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.The returning blow nearly knocked the weapon from Dearn’s hands, forcing him back as he fought to block or evade each of his enemy’s thrusts.From the corner of his eye, he saw his men fighting the same desperate battle.The Vultures’ huge, muscular arms gave them an advantage—but not enough of an advantage, he assured himself as his opponent moved back to raise his sword for one last deadly blow.As his midsection once again became exposed, Dearn thrust his sword high and deep into the Vulture’s undefended chest.For a second, he was horrified by the ease of taking another life, no matter how evil.Dearn’s gaze flew to the Vulture’s, his eyes widening at the shock in the larger warrior’s expression and the blood that began to spill slowly across his own hands.He stood still as the Vulture’s sword fell slowly to the ground and the body began to follow at a dreamlike speed.His stomach clenched as he moved his sword arm back and heard the sucking, grasping sound of the soft flesh as the steel pulled free.“Whoreson.” The dying Vulture gasped one last time as he fell to the ground, his eyes staring sightlessly across the bloodied clearing.His awareness heightened by danger, a slight shadowing at Dearn’s side sent him pivoting, barely ducking the sword aimed at his head.He blocked the strike then bent and killed the attacker.He tore his sword free, raised it above his head and brought the hilt down on the nape of a third who seemed to be in danger of getting the best of another Clan warrior.Blood poured, moans filled the air, the grunts and fury of battle washed over his mind, and Dearn felt the strength of the gods fill his heart as he watched the Vultures falling.His warriors fought strongly, their blades moving with deadly efficiency.Daggers were used to weaken and to wound while swords defended and maimed.It seemed the battle was hours—days—long.Dearn felt as though an eternity had filled the night, an eternity drenched with blood and the savage lust for vengeance.Slowly, the battle waned.The dead and wounded lay about the feet of the Clan warriors.Moans filled the air—broken curses and vile prayers to Cinder from the mouths of the Vultures, vanquished, and knowing death hovered but a short distance away.Dearn looked around at the battered yet triumphant Clan warriors and felt a glow of pride over their victory.They had known no war in their lifetimes, had fought no true battles other than in the intense training sessions he insisted on.Yet, they had triumphed over an enemy more experienced in blood and death.It was exhilarating.In the eyes of his men, he could see their knowledge of this as well.No matter how intensive the training, there was nothing that could have prepared them for this.This was not an execution blessed by a White Lance priest.This was a bloodletting.A kill-or-be-killed battle that only by the grace of the gods had they won.And they had won.Dearn felt the blood pulsing through his body at this knowledge.They had triumphed against the larger, battle-hardened Vulture warriors.He wanted to scream his victory into the night sky, hold his sword up in thankfulness to the three gods of Brydon who rode high in the night sky overlooking the battle.Instead, he bowed his head and whispered his thanks to the sentinels in the sky.“Do we take prisoners, Sire?” Brendar’s bronze face was shadowed in fierce angles as he nodded toward the village where the wounded Vultures were being secured.“We question them, then we kill them.” No mercy save that of a quick death, as the goddess Aleda had whispered in the ears of the Clans when she gave them heart, Dearn thought as he looked around the center of the small village.The women and children were huddled together in a nearby yard, crying now in relief that they had been rescued from the horror they had seen coming.“What about the human sentries?” Brendar asked him.“Should we leave one as a messenger?”Dearn surveyed the faces of the Vultures once again.He owed the woman Matte a life debt, if she was here.Her life alone would be spared.But he didn’t see her face or the multi-hued colors of her wings.“Kill them all, but question them first about the Princess Allora,” he ordered.“Allora?” Brendar frowned.“But the human spy we spoke to reported she was dead.”“Not according to those Vultures we killed at the Fortress.” Dearn ignored Brendar’s look of surprise.“See what you can find out about it.”“If she lives, she could become a pawn,” Brendar said slowly.“Leverage against King Alfred.”“Exactly.” Dearn allowed his lips to curl into a smile of cold satisfaction.As he turned back to the general, he caught a faint movement in the shadowed forest.He narrowed his eyes, recognizing the figure trying to remain invisible.“Question them.” He motioned to the prisoners.“There’s something I need to see to.”Matte was waiting for him in the forest, and she would have more information than the captives.It was about time she decided to make her appearance and to place her demands before him.He wasn’t fool enough to expect she had betrayed her Vulture brothers for nothing.He would reward her, and the other Bastard Breeds, within reason.But first—first, he would show this warrior woman that the King of the Winged Clans was no fledgling to be trifled with, as she so obviously thought he was.Chapter ThirteenMatte watched Dearn break away from the group of Clan warriors and advance toward her.She had hidden on the side of the hill—close enough to interfere should death’s wings fly too close to him yet far enough away that, should she not be needed, the Vulture warriors would not know she was there.She knew he would search for her.After the attack on his mate he would have been watching, waiting for her.Any weakness within the Vulture camp would have to be explored, and Matte knew by watching King Dearn that he would exploit any weakness he could find.So, she waited for him, propped against the trunk of an oldtree, studying him as his long legs ate the distance between the village and her position above it.Gods, he’s a sight , she thought, admiring his broad shoulders, lean hips and muscular legs.His body was superbly conditioned, powerful and broad and innately graceful.She loved watching him move.He showed no hint there was any need for hurry, carefully giving the appearance that he was looking for nothing in particular.But Matte had seen his face, and the hard determination in his expression was clearly visible in the light of the three moons.He would ask difficult questions, but he would be fair, she believed.Surely, he would understand there were limits beyond which she couldn’t yet go.Hadn’t they helped? Hadn’t they saved his mate? Hadn’t they rescued what members of the Clans they could?* * * * *Dearn entered the darkened forest well aware he could be walking into a carefully executed trap.He had waved Brendar’s concern aside when he walked away, but until he could learn who this woman was and why she was betraying her own Clan, he wouldn’t feel safe with her.The light of the three moons of Brydon—the two gods, Durin, god of honor, and Sorin, the god of strength, and the benevolent goddess of mercy Aleda—barely illuminated the sheltered area of the thickly forested mountain [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]