious to concentrate on what might be, or what might happen. My world is now. Today. I’ll think about tonight, and maybe tomorrow, but Yulen and I can’t dwell on months or years from now. Not like we used to. Not anymore.” She stared straight ahead at the rutted, overgrown road they currently were on. It was synonymous to her life. What mattered right now was where they were. If they concentrated too much on their destination, they might miss the signs of possible danger. And then what good would the next bend in the road be to them? “But he has to,” MaGrath argued softly. “He’s the Battle Lord. His priority is the compound, or compounds. He has to consider their growth, their protection. He has to think constantly about the future, and be prepared for it.” “Actually, you’re both right,” Yulen said, riding up in time to hear their conversation. “But you have my priorities skewed, Liam. Atty has and always will be my top priority. And you can add Mattox now to that short list. Alta Novis and the other compounds are a distant second. I’m going to do my duties faithfully, keeping them protected. Preparing them for future growth, and all the problems that come with it. But with Atty...” He shook his head. “We won’t be making any future plans. We have right now, and we’re going to share it to the fullest. We don’t expect you to understand because you haven’t been through what we’ve had to endure.” Staring at his hands gripping the reins, MaGrath did understand. “Very well, Yulen. You have my blessings. None of us can even begin to imagine what kind of horrors you faced. But I know the damage it did to you. I’ve doctored the massive injuries in and on your body. I’m glad to know you’ve managed to find a way to cope. Remember, though, if you ever need me, to talk, or for anything else...” “Wellll...now that you’ve brought it up...” Yulen glanced at Atty, who lowered her eyes and listened. MaGrath tilted his head in expectation. “Liam, how do you think Madigan’s going to react when she finds out her grandson is Mutah?” The physician paused just long enough to blow out an explosive sigh. “Gee, you had to give me a hard one right off the bat? Yulen, Atty, you know she’s accepted you with her whole heart. But I truly believe having Mattox will bring her so much joy. She was already elated, knowing that the D’Jacques dynasty will continue. However, I promise that if I hear her say one

derogatory word about our grandson, I think I’ll personally throw her in the nearest watering trough. Don’t worry about your mother, Yulen. She’s my problem now, not yours.” “Yulen?” Cole bent over slightly, looking around Atty to the Battle Lord riding on the other side of her. “There’s a bigger matter we haven’t discussed. Something we need to talk about before we get back to Alta Novis.” By the square set of the man’s jaw, Mastin had an idea Yulen already knew what he meant. “The dead at Bearinger,” Yulen softly said. “Yeah. Are we going to leave them there? Or do you think we need to go back and retrieve what we can?” Reaching across the gap between them, Yulen waited for Atty to take his hand before replying. “We were just talking about that earlier. In my opinion, it would be a waste of time to try and gather and identify all our men who died there.” His face paled as memories came back to him. Atty squeezed his hand, reminding him she was there, sharing his pain. “We need to finish burning Bearinger to the ground. Completely raze her. Then bury her. After that, we’ll rebuild her.” “Rebuild her?” both Mastin and MaGrath said simultaneously. “The location is prime. She was a grand compound before Collaunt sunk his claws into her. And there needs to be a resting point between Alta Novis and Grenadier. No. She flew my banner. It’s my responsibility to bring her back.” “On the same spot?” Mastin asked. Yulen shook his head. “We’ll put the new compound on the other side of the roadway. We’ll call her New Bearinger, and we’ll sanction off the grounds of the old compound. Make that area a shrine, to honor those who fell defending her.” He lowered his head, struggling with himself as the nightmare of that night started reemerging bit by bit. Of the sight of over a thousand screeching Bloods pouring through the compound wall they’d managed to hack open, flooding the inner courtyard and overtaking the barely four hundred soldiers attempting to hold them back, regardless of the odds. They’d lost good men. Good friends. Brothers, sons, and fathers. MacIntyre was gone, leaving MaGrath to wonder who he would get to apprentice under him now. Verris had been slaughtered not ten feet away from where Yulen had been standing. That left Mastin as his only Second. A hard squeeze on his hand brought him back to the present. A warm, loving look watched to make sure he was coping. He gave her a reassuring smile and squeezed back. They rode for another mile, each lost in their thoughts and silent mourning, before Yulen called a halt for midday meal.

Chapter Twenty Black Linen

When they reached Fort Park, Atty once again moved forward to answer the challenge. This time, though, they had been anticipated. Before the words were out of her mouth, the main gates were cranking open to admit them. They stayed the night, the soldiers encamped inside the compound around the small courtyard. Yulen and Atty were invited to stay in the inn as guests of the compound. Yulen managed to wheedle an extra room into the bargain so that MaGrath could have a soft bed for his weary bones. They were back on the road before dawn. Before their departure, Yulen obtained another map of Mutah compounds to add to his collection. For a good hour he poured over their placement in relation to the Normal compounds lining the roadway. “Look at this,” he pointed out to the others in the small group riding together at the head of the caravan. “There’s a compound named Good Choice just a day’s ride from Foster City.” He paused as a thought struck him, and he turned to give his wife a narrow look. “Atty?” His voice was soft and edgy. “Mmm?” Yulen slowly reared up in his saddle. “Time for the truth, my dear.” She tried to suppress the smile on her face by pressing her lips together. “You were going west to the great gulf?” he asked her, referring to a time long ago in a rain-soaked forest, when she had threatened to run away from him. “I was,” she tried to tell him, the smile growing. “Bullshit. You were going to head for Good Choice.” He glanced back at the map and did a quick calculation. “Then maybe over to Barkertonville, up to Fullmont, and then to Wallis.” He glared at her again. “You conniving little...” By this time MaGrath and Mastin were looking at each other, totally lost as to what the Battle Lord and Lady were talking about, and alarmed at their tone of voice. It was clear Yulen was peeved about something, yet Atty didn’t appear at all bothered by his irritation. “You pulled one over on me!” Yulen accused her. “Well, it worked, didn’t it?” she snickered. “And when were you planning on coming clean about this? If you ever planned to? All that time I had visions of you cold and wet, barely surviving out in the wood, struggling to make your way back to Wallis—” “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Yulen!” Atty began to laugh, a bright and sunny sound. “You owe me big time, woman,” her husband threatened, unable to stop himself from also smiling, caught up in her infectious laugh. “Big time.” “Yes, sir.” She threw him a mock salute, which only caused him to shake his head in disbelief. MaGrath loudly cleared his throat to get their attention. “If you two are quite through with your discussion, may I ask about how far we are from home?” “Two days, give or take a handful of hours.” Again, Yulen consulted the map. “Believe it or not, we should reach the end of this trail by this afternoon. It’ll be straight forest to the roadway, say another five or six hours. If we’re lucky, and if I’m reading this map correctly, we’ll

be lucky to reach the main road before dark. That’ll put us a just day’s hard ride south of Alta Novis.” “Good. Oh, and Yulen? Consider this to be my last caravan out.” “And what if I have to go New Bearinger to help oversee the rebuilding? Who will accompany me as my medicine man, with MacIntyer gone? I need to get started on the plans as soon as possible, now that the weather’s turning around.” “Whoa! Whoa! Wait!” Atty interrupted, holding up a hand. Turning partly in her saddle, she got her husband’s full attention. “What is this ‘I’ crap? Listen to me, Yulen D’Jacques. You will never leave Alta Novis ever again without me by your side. Shut up and listen to me, I said!” she snapped heatedly, seeing Yulen opening his mouth to object. When he obligingly sealed his lips, she continued. “This last time was the last straw. I cannot, will not, ever again face another day or another night without you. We belong together. We’re going to face our destinies together, and we’ll face our deaths the same way. Together. I felt you that night, Yulen. I heard you screaming in my head when the Bloods took you down and began slicing you into pieces, before that Blood snake leader stopped them. I know what you were thinking, and I’ll never be able to forget it, either.” She stopped, suddenly aware of everyone but Yulen hanging onto her every word. Behind them, Fortune and Renken pulled up to join them. Atty watched his eyes, and husband and wife saw the truth written on their hearts. “You weren’t afraid of dying,” she whispered. “You weren’t afraid of what they were doing to you. You screamed my name. You were terrified because you were being taken away from me. Because you knew we would never see each other again.” Her voice hiccuped softly as she fought the hot sting of tears in her eyes. “Because you truly believed it was the end of us.” Shaking her head vehemently, Atty’s voice grew cold with determination and finality. “Our souls, our hearts are permanently fused together. Where yours goes, goes mine, and you know I’m right. Don’t you? You know you’ll never be able to ride outside the gates of Alta Novis again and leave me behind...don’t you?” “Yes. I know that,” he relented. “Promise me?” she insisted. Oh, he was such a hard, determined, and stubborn man who couldn’t ever admit to being wrong, although the truth could come crashing down on him like a landslide. “Promise me, Yul!” Leaning over, Yulen picked up her hand where it rested on the saddle horn, turned it over, and kissed the palm. “You have my word of honor,” he solemnly vowed. The sun broke through the clouds, full of warm, golden hope. Beneath the budding trees, two lovers sealed that vow with a soft kiss, then urged their horses into a fast trot to hurry up to the front of the line. Just as night fell, the caravan emerged from the forest onto the roadway, exactly as Yulen had predicted. They made camp right there, although every man had a difficult time finding restful sleep. They were a day’s ride away from home. And after all they had been through, after months of recuperating and waiting out the winter, to be so close to their loved ones was almost unbearable. Which was why, when they stopped the next day for midday meal and for the required hour of rest for the horses, they listened with interest to the Battle Lord’s proposal. “From the landmarks around us, we’re a little over ten hours away from home. If we continue forward at this pace, it’ll have us moving long after dark. I don’t have to explain the dangers if we persist in moving after sunset.”

There were nods of understanding among the men. It was after dark when the worst and the most dangerous predators prowled the surrounding forest. The Bloods may have been defeated for the time being, but there was still the possibility of bears, or worse, wolfen, catching their scent and stalking them in the chance a straggler could provide them with an easy feast. “Common sense tells us to stop and make camp at dusk, which would place us two, maybe three hours away from Alta Novis.” Yulen placed his hands on his hips. “You have put yourselves at my command, but this time I’m going to let you make the decision. Do we let common sense prevail, and make for home in the morning? Or do we continue straight through, and get there tonight?” Their decision was unanimous, as he knew it would be. As the sun dropped below the tree line, and dusk approached, they stopped for an hour’s rest and a quick meal. When they were done, they brought out the torches they’d made that afternoon. Moving three abreast, the caravan resumed the pace they’d been traveling all day. With each successive mile, with every curve in the road, the soldiers’ anticipation grew. Their eyes scanned ahead for that first glimpse of their home. Conversation thinned, then stopped altogether. Bets were placed as to who would be the first to spot the pennant at the top of the main lodge. Alta Novis would be lit up, ringed by torch and lantern light in the darkness—a beacon to the exhausted traveler, and a sign of warning to the enemy. There was no banner for his men to raise as they drew closer. It didn’t matter. In the dark none of the sentries would be able to distinguish it anyway. Another mile passed. Familiar landmarks shrouded in black shadows passed them. Overhead the broken moon managed to shed just enough light for them to see the road a few feet beyond the horses. Atty looked over to see her husband listening intently, his head tilted to one side. “What?” she whispered, not wanting to raise her voice. He replied by raising his index finger at her. Wait. Moments later the call came. “Ho! Strangers! Identify!” They’d reached the outer perimeter of the compound. The first line of sentries were challenging them. Yulen signaled for a full halt. With exact precision, every man pulled up, having heard the call themselves. “I am Yulen D’Jacques, Battle Lord of Alta Novis,” Yulen replied in his most authoritative voice. There was a second of silence. When the second became several, Yulen turned a puzzled look in the direction where he knew the sentry would be posted. “Did you hear me?” he questioned gruffly. “Ho! Strangers! State your business!” There was no mistaking the shaking in the sentry’s voice. For some reason, the man was fearful. “My business?” Yulen echoed. “We’re returning to our homes, me and my men. That’s our business! Who are you, sentry? Identify!” To his surprise, the sentry neither stated his name, nor did he appear in the roadway. The lack of discipline irked. “Very well,” the Battle Lord snapped. “If you will not grant us passage, I’ll take it by force.” “I’ll ring the bell! I’ll let them know you’ve breached the outer perimeter!” a terrified voice quickly yelled. “It’s my compound!” Yulen yelled back. “Ring the bell, damn you! Let them know we’ve returned! Wake up the whole compound! Make all the infernal noise you want, because we’re going in!”

“Yulen, they won’t open the gates if the bell rings,” Atty stated a fact he already knew. She had to raise her voice for him to hear, as the bell began to toll, loud and crisp in the clear night. Giving the men the go-ahead, they advanced forward, around the last bend of the road and over the small rise before looking down at the compound below, nestled in its small valley. As they knew it would be, the entire compound was ablaze with lights posted every ten feet along the upper portion of the compound walls. Lights were also present below each sentry turret, and along the roofs of the larger buildings inside the walls. As they stood, staring at the sight they’d been homesick for, they could see the parapets filling with soldiers. Alta Novis had gone on alert at the sound of the bell, which was as it should. The entire compound called its forces out to protect itself against the enemy that had penetrated the outer ring. “Let’s go find out why I’m not welcome in my own home,” the Battle Lord growled softly, and moved forward. They advanced cautiously, knowing they were approaching without a pennant and in the dark—two dangerous combinations. As they drew closer one very unmistakable fact became clear. It was MaGrath, riding beside Yulen, who voiced it. “Yulen, the staff. Look at the staff. The compound’s under black linen.” The three of them pulled up to stare at the pole rising above the main lodge. Where they should have seen the half-blue, half-red signature flag at the top, the banner had been lowered halfway. Above it, flying in the slight breeze, was a large rectangle of solid black. The sign of mourning. And then, right at the top of the pole... “Why the hell is Zane flying his banner in my compound?” Yulen angrily cried. “He better have a damn good reason.” Kneeing the big Palomino, he pulled ahead of them, determined to get to the bottom of this new development. Overhead he could see the archers tensing. Despite the torches they were carrying, Yulen knew they couldn’t get a good view of his face, but they wouldn’t need to as long as they had a definite figure to aim for. It was when the caravan neared the main gates and stopped that they saw more of the black linen draped across the upper portion of the wall. Two large falls of the material covered each of the main wooden doors. An icy hand clutched Yulen’s stomach and squeezed until the pain took his breath away. “Oh, dear God, Liam... Mother?” At his softly spoken remark, the physician paled. It had never occurred to MaGrath until the man had spoken the name. Madigan. His Madigan. Please, please, don’t let it be her! “It would explain the banners,” MaGrath whispered back. He couldn’t control his voice, nor could he stop the trembling in his hands where he clutched the reins so hard his knuckles were white. Yulen nodded, numb with denial. “Mother would have been in charge with us gone. That would explain why Zane raised his banner.” A compound left leaderless would need someone to take command, and the sooner the better. Knowing that the Battle Lord of Foster City, and a friend, had assumed those duties gave Yulen a faint sense of relief. Better Batuset was running things rather than some despot the likes of Collaunt taking over. “Ho! Strangers! Identify!” They were being given one last chance before the order was given to fire the arrows, the

compound’s first line of defense. “I am Yulen D’Jacques! Battle Lord of Alta Novis! Open the gates and let me and my men pass!” The effect of his announcement was like an explosion of thunder rocking the entire compound. The caravan sat in stunned disbelief as something they couldn’t clearly understand began happening behind the walls. They heard yelling and screaming, the words indistinct but clearly panicked. A moment later, the same sentry called out, “Ho! Back away! You will turn around and return to wherever you came from, imposter!” “Imposter? Who the hell is that up there? Sentry! Identify!” “You have one minute to comply!” the sentry stated as the warning bell finally ceased clanging. “It sounds like Breedlove,” Mastin whispered to Yulen. The Second had joined them the moment Yulen had been challenged the second time. “Breedlove?” Yulen called out. “If Batuset’s in charge, you tell him I want his ass out here in less than one minute, or he’ll forever regret flying his banner above my compound! Atty. Draw me an arrow.” It was late. They all were tired and too exhausted to argue any further. It had been too many long months since they had left their home compound to have to face this sort of challenge. Whatever was preventing them from gaining entry was coming to a halt right now. Quickly she complied, pulling the longbow from behind her saddle. Nocking an arrow, she lifted it and looked to her husband. “Mastin, got a torch?” Snatching the firebrand from his Second, Yulen carefully set the wooden head of the shaft aflame. “All right, Atty,” he breathed angrily, “Take out that fucking banner.” A second later the burning arrow arched upward, trailing over the walls of the compound like a shooting star. It snagged the green pennant dead center in its field of stars, jerked it from its moorings, and sailed over the edge of the roof. Every man on the battlements froze. “I am Yulen D’Jacques, Battle Lord of this compound! I am ordering a Code One, effective now!” Code One—Emergency Entrance. The main gates remained closed. A heartbeat later, the small sentry door in the wall flew open, and a lone figure emerged, carrying a lantern. Atty felt a sense of déjà vu come over her as she recalled their approach to West Crestin. Only this figure was not a man. “Yulen! It’s Madigan!” she told him. “Madigan?” Literally jumping out of his saddle, Yulen hurried to greet his mother halfway across the entry clearing. As he got closer he could see signs of anger and shock on her face and in the way she carried herself. It reminded him of when his father had been killed, forcing her to come to grips with taking over running the compound along with her son. She stopped a dozen feet away, her breath heaving in her chest. The woman had been and still was in deep mourning. The realization stunned him, and Yulen began racking his brain, wondering why the black linen. “Who are you?” she cried out. Her body was trembling with suppressed rage and grief. Her agony was enough to soften his own temper.

“I’m your son,” he calmly answered. Overhead, it seemed the entire compound was listening. The scenario was bathed in hushed expectancy. “You cannot be my son,” Madigan hissed at him between her tears. The lantern she held reflected the silver streaks on her face. “My son is dead.” “I would be, if Atty hadn’t come for me.” His low, soothing voice, a voice she knew could never be impersonated, devastated her. She took a slow step toward him, holding out the lantern to catch his face in its light. A second step. Then a third. The yellow flame turned his hair the color of molten gold. Madigan gasped. A hand flew to her mouth, and she hunched over in pain. “Oh, dear God, Yul!” She fell into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. The lantern fell to the ground, shattering the glass globe. Moments later, the sentry door opened again. This time the large, bear-like figure of the Battle Lord of Foster City strode out of the compound with long, purposeful steps, along with Dardin Tabb, his Second. Batuset carried a lantern. Tabb had his sword drawn. Shoving the light in Yulen’s face, it only took Batuset a second to confirm the man’s identity. “Open the gates!” he yelled at the men watching and waiting above. Turning back to Yulen, Batuset threw an arm about the man’s shoulders and gave him a quick hug. “You owe all of us an explanation, and it damn well better be worth all the shit you put us through!” the big man threatened, his voice choking on tears. He craned his neck to look over at the caravan. “Where’s Atty?” “Back there with Liam and Cole.” “Liam?” His mother’s response frightened him. Her whole body was shivering violently, and her skin had gone cold. Yulen called over his shoulder for the physician. MaGrath was beside him before Yulen was aware of it. He gathered his wife in his arms and began stroking her, soothing her, kissing her and letting her know that whatever fears and beliefs they had been nursing were over. He was back. They all were back. And life could resume again. Climbing back on his horse, Yulen gave the command to advance as the gates finished swinging open. Riding in, the caravan was besieged by hundreds of people, townsfolk and soldiers alike, yelling and crying, reaching out to touch their Battle Lord. Many saw the small carrier across Atty’s chest, and they pointed it out, cheering. The returning men in the caravan spotted loved ones in the crowd. They waved, laughing and crying, and blew kisses, but they remained in formation. Yulen waited until everyone was within the compound walls before giving the all clear sign, letting the soldiers know they were finally free to dismount and embrace their loved ones. There was a ripping sound behind them. Someone was tearing the black linen banners from the outer walls. Atty turned to her husband as the crowd surged toward them. Her eyes mirrored his thoughts. They thought we were dead. The compound was mourning us! A frightened whimper came from inside the carrier. The noise of the people celebrating their Battle Lord and Lady’s arrival had awakened the infant. Quickly, Atty lowered a strap and reached inside, lifting the baby and cradling him under her chin as she tried to sooth him, covering his ears against the din. At the sight of the tiny child, the crowd quieted, their eyes riveted on the mother and son. Yulen saw he had their attention, and took advantage of the lull.

“Good people of Alta Novis. My sincerest apology in what you’ve had to go through these past few months. The story of what happened to us is a long and complicated one. But you’ll get all the details as soon as we’ve been able to rest and get ourselves reacquainted with loved ones.” In the distance he could see Tory running through the mainway, her arms spread wide to fling herself into Fortune’s embrace. He had no idea where MaGrath and Madigan had gone, but it didn’t matter. “I also bring you more good news,” Yulen informed them, smiling at his wife. “Atty has given me a son. Please welcome Mattox D’Jacques, Battle Prince of Alta Novis.” The cheer that escalated at this news frightened the baby even more. Holding him tightly, Atty tried to calm the wailing infant. She shot Yulen a pleading look. Quickly, Yulen dismounted and walked around to help her out of her saddle. Keeping his arm around her waist, he escorted her into the main hall where it would be somewhat quieter. Behind them, the celebration would continue for the next three days.

Chapter Twenty-One Gentle Kisses

“It was Madigan who sent me the plea for help,” Batuset told Yulen. “She was beside herself, her and almost the entire population of this compound. When two weeks had gone by, and they’d gotten no news back from Atty or Liam, she sent another forty soldiers to Bearinger. When they returned, the news of what they’d found was devastating. She got in touch with me, so I took a small battalion of my own to see for myself.” The big bear of a man shuddered at the memories. “Mother of mercy, Yulen, what else were we supposed to think? We found parts of your armor. We found what was left of your horse. We found Verris’s head, finally, so we could give the man a proper funeral. We were still walking around in a daze when you showed up at the front gates, like ghosts risen from the dead. No wonder the perimeter sentry went into shock!” It was three days later. They were seated in the living area of the new lodge, speaking about what had happened. How they had coped. How they had survived. “The sight of that compound will forever haunt me,” Fortune said softly. He held Tory in his arms as they sat on the rug beside the fireplace. Tory felt her husband shiver as he pressed his forehead to her neck, and she patted his hands crossed around her middle. “To be honest, the thought of sending back a message never occurred to me,” confessed Yulen. “I never even thought about you discovering the remains of Bearinger. I was in a coma for most of two months. And then, right after that, Atty went into premature labor.” “You’re lucky she didn’t do it earlier,” MaGrath said darkly from where he and Madigan sat, chairs scooted next to each other. “With the stress she was going through, you’re lucky you have a wife and son at all!” Yulen glanced down at where Atty was curled up beside him in the large, comfortable chair. Mattox was sound asleep, arms and legs folded underneath him as he lay tummy-down and bottom-up on his father’s warm abdomen. One of Atty’s hands rested lightly on the baby’s back. Impulsively, Yulen placed a hand over hers. Unconsciously, their fingers laced, forming a protective tent over their son. “You drew an arrow on Mother and Liam?” he asked her softly in amazement. Atty replied with a slight shrug of one shoulder. “I would have shot them, too, if they had refused to let me go after you.” Lifting her face to him, she clarified, “I wouldn’t have hurt them. Just pinned them down until they saw things my way.” Yulen chuckled. “You were saying, Zane?” Batuset swirled the last of his beer around the bottom of his mug. “We were in shock. So many men lost. So many lives. The carnage... We thought the Bloods were still out there. It was pure panic here. We held your funerals last month, although we had no bodies to burn.” He glanced at the couple. “We burned two piles together, symbolically together. We felt it had to be that way.” “Thank you, Zane,” Yulen solemnly replied. “So, how did the compound get through the winter?” “Physically? Quite well. Of course, I stopped the work on the new wall, and used those men to further protect the compound. Mentally, however, that’s a different story.” Batuset pointed toward Madigan. “She was a pillar of strength for your people, even though she was crumbling inside. First Rory, then you and Liam.” He tossed back the last of his beer. “God, what

is it about the women of Alta Novis?” His remark had them laughing softly. “If there are stories and songs about the two of you now, just imagine what it’s going to be like once news of this latest gets out,” MaGrath stated. “Before you know it, the thousand Bloods overtaking Bearinger will become two thousand. It’ll be interesting to see how Atty’s take-down of that Blood leader is recounted.” “I wish I could have been there when she had,” Batuset admitted. “My word, that must have been something to see! So far, all I have to show for her skills is two of my banners with holes in them.” He gave her a stern but playful look. “The moment I saw that arrow coming over the wall, I knew without a doubt you were back.” Atty smiled. Once they had finally managed to enter the main lodge, Berta was there crying buckets of tears as she served them a light meal, and oohed and ahhed over the baby. It took nearly two hours to calm everyone down enough so Yulen could relate a sketchy account of the past several months, and promise more details in the days to come. It was after midnight when they were able to retire to their new lodge, where Yulen tore the black wreath off the front door. Once inside, the place looked exactly as they had left it...until they reached the top of the stairs. Their bed had been filled with flowers. But not with dead flowers. Not with flowers brought and placed in grief and remembrance. Every inch of the quilt was covered with a riotous kaleidoscope of color, brought there by many hands which had ventured outside the compound walls in the dark to pick the new spring blooms while Yulen and Atty had been inside the main lodge answering questions. The heady perfume of the enormous pile could still be detected from the top covering down to the sheets. “Are you still intent on rebuilding Bearinger?” Batuset asked. “Yeah. Not right now, but soon. Even though we managed to bring back two hundred of our men, there’s just as many that didn’t return with us. Let’s honor their memories first, then we’ll talk reconstruction.” Mattox snorted in his sleep. Lifting his head sleepily, he gradually turned his head to rest his other cheek on Yulen’s stomach before drifting back into slumber. Everyone was riveted at the sight. “Yulen, isn’t he too young to be able to lift his head yet?” Madigan pointed out. The Battle Lord shrugged. “I don’t know. Is he?” “He’s not even a month old,” Liam pointed out, also dumbfounded. “He shouldn’t have the strength in his neck muscles yet.” It was Tory who softly commented. “He’s Mutah. You might be surprised at what he can do as he grows older. After all, look at Atty. She made her first kill when she was two months old.” Yulen smiled down at his wife who was tenderly stroking their son’s back. Giving the top of her head a gentle kiss, he agreed. “One thing’s for certain. I can never say that life is dull with my wife around.” “Can we look forward to another D’Jacques making an entrance in the near future?” Tory inquired, while Fortune goosed her for her lack of manners. Before her husband could answer, Atty placed a finger over his lips. “You promised me a daughter,” she reminded him with a twinkle in her eye. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“No, we won’t.” She shook her head. The shoulder-length waterfall of blue hair brushed over the arm he had draped around her shoulders. “You can’t go back on a promise.” “Atty, you ruptured an artery—” “And you had the crap kicked out you,” she interrupted, burying her face in the warm hollow of his shoulder. “I’ll be fine next time.” Yulen turned a halfway pleading look to MaGrath. “Would you talk some sense into her, Liam?” Instead, the physician grinned and held up his hands in surrender. “For once, I’m staying out of this argument.” Looking back down at his wife, Yulen asked, “What if the next one’s not a girl?” “You’re not stupid. What do you think?” “What if we’re not able to have a girl?” “Then I guess we’re just gonna have a grand old time making babies, Yulen. Geez!” When her last comment drew laughter, Atty wrinkled up her nose. “I’m serious!” “We know you are,” Yulen laughed softly, giving her a squeeze. “Okay, so what if the next one is a girl? That means we have one of each, and we can stop there, right? Either one of us goes on a contraceptive, or we curtail some of our little midnight escapades.” “In your dreams, mister! If you want to sleep with me in that bed up there, you damn well better make it worth my time!” she warned him hotly. Their laughter increased, threatening to wake the baby. Exasperated, Atty started to get up to take Mattox to the nursery where it certainly was quieter. Yulen would have none of it, grabbing her before she could get out of the chair and pulling her back down against him. Face to face, he smiled slowly and tenderly into her softening gaze, then gave her another gentle kiss, this time on the lips. And another. And another. Until there was no one left in the world except the three of them on a long, lazy afternoon, with the promise of two hearts beating in unison as the compound around them shredded the last of the black linen. For all of them, the celebration was only the beginning.