Rise of the Shadow Warriors: #3 Warlord Read online

  Argan managed not to roll his eyes. “The treaty states that the people of Desani, Raasa and Kaban shall not make war against one another without grave consequence. The King would not have signed the treaty if his thoughts still focused on revenge.”

  His clarification did nothing to appease Sellic and the loud Councilor stormed from the room without another word to any.

  “I apologize.” Raiden shook his dark head, lips turned down.

  Showing no restraint, Saran chuckled. “It would seem this meeting has reached its natural conclusion.”

  While the other remaining Councilors at the table frowned, Raiden continued. “The Council is at a turning point. It will take time for all to adjust to this new way of thinking.”

  Argan inclined his head in acknowledgement, though he did not sympathize with the Council members. Too long they had been allowed to run without guidance during the time of the deep sleep when Vaan and his top Warlords including Argan were almost murdered. A treaty existed now despite all attempts to stall it and the opportunity for peace was too important to ignore.

  “If all is settled, I will move forward with the plan to return to Raasa today along with the three warriors Saran has selected to train under the Overlord.”

  Argan and the other Warlords living in Raasa would train them for several weeks and they would return to Kaban bearing their new status as Warlords. It was an honor that many warriors in Kaban coveted. Once the practice started again, Argan was sure warriors would line up to serve next in Raasa for the privilege.

  “Unless there is more, I believe Warlord Argan can make haste in leaving.” Saran paused to see if the Councilors would protest.

  They did not.

  Hiding his relief, Argan kept rigid control of his expression until he exited the room. Once he reached the main hall, his shoulders slumped and he wiped a forearm across his wet brow.

  “Are you well, Argan?” Saran’s question pounded in Argan’s ears as he approached from behind and Argan stumbled forward. Placing a palm flat on the nearby wall, Argan caught his balance.

  “Argan!” Saran stepped closer.

  Argan turned and leaned his back against the stone wall, needing the solid support. Forcing himself to straighten to his full height, he drew his lips into a firm line. If only the floor would hold steady. “There is no need for worry, Saran. Have the others meet me in the outer yard.”

  “Of course.” Saran paused and Argan waved his hand, giving him leave to speak.

  Saran drew a deep breath and his eyes darkened. “There is more to the reason I called for Vaan. Many have settled back into the ways of honor and accept Vaan as Overlord but rumors abound of a rebel band of warriors who strike out against the smaller villages.”

  Argan blinked and tried to focus on Saran’s wavering form. The man bore a disturbing resemblance to his brother. They shared the same dark eyes and hair of a Kabanian but it was more. The sharpness in their gaze, the determined set of the shoulders, all reminded Argan of his best friend.

  “What more have you on these warriors?”

  A harsh sigh escaped and Saran thrust his hand through the loose hair about his shoulders. “They are Kabanian for sure. Warriors not Warlords. I believe they are old supporters of Thenl but have no names for you as of yet. Vaan’s reach is far and there are many who make their home between Kaban and the distant villages.”

  “Have they killed?” If the attacks bore any resemblance to that of Anane and the other villages it could reveal the true identity of the warriors responsible for those deaths in the past.

  “No. So far they raid and steal. I would consider it the harmless action of warriors adrift but the treaty is still new and my concern is great for their actions if the attacks spread beyond the borders.”

  If such occurred in Raasa or Desani, there would be no holding Vaan or King Tarik back. Especially with the Queen close to the birth of her child.

  “In this you are right. Send a messenger to the Raasa holding if you discover more.”

  Saran tipped his head. “As you say.”

  Argan turned, then thought better and faced the younger Warlord once more. “Saran, a word.”

  Saran gave him his full attention, brows pulled low in a frown. “Yes, Argan?”

  “Do not let the Council pull your brother between your disputes with them again. The Overlord trusts you and it is why he placed you here. If you are not firm this will never end. They will run amok and always use him to keep you off balance.”

  Saran studied Argan’s expression a moment longer before nodding. “You speak truth. Give Vaan my thanks for your wisdom.”

  Steps shaky, Argan walked away. He ignored the concerned frown on Saran’s face and kept a steady pace down the corridor. The hustle and bustle of the servants going about their myriad of tasks in his former home played like the buzz of insects in his ears. His skin crawled from the close proximity of the crowd but he managed to keep from hunching over in pain through will alone.

  Ramar hailed him from the front door. “I will meet you outside.”

  Crossing the threshold, Argan blinked against the glaring sun. He had hoped the air would revive him but the wave of dizziness disproved the notion. For a moment the blue-gray sky swirled around him.

  “Greetings, Warlord Argan.”

  Argan carefully turned his head to the side, hoping to avoid the sensation of moving. The stable master held the leads to the hapfe, Falal, which Argan rode into the Kaban stronghold.

  “Greetings.” Did his words slur? He could not portray weakness before others. Now more than ever since Vaan’s return from the dead had angered a few of those who had hoped to rule in his stead.

  Argan squinted against the mid-day sun. Was it him or did it seem to burn brighter? Hotter than the heat of Raasa? At least his view of the stable master’s face held steady.

  Daviel wore a huge grin on his tan features as Falal licked his face and tossed his black mane. “The Raasa do a good job with their hapfes. Always a pleasure to have them in the stables. Helps keep the others in order.”

  At this, Argan managed a grin. Mikayla would be pleased to hear this. She babied the riding animals almost more than she babied her youngling. Almost. The youngling had their parents enthralled.

  “Wessel has a way with them.” Argan named the stable master in Raasa.

  Daviel leaned closer to Argan and whispered, “Is it truth the Overlord’s mate helps deliver the hapfe young?”

  The question contained a note of incredulity and Argan understood why. Kabanian women did not do labor other than household chores. They followed the expectations a warrior set before them and never complained. Mikayla was as different in mannerisms as she was in looks.

  “When possible, Mikayla prefers to be present at the birth.” As Su-Su to the Raasa compound, her word was law. After losing her parents at a young age, Mikayla had an extremely close relationship with her servants. The stable master, Wessel, was one of many considered to be a favorite.

  Daviel shook his head as a light breeze lifted the tuffs of his short, dark hair. “My bride was curious. I will share the truth of your words with her. I cannot imagine the Overlord allows it but theirs is rumored to be a good match.”

  Argan gathered the leads in his hands and mounted Falal. “It is a good match, Daviel.” Though he had not originally thought such, it pleased Argan that his best friend had found someone who loved and cared for him as Mikayla did.

  Ramar cantered over, already mounted on his hapfe. The animal hopped from one powerful hind leg to the other in agitation before settling down. Ramar ran a hand over the short foreleg and Candor grunted in pleasure. Daviel had the right of it. Mikayla’s hapfe were the most affectionate creatures Argan had ever come across or ridden.

  Pounding footsteps interrupted his thoughts and Argan caught sight of the three warriors walking toward them with long strides. Wiping all expression from his face, he gave each of them his most harsh frown. The frown of the Warlord known as Death Dealer. All but one faltered before continuing.

  Good. It was best they learn early the way of a Warlord. Their training would not be easy and Argan planned to have the other Warlords ensure these warriors returned to Kaban better for the time spent away.

  Daviel bowed low. “Convey my appreciation to your Lady, Warlord.”

  “Done.” His stomach lurched but Argan clamped his lips together.

  More hapfe arrived, led by young Kabanian males. Argan waited for the warriors to take their seat.

  Saran, who had accompanied the warriors, strode directly toward Argan. His brow creased. “You do not look well, friend. Are you up for the journey to Raasa? Ever are you welcome to stay.”

  Argan wanted to go home. The sooner the better so he shook his head and lied, “All is well, Saran.”

  The Warlord nodded his reluctant acceptance of the answer. “You will tell Mikayla that I shall visit in a few weeks time to see the youngling.”

  Despite his illness, Argan grinned. Arane and Erana were loved by all who spent time among the youngling. “She will hold you to your words.”

  Saran laughed for all knew Mikayla had a way about her and it was easy to see why their Overlord gave in to her often. Firm pressure from his knees signaled Falal and the animal responded instantly. The journey would have been one of pleasure if only Argan’s stomach would cease its infernal ache.

  Chapter 4

  Argan almost made it. For the first leg of the ride, he’d forced himself to stay upright on the hapfe through sheer determination. After that, he counted on instinct and a well trained Falal. But no longer. The vision of the warriors riding with him blurred before his body swayed in the saddle and Argan hit the cold, hard ground.

  Ramar called out, “Argan!”

&
nbsp; He wanted to answer but could not. Falal’s moist tongue dragged across Argan’s cheek and even that cooling sensation offered but a moment of relief. Muscles strained as Argan tried yet failed to gain his feet. His body trembled as weak as a newly birthed youngling.

  Rough hands fumbled and managed to roll him onto his back. The sudden motion proved too much. Sweating and heaving, Argan crawled to his hands and knees while snarling, “Move!”

  Samil, one of the new warriors, jumped back in time as Argan spilled his guts on the dry grass. His stomach clenched and released as he finally gave in to the pull of the illness. Wave after wave of unimaginable pain shifted through his trembling frame. “Blessed One,” Argan gasped during a break in the spasms.

  “Warlord Argan?”

  The spasms began anew, preventing him from responding to Ramar’s inquiry.

  The warriors spoke amongst themselves in urgent whispers, his Warlord brethren Ramar the loudest.

  Argan paid them no heed. Sickness poured from him until he was left shaking on all fours. It took all of his strength to keep from falling forward onto the ground. This was more than a momentary illness. Panting, with a shortness of breath that could not be described, Argan glimpsed the panic on Ramar’s face.

  Argan swallowed thickly, ignoring the sour taste in his mouth. With a mighty push, he turned his body to the side before collapsing. His face slammed into the ground again, head bouncing.

  He needed to give orders. Make a plan. Thoughts flowed through his mind one after another. Then the raging inferno took a hold of his body and Argan’s last thought before darkness consumed him was that Vaan would not be pleased with his delay if it caused Mikayla to worry.

  ***

  Puffs of air escaped her parted lips as Shaina leaped from one boulder to the next. Loud grunts ahead warned that the Gornan she and her men tracked were not far ahead.

  “Hettle,” she cursed as her feet skipped and slid down the rocky incline, kicking up red dust on the trail.

  Justan glanced back and hesitated, blue eyes alight.

  “Don’t,” she growled. If the others considered her a weakness, Shaina wouldn’t stand a chance resisting Ivak’s attempts to rest her rule away.

  Lips firm, he nodded abruptly and increased his pace down the slope. Fortunately, the other three men with them missed the byplay. Shaina planned to speak with Justan again when they reached home tonight. If he doubted her, others would as well.

  The Queen of the Olak’din needed to be strong and worthy. A soft female wanting to be pampered would not suffice.

  Shaina put on a burst of speed, her long limbs eating up the distance until she ran beside all of the men. From the corner of her eye, she caught Justan’s pleased smile. Shaina bit back her own. Why hadn’t the goddess Helsa given her feelings of love for the young warrior instead of deep friendship? Theirs would have been a strong bond.

  Overhanging branches slapped at her arms but a subtle shift in her body weight eliminated the problem. She trained for situations like this and after years of chasing Gornan, a few scratches were nothing.

  “Not far now, my lady.”

  Shaina didn’t need Karn’s announcement. Grunts and the clang of steel could be heard up ahead. Had the pod of Gornan they hunted stumbled on others?

  Bursting through the clearing where the trees ended at the edge of the divide, Shaina jerked to a halt. Her warriors gathered behind her to observe the battle taking place below.

  Never had she witnessed such a worthy display of fighting. Her warriors fought and trained with an intensity that made their reactions in a fight instinctive. But this was different. Pure brute strength.

  The four men dressed in simple black leather pants and cross chest harnesses fought with mindless ferocity. A bluish green sheen covered their torsos. Swords slashed through the air with the intent to maim. Any other opponent would have been decimated.

  But not the three Gornan they faced. The thick green hide of the Gornan made it difficult to penetrate their skin and injure them. Their smaller brains kept them from feeling pain unlike other species.

  The only true way to kill the hideous men was to cut their heads off. Shaina’s people had learned that the hard way as the Gornan began their invading attacks on the Olak’din in an effort to take over the mountain caverns they called home.

  Easing closer, trying not to draw attention their way, Shaina pulled forth both her razor-thin swords.

  Justan reached out and grasped her left wrist lightly. “Tis not our fight.”

  She sensed Karn, Mecal and Luka watching closely. Standing as she was with her back to them, Shaina shot Justan a quick look and snatched her hand away. He knew better. What was wrong with him lately? “It is our fight. We drove the Gornan this way.”

  Instead of running back toward their encampment, the pod had mindlessly run straight into these unsuspecting men who even now struggled to hold them back. Looking closer, Shaina discovered why. There was another male on the ground inside the loose circle they’d formed.

  This fifth warrior lay prone on his side. Pitch black hair longer than many women she knew, angled about his face, blocking her view of his features.

  Shaina took another irresistible step forward. Her grip tightened on her weapons as the sudden urge to charge forward overcame her.

  One of the fighters tripped and paid for the mistake dearly. The Gornan swung his crude club, striking the man’s upper shoulder hard enough to take the warrior to one knee.

  Gornan weren’t completely stupid. The opening allowed the one to lunge forward, attempting to break their defense. The warriors tightened their circle, never once pausing in their dazzling dance.

  Shaina could take no more. “Come.” Not waiting for her order to be obeyed, she raced forward.

  If the fighting warriors took note of her approach, she couldn’t tell. Shaina leaped in the air, arms slashing right then left, drawing blood from the Gornan she’d targeted. She landed roughly, knees bent and jumped to her feet to continue her attack.

  The Gornan recognized her as their natural enemy and turned from the warriors immediately. A long, wooden club breezed by her face. Shaina leaned back on the balls of her booted feet avoiding the blow. Having been struck once before by the blunt weapon, she had no desire to repeat the experience.

  The Gornan in front of her braced its short powerful legs apart and growled at her. Large fangs protruded from its upper gum line to hang past its thin bottom lip. Thin nostril slits in a wide-set face flared as it pulled in her scent.

  Shaina’s mouth tipped up in a grin as she taunted, “Remember me?”

  Her men came up behind her and the three Gornan quickly forgot the warriors.

  But the warriors didn’t forget them. Steel pierced the middle of the one Shaina faced. The creature groaned and Shaina didn’t bother wasting time. She attacked, blades swinging. Her right arm crossed above her left, movements too quick for the slow-witted Gornan to track.

  Her aim was perfect and the ends of her swords met at the tips as they sliced through the thick neck at the middle. The Gornan’s head toppled to the ground.

  As if realizing they had help, the four warriors began to fight in unison with Shaina and short work was made of the remaining two Gornan.

  Breathing heavily, Shaina sheathed her swords at her hip and placed her hands on her trim waist. The pose enabled her to catch her breath while presenting an intimidating façade. She’d learned the stance from her father before the goddess Helsa called him home to the heavens.

  Now that she didn’t have to focus on the Gornan, Shaina recognized the familiar terrain. Rolling green hills and colorful trees only found on this end of the countryside identified the land. She wasn’t far from Kaban. Her trek down the mountain had taken them further off course than she’d imagined. The Overlord did not take kindly to intruders on his land.

  Her men crowded behind her forming a barrier of protection. The Kabanian warriors sheathed their swords, while the fallen warrior remained unmoving on the ground behind the wall they’d created. The armor covering their torsos faded. Their chest rose rapidly and their glittering black eyes weren’t exactly…right.