Part I
“There is nothing on this one.”
Darius purposely turned his face away from the man who spoke. He hated the necessary collecting of the spoils after every battle. As he rose from his crouch, he scanned the room.
Spotting the king, Darius strode toward him.
“Have they searched every room?” King Simon Jenran of Braulyn asked as Darius approached. The question was directed to the two soldiers who had just arrived.
“No,” the older of the two answered wearily, “Just the women's apartments.”
“Then keep looking; we must find her,” the king instructed. Dismissing the pair with a wave, he turned to face Darius.
“Nothing?” Darius asked as soon as the king's attention was focused on him. As he watched his liege’s face, Darius noted the lines deepening around his master's mouth. King Jenran had aged ten years in the past eight months.
“Nothing.” The king frowned. “They have not finished looking, but my guess is they will continue to find nothing.” He walked to a nearby chair and sank into it. “Has justice been served?” He nodded toward the corpse Darius had been examining.
“Dead,” Darius informed him. And dead too soon, he added silently. The outcome of this siege was disappointing. Two months spent traveling north and then six months of sitting on their hands. The experience would drag on any warrior. All the time spent in attaining a goal, only to be routed at the last moment with a archer’s arrow.
“He died instantly,” he added after a pause. The king nodded. Darius did not have to add the rest. They both knew who released the arrow that killed the man: a young man, green with inexperience. It was over and nothing would bring the man back now.
Darius waited as his master thought. The king's bloodshot brown eyes stared off into space. Darius was beginning to think the king had fallen asleep, when he suddenly spoke in a low voice so only Darius could hear. “She was still here this morning.” Straightening in his chair, the king continued. “Gwendolyn and her women left a trail only a few hours old.” The king met Darius' eyes.
A movement caught the edge of Darius' vision, but he did not acknowledge it. Jenran continued, “If we can determine which direction they took, we might be able to overtake them.”
Casually nodding his agreement, Darius swept his gaze across the room. Speaking so only his master could hear, he added, “We have an observer.” The man was crouched behind one of the tapestries along the walls. Both exits were two or three hiding places from the hidden man’s position.
“Where is he?” The king did not move except to look up and catch Darius's eye as if they were in conversation.
Just then, the figure darted between shelters. Darius felt his mouth drop; he quickly disguised it by saying, “A girl.”
“Did you just say it was a girl?” Jenran's weary eyes sharpened and focused more carefully on Darius.
“Yes.” Darius carefully turned so he could watch both his master and the girl. “Small build, dark hair, she is definitely not Gwendolyn or one of her frequent companions.” The girl darted to the next hiding place. She was one sprint away from freedom. Darius knew how she felt. The tempo of the heart pounding in his chest and the taste of liberty on his tongue were both familiar sensations. “She is mine,” he said. He glimpsed the king’s smile.
“If you catch her,” he agreed.
The girl darted and Darius followed. She disappeared out the door as he silently hurtled the last bench between them.
Brice ran for her life. The empty halls closed in around her and she was certain every sound echoed louder than the last. She needed to get away before someone saw her. Since birth, she heard stories about how mercenaries treated the women captives after a battle. She could not be discovered. Eventually, she found herself in the promenade opening into the inner gardens. The moment her eyes fell on the lush underbrush bordering and overgrowing the paths, she had an idea.
As she turned down the nearest avenue among the trees, Brice caught sight of movement behind her. Was someone following her?
Darius watched the girl run. Automatically stepping with care in his soft leather boots, he had no trouble following the fleeing figure silently. She was quick and a good shadow dancer, but he was better. The training beaten into him since his youth made him superior to almost every man he had ever hunted or faced in battle. Keeping close enough to easily follow her progress, but not close enough to be spotted, Darius studied his choice.
In all the years Darius served Simon Jenran, King of Braulyn, he only asked for two things. He had earned the requests many times over. As a foot soldier, personal guard and now, bodyguard and head of his majesty's personal security force, Darius gave outstanding service and singular dedication. Three years ago, there had been an elaborate plot to take the king's life and then his throne. Darius discovered and foiled the plot at the last minute. In the process, he nearly died.
After he healed from the injuries and returned to service, Jenran promoted him and granted him two requests. For the first, Darius asked for freedom. It was granted immediately. Jenran freed Darius and paid him for all his years of service, making him a very rich man. The second request Darius made was that he would be able to claim something from the spoils of every operation he worked. Jenran granted the request, but Darius never exercised the privilege until today.
Darius was only three feet away the moment the girl spotted the gardens. He slowly closed the gap without allowing himself to be seen. Watching her profile as she turned to look behind her, he knew the moment the idea came to her. She was going to escape. Springing forward as she did, he followed her practically on her heels as she cleared the doorsill and touched down on the moist, moss covered path. He knew her destination, the door on the opposite side of the garden. It was the same one he used only hours before to infiltrate the stronghold. He was not going to let her reach it, however. Looking beyond her bobbing head, he searched for the clearing he knew was coming and waited until the right moment to pounce.
Brice could see the door; it was even standing open. Quickening her speed, she tried to sprint harder. Her muscles protested, but obeyed.
Now she was positive she was being pursued; she just did not know how closely. For one crazy second, she believed if she could just make it through the door, she would be free and safe. But the feeling lasted only for that moment, for in the next, her foot landed wrong.
Something hard, heavy, and huge struck her from behind. The ground rose up to meet her at a dangerous rate. She tried to put out her hands and catch herself, but they were pinned to her sides. All she could do was close her eyes and brace herself for the impact. Something large, warm, and living wrapped itself around her at the last moment. With a deft twist in mid air and a hard jolt, Brice came to an abrupt, but surprisingly gentle, stop.
Fearing who might have caught her, Brice pushed against whatever it was confining her only to find it unrelenting.
“Don't I at least get a thank you?” A deep voice asked from behind her left ear. “It is the least a rescuer should receive for saving a lady's pretty neck.”
“I am not a lady.” Brice pushed again against the stranger's arms. This time they released her, reluctantly. Quickly scrambling for her feet, she stepped away from the man only to find him already on his own feet and watching her warily. Inwardly grimacing, Brice noticed the small gate behind the strange man's right shoulder.
“It is safer in here.” The man's voice brought her eyes and thoughts back to him. He was huge and dark. Brice struggled not to shiver or give in to the cold tingle at the base of her spine.
“I doubt it,” she finally managed while she tried to judge how much of a head start she was going to need to make it to freedom and close the gate behind her. The sturdy wooden door with its iron hinges would hold him for a few minutes. Time enough for her to get away.
“I would remove the hinges.” This time his voice was tinged with a hint of an accent. Brice brought her eyes back to his face and was annoyed to find a pair of dark gray eyes laughing at her. This was all a game for him she realized. A game he was confident he would win. “There are also men out there looking for your mistress, Lady Gwendolyn. They would not be as patient with you as I am being.”
Brice studied him for a moment. He was very tall, over six feet. In her experience, tall men usually depended on their size to compensate for speed and agility, but this man obviously had both. From the way he was balancing on the front part of his feet, he believed she was going to run. When she raised her eyes to study his face, she found those strange gray eyes studying her in return.
“Do you like what you see?” His accent was gone, but his eyes were still smiling in spite of an impassive face.
Choosing not to answer the question, Brice asked, “What do you want with me?”
His eyes suddenly sobered. “It depends.”
After a few moments of uneasy silence, Brice finally asked, “On what?”
“Whether or not you cooperate,” he replied. Sounds started coming from the direction of the castle. The man did not break his eye contact with her.
“And if I don't?” Brice asked. The noise became the sound of many armored feet striking stone at a measured trot.
“I will have to take you by force and convince the men that you belong to me.” He frowned. “I do not think you would enjoy it.”
The coming group was going to spot them standing in the center of the garden at any moment. “And the alternative…” Brice readied to make a dash for it. She would go down fighting if necessary.
“You trust me to protect you now and explain later.” He slowly offered her his hand, extending it palm up between them. “Come silently and I promise not to hurt you.”
Brice heard the cries as one of the men spotted them. She was running out of time, and he knew it. Still she could not decide. If he had wanted to hurt me, he would have made a move before now. Dropping her eyes to the man's hand, Brice desperately thought. Who do I fear more? This man is at least giving me a choice. The men coming will not. With the decision made, she stepped forward and reached toward his fingers.
