Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles, 1) Read online

  If ever there was a time to rectify that little problem, it was now.

  Sanders smiled again. Marc’s gulp echoed.

  Sanders bent, looking over the still body. Her chest barely rose with each breath. She was covered in dirt from head to toe, but he didn’t notice any blood. No obvious injuries, either.

  Leilius scuffled up with a bucket of water. Considering his effort, one would think he carried the bottom half of a cow. “I got the water here, Chief.”

  “It’s Commander,” Sanders enunciated as he took over the bucket with one hand. “Rag?”

  Gracas scurried up with a blue cloth. It looked like a piece of someone’s uniform. Judging by his sleeveless arm, it was his.

  With quick movements, Sanders started to gently wash the dirt from the frail limbs. As the sludge rolled away, he noticed her skin color, pale where it wasn’t red. A foreigner. A distant foreigner at that. She looked about mid-twenties, if he was any judge.

  He continued with his treatment, washing everything in sight, and emptied half the bucket over her filthy head. Other than a few scratches, however, she was devoid of visible injuries or bruising. And he couldn’t help but notice she had more muscle development than was normal for a female.

  “Help me remove her clothing,” Sanders said as he lifted the bottom of her cover.

  Marc’s face turned bright red. “Are you sure?”

  Through clenched teeth, Sanders answered, “If you don’t start following orders, I am going to finish with her, and then beat you senseless. You get me? Now, help-me-remove-her-dress.”

  Marc reached for the filthy garment with shaking hands, gingerly lifting it past her groin. The girl was bare underneath, and Marc strangled a petrified groan as everyone else gasped.

  “Evacuate!” Sanders barked, clearing the space in seconds.

  They’d all been on the receiving end of Sanders’ displeasure once or twice, and while looking at a naked girl was high on the list of very important things to see, he was pretty sure it ranked low on the list of ways not to get noticed. As well it should. Sanders would not hesitate to punch out a few more bruises.

  As Marc worked off the rest of the fabric, Sanders continued cleaning, not finding anything of note. That was, until they got to the torso. Her skin sunk between each rib. Starved.

  “She needs food and water. Nutrients,” Sanders whispered, covering her as a list of needs raced through his head. “Get a clean rag and dribble water into her mouth. If she wakes and starts to drink, give her no more than a dribble.”

  Marc let out a noisy exhale of relief as the nipples disappeared, releasing him from paralysis. And while he nodded, he didn’t move.

  Fire danced in Sanders’ eyes. The smile was back. “Then why aren’t you moving, Cadet?”

  Marc made a sound like, “Huuuuuhhhhhhhhrrrrn,” as unshaped words escaped numb, petrified lips. A second later he took off running like his heels were on fire.

  In quicker time than ever before, owing to somewhat harsher treatment by Sanders, the boys had the camp packed up and ready to go. They didn’t have anything to use as a stretcher since that numbskull Gracas had used it to start a fire their first night, and Sanders didn’t want to make a travois and leave heavy tracks, so the largest of the boys and Sanders took turns carrying the girl. They would hike for a day and a half, but while she was a tall girl, she weighed next to nothing. The hardest part for whichever boy was carrying her was focusing on walking rather than the female in his arms.

  Unfortunately, that wasn’t so easy for a bunch of budding men holding something with breasts. Distraction was inevitable.

  Throughout the day, Marc kept dribbling water into her mouth. He made sure to wet her head and neck, keep the sun off her face, and continue with the water, slowly, methodically. Sanders, eyes always moving, constantly surveying their surroundings, made sure to never keep his gaze on the doctor-in-training long. If the kid thought no one was looking, he seemed to settle into his ministrations. He displayed empathy for the unconscious girl instead of the need to seek approval. He made his own decisions regarding what nurtures were needed when, and how much liquid she could take at any given time. And he was doing it with confidence.

  The one time Sanders commented on a job well done, the whole thing went to shit. The kid went back to useless immediately; stumbling, apologizing, and whining; seeking approval for everything; not making a decision on his own. It took three hours of being ignored for him to settle back into his rhythm. Sanders took the hint.

  By dinnertime the band of boys were sullen and quiet, constantly shooting glances Sanders’ way. This was Rachie’s fault.

  Under Marc’s diligent care, the girl had taken three gulps of water just before they stopped and then let out a long, pain induced moan. Rachie, who was carrying her at the time, had shouted, “Oh shit, she’s alive!”

  The idiot had thrown his hands out to the sides as if she was a poisonous spider. Her body spilled across the ground, bringing forth another moan from her and a string of curses from Marc.

  Rachie had been the first to learn that Commander Sanders, though one of the shortest men in the Soldier Force, was strong enough to get him airborne. Rachie also learned that being hurled head first into a dead tree hurt quite a lot. At least, that’s what Sanders’ took from the groan.

  After the setback, Marc was able to get her to take a few more successful gulps. Then, after a lot of moaning and eye fluttering, he began giving her broth. He had turned more nursemaid than doctor, but he was obtaining results, so Sanders said nothing. After a few pointed glares, each with a hovering threat of violence, no one else did, either.

  Later that night Sanders sat in the camp, looking out at the night. A sliver moon glowed high overhead, faintly illuminating the burnt and twisted land. A couple hours ago Rachie had woken him for his shift, complaining that something felt weird. When asked to elaborate, the youth couldn’t do it, just shrugged and scratched his shoulder, looking out at the night.

  At the time, Sanders hadn’t thought any more about it. These boys wouldn’t know danger if it popped up in front of them wearing a sign. But as he sat, taking the deepest part of the night for guard-duty, the heavy feeling of dread had slowly settled on his shoulders. It pressed down, squeezing his chest and making his small hairs stand up.

  Something was out there. Something was wrong.

  One by one the boys started to toss and turn in their sleep. Even the girl, sleeping soundly for most of their journey, was writhing, moaning and whimpering in her sleep.

  Yes, something was there. Danger lurked.

  Sanders turned his knife over in his fingers. His sword lay in front of him on his sleeping bag, the hilt within easy grasp. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be alive for long.

  “NO!” Xavier, the oldest boy in the troop, bolted up out of his sleeping sack and into a fighting crouch. He looked around wildly.

  Once upon a time everyone, including the Captain, thought Xavier had real potential. He was massive for his age, strong, and growing into a powerful man. He just couldn’t fight for shit. He didn’t like hurting people and nearly fainted at the sight of blood. But now, when no enemy was in sight, he executed the fighting stance perfectly. Ready for combat.

  Sanders was too unnerved to notice for long. His eyes continued scanning, looking out into the dark pools of shadow. Wondering what hid just out of sight. Wondering what looked back.

  “Commander, something is out there,” Xavier hummed from his ready crouch. With nearly silent steps, he crossed the short distance to sit next to Sanders.

  The velvety black lay thick over the barren land. Holding its breath.

  “Do you think it’s the Mugdock?” the young man persisted.

  Sanders glanced at Marc, hovering worriedly over his charge, then back at the night. “I don’t know. Mugdock don’t usually come this far. Doesn’t mean they won’t.”

  Xavier let that settle in for a moment. He asked, “Do you think it’s something to do wit
h the girl?”

  Sanders let the question dissolve into the air. He didn’t know. She was an enigma. Where had she come from and why was she allowed to travel alone in distant places? Did her companions all perish, leaving her to continue on her own? Even if that was the case, she wasn’t from anywhere close. Sanders had seen travelers over the years, he’d met people from distant places, he’d even bedded a few, but no one had ever been as light of feature as the waif. Her breasts and chest were so pale they showed faint blue veins. Her hair was the color of burnished wheat even with all the dirt, and fine. Almost like soiled feathers, which meant it was probably fluffy when cleaned. She was lanky and slim, which wasn’t all that rare, but covered in a functional, lean muscle. Her finger tips were calloused, which might have been from playing an instrument, but her hands were muscled as well, as though she was used to working with something heavy. The pads of her feet were tough, especially the balls and toes. Each of those things weren’t strange in its own right, except the coloring, which could be explained away by a childhood disease, but as a whole it was unnerving. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she’d done some fighting. A lot of fighting, if truth be told.

  Maybe where she was from women fought as a sport, or for an audience. Or maybe they fought for survival or as penance for a crime. Which was sickeningly similar to the Mugdock.

  Leilius gave a loud scream and rolled around, thrashing. Xavier moved to him quickly, shaking the boy awake, trying to keep him quiet. The other boy screamed again, grabbing for Xavier’s head, attempting to execute a lock that would snap Xavier’s neck. Xavier shirked him off easily, batting his hands away and shaking harder. Two others sat up at the commotion.

  A wave of fear rumbled over Sanders. His skin tingled. His balls tightened.

  Shit was about to blow up.

  He gripped his knife and rose to a crouch, ready for an attack.

  “Are we under attack?” Gracas asked in a harried whisper. “I don’t see anyone.”

  Neither did Sanders. No movement. No sound. Dead trees and barren land stretched out away from them, sprinkled in silver moonlight. If something moved closer, it would have to show itself between pools of shadow. It would present itself, if only for a moment.

  A moment was all Sanders needed.

  So where was the enemy? Why was every alarm in Sanders’ head going off when emptiness stared back at him?

  The girl moved slightly, moaning. Marc was stroking her face, quietly whispering soothing words.

  “Commander?” Xavier stared at him, hand on Leilius’ shoulder, waiting for orders. He had apparently stepped up in rank and placed himself in the Second position. It was a good sign for his future. If he had one.

  “We hold. It’s too dark to continue en route. Anything could be waiting out there. We need silence. Wake everyone up—no one is getting much sleep anyway. Pack up. We’ll leave at first light if we’re able.”

  Sanders lowered again, watching. Logic said nothing waited out there, but his gut said soon they’d face an army. All he could do was wait and see.

  It was a long night. The creeping dread never subsided. The bitch of it was Sanders couldn’t see anything the matter. Nor hear anything. His gut said move but his brain said there was no hurry. If it wasn’t for how on edge the boys were, he would think it was time to retire.

  “How’s the girl?” Sanders asked Marc as they moved out quietly. It was nearly dawn, but no one wanted to wait any longer.

  Marc had deep blue circles under his eyes. “She seems more lucid. She’s taking more liquid and her fever is down. She’s still in danger, but she’s fighting.”

  “When did he become an expert?” Rachie mumbled.

  Sanders glared at the loudmouthed kid until he shuffled his feet in the other direction. Sanders was not above tossing the kid into another tree.

  They set a fast pace, cutting through the land on the fastest route home. They would arrive around noon, a full five days before they were due. If constant fear wasn’t continuously clawing at Sanders’s gut, he would be thrilled to be rid of the young idiots. He didn’t do daycare duty well.

  The girl mewed like a lost kitten, thrashing in Xavier’s thick arms. The large boy flexed, keeping her pinned, not daring to drop her like Rachie had yesterday. He didn’t want a bruise on his chest the same size and shape as Sanders’ fist.

  Chapter 3

  Shanti’s consciousness emerged through a deep haze. Pain seared her body, almost as if someone had reached in through her stomach and pulled everything inside out. She forced her eyes open, trying to scrabble her way out of the darkness that trapped her. What she saw next terrified her.

  A man held her, and judging by the bulging biceps and length of the arms, a large man. He had her pinned against his body in an unbreakable squeeze, rocking and swaying. Her legs were closed at the moment, which was a good sign, but for how long? He was taking her somewhere, and he was crushing her painfully as he did.

  The scent of boot polish tickled her nose. Peeking out from behind his mangy, curled hair were the fletching of arrows and the tip of a bow. On the other side of his massive shoulders a shiny, metallic hilt peeked out.

  Closing her eyes again, she listened, immediately hearing a chorus of breath and heavy footfalls. More large men, then. And in her experience, it was often that a group of soldiers would make a prize of a lost and alone girl.

  Fear coursed through her, then determination. She had no more than a trickle of energy, but she would bloody well fight. The only consolation was that he was touching her skin. The more skin contact meant the less energy required to attack his mind. Still, she didn’t have much to throw.

  Building the dismal amount of power she had at her disposal, she lashed out. His burly arms constricted, crushing her into his chest as a scream of pure agony strangled his throat. His resistance was strong or she was weak, probably both, but in the end it worked. With a long wail, he let go, clutching at his head and dropping to the ground.

  As Shanti’s body fell, she tried to unfurl. She tried to prepare to roll away upon impact. She tried to do something besides thump to the ground like a log and immediately pass out.

  Tried, and failed. She’d be worse off than before, completely left to their devices.

  Fabulous decision-making, as always.

  Chapter 4

  “GET DOWN!” Sanders screamed.

  In two strides he was standing over the woman, sword in hand, sweeping the landscape with an experienced gaze. He glanced at Xavier, didn’t see the fletching of an arrow or the hilt of the knife, so looked back up. “Where did the attack come from? What caused this?”

  Xavier rolled around, kicking up puffs of dirt.

  Marc stood next to them, frozen. His mouth hung open and he stared down at the lifeless girl.

  “Cadet! Get down!” Sanders grabbed Marc’s shirt and yanked him to the ground. “Attack? Where from?”

  The boy stared.

  Seeing no movement, Sanders bent to Xavier. They needed to get this parade marching. Carrying wounded with no cover, they might as well just roll over and expose their bellies. That’s how easy it would be to pick them off.

  Except…the enemy didn’t have any cover, either... It would be another hour of hiking before the lush forest of their land spread out in welcome. The Mugdock had only burned land Sanders and his men didn’t regularly patrol.

  Still no movement.

  Sanders swatted Xavier’s hands away, looking for wounds. All he found was a face pinched in pain and bloodshot eyes. “What hurts?”

  “The girl’s eyes,” Marc mumbled, still staring. “They glowed. Purple.”

  Perfect. They were being attacked, in the middle of nowhere, with nowhere to take cover, and the one guy that was supposed to patch them up was losing his mind. Sanders was living his worst case scenario.

  “Marc, grab the woman. Rachie, Garcas, grab Xavier. Head north. Find cover. The rest of us will flank.”

  “It was her,” Marc gurgle
d softly, waving a flaccid pointer finger.

  Sanders reached out with a quick hand and yanked Rachie to him. He thrust the kid at the woman like a rag doll. “Rachie, grab her. Marc, get moving. You’re no good to me.”

  Both boys stared, hunched over and blinking.

  “MOVE!”

  Sanders hopped to Xavier, swiping the young man’s hands off his head again. “Let’s go, son. Gotta move.”

  “Huh?” Xavier stared up with blank brown eyes.

  “Can you walk, man?”

  “Yes. I think so.”

  “Good. Rachie, would-you-grab-the-woman?! Shoulder hold will do. Let’s move!”

  The whole band was up and moving at record pace. It wasn’t until halfway through the flight home, when no other attacks came, that Sanders realized his internal battle alarm was silent. The pressure of impending doom was gone. It felt like the danger had passed.

  They didn’t slow. Sanders had an excuse to head home, and he wanted to get there and get these numb-nuts dispersed to some other babysitter.

  The ground started to change slowly as they neared home. Hard, cracked dirt turned into fertile land, rich in nutrients and life. The burnt, cracked trees gradually morphed into huge, lush green monsters. The air sweetened, the shade deepened.

  Three leagues from the gate and the sentries started, sparse at first, with their sound devices and their lights, able to signal others should unwanted persons wander too far into their land. As the band continued, more sentries dotted the trees overhead, watching them pass. The Captain had an efficient and organized system that had never let them down. Which was why a runner met them not long after they crossed into the lands.

  “Commander Sanders.” The runner, a lithe lad, was hardly out of breath. “I was sent to see if you needed aid. You’re moving quickly and five days early.”