“Where are we with the supplies?” Lukar asked his war council.
A couple of the men shook their heads and frowned. Ferer explained, “Sorting the food is taking more time than we thought, My King.”
Colm shifted in his seat. “There should be plenty of food in Gharra.”
A loud sigh filled the room, and everyone looked back at Ferer. “You all forget every time we conquer a city. With the combined Pyranni townspeople and our forces, supplies are scarce. Our men have taken control of all the storerooms housed in the city, but the grain is depleting at a quick rate. Remember, the Pyranni warriors destroyed all their crops. Normally, those crops would supply the city with the food we need. We only have what we brought with us across the land, what is left on the ships, and what was already stored in Gharra.”
Lukar murmured, “Replenishing the supplies is not an option, then.”
“No,” Ferer agreed. “As soon as we arrived outside Gharra’s walls, the men were put on rations. We took over the city without our own stores of food to add to the city’s. The circumstances behind this invasion differed greatly from our previous incursions. In the past, we took the time to pillage what we needed during our march to the stronghold.”
“And once we landed here in Pyran, we marched toward Gharra with almost no stops,” Lukar said with a nod. “How long do we have before food becomes an issue for the army?”
Ferer stared up at the chamber’s ceiling while he considered what he knew. “A week, maybe two at most. Many of the townspeople have already turned to theft of the storerooms. Some of the guards have caught several thieves red-handed. They’ve since been taken care of, but it is a growing problem as you well know. I have increased the number of guards around the storerooms.”
Lukar nodded his head in acknowledgement of the warning. They had successfully taken the city in the shortest time possible, but long-term control of the kingdom was precarious. The revival of trade routes for food and other commodities was necessary before the entire Pyranni population died from starvation. He could practically taste the fear running through the city. The people knew he ruled with a brutal hand, and Pyrannis hesitated to rebel. It was now time to implement the return to routine life, especially if he wanted his own army to survive the coming weeks.
Lukar almost lost his train of thought when his stomach twinged, but he stayed on task. Readjusting the rings on his fingers to give himself more time, he regarded the other men sitting around the wide table.
“Talk to the merchants. Pay coin to compensate for lost animals and other equipment used to carry items to and from the city. Until trade is reestablished, add more guards to the stores if necessary.” He put his finger on the detailed map of Gharra, pointing to a home that had been emptied to make room for his wounded. “Update me on the casualties we suffered during the siege and battle. How do they fare?”
Duxon spoke up for the first time, “We lost many of the men to infection. For others, the wounds were simply too grievous to survive. The men who received less serious wounds have already returned to their duties. There are others who have yet to recover.”
Colm added, “Once they were well enough to move from the battlefield, the remaining wounded have been moved to one of the smaller barracks within the castle grounds. Our healers are doing what they can.”
Thoughts of blood and wounds twisted Lukar’s lips into a macabre smile, and he fisted the chair’s armrest until the wood creaked. He repeated his oath. He’d feed from no one from his own kingdom. At one time, his oath seemed superfluous. Lukar had once been repelled by the idea of eating the flesh of someone he knew. Now, the oath was all that held him back. His hunger had long since passed those moral shackles. It worried him that he might turn against the men sitting within this room. Many of the men on his war council were his friends long before they rebelled against Morrich the Brutal’s regime.
His eye caught Ferer and Tair shifting in their seats. The look in their eyes flickered with hunger. Lukar made a mental note to watch them. He was not the only one who struggled with Semnac’s blessing, and some might succumb to their cravings despite their oaths. His army was not for his or their daily sacrifices.
Unaware that the silence had stretched out while he stashed away his hunger, Lukar nodded at Tair. “What have your spies learned?”
Tair shoved his hair behind his shoulder and edged his chair closer to the table. “One ship has returned so far. They didn’t return with a paka, but a Kurite was captured. With little effort on Harto’s part, they’ve turned her into an asset. I’ve yet to interrogate her, but she’s already given some useful information regarding the Kurites.
Colm interrupted, “She’s willing to betray her people?”
Duxon grinned and said before Tair could respond, “There is always someone who’s willing to turn traitor for either coin or to save his skin.”
Tair shrugged. “From what Harto discovered, she has reasons that has nothing to do with coin.”
Lukar’s next question was cut off by a brief knock. One of the guards stuck his head in and said, “Word has come to the castle that there’s a large commotion in the streets.”
“Where?” Colm asked. The entire gathering pushed their chairs back and focused on the messenger. A few of the men brushed their hands across their weapon from habit. Lukar was not the only one lusting for a battle. They all craved the smell and taste of blood, whether in battle or otherwise.
The guard cleared his throat. “From the little said, my lord, the officers’ residence district is the most likely.”
Everyone looked to Lukar for orders. Curiosity made him shake his head. Instead of handing the task to another, he’d go. “We are done for now. Tair, come with me. Everyone else, follow through on the orders you already have. Meet here tomorrow at midday. We have a campaign to finish at Semnac’s behest.”
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Tair was right on his heels when they left the war room. “Do you think the Pyrannis have staged an uprising?”
Taking the stairs two at a time, Lukar snorted. “Have you been into the city in the last few weeks?”
“No, My King,” Tair said cheerfully. “Torturing Pyrannis for information has taken me all day and night.” The man whistled the end of a short battle chant, and the tune, along with the tread of their feet, carried down the long hallway.
Lukar glanced back at the warrior. “It is as I expected.” He nodded his head toward the main part of the city. “If you had, you’d find that Gharra is filled with people too frightened and subdued to plan any rebellion.” Once they reached the courtyard, he jogged toward the main gate, ignoring the guards surrounding him.
“Too bad, My King. A battle would break the monotony of our stay. Aside from the torture, boredom reigns. I hope Kureto presents me with a suitable challenge. My skills are atrophying as we speak.”
Lukar smiled at the man’s morose tone but held up a hand to quieten Tair. Drawing on the power that Semnac bequeathed him, he expanded his hearing past the bounds of normal range. Shouts in the Malirran language and the sound of a scuffle reached him.
Making sure he pinpointed the right direction, Lukar nodded his head toward the street. “That way.”
Tair dropped his cheerful façade and raised his head, sniffing the air. “My King, I smell blood on the wind.”
Even though his guards surrounded him, Lukar drew his sword. Like Tair, he itched for a fight. Semnac constantly whispered in his ear to invade Kureto, but he refused to put his men in more danger than necessary. Leaving Gharra vulnerable by not ensuring his permanent reign would be foolhardy. Many of his men had died during the siege of Gharra; Lukar would not let their deaths be in vain.
Turning the last corner, Lukar came across the small crowd in the middle of the street. The distinct sounds of metal hitting shields and weapons separated themselves from the general hubbub.
A woman’s piercing cackle made every man with him pause for half a heartbeat. A female was at the center of the skirmish? Lukar’s eyebrow rose of its own accord. It wasn’t what he expected to hear. They were weak creatures. His fingers twitched around his sword. His guards raised their shields in preparation of an attack.
As they reached the crowd, he watched in amazement as a single woman took on well-trained Malirran warriors without fear. Her fighting was reminiscent of a feral animal. There was no method to her attack, but it was ferocious, bloody, and chilling. The woman’s laughter bounced off the stone walls around them before drifting up into the night sky. No Malirran watching joined in the fight to assist the already engaged warriors.
Spooked. His men were spooked.
Finally, she was the only one left standing, which surprised Lukar despite seeing her unorthodox technique. He pushed his guards aside, so he could step closer, training his Goddess-blessed eyesight on the peculiar female. For once, Semnac was silent, as if she too was curious about the creature. The Goddess’s interest gave him extra incentive to tread carefully.
Lukar studied the woman. Her blood-splattered face was a mask of evil. Intelligence lurked in her eyes, but the savagery overpowered any humanity the woman might have once had.
In a word, she was untamable.
He had never come across a woman such as this. For all her short stature, her wild stare unnerved him. She bled from a number of cuts, but the female acted as if she felt none of them. Even though her feet were planted firmly on the ground, the woman’s body never stopped weaving, and the sinuous grace showcased her slim physique.
Lukar licked his lips. For the first time since the battle for Gharra, he desired someone for more than blood and food.
It was a struggle, but Lukar turned away from the female and looked at the warrior in charge.
“Who is she?” he demanded, though he thought he already knew.
Harto bowed low. “This is the Kurite woman we captured near the Kureto shoreline, King Lukar.”
Lukar’s gaze traveled over the spy under Tair’s command. The minute tightening around the man’s eyes confirmed the warrior’s guilt. Lukar knew full well the terror his smile evoked. At the sight of his teeth, every warrior in the vicinity took a step back.
“If this woman was under guard, how is it she escaped?” Although his tone was soft, non-threatening, the man’s swallow was loud in the sudden quiet aside from the woman’s rantings interspersed with cackles.
“My King, she killed the guard.”
“Yes,” Lukar nodded, “she did.” Lukar gestured in the direction the woman had taken upon her escape. “I imagine she has killed a number of other men as well.”
His fierce stare never wavered, causing the stoic warrior to drop his gaze to his feet—a gesture that screamed his submission to his king. The involuntary action pleased Lukar, but it didn’t lessen the intensity of his gaze.
The woman’s rambling was gaining volume, and its effect on his men was not lost on him. “Tair,” he called, “how many men have died by her hand?”
Tair turned from talking to another warrior. “My King, the exact toll is unknown. As there may be more men that haven’t been found, patrols are still combing the streets.” He waved a hand to where the woman stood with a pile of bodies surrounding her. “I can hear two warriors still breathing, though they will soon join their brothers.”
Lukar’s lips thinned. He turned to study the woman again. “Who is she?” he murmured.
Misunderstanding the purpose of his question, Harto bowed again, lower this time. “She held grievances against her people. She provided us with some information regarding the Tal’Ai.”
He didn’t take his eyes off the woman. “Did she? Or did she provide what she thought you wanted to hear?” Lukar motioned the twenty warriors standing on the street toward the woman. “Capture her. Do not kill her. Take her to the castle and lock her in a cell. Put four men on her.”
Lukar snapped his hand out and wrapped his hand around Harto’s throat, yanking him closer. Whispering in the man’s ear, he said, “And you have a report to give me, and it better satisfy my curiosity. Otherwise, you may be the first Malirran under my dominion I sacrifice to Semnac.”
Harto’s eyes widened with terror, and he stopped breathing. The heady stench of fear made Lukar tremble with anticipation. Suppressing his craving with his willpower alone, he tossed the warrior aside.
Lukar watched with interest while the woman fought until she was taken down, outnumbered. Her howls and snarls continued, and one of the men holding her down flinched, then crumbled to his side. She wasn’t going to stop, and the longer this took, the greater the chance the Pyrannis would see this as a weakness.
By morning, the rumor about one woman singlehandedly striking down Malirrans would spread through the city, and no matter the exact number killed, the count would grow with each retelling.
He growled, “End this, now.”
Tair nodded before he burst forward, using the speed Semnac had bestowed upon them, and knocked the woman unconscious with the flat of his blade. The street quieted without the unhinged woman’s racket. Two warriors hefted her between them and marched toward the castle without a backward glance. Six more men surrounded them, their focus on their captive’s every move.
“Harto,” Tair commanded, his disapproving gaze on his subordinate, “when you reported two days ago, there was no mention of this female’s ability.” The threat in Tair’s next sentence was unmistakable. “I’m interested to hear how such a woman came to your attention.”
“My lord, the woman is the same one I held on my ship, but… not.”
“How—”
“Tair,” Lukar ordered, “not here.” This was neither the time nor the place for an interrogation. His guards all faced outward, protecting him from danger. At his words, he saw some of their tension recede.
Both Tair and Harto bowed, but his councilor added, “My apologies, King Lukar. With your leave, perhaps we should convene to a more appropriate location.”