Hers To Choose (Verdantia Book 2) Read online

  Sophi looked away, stricken. “House DeLorion’s genetics elevated my brother to the throne—Segundo Signore to the Second Tetriarch—but I have no desire to rule anyone. I want to stay with the Oshtesh, hunt with my women archers and be plain Flight Leader.”

  Mother Lyre cast a considering look her way. “Go. See. Learn. If you return, we will welcome you back as a daughter of our people. But first, you must make this journey.”

  Sadness at her sense of inexorable fate overwhelmed Sophi. “There is no escaping this future, is there? I don’t want to leave you. I am whole in this place.”

  Mother Lyre reached out and gently placed her palm over Sophi’s heart. “We will always be here, wherever you go.”

  “I know you and my brother are right. This is my responsibility to our people and our planet. I will return to Sylvan Mintoth with Commander DeStroia.” Her throat choked closed, cutting off any further words. The older woman’s arm tightened around her waist and drew her close for a moment. Sophi laid her head on her surrogate mother’s shoulder and struggled against tears.

  “While I am not the same person I was three years ago, I don’t know if I’m able to make any man a fit mate. I don’t know if I can do that.” Straightening, she sighed and walked beside Mother Lyre in silence. As the entrance to the village walls drew near, Mother Lyre stopped and faced Sophi.

  “I know the fear you leave unspoken, Sophi. I have confidence in you, even if you do not. Your brave heart will overcome anything that stands in the way of what you truly desire. You merely have to want it enough.” The older woman smiled at her. “When the right man comes into your life, your fear will vanish like mist in the morning sun.”

  But what if Commander Eric DeStroia is not the right man?

  * * *

  By order of Mother Lyre, Sophi bathed and dressed in her finest clothing. Her blond hair hung in soft waves to her waist over a sheer, finely woven white blouse. A short turquoise vest, heavy with embroidery and precious stones, barely covered her breasts. Its color enhanced her glorious blue eyes—made even larger by a dark outline of kohl. Sheer white pantaloons cuffed at her slender ankles softly outlined her long limbs. Finely worked leather sandals replaced her hide-skin boots. A heavy girdle of beaten gold links and tassels wrapped her slender hips and hung low onto her thighs, chiming musically as she moved.

  Her appearance created its normal response. Men stopped in their tracks and rudely gaped. I loathe their appraising stares. She considered her face and form a liability. She had not labored to produce her beauty. Her appearance was not a skill she had mastered from days and months of unceasing repetition. It drew unwanted attention of sort she most feared.

  Cool respite surrounded her as she entered the gathering hall. The thick, hollow tile walls tempered the blaze of sun and heat. A tall fountain playing in a central pool sent soft, cool droplets into the air. Columns of light speared into the large room from transparent panels high overhead.

  The buzz of conversation halted abruptly at her presence, then regained volume. Sighing, longing for her sisters-in-arms who treated her with the respect she had earned, she crossed the hall to Primus G’hed and his wife. They spoke with a tall, well-built man dressed in worn battle leathers. He held himself with an air of quiet competence and command, as if at ease with his ability to meet any challenge. He could only be Commander Eric DeStroia. Mother Lyre, you did not tell me how handsome the commander is. With her height, Sophi normally looked men in the eye, but she needed to tilt her head upward to meet his green-eyed gaze. His closely cropped, russet hair was disordered, as if hands had been run through it repeatedly. He was in distinct need of a shave.

  His green eyes flicked over her, appraised her, then returned to Primus G’hed. She straightened in surprise at his lack of reaction to her beauty. How nice. She moved to stand casually to the right of Mother Lyre.

  “Commander Eric DeStroia.” Primus G’hed indicated Sophi. “Flight Leader Sophillia DeLorion.”

  The commander bowed. “It is a privilege, Lady DeLorion. The Segundo failed to tell me of your status among the Oshtesh. Flight Leader. It is a military designation?”

  What a pleasant surprise. The first words out of his mouth are not about my appearance.

  “Yes, Eric. Sophi leads an elite squad of women archers. We call them flights. Each flight has six archers and a leader.” Mother Lyre spoke proudly. “The flights choose their commanders. The title of Flight Leader is a singular honor.”

  DeStroia shifted his attention back to her. “I regret I take you away from their comradeship, Lady DeLorion.”

  Before Sophi could respond, Mother Lyre spoke again. “You won’t. Sophi’s flight rides with you to Sylvan Mintoth.” A small, knowing smile played across her lips. “It is my condition for her return. As only sister to Doral DeLorion, Segundo Signore of the Tetriarch, Lady Sophillia needs her own guard—those whose loyalty is only to her.”

  At Sophi’s surprised utterance, Mother Lyre, stroked her cheek tenderly. “We thought it would comfort you to have your sisters around you. We send you away, but you take a small part of Sh’r Un Kree with you.” She laughed softly. “Truly, I don’t think we could have made them stay.”

  Sophi let her eyes speak for her. The Primus and his wife smiled at each other in satisfaction.

  An expression on Commander DeStroia’s handsome face came and went rapidly. Is that surprise or dismay? I envy his easy composure. Mine has been hard won.

  The commander smiled pleasantly. “I welcome the addition of your flight, Lady DeLorion. Warriors with intimate knowledge of the desert wastelands are a valuable asset. I would like to start back tomorrow at dusk. We travel by night through the desert wastelands. Yesterday, since the distance left to travel was so short, we rode during daylight as we could complete the trip before the full heat of the day, but that is not my preference.”

  Sophi returned his direct gaze. She found it shamefully easy to look at him and for the first time in recent memory felt stirrings of purely feminine response to this handsome man.

  “I should attend my men and horses,” Eric said. “Tomorrow, then, Primus, Mistress, my Lady.” With a small bow, he took his leave.

  Sophi turned to Mother Lyre and Primus G’hed. “I love you. I already miss you—and I will be back.”

  * * *

  At dusk the next day, Sophi’s flight filtered into Sh’r Un Kree from the surrounding hillsides.

  As they gathered in the designated courtyard, she made a small adjustment to Brio’s bridle.

  “Are these the legendary wasteland horses we lowlanders hear stories about?” Commander DeStroia’s deep voice caught her attention. I didn’t hear his approach. Taught stealth by my brother, no doubt.

  “Yes.” She followed his gaze as he examined her flight’s small, hardy mounts and the equally small, hardy women astride them. “Petrina—she has a fiery temper to match her red hair, but she is my right hand. The brunette beside her is Adonia, our medica. Her knowledge of herbs is indispensable and this is Rhea, our best tracker. Layna, Eudora and Maeve complete our flight. Their precision in hitting their targets is uncanny. We don’t look like much, but we will not burden you, Commander. We are quite self-sufficient.”

  “I never imagined otherwise, Lady DeLorion.”

  She stiffened. “I do not use my courtesy title. I am no longer that person. I prefer ‘Flight Leader’.”

  His eyes examined her but he nodded agreeably. “Flight Leader. We will leave upon the half-hour. Take position beside me at the front. Your flight can muster behind you.”

  “No. It is not our way. We will ride the ridges and shadowed places in twos and threes. We will be there but you will not see us.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I don’t like it. I cannot protect you if I cannot see you.”

  “I do not ask your permission, Commander. I am in far less danger with my flight than with you who lack experience in the desert wilds. I knew you were coming hours before you arrived. Sound carri
es great distances in the wastelands—and the dust! Your numbers hang a sign in the desert air, ‘attention—riders approach’.”

  She swirled her robes away from her legs and vaulted onto her gelding. A whistled birdcall caught her archers’ attention. “We flank Commander DeStroia. Ride out.”

  Sophi felt the Commander’s eyes on her as she and her flight faded into the desert night.

  * * *

  When Sophi and her women had faded from sight, Eric strode into the stable yard where his four rides of the Queen’s Royal Guard assembled, preparing for the order to mount. Frustration chewed on his temper. I was prepared for a shy, withdrawn woman, not this—Valkyrie. It is difficult to “escort” a woman when you don’t know where she is, when she doesn’t want or need an escort in the first place.

  “Queen’s Guard! Prepare to mount! Mount!” he barked, swinging up onto his horse. “Rides! By twos. Form up!” Cavalrymen paired off and formed orderly lines, broken every eight riders by a colorful pennant bearing the insignia of their unit.

  “Queen’s Guard! At the walk! March!” Eric ordered.

  As his horse’s long stride swung through the arches of the village wall, his second-in-command rode up to him.

  “Commander?”

  “Captain.”

  “Do we leave without Lady DeLorion?”

  “No.” Eric fumed in silence.

  “Commander?”

  “What!”

  The man cleared his throat nervously. “Where is Lady DeLorion?”

  “Good question, Captain Biron. If you see her, let me know.”

  * * *

  Sophi’s flight roamed as satellites to the cavalry squadron, orbiting unseen yet always present. Sophi and her second, Petrina, rode as a pair in the deepest shadows. They skirted the small rock outcroppings and blended invisibly with the stunted vegetation. The three-quarter moons’ cast deep shadows but sufficient light to make their way. The women ghosted, unseen and unheard, across the severe landscape. Sophi paused occasionally to make use of her night-glass, sweeping the horizons, always watching. The handsome commander at the head of the column of riders regularly drew her gaze. She studied his broad shoulders and long lines. His masculine face with its strong, squared jaw and elegant nose was unmistakable in profile, even from a distance. Her memory filled in the mobile, generous mouth and thickly-lashed green eyes. He sat his enormous black warhorse with easy grace, as if one with the creature, a centaur in form-fitting battle leathers. She wondered if he rode women with the same skill as he rode his horse.

  “He pulls the eye, doesn’t he?” Petrina murmured, teasing Sophi about her preoccupation.

  Sophi collapsed her night-glass and laughed softly. “Yes. I freely admit I enjoy looking at him.” He pulls more than just my eyes. He awakened desires in her she thought eradicated from her psyche.

  The wiry redhead, Petrina, nudged her own mount into a walk. “It is good to see you express interest in a man.”

  Sophi shrugged. “I defy any woman with eyes in her head not to notice Commander DeStroia.”

  “Yes, indeed,” chuckled Petrina. “Particularly when Segundo DeLorion and the L’anziano might mandate his joining with her.”

  Sophi’s soft snort answered her dearest friend and second-in-command. “Yes. There is that.”

  Chapter Three

  Eric hadn’t seen Sophi since they left Sh’r Un Kree, five days ago. He sometimes glimpsed their distant fires in the early dawn, but it could have been wishful thinking on his part. The morning sun burned on the horizon in a vision-searing display of fiery crimson and blazing gold.

  His weary men were nearly at the end of their night’s ride when Haarb infantry attacked out of the sun. Their attackers were mere silhouettes against its scorching light. Their foe’s blood-curdling howls echoed across the floor of the small valley as hordes of enemy foot soldiers bore down on Eric and his cavalry.

  “Queen’s Guard! Form ranks!” Eric screamed. “Captain Biron, to me!”

  Biron’s plunging horse appeared alongside Eric’s restive mount. “Take Green and Silver rides to that ridge.” Eric gestured to a rise perhaps a quarter of a mile distant. “I’ll take Black and Red rides to that overlook opposite. Be ready to charge and retreat back to the rise on my signal.”

  “Gods-be-damned, Eric! Look at their numbers. There must be three, four, to our one,” Biron snarled grimly.

  “That might give them a fighting chance, Jon.” Eric grinned savagely. “We hit and fall back, hit and fall back. Time your strikes with mine. We’ll smash them between us. Divide the point of attack. Make them fight on two fronts.”

  “Yes, sir!” Biron wheeled away and spurred along the line of horse, shouting orders. Half the squadron peeled off and the ground shook under the hooves of sixteen horses at a dead run. The dust of the desert boiled into the air in their wake.

  Eric stood in his stirrups and bellowed, “Black Ride, Red Ride, to me! To me!” Turning his mount to the opposite ridge, he sank his spurs into his horse and galloped to the high ground opposite, his horse leaping over the deep crevasses in the dry, cracked ground.

  In minutes, he and his men had achieved the heights and looked down on the valley floor swarming with their enemy turning to advance up the sides of the valley. The terrain, divided with deep cracks and crevices, slowed the foot soldiers significantly, while the mounted rides merely vaulted the crevasses.

  “Queen’s Guard! Form abreast! Make ready!” Eric watched as his well-trained men formed a line, side-by-side, to his right. His saber flashed in the blazing light of the rising sun as he stood in his stirrups, his sword arm extended. “Queen’s Guard! Prepare to charge!” He paused for the men to collect themselves. “Charge!”

  The wind tore at his face, streaking his cheeks with involuntary tears, as his horse raced down the steep embankment, lunging over the uneven ground. He had a second to marvel at the animal’s sure-footedness before they were upon the enemy. With savage cries, the Verdantian horse crashed into the Haarb lines. The shrieks of the enemy rent the air as they fell beneath the steel-shod hooves of the battle-trained mounts and the savagely slashing blades of the horsemen. But all too soon the enemy’s agonized screams were joined by the agonized cries of Eric’s men as both horses and riders went down beneath the sheer numbers of the Haarb onslaught.

  Their enemy almost surrounded them. “Queen’s guard! Pull back! Pull back!” Eric screamed over the melee, then wheeled his horse and spurred for high ground to reorganize. The Haarb infantry pursued, howling in triumph at their retreat, but the mounted riders quickly outstripped them. Seeing the futility of pursuit over the broken, uneven ground, the enemy soldiers turned back.

  On the high ridge, Eric pulled up in a spray of loose rock and dust. His men circled in a disorganized group around him.

  “Black Ride, your losses,” Eric shouted out.

  “Evans and Trilby, sir!” was the shouted response.

  “Red Ride, your losses.”

  “Decker, sir!” came the reply.

  Eric pulled out his spy-glass and watched the opposing ridge for signs that Captain Biron had reassembled. There, the Silver pennant. “Queen’s Guard! Form abreast! Prepare to charge! Charge!”

  Once again the horsemen thundered down the slopes like furies from the seven hells. The horses leapt the narrow crevices, only keeping their footing through some miracle. The Verdantians smashed into the enemy forces, scattering them like children’s blocks. The Haarb seemed to have no interest in self-preservation and the creatures leapt at the mounted warriors, five or six at a time, climbing the horses’ legs like tree trunks, clawing and gnawing as they did so. A furious howl arose from the fiends whenever they bore a horse and rider to the earth. This time as Eric screamed to fall back, far fewer returned and Eric surveyed the grim, bloodied faces of his warriors. A sharp hail turned his attention to Captain Biron, trotting toward his position with four horsemen following him. Thank you, great Goddess; I was certain I’d lost him. E
ric closed his eyes in weary grief for the brave men who died this day. His certainty grew by the minute that he would be among their number by the end of the day. Not for the first time, he wondered where Sophi was. I hope she and her flight are far from this battleground. Perhaps their sacrifice would give her time to warn the Oshtesh.

  Biron drew abreast. “Thought you’d want to consolidate our numbers.”

  “Yes, well done, Jon.” Eric turned to the small assembly. “Gentlemen, what say you? Continue the charge against the Haarb or evade them? I won’t think less of any man who wishes to stay alive to see his loved ones and chooses the latter.” He turned in his saddle and surveyed the remaining numbers of Haarb milling on the valley floor. The Haarb commanders knew better than to attempt a charge up a steep grade over uncertain ground. The Haarb dead lay piled like cords of firewood but the Haarb living still outnumbered his horsemen. They lay in wait for the Verdantians like a giant spider waits for its prey.

  He turned back to his men. “We have given them a hearty distaste for Verdantian steel but their numbers may win the day. Know this—whatever we do here will save countless numbers of our countrymen. Nothing short of a Verdantian blade will stop the Haarb. It might as well be ours that decimate this Haarb troop.” He held each man’s gaze for a moment in the universal acknowledgement of one warrior for another. He knew them all, had fought beside them in many campaigns. There were none better. Green Ride’s Lieutenant Crawford spoke up as he was considering his words.

  “We’re with you, sir. If you led us into hell, we’d be at your back. I think I speak for all of us.” A murmured response of agreement sounded from the men.

  He looked toward his captain. “Jon?”

  His second shrugged and grinned broadly. “Always figured I’d wind up in hell.”