Rebel's Honor(3)

Lynx twirled her braid and feathers. Her mind was on her upcoming negotiations with her father. She caught Clay watching her.

"Did I hear the bitch correctly?" Clay asked. "Are you to marry Lukan?"

"Apparently so."

Clay grunted. "You don't sound convinced."

"The Unity says a daughter of the Norin king will marry the Chenayan  crown prince, not the eldest daughter. We all know Kestrel's the better  candidate. Mad as he is, Mott would be an idiot to choose me."

Clay snorted a laugh. "Unless he likes the idea of you knocking Lukan's  teeth out." He shot her a sideways look. "If what you told us about your  meeting with Lukan is true, that's how your marriage will go."

"Oh, it was true all right. Father will vouch for me." She grimaced at  the memory of her first and only meeting with Crown Prince Lukan Avanov  and his father.

That summer, she and her father had been summoned, along with the other  leaders of Chenaya's vassal states, to attend a meeting in the Chenayan  capital, Cian. All started off well enough. Lynx had enjoyed her first  train journey, a seven-day trip on the public steam train that dissected  the empire. Matters had gone downhill quickly when she arrived at the  palace.                       
       
           



       

To the blaring of trumpets, Mott had appeared, accompanied by Crown  Prince Lukan and his brother, Prince Tao. Lynx had studied Lukan as he  took his seat on the dais below his father's throne. She grudgingly  admitted he was good-looking, if one liked angular faces with blunt  chins.

Lukan had noticed her scrutiny. His dark eyes had swept over her body,  clad in her leather tunic, leather trousers, and boots, as if she were a  wench serving beer in some low-rent tavern. A wench he could tumble for  a handful of coins. His lust was so obvious, the other leaders in the  hall had turned to stare at her. A few of them had even laughed.

The humiliation still made her cheeks burn.

Not only was she a Norin princess, her blood every bit as royal as his,  she was also a warrior. The men she led and fought beside would never  dream of looking at her with such disrespect. She had loathed Lukan ever  since.

Only her father's steadying hand had stopped her from marching up the  dais to hit Lukan. Her father had dragged her from the hall before Mott  even started his speech.

She knew the emperor was furious at their defiance. Both she and her  father came away from the meeting convinced that Mott would never choose  her to be a future empress. From that moment, Lynx had thought the  whole encounter a roaring success.

Seems she was wrong.

"The whole idea of a Norin marrying a Chenayan is sick," Clay said,  spitting out the words like poison. "They're our enemies and will be  until we kick them out of Norin."

"While I share your sentiment, I'm not holding my breath that we will be kicking them out anytime soon."

Clay turned fiery eyes on her. "How can you say that? You, of all people?"

Four hundred years of Chenayan domination had made her cynical. Give  Clay a year or two, and he would end up feeling the same way, too.

"Nothing would give me greater joy than to be free of our masters, but  we have to be realistic. Even at our most ferocious, our rebellions  against them are no more effective than ticks biting an elephant." Lynx  straightened her back and set her face in a hard line. "Still, we can't  stop fighting. To do so would be to lose . . . forever."

They reached the signal fires protecting the outer ring of the Norin tents.

"Who goes there?" a voice called.

Lynx nodded with satisfaction; at least five crossbow quarrels were aimed at them in the darkness. "Heron, it's me, with Clay."

Heron stepped out of the shadows, crossbow hanging at his side. He  strode toward their horses, his long, braided hair swinging as he  walked. "You're late, Lynx. I hate it when you're out at night without  another raider."

Lynx sensed Clay bristling next to her.

"Clay's with me, so I had all the help I needed," Lynx said, loud enough for the raiders patrolling close-by to hear.

Clay grunted, but she could see from the way his shoulders straightened that he appreciated her effort.

They intercepted Heron at the edge of the tents. Blue eyes fixed on her, he brushed his hand along her leg.

"There was a letter from Mott today," Lynx said.

"I heard." Heron's voice sounded strangled.

She squeezed his hand. "There's a dead ostrich at Pinion Point. Please  send out some servers and raiders to bring it in." The bird would be  butchered and preserved for Norin cooking pots. She looked over at Clay.  "I need to get him home. And my father and I have to talk."

Heron's eyes flickered to Clay expectantly. "An egg?"

Clay shook his head.

A mix of sorrow and sympathy flitted across Heron's face, and he stood aside to let them pass.

Lynx was about to knee her horse forward. A scream cut the air, and galloping hooves pounded nearer.

Hare, one of Lynx's best friends, skidded past them, and wheeled her  horse around. "The Chenayans are attacking! North gate. About fifteen  guardsmen."





Chapter 3





Lynx stood in her stirrups and peered toward the northern gate. Above  the steeple of Norin tents, smoke swirled in the air against livid  flames. Something, probably a tent, exploded in a flurry of orange  sparks. She swore.

"Clay, get home. Tell Father we're safe and that I've joined the  defense." Heart pounding, she forced the façade of control expected of  her as commander-in-training and turned to Heron. "How many raiders do  you have here?"

"Six. With me, seven."

"You come with me," she said to Heron and then called to the rest of her  troops. "The rest of you, hold this position. Do not let the bastards  through if they attack here."

Six raiders could do little to repel the Chenayans if they attacked this gate in numbers, but she had to appear confident.                       
       
           



       

Heron swept up behind her on her horse. He wrapped his arms around her  waist-strong, protective arms she knew well. She started wheeling her  horse around when she realized Clay was still there.

"I said go home. Now go."

Clay fixed her with a hard stare. "If I were holding an egg, would you send me home?"

No, she wouldn't. Damaged as he was, she would send him into battle to  protect their people. But he hadn't come home with an egg.

Another explosion rocked the sky.

"Clay, there isn't time for this. Go."

"No, Lynx. Please let me fight. Just this once." Clay's eyes were beseeching, his voice desperate.

It broke her heart, but Lynx shook her head. "You're not a raider. Mother will kill me if anything happens to you."

Heron snorted a laugh. "Happens to him? It's a bit late for that,  Lynxie. Judging by the bandages, the kid's already in tatters."

High-pitched screaming-a child's voice-pulled Lynx's attention back to the fighting.

"There's no time to waste." She shot Clay a beseeching look of her own. "Get killed, and I will never forgive you."

Clay gave a wild whoop and kicked his horse into action.

Lynx led them at a full gallop around the outer ring of tents toward the  fires. Amid the screams and shouting, steel clashed on steel. There  were only two official entrances to the Norin campsite, both guarded.  The rest of the raiders on duty would be circling the perimeter of the  encampment. Once through the barricades and into the camp, the Chenayans  would find little resistance until the off-duty raiders rallied. Even  then, it would be a rout.

Imperial guardsmen were unlike ordinary Chenayan foot soldiers: they had  an extra edge no training or weaponry could give; they moved faster  than any Norin; they never seemed to tire; their crossbow quarrels never  seemed to miss; and-even more frightening-Lynx was convinced they felt  no fear.

Twenty feet from the battle, she pulled up her horse to assess the situation.

The guardsmen had broken through the line of raiders at the barricade.  Despite being shot at, they systematically torched tents. Not everyone  escaped the inferno, given the nauseating stench of charred flesh that  hung in the air. Bodies of the dead and wounded, all Norin, lay trodden  underfoot, making fighting treacherous.

Screaming battle cries, raiders armed with machetes and axes converged  to meet the enemy. The guardsmen surged forward, their steps unnaturally  quick and light, their short-handled battle axes flashing faster than  any Norin could move. The first line of raiders fell to deadly strokes.  Still, the raiders came.

It was only a matter of time, and they would be cut down, too.

She shook her head in despair and whispered to Heron and Clay, "Attacking them from the front is futile. We need to flank them."