Page 22 of Warrior Princess (Blood Weaver Trilogy #3)
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K eldara’s landscape unfurled before us as we set out from camp on horseback. A stark expanse of rugged terrain marked by jagged cliffs and rolling hills seemed to stretch endlessly. The palpable tension ensured a quiet journey as our small party, consisting of Mykal, me and Ronan, and a handful of Keldaran soldiers navigated the rocky passes and sparse woodlands on our way towards the outskirts of the capital.
The crisp air carried the scent of pine and cold stone, a stark reminder of Keldara's unforgiving nature. As we traveled further from the safety of camp, signs of civil unrest became more apparent; among them were burnt-out remnants of what once might have been farmhouses, and occasionally the distant sounds of clashing steel echoed through the hills.
Ronan rode close by my side with his hand resting near the hilt of his sword, ready for any threat. I brushed against the small dagger at my waist, prepared to blood weave should the need arise.
Much of the day passed before we neared the refugee community, guided by Mykal’s confident navigation. Just as we rounded a bend, a sudden rustling from the dense thicket to our right caught our attention. The sound was too deliberate to be wildlife.
“Get ready,” Mykal murmured, signaling for his soldiers to fan out.
No sooner had he spoken than a group of armed men emerged from the trees. Their armor bore Keldara’s crest, but these were no ordinary soldiers; their faces were marked with the fervor of loyalty to the old regime.
“They’re with the loyalists!” one of Keldara’s soldiers hissed under his breath.
Ronan pulled his sword free, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the number of our attackers. There were too many for a straightforward fight to end without significant bloodshed.
When the loyalists charged, I didn’t hesitate. I unsheathed my dagger and slit my wrist in one smooth move, letting my blood pool briefly in my palm before directing it upward into a swirling mass of crimson tendrils. With a practiced flick of my hand, the tendrils shot forward and struck our oncoming attackers with the precision of a trained archer. Each strike was calculated, meant to incapacitate rather than kill, but even then, the ferocity of my magic caused the loyalists to falter in their charge.
Tension pulsed in the air as the loyalists encircled us, their grim expressions leaving no doubt of their intentions. Ronan's grip on his sword tightened. His body was coiled like a spring, ready to launch at any moment. Keeping their sharp eyes trained on the advancing group, Mykal and his soldiers spread out and tracked every movement.
When the loyalists charged again, a brutal symphony of clashing metal rang out. Ronan was the first to meet their attack, his blade slicing through the air with lethal precision. He parried a thrust, then countered with a swift, arcing swing that sent one attacker stumbling back, his armor clanging against the rocky ground.
I drew a deep breath and my blood responded to my call, swirling upwards in a mesmerizing dance of power. I thrust my hands forward and directed the blood into whip-like strands that snaked through the air with undulating grace. The tendrils lashed out, wrapping around weapons and yanking them from their owners' grasp or coiling around legs to pull the loyalists off balance.
One burly soldier broke through the line and barreled towards me with his sword raised. My heart raced as I quickly sidestepped and cracked my blood whip, tripping him before he could correct his aim. He hit the ground with a grunt and his sword clattered out of reach.
Meanwhile, Mykal engaged two attackers at once, his sword a blur of motion. He deflected a strike that came dangerously close to lopping off his head, then spun around and delivered a punishing blow that knocked the wind out of his zealous opponent. His soldiers followed his lead to disarm and not kill. While their disciplined strikes kept the loyalists at bay, they struggled to gain the upper hand.
Amid the clash, one loyalist managed to circle around and lunged at Ronan from behind. I caught the movement from the corner of my eye and my heart hammered. With a flick of my wrist, a blood tendril shot out and wrapped tightly around the soldier's arm, then yanked him backward. The sudden force pulled him off his feet, his cry of surprise lost in the noise of the battle.
Ronan spared me a quick nod of thanks before returning his attention to the fray, where his sword swiftly found its mark in the gaps of an enemy's armor. The loyalist faltered, blood seeping through the joints of his plate as he collapsed.
The fight dragged on with neither side yielding. The ground was littered with dropped weapons and the wounded. Each breath came heavier than the last, and my control over the blood magic strained as I continued to manipulate it in increasingly complex maneuvers.
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the battlefield, the loyalists' resolve finally broke. The sight of their comrades falling under the relentless assault of blood magic and steel was too much. They finally retreated, dragging their injured with them and tossing wary glances behind their backs at us.
As the rest of us stood in the aftermath, panting and covered in dust and blood, Ronan and Mykal checked the perimeter to ensure there were no more loyalists crouched and preparing another attack. I leaned against my horse, my energy spent, and watched as the sunset touched the distant mountain peaks, a stark reminder of the brutal beauty of this land.
“We need to move.” Mykal’s voice was grim but relieved. “They will regroup and return with a vengeance.”
“Are you alright?” Ronan brushed a stray lock of hair from my face.
I nodded and managed a small smile. “Yes, just tired.” And I was. Blood weaving took a lot out of me. “But I agree with Mykal. We should continue to the refugee community before we encounter any more surprises.” With a nod, Ronan helped me mount my horse before mounting his own, and the soldiers quickly followed suit.
Mykal directed us onward, his gaze lingering on the landscape around us, wary of any further ambushes. The rest of the journey was undertaken with heightened vigilance. We knew the path to the Valorian refugee community would be fraught with more dangers than simply Keldara’s rugged terrain.
The landscape gradually softened, shifting from harsh, jagged terrain to a more gentle, undulating vista. The air grew fresher, tinged with the scent of pine and wildflowers, a stark contrast to the metallic tang of blood and sweat that clung to us during the fight. By evening we approached a secluded valley nestled between two rising cliffs. It was a perfect refuge hidden from the strife that plagued much of Keldara.
The entrance to the Valorian refugee community was marked by a simple, unobtrusive path lined with stones painted in soft blues and silvers, the colors of Valoria. After tying our horses to a ring of trees, we walked deeper into the community. Small homes constructed from wood and stone blended seamlessly into the natural environment, with smoke curling up from chimneys and the sound of playing children filtering through the air.
Most striking were the people moving about their daily tasks, each with the distinct crescent moon birthmark on their foreheads, a proud symbol of their Valorian heritage. Some carefully tended to gardens bursting with vibrant vegetables and herbs, while others busily mended clothes or crafted goods to trade. Their faces were marked by the trials they had endured, but they also carried a resilience that spoke of deep, unyielding strength.
As we entered the heart of the community, an older man with chestnut hair and a pronounced crescent moon on his forehead approached us. His deep blue eyes sparkled with curiosity and caution.
“Welcome,” he greeted as he openly scrutinized our party. “Commander Mykal, it’s been a while since you’ve been here. What brings you to our refuge?”
Mykal stepped forward to introduce us. “Good day, Severus. I hope all has been well for you and your people. We seek a midwife named Abigail. We were told she might be found here among your people. We hope you can help us.”
Severus nodded slowly, studying each of us in turn. “Abigail? Yes, she has helped many in our community. But she is no longer here. Come, we can speak more in my home. It’s best not to discuss this out in the open.” He waved us forward.
I frowned and looked over at Ronan, who only shrugged.
Severus directed us through the village, and I got the impression he was the unofficial leader of the small enclave. Curious faces peered out from behind doors and windows, children stopped their games to watch us pass, and whispers fluttered through the air like leaves in the wind. The sense of community here was palpable, each person seemingly connected to the others by invisible threads of shared history and hope.
Finally, we arrived at a small cottage located at the far end of the village, where the scent of herbs lingered in the air. When Severus opened the door and ushered us inside, the Keldaran soldiers remained outside, giving us privacy to speak freely.
The interior was an artful blend of rustic charm and practicality. A small fireplace was all that was needed to warm the modest home. The fire crackled and popped, casting a comforting glow across the worn wooden furniture. Shelves laden with books and jars filled with medicinal herbs lined the walls.
“You’re a healer?” I stepped further into the cozy room, drawn to the rows of dried plants and potions.
Severus turned with a twinkle in his eye as he touched the crescent moon birthmark on his forehead. “And you’re Valorian,” he replied with a warm smile.
Embarrassed, I smiled back. “Yes, I am.”
“Can I offer you all some tea?” Severus suggested. “I trade with merchants who pass through monthly and have teas from all over Asteria.”
“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Mykal responded gratefully.
While Severus busied himself with the tea, the three of us settled into the seating area near the fireplace. I wandered over to his collection of medicinal books captured in a scarred bookcase along the wall. Old, with worn covers and pages yellowed with age, each bore the promise of ancient knowledge, some detailing rare healing practices.
Severus returned with a tray with a cup of steaming tea for each of us. “Abigail left Keldara about five years ago,” he began as he handed out the tea. “Eldwain soldiers came for her in the night. It seemed like an invasion at first, but they came for just one woman.”
Mykal furrowed his brow. “Eldwain soldiers? Why weren’t we informed?”
“They paid our soldiers off. Valoria has a good relationship with Eldwain, so it was never reported,” Severus explained. “I remember it clearly because Abigail was the only midwife in our community. Her aid was very helpful. Now that she’s gone, we must send word to the capital to help our pregnant women.”
“Do you know why she fled Valoria? What brought her to Keldara?” I pressed, eager for any clue.
Severus shook his head, his earlier reserve returning to his placid expression. “We don’t pry here. Everyone has their reasons for coming to Keldara, and we respect their need for privacy.”
Well, that was no help.
Even so, I refused to think of it as a wasted trip. While we had to cross Keldara to reach the Valorian border and meet my brother and father anyway, I’d hoped we could find Abigail and solve the mystery of my alleged older sibling. I guess that was just wishful thinking.
Undeterred, Mykal slid a pouch of coins across the table toward Severus. “Anything you can tell us could help.”
Severus pushed the pouch back with a gentle laugh. “I appreciate the gesture, Commander, but I really have nothing more to share.”
Accepting the refusal, Mykal collected his coins. “Thank you for your hospitality, Severus.”
Severus shook hands with Mykal and Ronan as they walked out of his home. But when he shook mine, he pulled me toward him and whispered, “Beware of Abigail. She did not live a simple life in the palace. She was running from very dangerous people. It’s best not to go digging into things that should stay buried.”
Chilled by his words, I nodded. “Thank you, Severus. I’ll remember that.”
Severus’s warning lingered with me long after I exited his cottage. As we walked away, the mystery of Abigail and the secrets of my family felt deeper than ever.