The Warrior's Heart Page 8

  “I have a cramp in my knee,” Alger spoke up, “and would appreciate the stop.”

  Viktor pressed his lips together but nodded, calling for them to halt. One of his men called that there was an open space just inside the trees to set up camp.

  Alger showed no sign of pain when he dismounted but before he could help Jolan from her horse, Viktor stepped forward. He reached up and grasped Jolan’s waist, lifted her from the horse, and set her to the ground. When he released her, her legs very nearly gave out beneath her and she reached out, grasping his arm for strength.

  If he realised she was weakened he did not show it as he unsecured the leather bundle from her horse before his man came to lead the horse away with the others. “Do you wish to refresh yourself at the river, Prinţesă?”

  “Yes,” she nodded as she gained her balance and released his arm.

  “I will go with her,” Cloelia stepped forward.

  “You will not.”

  Cloelia’s eyes went wide. “I have tolerated your insolence but you push too far now, Halfling. You cannot expect to watch her bathe!”

  “Halfling?” Jolan repeated, her head snapping up to stare at Viktor. He was a Halfling? Her instinct was to step away from him but his hand rested on her shoulder, holding her where she stood.

  “I concur.” Geld stepped to Cloelia’s side. “Count Dragomir would not approve of another having seen what is only his to see.”

  Viktor laughed suddenly. “Either your count has misinformed you of the situation or the crone has woven so many lies she cannot remember which ones she says to whom. I would not be the first to have seen whatever it is you are afraid I will see.”

  “What do you mean?” Geld’s eyes narrowed.

  “She is no virgin,” Viktor said simply. “The witch said so herself and that the count was made aware of that fact.”

  Cloelia shifted nervously when Geld looked at her. “The count knows of no such thing,” he said swinging his gaze back to Viktor, “and you cannot be certain what she said was truth.”

  “Oh, I’m certain,” Viktor countered. Jolan wished she could sink into the ground and hide from those widened eyes.

  Geld appeared shocked. “The count will not approve. He will…”

  Viktor slid his hand to Jolan’s back. “He will what?”

  Geld glared at Jolan. “There will be punishment for the weakness and deceit.” Jolan chilled all the way through her.

  “You stupid girl!” Cloelia screeched, reaching forward to grasp Jolan’s shoulders. “Do you know what you’ve done?” One swipe of Viktor’s arm and he pushed Cloelia away from Jolan and into Geld’s chest. Geld shoved her away from him and turned to march away from them.

  Jolan’s gaze darted to Tibor. He didn’t look at her but his mouth was pressed into a firm line. He was angry. She started to step towards him, but Viktor guided her away and to the trees. She glanced back to see Alger following.

  “You are a Halfling.” She spoke once they’d reached the river and his hand slid away from her.

  He breathed out heavily and leant back against the trunk of a tree looking at Alger when he joined them.

  “Geld and his men will have to be dealt with.” Alger crossed his arms.

  “Take Clodovech, Gerold, and Heinrich and rid of one of them tonight,” Viktor said in a quiet voice. Jolan’s breath caught. He meant to kill one of the count’s men?

  “They are Moroi. Geld is the one that killed Ishild,” she told them but they didn’t look at her.

  “You want us to pick them off one by one?” Alger asked.

  “It is the safest way to go about it. We’ll blame the Mongols so we don’t raise alarm.” Viktor nodded. “We only have a few days before we reach Drago, so it’ll have to be done quickly.”

  Jolan felt like the world was spinning around her. “Viktor.”

  His head snapped around and he stared at her.

  “You are a Halfling.”

  “How do you know my name?” He pushed off from the tree and stepped towards her.

  “I’ve heard your brother call you by that name before. I know that Raban is not your true name.” She waved a hand. “I don’t care of that. Why didn’t you tell me you were a Halfling?”

  “Do not address me by that name again. It wouldn’t be safe for you if my name was made known.” He ran a hand through his hair. “By the Gods, we’re so close and it is all unravelling.”

  “What kind of Halfling?” Jolan demanded.

  “We’re wolves,” Alger supplied. Jolan stared at him, then looked at Viktor.

  “You are a wolf Halfling. Why didn’t you tell me?” She stepped forward suddenly angry, weary of all the lies and having everything kept from her. “You said you hated lies yet it is all you’ve been doing since I met you.

  “I didn’t want to frighten you,” he said warily. “You are already so fearful of everything else.”

  “I wouldn’t be frightened if you would do what you are supposed to. You were commissioned to protect me, but you do not protect me or you would stop this marriage from happening. You heard what he said. The count will punish me. Instead you waste your efforts on Cloelia. I have suffered her abuse since I can remember. She is not the threat you should concern yourself with.” Jolan shook as her anger grew. “Perhaps you don’t care at all of what happens to me…”

  “I do care…”

  “Then go out there and kill my uncle and save me from this marriage!” She stamped her foot.

  “Your uncle?” Alger echoed.

  “Isn’t it he whom you suspect killed your father?” Jolan stared at them.

  “Your uncle is a coward and hasn’t it in him to face another man much less kill one.” Viktor growled.

  “Then who?” Jolan shook her head but realisation kicked her in the stomach. Her throat closed and she took a step backwards. The count. Of course it was Count Dragomir. Her anger exploded as emotion rushed into her chest. She turned and grasped one of the stones at the river and hurled it at him. He moved quickly, raising his arms so that the stone did not strike his head. She picked up another and threw it and, when she missed, found a rotting limb. She swung it at him and it splintered across his shoulder.

  “By the Gods, woman, what is wrong with you?” Viktor raised his voice as she swiped another stone and threw it. When she picked up yet another, he growled as he stalked forward and grasped her wrist.

  “Stop!” he bellowed.

  She kicked at him, used her free hand to pound at his chest until he caught that wrist too. “I could have escaped! You came after me and brought me back. That speech of not using you and the whole time you were using me to get to Dragomir!” She kicked his shins furiously. “I thought you were my friend! But you care nothing for me! I hate you!”

  “Stop.” But Viktor’s voice had lost its harshness. “You cannot be forced to marry a dead man.”

  Jolan laughed coldly. “You are a fool, Viktor Kelemen. You cannot kill him. He is a demon. He is evil. You cannot kill that kind of evil. He will slay you and yours at the gates, and I will not be there to see it. I will not.” She tried to jerk from his grasp, struggled when he pulled her to his chest.

  “I need you.” Viktor’s words caused a new wave of fury to find her.

  “You need to use me,” she spit in his face. “I won’t be used. I’ll tell them all who you are and what you mean to do. You will not use me.”

  Viktor’s jaw tightened but she didn’t care. “My father was gnawed upon before he died. He was held down by a rope around his neck while he was stabbed and eaten of.” Viktor’s fingers tightened around her wrists. “Yes, I used you. I would have used my own mother if it would get me to that bastard. I would slit my own brother’s throat if he tried to stop me.”

  “Viktor.” Alger stepped forward pulling Jolan away from him by the shoulders. She stared as tears formed in Viktor’s eyes. He released her wrists and covered his head with shaking hands. Alger guided her to one side then went to his brother as d
eep sounds strangled from Viktor’s throat and he lowered to his knees.

  “We’ll get to him, Viktor,” Alger said softly. “With or without her, we’ll get to him and will have his insides strewn through the gates of his own castle. I swear it to you.” Alger’s large arm slid across Viktor’s shoulder as he knelt at his side. Jolan swallowed as she watched Viktor wipe at his eyes. She’d thought him unbreakable but she’d broken him without even meaning to.

  “Viktor,” she took a step forward but stopped as a shout erupted through the trees.

  “Mongols!”

  Chapter Eight

  The world had turned into a deafening blur of clashing swords and blood. Jolan stared at the carnage in horror, her own sword clutched in her hands as Cloelia dragged her back into the trees. Viktor and his brothers had changed, teeth of the wolf bared, claws at the end of their fingers as they swung their swords. Their eyes were grey, shining with fierceness. Geld’s men moved as if they had wings, slipping through the air at their enemies, viciously sinking their teeth into them. But the Mongols were many.

  “Run, you fool!” Cloelia tugged at her arm. But they’d been spotted and one of the fearsome horsemen charged towards them. Cloelia’s hand fell away from her as she left her to face the Mongol alone.

  She lifted her sword as he neared. Offence. You are smaller so you must surprise your enemy with attack. Alger’s words pushed through her horror and found her from her memory. As the Mongol reached down to grab her she whirled and swung the sword out at full arm’s length. As she rounded to face him again, it struck and sank into the horseman’s arm, slicing through muscle. She saw his dark eyes widen before his expression twisted with pain and anger. Before she could swing again, he knocked the sword away from her.

  She turned and bolted but heard him take chase. A moment later, his fingers grasped her hair and she was jerked backward. She screamed as her feet left the ground, striking above her at the grip that held her. She saw the glint of his sword when it raised and she struggled to reach the dagger Alger had strapped to her leg. She found it and swung it up across the Mongol’s wrist. His grip loosened and she jerked from his grasp, tumbling to the ground.

  She rolled over in time to see the Mongol slide down from his horse. He leapt atop her and her head snapped to the side beneath the strength of his hand. He suddenly jerked to the side and the end of Viktor’s sword plunged into his chest. Jolan watched the Mongol’s body fall to the side then her gaze swung up to Viktor.

  He held out his hand, waving for her to stand. She did, her attention turning to the others. The horsemen had retreated, but there were bodies everywhere. Her throat closed as she saw Geld stand, his face covered in blood. His eyes burned yellow as he licked at the evidence of his kills.

  “Don’t look,” Viktor took her by the shoulders, turning her but not before she spotted Tibor among those that had been struck down.

  “No!” She screamed, twisting away from Viktor and rushing forward. She leapt over the bodies until she reached Tibor, dropping to her knees at his side. He was dead, the wound on his chest deep, his eyes staring upward and empty. Strong hands pulled her away despite her attempts to reach for him.

  “He fought valiantly, took down at least five before he was struck down,” Alger said from her side. Her gaze slid over the others. Two of Geld’s men had been completely beheaded. At least half of Viktor’s were dead. Ewan stood shaking in the midst of them. He didn’t even hold a weapon. Fire burned through her veins, she shook from it as she stepped forward.

  “Geld, I was no virgin before my guard came to Maethi. I was no virgin when I lay with the stable boy and it was not of my doing. It was this coward who will not fight who slipped into my room when I was but twelve and took what was the count’s to take.” She lifted her dagger and pointed at him. “My father, greedy though he may be, would not have stood weaponless, depending on others to defend him. You are a coward, Uncle, and I am ashamed you share my father’s name.”

  Geld’s yellowed gaze swung to Ewan. “She was meant for the count. You have betrayed him.” His voice vibrated with the evil Jolan knew was inside of him but his words surprised her. She was meant for the count? Even at twelve? She realised her uncle had played a part in her fate, in the fate of those who lay dead around them. She looked back at Tibor and hatred rose inside of her for not only her uncle, but also for the man who awaited her arrival.

  “If you still thirst for blood, Geld, his is yours and I give you permission to pick his bones clean.” She faced her uncle as his eyes widened. “May your soul never find rest.”

  Geld stared at her and his lips curled. “You are as vicious as my master but my thirst is quenched. Count Dragomir, however, has an insatiable appetite and shall be pleased that you approve of the way he will dispose of your uncle.”

  Geld’s gaze shifted behind her. She turned and found Viktor striding forward. His grey eyes swung in her direction, canines bared. She nodded. He would do it.

  “While your bloodlust is sated, mine is not.” He drew back his hand, claws spread, when he was within reach. With one powerful swing they tore through Ewan’s throat before the man could scream. Jolan turned as her uncle fell and walked shakily back through the bodies. Numbness settled over her and her mother’s voice found her memory. It was a song she remembered from childhood.

  “Jolan.” The voice sounded far away and she ignored it, listening to the words her mother sang to her. She was barely aware of the hands that found her. They were guiding her, warm and strong. She closed her eyes, her mother’s voice drowning out everything around her. Slowly she slipped into the memory.

  Viktor lifted her gently as she went limp beneath his hands. He frowned down at the bruise that discoloured the left side of her face, half concealed by blood.

  “The crone is gone. Her horse is missing.” Alger called.

  “She fled,” Geld answered.

  Viktor glanced at his brothers then at his fallen men. “Clear the bodies and collect the horses. We will set up camp next to the river and be ready when they come back.”

  “You can’t be certain they will return,” Geld argued.

  “They’ll return.” He turned and carried Jolan through the trees to the river. Alger followed.

  “Her sword and dagger are bloodied,” his brother observed.

  “Because she used them both to fight. I killed him but he would have bled to death had I not.” Viktor knelt and laid her gently on the river bank. He ripped a piece of his tunic and wet it then washed away the blood on her face. His gaze dropped to her stained clothes.

  “Find her bundle. When she wakes, I don’t want it to be in these ruined clothes.” He reached forward and began ripping her clothes. Alger returned moments later and dropped the leather bundle beside him. Viktor didn’t look up, washing her body clean of blood. He dressed her carefully then ripped another piece of his tunic to wash her hair with.

  “When they come back?” Alger queried softly.

  “We’ll kill them all but one prisoner.” He looked at Alger. “Have Geld in the trees so they can swoop in behind them. Have our men start digging a pit between the river and the road so we can knock them off their horses.”

  He looked back down at Jolan and smiled. “Collect some stones—ones that will hurt like hell. We’ll rain those down on the bastards before we rip out their throats.” He took up a tendril of her hair and squeezed river water into it. Using his fingers, he began combing through the strands, washing away the blood.

  “We lost a good many men,” Alger sighed heavily.

  “Their names and deaths will not be forgotten.” Viktor knew them, every one. “And they will not have perished in vain.”

  He glanced behind him then lowered his voice. “You cannot betray someone if you have no relation with him. Ewan and Cloelia had arranged this union since before Jolan was born. No doubt the crone rides to Drago. When she tells Dragomir that there are Halflings bringing his bride, he will know we come for him.”


  “We’ll not be able to get through the gates. They’ll be waiting for us.” Alger nodded.

  “By the time he realises that his men have been killed and we have his woman, we won’t need to get into his gates. He’ll come to us.” Viktor touched Jolan’s cheek. “We’ll send our men to return to Maethi so they can build up defences while we return to Kelemen.”

  Alger nodded and rose to his feet. “Shall I ready to dispose of the Moroi after the Mongols are dealt with?”

  “No, we won’t raise alarm until we are closer to Brasov. They must be made to think we mean to continue to Drago.” He thought Alger might ask him why but instead he left him to tend to Jolan. His plan had changed and he meant to make certain all went the way he wanted if he was going to succeed.

  Jolan would hate him as much as she said, for he would use her again. She may never forgive him. But when he was finished she would never have to fear Dragomir again.

  Chapter Nine

  Viktor awoke as hot breath swept across his face. He groaned at the ache in his muscle reminding him of their victory over the Mongols the night before. Squinting up into the morning sunlight, he stared at Jolan atop her horse, the beast’s face inches from his.

  “You mean to sleep away the morning, guard?” she asked.

  He sat up and found his men readying to ride, Geld and his Moroi already on horseback. “What is this?”

  “She roused us all,” Geld grumbled.

  “If I am to become Countess within the week, we shall have to ride now. Rise, guard, and let us be on our way. The count waits.” She turned her horse and urged the animal forward. He looked to Alger who shrugged.

  “Your prisoner escaped in the night,” Geld told him as he rose to his feet. “I imagine you wanted as much when you fashioned such a loose bind around his wrists.”

  “What is the use of a victory if there is no one left to tell the tale?” Viktor took the reins of the horse Alger brought to him. He swung atop Koen’s back and kicked him forward so he could ride along side Jolan. She’d not awakened even during the fighting. He’d feared she might have grown ill. He also expected a refusal to push on to Drago.