Chapter Eighteen
Attempt
Those nights when he couldn’t sleep, Lucien tried to trick himself into it by telling himself that, if he remained absolutely still, eventually his body would give up and succumb. Tonight, however, that ruse wasn’t working. He was too wound up, and from the sounds of the other soldiers surrounding them, they were equally restless.
The decision had been made that they would arise before dawn and advance on the compound while it was still dark. Yulen had explained that, from experience, the wee hours of the morning were when most guards tended to slack off because of weariness or boredom. At Alta Novis, and at all his other compounds, the battle lord solved that problem by having the guards do shift changes every hour, rather than the usual four.
Unlike his parents, Lucien knew he had a lousy sense of time. Half an hour felt like ten minutes. A couple of hours barely seemed like one. As Yulen had announced they would rouse themselves at three a.m., and he had no idea when he’d finally dropped onto his mat, there was no way of knowing how close it was to the time they were supposed to get ready.
Sighing, he rolled onto his other side. From where he lay he could see his parents lying a few yards away. His father was spooned up behind his mother, one arm protectively holding her around the waist. Within inches of their pallet was his sword and her bow and arrows, well within arm’s reach in case of an emergency. Both appeared to be sound asleep.
The wind made the leaves whisper in the trees. Lucien glanced up to see the clouds moving swiftly across the sky, playing peekaboo with the moonlight. Because they were so close to the enemy, the battle lord had deemed that no tents would be staked that night. The only allowance he gave was that they could shed their heavier armor.
A movement came from behind him. Craning his neck, he spotted Iain changing positions. The battered satchel with its decorative porcupine quills that contained all his medicants and supplies remained clutched in the physician’s hands. That bag had belonged to his father, Liam. The man had taken it with him on every trip he’d made with Yulen when he’d accompanied the battle lord. By passing it to Iain, he hoped it would bring good luck to his son.
Someone started to snore. He was quickly nudged until the snoring stopped. The safeguard was common practice among the soldiers to keep their presence from accidentally being discovered. Sighing, Lucien rolled onto his side and pillowed his head on his arm.
Miraculously, he somehow managed to drift off, unaware he’d done so until his sixth sense kicked in. His body tensed as a strange sound came from behind him. Slowly, he changed position to face the direction where he thought the sound emanated, and focused, hoping to hear it again.
To the far right there came the swish of someone moving through the brush. He got the impression whoever was there was trying to be as stealthy as possible, which meant it wasn’t one of the soldiers. Those men didn’t try to disguise their footsteps, especially if they were up to go relieve themselves. The soldiers were trained to be aware of people trying to be unobtrusive because those were the ones attempting to sneak up on you. Those were the people who either meant to do you harm, or were trying to get away with something while trying not to draw attention to themselves.
Which meant the noises he was catching didn’t bode well.
A whisper. He couldn’t tell what was being said, but the undertone sent a chill through him.
Slowly, he opened his eyes as he reached for his sword laying beside him. There was another rustling sound. Someone moaned in his sleep, and the noise abruptly ceased, confirming his suspicions. He momentarily thought about waking up his parents, but they were farther away from where the activity seemed to be taking place. In addition, the time it would take for him to notify them of what he heard would take too long. The perpetrator could be far away by then.
The perpetrator. Or the killer. Or the thief.
The list was endless.
Iain’s sleeping form blocked his view, keeping him from seeing what or who could be moving around this hour of the night. Lucien wished he had a bow and arrow with him. Although his archery skills were nowhere near proficient, the weapon would give him a better chance at accosting the person than with his sword.
A whimper. It was immediately followed by a smacking noise, as if someone had been hit with a fist or object.
Unable to lie there any longer and not do anything, Lucien gradually raised himself up on his elbows to peer over the physician, to where the one fire on this side of the stream was almost reduced to embers. The pit still put out heat, but the flames were mostly gone. The moon had returned, giving him ample light to see by.
Two figures moved to the right. Immediately he could tell there was a third figure between them. A figure that looked to be struggling, albeit weakly.
The hair on his head rose. Someone was being dragged away, and his senses told him the instigators weren’t soldiers.
A copse of trees sat less than a dozen feet away. Rising onto the balls of his feet, he scuttled sideways into the shadows, using the bodies of those sleeping to cover his movement. When he reached the trees, he advanced toward the silent commotion. As he drew nearer, he could hear more whispering, although the words were still too soft to make out. There was another whimper, this time answered by a flat thud that sounded like a fist hitting something solid. A moment of silence followed, forcing Lucien to pause.
A grunt. He strained to listen, calling silently on his Mutah half to expand his senses enough to make out what was being said. The wind answered by becoming totally silent. That was the break he’d hoped for.
“How are we going to get her up to the top of the embankment?”
“We don’t, we’ll take her downstream and drown her there. The water will carry her away.”
Lucien froze. One voice he recognized. It was a voice burned in his memory. The same voice that had growled at him earlier that evening.
“Do you think this is funny, pup?”
At the same time, he remembered Johna’s apprehension and fear. Her worry had increased after they’d eaten, and he’d had to excuse himself to set up his bedroll within the battle lord’s protective circle. She hadn’t wanted them to be separated, but neither of them had a choice.
The two figures began walking away from the encampment. He could tell they were following the stream, and in the moonlight a slight figure lay slung over the big Mutah’s shoulder. A figure he immediately recognized.
“Put her down!”
He dashed toward the opening, sword raised, and aimed directly for the man carrying Johna. The two Mutah whirled around in surprise. That couple of seconds gave him the opportunity to get closer, until the big man took off, leaving his companion behind to face Lucien. Holding Johna’s unconscious body secure over his shoulder, the man raised his spear with his other hand and pointed it at him.
“Code Yellow!” Lucien yelled, warning the others who’d been roused by his initial shout. The code meant there was a serious problem, but not life-threatening. At the same time, he swung his sword, hitting the spear behind the tip. The blade sliced through the wood, making the weapon useless.
The Mutah tossed the wood and pulled Johna from his shoulder, holding her up and out like a shield. Realizing he couldn’t use his sword again for fear of hitting her, Lucien did the one thing he’d been taught never to do.
Pivoting around, he squatted and threw his sword at the man. The Mutah stepped away, believing Lucien was aiming for his legs. But he was totally unprepared for the battle prince to let go.
The razor-sharp blade winked in the moonlight as it twirled toward the big man. At the last second the Mutah realized he needed to jump, but Johna’s body was an added weight his body couldn’t compensate for.
The sword struck the man below the knees, embedding itself sideways into both legs. The man screamed and dropped the young woman onto the rocks. Lucien glanced at her, then at the rapidly departing figure in the distance as the big man collapsed.
“Who?” Atty’s voice whispered beside him. Simultaneously, the tip of an arrow appeared at the corner of his eye.
Lucien pointed to the runner. “Him.”
She didn’t question why. The arrow softly sang as it whizzed through the air, and the figure pitched forward, face down, into the water.
Dropping to his knees, he reached for Johna, turning her over to find a large lump above her left eye. He started to call for Iain, when the physician hurried up, breathing heavily.
“What’s happened?”
“Take care of her,” he ordered, and rose to his feet. His father was already standing over the wounded Mutah moaning in pain. Yulen gave his son a questioning look.
“I heard some unusual noise and discovered these two making off with Johna after they’d cold-cocked her. I overheard them say something about drowning her and dumping her body downstream.”
“Why?” Yulen demanded of the man. The guy eyed him but didn’t reply.
Hobron joined them, as did several other Mutah. The battle lord’s soldiers stayed in the background, but Lucien noticed how they circled him and the others, in the event there was another attack. In which case, the Mutah wouldn’t stand a chance.
“Lomas Mortigan, explain your actions,” the councilman commanded.
The Mutah remained silent as he glared at those around him. He didn’t dare move, not so much because of the armed guards surrounding him, but because the sword remained jammed into his lower legs. Blood soaked through his pants and was already pooling on the ground. From the pain crossing his face, Lucien knew the man was in agony.
“How is she?” Yulen’s question alerted him to where Iain knelt beside the huntress.
“I can’t tell, and I won’t be able to give you any sort of answer until she awakens, if she awakens. There’s another sizeable swelling at the back of her head. My guess is someone tried to knock her out as she slept, but didn’t succeed, which was why he had to hit her again.” The physician pointed to the wounded man. “Want me to address his injuries?”
Hobron took a step back and turned to the battle lord. “Since we are under your authority, and you are graciously allowing us to seek sanctuary under your banner, I concede to your judgment as to this man’s fate.”
To Lucien’s surprise, Yulen motioned to his son. “What punishment should we give this man? I leave the decision to you.”
Personally, Lucien knew what his first impulse was. But he was being called on in his capacity of battle prince. His final word would either condemn or save the man. And his actions would reflect to the soldiers and Mutah watching him what kind of leader he could be.
“Remove my sword but don’t tend to his wounds,” he instructed. “He will not be taken back to New Bearinger with the rest of the group, nor will he accompany us. He will be left here, alone and weaponless. It’s a better fate than what he’d planned for Johna. At least he has a marginal chance of survival.”
Yulen nodded. “Very well. Follow through, Dr. MaGrath.” Sighing, the battle lord glanced around at those gathered. “And since we’re already up, we might as well strike camp and head out. Let’s go.”