This Battle Lord's Quest (10 page)

Chapter
Twelve

Connection

The air was cool. The night was clear. Yulen paused
on the parapet and looked up at the multitude of stars and the three-quarter
moon. The huge crack in the orb made it look like the eye of a wild animal
glaring down at them.

Breathing in the sweet air, he surveyed the area.
He loved the beauty of the compound, especially late at night when the glowing
lanterns and torches ringed the perimeter like jewels on a crown. Taking in
another deep breath, he continued his slow stroll. Walking the catwalk around
the compound late at night was a habit he’d developed whenever Atty was gone.
Whenever the bed was too cold and empty to allow him any real rest. It also
gave him the chance to think, and allow himself to let go of the tension from
the day.

A guard waved from his station but didn’t call out
or address him. His men were trained not to disturb him unless there was an
emergency. Tonight, as he listened to his steps clopping on the boards, the
sounds coming from the compound were a comforting background noise.

“What are you doing right now, Atty?” he murmured
to himself. He gripped the wooden poles, which made up the compound wall. Out
past them was the forest, now eerily silent due to the lack of small game.

He glanced over at the nearest burning torch. “Are
you sitting around a campfire? Are you eating your meal? Maybe talking about
your adventures with Renken and Paxton? Or have you already taken to your
bedroll and fallen asleep?”

“What do you dream about, Atrilan, when you’re on
your own? Do you ever dream of me? Of our life here? Of our son? Or are you
still plagued by nightmares of things that have happened to you in the past? Of
things that have happened to us, and how they tried to separate us forever? I
know you still have those nightmares. I’ve been awakened by your cries and your
tears, and I’ve watched you wrestle with the ghosts of things that no longer
exist, except in your memory. Sometimes, I tried to wake you when it seemed you
were losing, but you rarely awoke. And when you did, you didn’t remember the
dream, or remember me waking you.”

In the distance behind him, he heard a child’s
laughter. It reminded him that Mattox was spending the night in the barracks
with the soldiers. It was something the child had been begging to do, but Yulen
had been reluctant to grant until tonight. Tonight, Yulen needed time alone.
Time to think and time to pray.

“Come home to me, Atty.”

His head was throbbing. He rubbed the heels of his
hands against his eyelids. It was late. Too late to disturb MaGrath for a pain
killer. Maybe there was some powder left in the bag Liam had left at the house
a few weeks ago. Yulen grinned. The physician was learning first-hand all about
babies and their sleep patterns, and he was having to pull some all-nighters to
take care of his restless son.

“Iain Stuart MaGrath.” He chuckled. Liam and
Madigan had named the baby with every intention of calling him Iain. Instead,
they had started referring to him as Stuart.

He took the nearest ladder down to the ground and
walked back home. Once inside, he stopped for a moment to listen, but all he
could hear was silence. No sound or movement came from the loft bedroom.

Strange how empty this place feels when she’s gone.

He undid his weapons belt and tossed it onto the
table by the door. Although he was tired, he wasn’t ready to go to bed. Not
yet. He couldn’t face lying in that bed all alone. Not until he was exhausted
to the point of unconsciousness, and
then
he might be able to rest.

He walked over to one of the big overstuffed chairs
in the living area and dropped into it. It was a comfortable friend who always
welcomed him. Leaning his head back, Yulen closed his eyes and let his mind
drift.

Water. Cold water.

Pain. Arm. Head. Leg.

Head. Blood.

Darkness. Blood.

Yulen jerked awake. His heart was racing, and sweat
rolled down his face. It was hard to catch his breath as he fought to focus, until
one thought shined with brittle clarity.

“Atty.”

Jumping to his feet, he snatched his belt and
bolted out of the house, running toward the main hall. On the way, he yelled to
one of the soldiers standing guard in the nearby tower.

“Have Mastin report to the dining hall!”

“Mastin to the main hall, check!” Yulen heard the
guard repeat before the man started to descend the ladder.

Entering the hall from the side entrance, the
Battle Lord ran to the door leading to the clinic and went in to go directly to
the apartment. As he had hoped, MaGrath was still awake. Yulen found him seated
in a rocking chair by the fire in the living room, with the baby resting on his
shoulder. The physician stopped rocking when Yulen opened the door. MaGrath
held up a hand in mute request for a moment, and got slowly to his feet. He
disappeared into an adjoining room, then quickly reappeared, closing the door
behind him.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered.

“Come.”

Without waiting to see if the physician would
follow, Yulen hurried back into the main hall where Mastin was entering via the
main doors. Before either man could speak, the Battle Lord slammed a hand down
on one of the tables.

“Liam, Cole, you were with Atty when she had you
follow the Bloods’ trail after they destroyed Bearinger and held me captive,
right?”

Both men nodded but didn’t reply. Yulen turned to
MaGrath.

“You told me Atty was somehow connected to me.
Remember telling me that?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of connection was it? Tell me what you
know. Tell me everything!” Yulen demanded.

“I can’t tell you how she did it, but somehow she
knew you were alive. She knew where to lead us so we could find you.” MaGrath
shook his head and gave a slight shrug. “Fortune said there are stories of
Mutah lovers whose bond was so strong, they were able to sense each other’s
presence, even miles apart. That’s all I can tell you. Why? Why are you asking
at this time of night?”

“It’s Atty, isn’t it?” Mastin whispered.

Sitting heavily on a bench, Yulen held a hand to
his face. “I don’t know. I’m tired. I fell asleep, but it felt...so
real.
”

MaGrath sat on the opposite side of the table and
leaned over. “What felt real?”

The Battle Lord sighed, dropping his hand. “Maybe
it was all a dream, or a nightmare. I’m not Mutah, but...” He raised his eyes to
the older man. “I felt cold water wash over me, like I’d been dunked in a tank.
There was blood. I could smell nothing but blood. But the worse part was the
pain.”

“What kind of pain?” Mastin asked.

“In my arm and my leg, but my head felt the worst.
It felt like it was going to explode. And it was nighttime. Either that, or I
was blind, but I couldn’t tell where I was.”

“What makes you think this has anything to do with
Atty?” the Second continued.

Anger mixed with fear centered itself in his chest.
Yulen shoved a fist against his breast. “Because
this
tells me it does!”

A hand rested on his shoulder. “What do you want us
to do?” Mastin asked.

“I want to take a small squad to go search for her.
To hell with giving her a week to return. Something inside me tells me she’s in
danger.”

The Second nodded. “Who do you want to take?”

Yulen felt another shudder go through him. “Go tell
Fortune I’m leaving at first light, if he wants to accompany us.” He looked to
the physician. “I cannot ask you to come with us, although your expertise may
be greatly needed.”

“I don’t see why he can’t go with you,” a voice
spoke up from across the hall.

The three men glanced over to see Saxon walking
slowly toward them. Yulen had forgotten the man had taken up temporary
residence in one of the guest rooms on the opposite side of the main lodge.

The older physician sat with his back at an
adjoining table, and pointed to MaGrath. “You need to go with them. I say go.
Don’t worry about Madigan or the babe. I’ll care for them while you’re gone.”

It only took a moment for MaGrath to make a
decision. He looked back at the Battle Lord. “Because I witnessed this
connection between Atty and you, I believe you when you swear you’re feeling
something. It’s probably because you’re a Normal, and not Mutah, that your
symptoms are different from hers, but I believe that what you’re feeling is the
same thing she felt when you were captured by the Bloods. It’s also obvious to
me this is not going to be a search mission, but a rescue mission. If you need
my skills that badly, then I’m coming with you.”

Yulen felt a flood of relief wash through him.

“Anyone else you want me to notify?” the Second
repeated.

Yulen shook his head. “Just gather up two more men,
and have them each bring an extra horse. Tell Van Dyke he’ll be in charge of
the garrison during our absence. And if something happens, tell him not to
disturb Mother. Have him send a rider to Foster City if he needs extra help.
Until Batuset calls the shots, he’ll give the orders.”

Mastin quickly repeated an abbreviated version of
his orders, then dashed from the hall.

“Why two horses when we’re going after three
people?” MaGrath questioned. Yulen shot him a raised eyebrow, and the physician
understood. Atty would share the saddle with her husband, or ride on a travois,
depending on how badly she was injured.

Getting to his feet, the man stretched and yawned.
“First light, eh? Better have someone come fetch me, then. I’m going to try and
catch a little shut-eye before we head off.”

He turned and walked over to the elderly man.
Reaching out, he clasped the still skillful hands resting in Saxon’s lap.
“Thank you, my friend. Thank you for allowing me the chance to go with them.”

Saxon grinned. “I’ve dreamt of being part of
something like this. Don’t worry about anything. I’ll also tend to your
patients while you’re away. All I ask in return is to hear all about it when
you get back. Now, go.” Pulling away his hands, he made shooing motions. “Get a
quick cat nap under your belt. Morning will be here before you know it.”

Nodding, MaGrath returned to his apartment. Saxon
also rose and left, leaving Yulen alone with his thoughts. He had to make
arrangements to be gone a week. At least, he prayed it wouldn’t take more than
a week. In addition, he had to find someone to take care of Mattox during that
time.

Tory.

Fortune would definitely go with them. That would
make six, counting himself. He hoped it would be enough.

Gritting his teeth, Yulen left the main hall to
prepare for the trip.

Chapter
Thirteen

Cold

The icy water shocked her into consciousness.
Something continued to hold her down as she struggled for air. She tried
grabbing the thing restricting her with both hands, but her left refused to
obey. Forced to using only her right, she dug her nails into the object and
jerked. Amazingly, she suddenly found herself free. Frantically, she kicked her
feet to reach the surface.

Pain.

Air.

Darkness.

She was moving sideways as she fought to keep her
head above water. Her feet found purchase in the muck as she gasped and coughed
the water from her lungs. She struggled toward drier land when her left arm
dropped downward. She cried out in agony and stopped crawling to wait for the
torture to ease up.

Opening her eyes, she glanced around. She was lying
on the edge of what appeared to be a large pond. Several yards away, a large animal
lay on its belly, its front arms extended into the water. Its wide head rested
sideways, as if the beast was peering at what was in the water.

Coon.

The animal was dead. How she knew, she couldn’t
explain. In the moonlight, she could see one of its eyes was a bloody hole. The
other, still open, was glazed over. A purplish tongue hung out of the long
snout. Here and there on the fur, splotches of something wet glistened.

Blood.

Was she the one who’d fought the beast? Or was she
the only survivor?

Insects buzzed around her. Frogs the size of dinner
plates croaked along the opposite shore. She realized the vise she’d pulled
from around her waist had been one of the coon’s fingers. The animal had
brought her here and dumped her into the water, more than likely with the
intent of washing her before eating her, as coons were known to do. But because
of its wounds, by some miracle, it had died before having the chance to enjoy
its dinner.

She managed to sit up with the water lapping at her
feet, and a cold wind blew over her. She shivered and tried to wrap her arms
around herself, but her left one wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t obey. Carefully, she
ran the fingers of her right hand over the skin, and felt the knobby
protrusions at the shoulder. Further down, just above the elbow, she could
faintly move her arm in opposite directions.

“No wonder. A dislocation, and two broken bones.
Great.”

She started to get to her feet, when a wave of
dizziness knocked her sideways into the mud. Warm water trickled down the side of
her face, and she reached up to wipe it away. Blood smeared her hand when she
looked at it. Cautiously, she searched her scalp on the left side. The skin and
skull felt squishy to the touch.

She had no recollection of how she’d gotten
injured. No more than she knew how’d she’d gotten here. One thing she was
certain of, however, was that she had to get away from the water. Other animals
would be coming here to drink. More than likely, they might be as massive as
the coon, and just as hungry.

Weapon.

If another creature was to attack her, she’d need a
weapon. Her hand brushed against her thigh, and she noticed the sheath. Pulling
out the long dagger, she stared at it in surprise. It was a thing of beauty, as
well dangerous looking. Putting it back, she gave it a pat. The dagger would
help, but she needed something else. Something to hold the animals at bay, or
to beat on them with.

A stick.

A sword.

First, though, she had to do something about her
arm. If she allowed it to swing freely, she might cause more damage to it, and
it already hurt like hell to touch it. It might also get in the way if she were
to try and defend herself.

A fallen tree lay a few yards away. Getting slowly
back on her feet, she stumbled over to the dead wood where she found a couple
of sticks she could use to bind the broken arm. First, however, she had to get
her shoulder back into the socket, or else the bones would fuse together when
she healed. The large oak standing next to its fallen kin would suffice. She
double checked where to strike, squeezed her eyes shut, and rammed her shoulder
into the trunk.

White hot debilitating pain coursed through her,
and she fell to her knees. Semi-conscious, she gasped for breath and waited for
the worst of it to fade. Her fingers told her the bone was back where it
belonged.

One down, one to go.

Now she needed something to help bind her arm. She
looked over at the dead coon.

Sling.

She could cut strips of skin from the animal’s hide
to wrap her arm.

She tried to stand again, this time moving more
slowly. Eventually, she was able to straighten up without nearly passing out,
although the dizziness played havoc with her eyesight. She took a tentative
step on her left leg. It was sore, probably bruised, but thankfully not broken.

She hobbled around the pond until she reached the
carcass. Using the dagger, she cut several thin lengths of fur. Holding them in
her teeth, she managed to set both bones, then tied the coon skin strips around
the two pieces of wood keeping her arm straight, and knotting them tightly.
Another piece of fur several inches wide would suffice as a sling. It took some
effort, but she managed to tie the strip into a loop and draw it over her head.
Gently, she lifted her arm and placed it inside the makeshift carrier. Blood
from the inner hide smeared her wet clothes, but she didn’t care. The furred
interior buffered her arm.

A loud grunt came from the forest behind her. She
backed away from the dead coon, keeping her eyes open for whatever the carcass
and the scent of blood had attracted. When she reached the edge of the pond,
she checked the thick line of trees behind her. She needed to rest. She needed
to give her body the chance to heal, or at least begin to heal.

One tall sycamore, in particular, got her
attention. She stared up into the high branches, but for some reason she was
reluctant to climb it. Even if she managed to reach the upper limbs, it didn’t
feel safe. No, she had to stay at ground level. She glanced at the mud. Or maybe
below ground level.

The grunting got louder. A section of the forest
directly behind the coon rustled in anticipation. She ducked and hurried into
the brush. She didn’t want to wait to see what was approaching, and she sure as
hell didn’t want whatever it was to spot her.

The forest surrounding her felt comforting, and
helped to ease the throbbing in her head and arm. Keeping her eyes open, she
searched for a safe place to hide, and eventually found it. An animal had dug a
den underneath the roots of an old oak. Getting down on her knees, she leaned
close to the opening and sniffed. Nothing. The hole was empty, and apparently
hadn’t been used in some time. The nearby scat was so old, it easily crumbled
to dust. Neither did she detect any moisture in or around the opening. The
earth inside was dry.

Slowly, painfully, she crawled into the den. It was
big enough for her to curl up. She left the burrow to get something to
camouflage the opening, and found an old thorn bush, which she took back with
her. Once she stuffed the bush into the opening, she curled up into a fetal
position. Although her clothes were still wet, the den quickly warmed from her
body heat.

She was asleep almost instantly.