Of Warriors and Wisdom

Chapter 1

1

Fury pulsed bright and hot, forcing the pain to the back of his awareness. Baltura mumbled, “Gods damn the Roanoaks!”

The corners of his mouth tugged upward as he remembered his ancestor Nyla, the witch, had already done so. Not that his pleasure at knowing the Roanoaks had suffered seven generations of war and strife couldn’t be expanded. In fact, his enjoyment at the destruction of the Roanoak line, the erasure of the power-filled brothers, would fulfill his purpose. There would be nothing left for him to do, no more war to wage, no more revenge to exact. He supposed that wasn’t completely true. Rebels would rise and need to be exterminated. Citizens would need direction. Soldiers would need training. The border of this land, soon under his rule, would have to be protected. He would not let what he’d strived to gain slip away through arrogance or ignorance.

Baltura rolled his bulk over and stared up at the star-filled sky. His breath, harsh in his own ears, hurt. Some ribs had been broken. His back, grinding into the sand, burned as if a brand had been pressed to his spine. What he felt in his legs vacillated between numbness and the racing of acid along his nerves. With control of his breath, he completed the shift from a shark to a man.

Knowing he needed to seek his camp and call for a healer, at the moment, there was not enough energy in his body to do more than watch the stars shift in infinitesimal slowness. His loss of men, and the Roanoaks and their Others still alive, though he refused to name it defeat, was outweighed by the information gained regarding his foes.

Dane, first heir of the family, controlled the weather. Raven Pharloe, Dane’s Other, is a shapeshifter, an agile, pesky dragon who pushed his own limits. Darius, next in line, had the ability to teleport. Could he only appear in locations he could see? His Other, Sofia, whom his own soldiers had captured and then lost, could project her image. The spellcaster and the witch were present, strengthening the wards around the castle. Though Anson and the Other, Soren, are strong, he could, and needed to be, stronger. He just required a little more time. The telepath, Zander, directed the counterattack from the battlements. The Roanoak brother must have a link with everyone in the castle, including Adele, the skilled archer whom Baltura had visited, and terrorized, in dreams. Kaden was outside the walls, instigating chaos with his soldiers’ horses, and Gavin, he knew through his own telepathic ability, had staunched the destruction of the village. That left two Others and the youngest Roanoak, Rhys. Had he returned to the castle, or was he still traveling? The power pulsating in and around the battle at Roanoak Castle had felt as if all were in residence.

Baltura scowled. There was an answer to the riddle of the missing Roanoak and the Others, but his mind couldn’t hold the pain throbbing in his body simultaneously with more coherent thoughts. The sole descendent of the witch Nyla dragged himself, with great effort, from the beach and the frigid water of the north, to his feet. As the sun creeped up in the east, he reached the edge of his camp and hollered for a healer before collapsing from exhaustion and pain and blood loss.

Rhys stirred the coals, then tossed in the stick. He fed the flames with more wood. Glancing once at Kiera, her too-still form under the pile of blankets, he left her side and went to their packs where the horses were tied. There were enough foodstuffs to last them another two days. He could snare a rabbit or a couple of birds if they needed more. The town they passed through, where they were set upon by would-be thieves and where Kiera had been injured in the fight, was too moonrisings to the south. Because they had veered away from the main road, following Baltura’s soldier back to the evil one’s lair, Rhys believed there had to be a village close. He knew they couldn’t ride as fast or as hard as they had getting here, since it would likely kill Kiera. Taking bread and fruit from the packs, he poured water from the flask into cups to heat for tea. Returning to the fire, he set the cups near the flames, sliced the apples and bread, and set them out on a cloth.

He untied the horses and led them to another patch of cleared snow. They could graze until he had Kiera ready to leave.

Back at the fire, he removed the cups, added tea and the mixture he’d gotten from Anson that seemed to fix most ailments, then stirred and tested the temperature of the liquid. He would use the second cup of hot water to clean her wound.

Kneeling next to her, he gently lifted her head and shoulders, settling her on his lap. “Kiera, wake up.” He watched her eyes flutter beneath her lids. “I have more medicine prepared for you. It will make you feel well enough to ride to a healer.”

She groaned, then shook again.

When Rhys touched her cheek, her skin was hot and dry. “Kiera!” he said sharply.

She didn’t awaken.

He tipped the cup to dribble the tea between her parted lips. “Swallow, Kiera,” he ordered, then held his breath and waited.

Her throat worked, and he tipped the cup again. Pushing down his panic, he took the time he needed to ensure she drank the entire contents. Setting the cup aside, he shifted the blankets and lifted her tunic and the soiled bandage.

He didn’t bother to keep the curse quiet or polite. Not only had it worsened, but trickles of blood had run down her belly and back and pooled beneath her. If he failed to get her help, she would die.

Wadding up the dressing he had used, he went to his pack and withdrew a clean tunic. From the bottom, he used his dagger to tear off a strip. Folding the shirt into a thick square, he knelt again at Kiera’s side. With the cup of warm water, he cleaned her and the wound as best he could, laid the square of cloth over the festering gash, then used the strip around her ribs to secure the bandage.

Keeping the fire going until after he saddled the horses and attached their packs, he figured he would have to ride with her. His horse, Gambler, was the larger and stronger of the two, so both packs were strapped to Kiera’s saddle. Finally, he smothered the fire, then crouched to gather Kiera in his arms. She didn’t rouse when he moved her, and he feared she had slipped further into the sickness. Her skin still felt hot, so perhaps the medicinal herbs in the tea no longer worked. He draped her over the saddle on his horse, then climbed up behind her. After adjusting her in front of him and holding her securely, he nudged his mount forward. Her horse, Rosy, the one she’d purchased in the town where they had met, followed along behind, the extra-long lead tied to his saddle.

They traveled to the main road they’d crossed before setting up camp, then Rhys looked both ways. If he continued north and chanced upon Baltura’s camp with Kiera unable to protect herself, he would gain the information Dane sought but could well lose his Other. South, towards the town he knew existed and the healer who surely resided there, meant they would have not located the camp, and all this would be for naught. He glanced down as her head lulled against his chest. Clamping his jaw tight, he turned Gambler south.