Bound by Darkness (11 page)

Where were the Paladins and the guards? Surely they should've been there by now, but then maybe it was her fear that made it feel as if she'd been trapped down there for hours already.

She slowed as she reached an intersecting tunnel. Which way to go? Right or left? Did it really matter when she didn't know where she was to begin with? Okay, right it was. The motion lights immediately flickered on to guide her. Clever technology, but they also served as a beacon to anyone who wanted to follow her trail.

Stopping to catch her breath, she waited for the lights to go back off, leaving her shrouded in darkness. As her pulse slowed, she could gradually hear more than the sound of her own heart pounding. Footsteps. Lots of them. Screams echoed down the passage and the clash of metal against metal. Obviously the troops had arrived. She prayed for the safety of the men she'd gotten to know. Larem's face flashed in her mind.

The shuffle of footsteps was louder this time, but with all the noise it was hard to know how close they were or whether any Others had gotten past the Paladins. All she knew for sure was that the footsteps were headed her way. The darkness wouldn't protect her for long. As soon as any of them drew close enough to trigger the lights, she'd be exposed.

No sooner did that thought cross her mind than the lights behind her flared. A band of four male Others shielded their eyes from the glare, but that didn't keep them from seeing her. The one in front bellowed something as they all charged forward. She didn't need to speak their language to understand what they had planned for her.

She screamed, threw her shoes as hard as she could, and took off running. As she ran for the corner ahead, the lights from that direction came on, too. Trapped! She had no idea who was coming toward her, but she knew full well that to stop where she was would be certain death.

She charged forward, hoping against hope that Devlin had gotten her message and sent someone to look for her.
Please, God, please. Please let it be someone I know.

Her steps faltered as a curved blade appeared from around the corner. It was an unwritten rule that no Paladin carried a blade of that shape. She was running straight into a trap. With nowhere to go and no hope of survival, she stopped where she was and began to pray.

T
he battle at the barrier was in full swing. Larem chanted the prayers for the dead and dying under his breath as he made his way through the tunnels. How many of the Kalith were men he'd known when they were sane, when he still served their people as one of Lusahn q'Arc's Blademates? Not that it mattered. Neither he nor they were the same people they used to be.

Larem flexed his fingers on the pommel of his borrowed weapon, his mind flashing back to a time when he would've joined the battle to protect his own kind. Now he had friends among the Paladins, and his people considered him a traitor. As always, he was a man caught between two worlds, neither of which much wanted him.

At least for the moment, he had a definite purpose. He backed away from the battle, needing to find another way around. Before he'd gone two steps, he saw D.J. in the middle of the fight, wielding his double-headed ax with deadly purpose.

What D.J. didn't see was the Other coming up behind him with his sword swinging right at the Paladin's neck. Before Larem could shout out a warning, Trahern burst free of the melee long enough to remove the threat with one blow from his broadsword. Larem prayed for the soul of the dead warrior and walked away.

A narrow branch of tunnel cut back in the direction he needed to go. The profound relief he'd felt that D.J. had been spared disturbed him on a gut level. The dead Other had been someone's son, brother, friend. Now he was nothing but a pile of bloody meat to be disposed of and forgotten. Larem understood the Paladins' reluctance to view their enemy as anything but rabid animals, but as a healer, he ached for all those who suffered a sickness for which there was no cure.

The never-ending cycle of death made him furious, and seeing it firsthand left him freezing cold inside. He trudged on, concentrating on the task at hand and doing his best to block out the screams of agony that bounced through the tunnels and echoed in his soul.

Larem quickly learned to keep his focus on the floor and away from the sudden bursts of light that nearly blinded his sensitive Kalith eyes. When he reached a long stretch of clear passage, he broke into a run, slowing only when he reached the other end. Cocking his head to the side, he listened hard.

Heartbeats just ahead. Four had the staccato beat of Kaliths lost in the frenzy, but one was purely human. Either it was Sasha being hunted by his kind or else the four Others had managed to corner a Paladin alone. Either way, Larem had to intervene.

Bracing himself for battle, he rounded the last corner and came face-to-face with his worst nightmare come true. Four Kalith males were fanning out, closely stalking Sasha. They were enjoying the hunt, laughing maniacally as she retreated.

The one in the lead spoke to her, his English rough but his meaning all too clear. “Female, stop running. We don't want you to be too tired to be of use to us.” He looked toward his companions. “If you please myself and my friends, perhaps we'll let you live.”

Sasha stopped moving and threw her shoulders back. “I'd rather die.”

The Kalith pushed his long hair back from his face, his smile turning nasty. “That won't be as fun for us, but if you insist . . .”

Larem didn't want to kill his own kind, but he wouldn't let them hurt Sasha, not when she was his to protect. So far they hadn't noticed him; he wasn't sure about Sasha.

He paused long enough to jerk the tie out of his hair, letting it hang free down around his shoulders. Raising his sword, he started forward, calling out a traditional greeting among Kalith warriors in their own language. “My brothers, how fare thee?”

The leader jerked his attention away from Sasha long enough to answer, “My brother, we are about to fare very well.”

Then his eyes flared wide as he took in the human attire Larem wore, and his smile turned feral. “You speak our language, but you carry the stench of Paladins.”

Sasha finally recognized him. “Larem? Thank God you're here.”

He ignored her as the three Others sniffed the air, growling low in their chests. One of them reached out toward Sasha, laughing when she shrank against the wall to avoid his touch.

This was going to end badly. Larem knew that and so did they. Still, for the sake of the oath he'd sworn to serve his people, he had to try. “My brothers—”

“We are not your brothers, not if you live in the light, traitor!” The leader sidled closer to Sasha, his sword sliding back and forth in a promise of the fight to come. He switched to heavily accented English. “Tell us how to escape these tunnels and maybe we'll let the woman live.”

Larem lowered his blade slightly, hoping to reduce the growing tension. “I am no traitor, but I will not let you harm the woman. She has done nothing to you.”

“She is human. That is enough.”

Time to try another tactic. “The light in this world has strengthened my gift of healing. Let me help you become the honorable warriors you were before the sickness took you.”

For a second, the Other hesitated, but then his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You lie! The healers of light and their skills are lost to the darkening. You want to steal our prize and bed the woman yourself. Why else would you be prowling these tunnels?”

“I am Blademate to Lusahn q'Arc and sworn to protect those who cannot defend themselves, human or Kalith.” Larem brought his sword back up in full challenge. “Retreat now or die.”

The spokesman for the Others looked back to his three friends. “Silence this fool while I enjoy the woman. Once he has bled out, we will all have her—often.”

The closest Other charged forward with violence in his eyes. Larem's scream mixed with Sasha's as he answered the Kalith's attack, cursing the gods for forcing him to kill those of his homeland. His opponent was an experienced swordsman but nowhere near the caliber of a Blademate. Larem left him bleeding on the ground and took the fight to the next one.

The leader was now holding Sasha by her hair, drawing in deep breaths of her scent. She kicked at him, but her bare foot did little damage. She had more success clawing at his face, even drawing blood. He immediately shoved her against the wall and pinned her there with the full press of his body against hers. Larem shouted out a warning in Kalith, telling the bastard in great detail what Larem would do to him if he took his assault on Sasha any further.

The other two took advantage of the distraction and charged him. It would be nothing less than a miracle if Larem managed to eliminate both bumbling crazies quickly enough to prevent the remaining one from hurting Sasha. With a quick spin, he slashed one across the neck. The male dropped to his knees, his sword clattering to the ground as he tried to stop the blood gushing from his throat.

Two down, two to go. There was no sign of sanity left in either of them. The kindest thing Larem could do was to end their lives quickly and cleanly. Stepping around the two bodies at his feet, he held out his free hand and dared them to join in the deadly dance.

“Come on, Others,” he said, sneering as he called them by that hated name. “I grow bored with this. Give me the woman or give me your blood. I don't care which.”

Sasha gasped in horror or outrage, but he was more intent on drawing the two killers toward him than protecting her delicate sensibilities. “At least your friends had the honor to die in combat. Know that if you run, you will be cut down like so many weeds by Paladins.”

To show his disdain, he turned his back to walk away, although each step that put more distance between him and Sasha was torture. The ruse worked to draw the third fighter out again. Larem took two more steps forward before stepping to the side, rightly guessing the Other's charge would carry him past Larem's position. Now he was between the two remaining Kalith, which would prevent them from ganging up on Sasha.

After bringing his headlong rush to a stop, the Other circled back to challenge Larem. The light disease was in full force now, making the Other's movements jerky and out of control. The sick feeling in Larem's veins was the same one he felt when they put down an animal at the shelter that was too far gone to save. It was much too simple to slip past the warrior's guard and end his life.

By now, Larem drew little comfort from chanting the prayers for the dead, but he went through the motions because his duty and his honor demanded it. Weary to the soul, he wanted nothing more than to end this slaughter.

“Your turn.”

This time, the final Other didn't hesitate. He pressed
a sloppy kiss on Sasha's mouth while he hugged her close with his free hand. “I'll be back to finish what we've started.”

She immediately wiped her lips with the back of her hand and spit on the ground. “Never, you bastard!”

Larem admired her courage, but if she provoked the male, he might just kill her before Larem could stop him.

“Sasha, back away and shut up!” he barked, barely lifting his sword in time to block his enemy's blade.

The Others had saved their best swordsman for last. Despite the illness burning brightly in the male's eyes, he retained enough of his natural-born ability to put up a good fight. Larem was better, but only just. Sweat dripped down his face, stinging his eyes as the battle dragged on. The longer it lasted, the greater the chance his opponent would get in a lucky blow.

He couldn't let that happen, no matter how much he admired the fighter's skill with the blade. Had he been someone's Blademate as well?

No time for such thoughts.

Finally, Larem feigned a misstep. His opponent fell for the ruse, leaving himself wide open for attack as he lunged forward, swinging his blade with all the strength he had. Instead of killing Larem, he found himself impaled on Larem's borrowed sword, the curved blade cutting deep and wide through his chest.

The Other slowly sank to his knees, sanity briefly returning to his gaze as he looked up at Larem in confusion.

“My brother?” he whispered, the light in his eyes fading quickly.

Larem dropped to the ground and gathered the dying Kalith into his arms. Perhaps he could save at least this one. Chanting under his breath, he pulled out his medicine knife and held it up toward the ceiling as he asked the gods to share their healing strength.

As he prepared to plunge the ceremonial knife down into the Other's heart, the warrior shuddered and breathed his last. Larem cursed and flung the knife down the tunnel. Once again, his magic had failed him, and his people. He held the body close for a few seconds longer as he whispered the death prayers for each of the fallen Kalith.

He grieved for their loss, even knowing that their lives had really ended when the sickness first whispered in their minds. If they hadn't died by his sword, they would've faced the same brutal end at the hands of the Paladins.

At least with him there, someone mourned their passing.

“Larem? Are you all right?” Sasha asked.

He ignored her question because the answer was obvious. Hell no, he wasn't all right; he wasn't sure he ever would be. Her recklessness had cost these four their lives and Larem another large chunk of his soul.

He shoved the body off his lap and pushed himself to his feet. There was nothing more to be said. The Paladins would dispose of the bodies; he didn't know how and didn't care. No matter what they did, it was an abomination. Only the knowledge that they were caught up in the same horrible cycle of death and disease as the Others kept him from charging off to join the battle he
could still hear raging back at the barrier. The only question was whose side he'd take, knowing it wouldn't really matter as long as he died fighting.