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LENGTH: Full Novel Cover art (c) Amber Moon 2003 (s&h not included in price)
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Secret of the Kiah
© copyright by Kathleen Garnsey
Prologue
Planet Zanthus Annual-cycle 2216 "Tie him between those two trees," Damek said. "He will pay for his refusal." Rydor held his head high and prepared himself for his father’s wrath. If he died on his sixteenth birthday, so be it, but he would never kill an old man to secure his right of passage into adulthood. It may be custom to kill the helpless to make room for the virile, but he would not be a part of the senseless, Voltran ritual. Two warriors grabbed him, one on each side, tying one end of the rough rope around his wrist, securing the other ends around the trees. The ropes were pulled so tight his arms felt as if they would separate from his body. He bit his lower lip to stifle a scream. Tighter, inch by inch, the men pulled until blood seeped from beneath the bindings and slowly trickled down his arms. "You are no longer my son!" Damek Celon raised the whip in his hand and unleashed it across Rydor's chest. "You disgrace me, your ruler, and your people. You're not fit to be a Voltran warrior." Rydor lost count of how many times the whip made contact with his chest, but he held his head high, facing his accusers with honor. He felt the sticky warmth of blood ooze from his wounds, the satisfied look on his father’s face permanently seared into his memory. His chest burned as welt after welt swelled then bled, but it was his soul that cried betrayal. A hand grasped his hair and jerked his head back. The razor sharp blade of a cutter rested against his forehead, and he knew it was his younger brother's turn to inflict punishment. He felt the painful pull as the irritating hacking sound of Turic’s cutter ripped through his hair. Out the corner of his eye he watched long, dark strands fall to the dirt. While the tribe witnessed his humiliation, he fell into an abyss of emptiness. Rydor had always known he wasn't his father's favored son. Now he had no father, no brother, no home. Rydor held his breath as every warrior in the tribe inflicted whatever punishment they deemed appropriate. Some whipped his back, others used their cutters to slice his arms, legs, and feet. He refused to buckle under their cruelty, cry out in pain, or wretch at the metallic taste of his own blood. Fingers of darkness clutched his heart. His mind and body knew only death would release him. Rydor Celon, first born son of ruler Damek Celon, a disgrace to his people, would pass into the depths of the damned, and not one tear would be shed-—not for a coward. "Enough! He's not to die in the presence of warriors. Cut him down. Take him to Spirit Mountain and leave him for the Semitas to feast upon, and may the souls of the damned claim him." Damek turned and walked toward Turic. "Come Turic, you're the only son I have now. We will celebrate according to custom when we rid ourselves of a coward." Rydor’s eyes were badly swollen and clouded with blood, but he managed a glimpse through narrow slits and saw his father and brother look over their shoulders and heard their sardonic laugh before they turned their backs to the sight of his pathetic, battered, dying body. Turic smiled at his father. "As it should be. We only have room for warriors." "Even though you're an annual-cycle younger, at fifteen, you're twice the man Rydor could ever be. His conscience would never permit him to become a warrior. He was weak." Damek slapped Turic on the back. "You will serve me proud in the future. Our time is near." "For what?" "To control every inch of Zanthus. But first you must begin your training, for it is you who will represent the Voltrans in the Ultimate Battle."
Chapter One
Planet Zanthus Annual-cycle 2232
"Shayla, please, listen to me." Ruler Nuri sat behind his desk. "It is written. It’s your duty." Shayla shook her head. "You are the leader of the Zared Tribe, and far more qualified than I to choose the warrior fit to become Kiah Master." "It was preordained by our forefathers that only the first born offspring of the highest ruling council member can decide who will represent their tribe in the Ultimate Battle. They must either fight, or choose a warrior to fight for them. And that is you, my beloved daughter." "Because I am a woman, I cannot fight. The elders won't even allow me to rule as my heritage dictates when the time comes, so why would they trust me to choose the man who is to be our salvation?" "Because it has been dictated by our ancestors." Nuri ran his fingers through his hair. "You cannot deny our laws." "I cannot." The words stuck in her throat. Shayla was sworn to obey the elders and the word of her father. Yet something inside her said no Zared warrior would be capable of wielding the power of the Kiah. "At noon every eligible male in our tribe will assemble in the main courtyard for your inspection." Nuri stood and walked to his daughter, placing his hands on her shoulders. "This will be your greatest service to our people." Shayla swallowed hard. The overwhelming importance of her choice induced a fear she'd never known. If she made the wrong decision it would be the last service her people would need. Failure meant a fate worse than death as every man, woman and child would become slaves to the victor. "I will do my duty." Nuri smiled. "That's all I ask." * * * High noon arrived and one virile male after another grasped the Kiah rod in his hands, closed his eyes, and willed power into the black crystal length. None changed its color, none made it sing, none made it move. None. It was written only the first born male of a family possessed the powers necessary to wield the Kiah. She wished the forefathers had given some clue as to what function the rod served, and what qualities she needed to look for in a Kiah Master. The last man stepped up and took the rod from her outstretched hands and repeated the words, "I am Kiah Master, I am worthy." Shayla held her breath as she studied the warrior named Eaton Merrick, the man her father had planned to announce as her future life-mate until the Voltrans' challenge put a stop to everyday concerns. Dark blond hair rested on the wide shoulders of Eaton’s gray uniform, his green eyes fixed on her. He cared about her, he'd told her so, but her feelings for him were no different than for any other friend. She did not desire him in any way, and the thought of sharing his bed was not a pleasant one. She couldn't imagine having his child, or spending the rest of her life with him. Eaton was no different than the rest of the men her father considered. They all wanted the position afforded them by marriage to the ruler's daughter. Eaton struggled with the Kiah, gripping it tighter and tighter. As she predicted, he elicited not a sound, not a glow, nothing. Since the Kiah had never been used, no one knew exactly what to expect, but the sound of silence became more deafening than the roar of a raging storm. Shayla took the rod from the embarrassed warrior who then joined his failed comrades. She inhaled deeply, contemplating the meaning of her next words as if they were a death sentence to all. "I, Shayla D'Par, first born of Ruler Nuri of the Zared Tribe, will find a Kiah Master to defend us in the Ultimate Battle." The crowd roared, but she detected disappointment in their voices because she had found no Zared Warrior worthy. Every member of the tribe knew the Kiah had mystical powers, yet no Zared man had been able to ignite the magic of the crystal. They were doomed if she couldn’t find a Kiah Master in time. She turned slowly, entered the palace and walked silently to her room. The search for a Kiah Master would take her from her home in Terita to the Badlands, the only place left to search since every Zared male had been summoned here today. Only criminals and men who had no tribe loyalty lived there. Not a promising place to find a worthy warrior, but there was no choice. She couldn't ask a Quelan, they were looking for their own Master, and a Voltran was out of the question. The Voltrans were enemy to both the Zared and Quelan Tribes. The journey ahead would be fraught with danger and laced with disappointment. If she failed to find this unknown warrior she could never return to her people, her father. . .her home. * * * Rydor paced the confines of his cave. His senses seemed unbalanced in a manner he'd never experienced before. He glanced at Una, but the Semita lay calm, her claws curled, her big eyes half-closed, her breathing slow. How could the mountain cat remain so placid when he felt the tides of change coursing through his veins? It was an unsettling feeling, a foreign sensation he couldn't describe, but he had no one to describe it to even if he could. He'd lived alone on Spirit Mountain since he was left for dead sixteen annual-cycles ago. His only companion was Una, the Semita who saved his life. Of course there were frequent visits by Olin, the mysterious wizard who appeared at will and left even quicker. Where was Olin when he needed him? Olin had taught him to commune with nature, listen to the animals, and to respect the voices in his head that seemed to know more than he did. He said those voices were his guides and teachers, but at the moment they were silent. He felt as alone as he had that fateful night, strung between two trees, his very life force being beaten from his body. "Rydor, my boy, you're upset." He spun as a white translucent cloud turned to a solid form before his eyes. Olin's aged body and gray hair materialized into the torchlight of the cave, his deep purple robe blowing in a breeze that settled with the haze. "I was wondering when you'd show up." "I had to, I heard you screaming my name. What has caused that troubled look on your face?" "I can't explain it, there are no words." Rydor poured a glass of wine for his mentor. "May I touch your mind?" "It's the only way you'll understand." Rydor felt a faint tickle in his head as the only man he trusted read his thoughts and feelings. It was like the most delicate feather of the smallest bird, floating on air, then gently fluttering to the ground. Olin nodded. "I knew you'd feel it. The time has come to begin your training." He took the wine from Rydor's outstretched hand. "Sit, my boy. This could take some time." "Your voice sounds grave. Have I done something?" "It's not you, Rydor, it's the Voltra Tribe. Your father, Ruler Damek Celon, has initiated the Ultimate Battle sequence, and nothing can stop it. The vault in the temple has been opened and the Kiah rods have been distributed, one to each of the three tribes." "I have no father. How dare you speak his name! Nothing that man does concerns me. I belong to no tribe." "Easy, Rydor. I know how you feel, and I've respected that all these annual-cycles, but you cannot escape your destiny." "Destiny? Have you gone mad?" Olin sipped his wine and studied Rydor. "You will be a part of the Ultimate Battle whether you like it or not. Some things cannot be changed." "I will not fight. I'm a coward, remember?" "Your bravery is unmatched on this planet, Rydor." "You mean untested, don't you?" He watched the wizened old man smile. "And so it will remain." "Since Una and I found you near death, have we ever let you down, or asked anything of you?" "No. But I ask nothing. I expect nothing." "I know, and you're about the most stubborn pupil I've worked with in the last two-hundred annual-cycles." "How old are you?" He watched Olin chuckle, his long gray beard bouncing up and down. Olin claimed to be as old as time, and Rydor was beginning to believe him. "Rydor, this is serious. You are going to have a visitor who will seek what only you can give." "Is this more of your esoteric mumbling?" Rydor downed the rest of his wine and set the cup on the wooden table. "It may seem enigmatic to you, but the very existence of this planet lies in your hands." It was Rydor's turn to laugh. "You've lost your mind, Olin. I'm the outcast, the coward. I couldn’t even save myself let alone an entire planet!" "You're no coward, and you'll have the chance to prove it--to yourself and all of Zanthus." "I have no desire to prove anything." Olin shook his head. "You are a stubborn one." He held out his cup. "May I have more wine?" Rydor poured more purple liquid into the cup. Olin's hand shook, but the twinkle in his lavender eyes held the joy of a child and wisdom of the ages. "Tell me more of my destiny." "It's not for me to tell, it's for you to discover." "Must you always speak without saying anything?" "Patience, my boy. All will make itself known when the time is right. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to rest." Olin turned into a puff of smoke that disappeared along with him. Rydor smiled. He was fond of Olin. Actually, he loved the old man. Olin was more of a father to him than the man who. . . He refused to think about the people he once called his family. They were cruel and inhuman. He needed no one. No visitors, no friends, no family. He was more than happy on his mountain living alone. * * * Shayla climbed the weathered wooden steps to the primitive inn while her guards secured the solorair cruiser and carried in the luggage. What she hoped to find here, besides a place to rest, she didn't know, but it was time to stop for the night. They had been on the road three sun- cycles and learned nothing to lead her to a capable warrior. All the desolate desert had provided was a vast array of creatures she'd rather not think about. Rumor held there were several wanderers who might suit her purpose, but she’d yet to find them. Rumor also held the men were loners and only made their presence known when they wanted to be found. She hated all the false leads and gossip she'd been fed. Swallowing fear, she gathered her courage and entered the Blackheart Inn. She approached the barkeep and took a seat on the tall stool. "I'd like a fruit cooler, please." The man behind the bar looked rough. He had a shaggy beard, dirty, shoulder-length brown hair, wore clothes that hadn't been cleaned in some time and smelled of liquor. "Traveling alone, Missy?" the bartender inquired as he set a frothy pink drink on the counter. "No." Shayla met his gaze and took a deep breath. "I'm looking for a warrior." He laughed. "All women are looking for a warrior." "I'm looking for one with special abilities." She took a sip, not surprised to find the drink laced with alcohol. "Will I do?" He laughed obnoxiously and reached for her hand. She quickly pulled her arm back and forced a smile. It wouldn't serve any purpose to anger him, so she choked back a few choice words. Out the corner of her eye, she saw her guards step inside with the luggage which renewed her confidence. "And what special abilities do you possess?" Shayla asked, guessing his answer. "I'm good with the ladies, if you know what I mean." He licked his lips. "Give me a try. You won't be disappointed." Shayla swallowed hard. "I'm not seeking a companion for my bed. I'm looking for. . ." "You don't fool me, Missy. I know exactly what a woman like you wants." Arden, her personal guard, rushed to her side. He grabbed the man by the collar and lifted him halfway over the bar. She wanted to laugh at the look of fearful surprise on the wimpy man's face, but she knew better. "Don't ever talk to the lady like that again. Now tell her what she wants to know, or you'll have me to deal with. What shall it be?" "I. . .I. . .I'll be glad to help the little lady. Just put me down." Arden released the scraggly barkeep. He straightened his filthy clothes and groaned. Shayla was glad her father insisted on sending two guards along, even though she'd thought differently at the time. "Tell me about the mercenary warriors that live in the hills." "There's three of 'em, and they ain't too friendly." "I'm not looking to make friends." "Suit yourself, Missy, but don't say I didn't warn ya." Shayla took another sip of her drink. "Just tell me where to find them." "Take the road east, the one that leads into the hills. You won't have to look for 'em, they'll find you." "Thank you. Now, I'd like two rooms for the night." The barkeep mumbled his price, which was highway robbery considering the shabby accommodations. She paid him since these were the only rooms within a hundred megators, then took the keys from his shaky hand and headed for the stairs at the back of the dimly lit room. Every patron stared as they walked through the crowd. They were out of their element in the Badlands. These people were outcasts from each of the three tribes, and it was obvious why most of them had left, or been thrown out. She ignored their crude whistles and rude comments. It was only for one night, she reminded herself as she climbed the rickety steps. * * * It was no wonder the frontier wilderness had been dubbed the Badlands. How did the inhabitants live without the comforts afforded in each of the three main cities? No power, no fine buildings, no decent bathing facilities, and no form of communications. The early morning sun warmed the inside of the cruiser as it skimmed the rocky, foreboding surface. Even the desolate scenery was a welcome relief from the primitive, dingy room where she spent the night. The dinner she'd ordered had been even worse. Small Badlands towns were all the same. The journey seemed endless. Megator by megator the craft skimmed the red rocky surface toward the forbidden hills of the Badlands, a place no civilized tribesman would enter. The climate was too hot beneath the sun and too cold under the moon. It was a place suited only for reptiles and outlaws, both of which flourished in abundance. She hadn't trusted the slimy barkeep, yet she was compelled to follow his suggestion. Anything to find a Kiah Master. Apprehension of the unknown spread through her. Arden and Rance were seasoned warriors and had warned her they sensed a trap. She had to admit, this lead seemed shaky at best. The guards straightened in their seats which caused her pulse to quicken. "Princess D'Par," Arden began, "there they are." "Slow down and stop a good distance in front of them. I don't want them to think we're a threat." "As you wish." The craft pulled to a stop and the engine shut down. Both warriors got out and Arden opened the winged door for her. She exited the cruiser and walked to the front of the vehicle, her guards right behind her. Her fingers tightly gripped the leather case that held the Kiah rod, and she hoped the three ominous men she approached couldn't see her hand shaking. "That's far enough!" one of the men called. "State your business." "I represent the Zared Tribe. I'm looking for a Kiah Master." The three men closed in and stopped a few feet from them. "We've heard of your quest. How much does the job pay?" Shayla couldn't believe they were concerned about credits when the well being of the entire planet was at stake. "Before we discuss compensation, I must know if any of you are worthy." "We are superior warriors," the silver-haired man replied. "Will you take the test?" Shayla opened the leather case and removed the black crystal rod and held it toward him. He took it from her and grasped it firmly with both hands. "You know the words?" She watched him nod and silently prayed he was not the man she sought. "I am Kiah Master, I am worthy," he repeated. Relief spread through her when nothing happened. He looked shocked, as if he’d been sure he was the chosen one. "Give it to me." The second man grabbed it from his friend and held it in his hands. He said the words and stared in disbelief as he too failed to elicit a response in the crystal. Disappointed, he handed it to the last man, who tried with all his might to will magic into the black rod, but again, nothing. He raised the smooth, round crystal length over his head and threw it to the ground. Shayla gasped in horror as the Kiah rod struck a rock. She bent to pick it up, horrified to find it broken in half. With a piece in each hand, angry tears welled in her eyes. "How could you!" "We do whatever we like! And if you don't get out of our hills, we'll do the same to you and those two sissy guards of yours." "You're animals!" The words had no sooner left her lips when the three men charged. One man grabbed Arden, one attacked Rance, but the silver-haired one tackled her to the ground. He pinned her shoulders against the gravel and pressed his mouth to hers. The rancid odor of sweat and dirty skin assailed her senses. Her stomach tightened and bile rose in her throat as he straddled her. She dropped both pieces of the Kiah and beat against his chest with her fists. The animal ripped down the top of her tunic and began to slobber on her skin. Her mind screamed for help but not a sound escaped her lips. She was trapped. She tried to poke his eyes, but he threw his head back and laughed in her face, his foul breath sickening her even more. She could see nothing except his blackened teeth and disgusting grin. She managed to pull her knee up, making swift, hard contact with his groin. He bellowed obscenities, but his hold never wavered. She'd die before she let him violate her. When he reached for the band of her pants, she lifted her head and bit his arm, the taste of his blood making her sick stomach wretch. He raised his fist. She closed her eyes, prepared for the worst. Instead she heard a mournful grunt and felt his weight lift. Her eyes flew open and relief flooded her when Arden and Rance pulled him away, quickly rendering him unconscious. "Are you all right, Princess?" Arden asked, gasping for breath. "I will be as soon as we get out of here." Shayla grabbed the broken rod, shoved it into the case and jumped into the back of the cruiser while Arden and Rance got in the front, the quiet hum of the engine music to her ears. She pulled a bag from behind the seat, found a clean tunic and quickly changed, brushing small rocks and gravel from her skin. Arden turned toward Shayla. "Are you sure you're all right?" "I'm fine. I can't thank you enough for saving my life." "It's our pleasure, Princess." He smiled. "Where to?" Her mind was a blur. She picked up the map from the seat next to her and studied it. "Where indeed? I wish I knew. From the looks of it, North is the only direction we haven't tried, so head that way. We'll get rooms when we get to Dartron. It can't be any worse than where we've been." "Let's hope for the best," Rance said, turning north. She sighed, wondering if she'd ever see her father or home again. * * * Rydor stared at the vast wilderness that surrounded him. He'd always loved Spirit Mountain, but he had the unmistakable feeling it would soon be invaded. No man had ever breached Olin's protective spells, yet the premonition was real. Una growled and crouched in an attack position. He smiled. She was after dinner, and he felt sorry for her unsuspecting prey. The lone call of a Perdair circling gracefully overhead drew his gaze. Talons silhouetted against the evening sky hung long and sharp, a reminder of a past encounter he'd once had with one of the large, dangerous birds. Even the serenity of his mountain couldn't dispel the feeling deep within him that something was inexplicably wrong. There were times his animal instincts served him well, and times like these that tormented him. The danger was real, like a thick black cloud, but he could make no sense of his strange feelings. He shrugged and tried to release the agonizing thoughts into the wind, to be forgotten forever. In a flash, Una sprang from the rock below him and pounced on a Maletice. Fur flew in every direction as the large rodent struggled to his death. Semitas loved Maletice, and he was glad they did, because he didn't care for the nasty scavengers. "Rydor?" He turned to face a puff of smoke that materialized into Olin. "And to what do I owe this visit?" "Just wanted to check and see if you were ready for your visitor." "I’ve never had a visitor, except for you, and I don't plan to have one now." "My, my. Being a little testy, don't you think?" Olin chuckled. "Be that as it may, you'd better get ready. A good host is always prepared." "I'm not a good host, nor do I need to be. I have no one to impress, remember?" "You have no faith. We need to work on that." Olin stepped closer. "Have you been doing the breathing exercises I prescribed?" "And the physical tests you want me to conquer." Rydor studied the small man before him and wondered just what he was up to. Olin had a reason for everything, and Rydor knew better than to question his insight. "Good. I also want you to work on your meditations. You must learn to transcend physical reality and float in the fourth dimension." "Sounds dangerous, floating in the unknown." "We only fear that which we don't understand. But of course you know that." "You have taught me well." "Ah yes, but I'm far from done, my boy. Now, get to work, you don't have much time." "Time for what?" "Patience." Olin laughed. "Don’t forget to work on your patience too. You're going to need a lot soon." "Say what you mean for once." Olin turned into a puff of smoke before his eyes and he heard him whisper, "I said what I meant," as his form faded from view. He'd never known Olin to be so secretive. It was his manner to be reticent, but he was acting strange, even for a wizard. Then again, how could he judge anyone's behavior? He hadn't seen another man, other than Olin, in sixteen annual-cycles. Or woman, he reminded himself. There were times he longed for a woman's soft flesh against his. Someone to hold during long, cold nights, someone to love. Love. What did he know about love? Only that it was a painful emotion he never wanted to experience again. He had made one exception; Olin, but the man was indestructible, and his principles were higher than any mortal man could ever hope to attain. Life on Spirit Mountain was solitary, but good. He was content to have nature as his home, and Una by his side. She may not be as comforting as a woman, but he didn't have to do a thing to please her. The mountain cat was faithful and protective, and that was all a man could expect. * * * Dartron was another primitive wilderness town with little to offer a traveler, but the Snake Eye Inn was slightly better than the Blackheart. The people seemed a bit cleaner, but no friendlier, except for the leers and jeers of men who passed her table. Shayla had to keep Arden and Rance from fighting twice, and they hadn't even been served dinner yet. Arden shifted nervously in his chair and stared at her as if she'd break. He was overly attentive, a good trait for a personal guard, but she was beginning to feel smothered after ten sun-cycles of nonstop attention. She longed for her room in the palace, a hot bath in her large, sunken marble tub, and to share a good dinner with her father. Her mind returned to the broken Kiah rod. How could she tell her people she'd failed to protect it? Even if she found a Kiah Master, how could he wield the power with the rod in two pieces? She wanted to hide from the world and cry for days, but reality wouldn't permit such behavior. "Princess? Did you hear me?" "I'm sorry, what did you say?" "What is the plan for tomorrow?" "Arden," Rance interrupted, "it's not for us to question." "It's all right. You both have a right to know." She studied their worried faces. They were handsome warriors, and she wished with all her heart one of them had proven worthy. "There is no plan." An attractive young woman, dressed in a very short, low-cut green shift, brought their dinner. Shayla suppressed a smile when the waitress ran her hands over Arden's shoulders. She could swear she saw him blush. She took a bite of the stew and wrinkled her nose. It wasn't what she was used to, but she'd had worse. A second server strode over to Rance and wiggled her way onto his lap. There was no mistake about the look on his face, he liked it all too much. "May I have a word with you?" Shayla turned toward the voice behind her and saw an old man with gray hair that hung way past his shoulders and a long gray beard. He wore a funny purple hat and matching floor-length robe, but he appeared harmless. "Sure." "Please, join me at my table." She picked up her stew and her wine and followed him to the back corner and took a seat at the small, round table. He sat across from her and she couldn't help staring. For a man his age he had few wrinkles, despite all the gray hair on his face and head. His velvet hat was full, fluffy, and sagged in all the right places. For some reason she felt at ease and instinctively knew she could trust the man. "What is it you wanted?" "I know you are a seeker, and I'd like to help." "What is it that I'm seeking?" she asked, wondering what he could possibly know of her quest. "A Kiah Master, of course," he said with a smile. "And where might I find him?" "On Spirit Mountain. But you must go alone." "It's too dangerous without my guards. We've encountered trouble and I was attacked. Without them I wouldn't be here speaking to you." "Trust me, you will be safe. Travel by Esroth and take enough food for three sun-cycles. You will also need warm clothes for the frigid nights." "More wine, Missy?" Shayla turned toward the waitress with glass in hand. When her gaze returned to the old man her jaw dropped. He was gone! She looked at the server. "Did you see the old man leave?" "I didn't see anyone, Missy. I thought you moved to get away from them," she said, nodding her head toward the two warriors with women on their laps. "You had to see him, he was sitting right there," Shayla said, pointing to the empty chair in the corner. "Maybe I shouldn't have given you more wine. Seems you've had enough." The waitress laughed at her as if she'd lost her mind. She returned to her original table and took a deep breath. "Arden, Rance, dismiss your friends, we need to talk." They promptly obeyed. Shayla cleared her throat, trying to decide what she could tell them that they would believe. "Sorry, those two women—they just. . ." "That doesn't matter. I've learned where there may be a Kiah Master." "Let's go, right now," Rance said. "No. I will go alone in the morning." Arden bristled. "That's not possible. I swore an oath to your father to stay with you at all costs. You know how dangerous this mission has become." "This is different. If you go with me, I will never find him." "That's ridiculous. What difference could our presence make?" "The old man insisted I go alone, and I believe him." "No. Absolutely not," Arden reiterated, glancing around the room. "What old man?" "He's gone now." "I agree," Rance said, shaking his head. "We will not let you go by yourself." "You have no choice. My orders must be obeyed. You know that." "We're under orders from Ruler Nuri." "He's not in command here, I am. And neither of you will follow. Arden, I want you to secure an Esroth for me to ride, a comfortable saddle and saddlebags. Rance, you are to purchase enough food for three sun-cycles, also some warm clothes and a fur coat." Shayla eyed her guards. "I remind you, the supplies are only for me. You two will remain here until I return." "And what if you don't return?" Arden asked. "Then take the cruiser home and report to my Father." She reached into her pocket and handed them cash. In a town like Dartron, credit vouchers held little value. Shayla stood. "I want this taken care of as soon as possible. I leave at dawn."
Shayla stepped outside the Snake-Eye Inn in the pre-dawn darkness and found an Esroth tied to the porch rail. She approached the large, brown animal slowly, wondering where Arden and Rance were. They hadn't answered the door when she knocked, but it was early. No doubt they'd spent the night with the two wenches who couldn’t keep their hands off them and were sleeping. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling they would follow her. They were the best guards the Zared tribe had to offer and were devoted to their duty, as well as their ruler. She could only hope to make her escape and lose them on the trail. The mysterious old man had been specific about going alone. Too much depended on finding a Kiah Master and time was her enemy. She could not fail. "Good boy," she said, patting the animal's sleek, long neck. As she slipped the Kiah Rod and her personal belongings into the saddlebags, she tried to remember the last time she'd ridden. It had been many annual-cycles ago, but she'd always loved the freedom she found on the back of the sure-footed animals, running through fields, the wind on her face, blowing through her hair. However, this wasn't a pleasure ride. She untied the Esroth, slipped the reigns over his head, placed her left foot in the stirrup and hopped, swinging her right leg up to clear the saddle. Instead of finding herself on smooth leather, she landed on the rough, rocky ground. She stood, dusted off the seat of her pants and glanced around. Thank the Gods no one witnessed her disgrace. Getting on the tall beasts had always been a problem. Rather than admit she was too short to mount gracefully, she'd always insisted they were too tall. Shayla led the Esroth in front of the inn's wooden stairs. Standing on the second step, she tried mounting again, pleased to find success. With a gentle nudge the animal trotted off down the dirt road. Arden and Rance picked a fine cooperative mount and a comfortable saddle, yet a rider had to earn the trust of an Esroth, but once the bonding took place they were devoted. After a graceful canter out of town, Shayla slowed to a walk and stopped behind a large boulder and waited. She reached in front of her and smoothed the fine hair of the animals neck, gently reassuring herself and the Esroth they belonged together. She surveyed the area. If her hunch was right, Rance and Arden should be here before her Esroth caught his breath. They could no more disobey her father’s orders than she could. The distant sound of thundering hooves verified her suspicions. Two riders flew past her at a dead run and she laughed to herself. There was no sense trying to hide from them. They were excellent trackers and wouldn't stop until they found her. She decided to simply saunter in their direction to teach them a lesson. It didn't take them long to backtrack. She heard their furious rantings long before they were close enough to reprimand. Worry and anger sparked in their determined eyes as they drew to a stop in front of her. "Don't ever do that again!" Arden yelled. "Do what? You're the ones who are disobeying orders." "We're here, and we're not leaving," Rance insisted. Arden straightened in the saddle. "Do you know you’re headed for Spirit Mountain?" He shook his head. "No man who has ever gone up there has come back." "I don't care what fables surround that mountain, I'm going." "It's not folklore, Princess, it's fact. There is an evil force. It's not safe." "And who told you about the folklore? Could it have been those two buxom waitresses who took your fancy?" Arden and Rance blushed, a rare sight for a warrior. "I'll take my chances." "We're going with you. It's our duty," Arden said. "Time's wasting, let’s go." She spurred her mount into a gallop and headed for the tall, tree covered mountain in the distance. The early morning sun peaked a hill to the west and spread its orange glow over the rocks and boulders of the flat, desolate valley. An eerie feeling began to form in the pit of her stomach that grew with each megator they traveled. There was a ghostly fog surrounding the base of Spirit Mountain that took on a supernatural glow as the sun's rays struggled to penetrate its density. The words of the old, disappearing man at the inn still rang in her ears. He had looked so kind and understanding, but she'd also seen a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. Was she going to Spirit Mountain simply out of desperation, or because she trusted the man who seemed to possess a wisdom she couldn't identify? Shayla's hand instinctively reached back to check the Kiah Rod. Her fingers touched the leather case, but she didn't feel as reassured as she had in the past. Even if that old man was right and she found a Kiah Master, what could he do with a broken crystal rod? It seemed hopeless, yet she couldn't turn back. Her people were counting on her, and she couldn't stand the thought of having to succumb to the demands of the Voltra Tribe should they be the victor. That was an outcome she'd give her life to avoid. "Princess!" Arden called. She pulled the Esroth to a halt, her guards stopping next to her. "What is it?" "Look." Arden pointed behind them. "We're being followed. Ride on ahead as fast as you can, we'll deal with whoever that is and catch up to you later." "But. . ." "Go Princess, you'll be safer on the mountain than you will be here." Arden reached over and swatted Shayla's Esroth on the hindquarters. The hooves of her mount pounded the ground as he broke into a run. Glancing back, she saw three riders approaching her guards and prayed for Arden’s and Rance’s safety. She knew as Zared warriors they were sworn to give their lives to save hers, but the thought struck terror in her heart. Her father's expectant face as he said good-bye flashed through her mind. Failure was not an option. She urged the Esroth faster toward the fog ahead, desperate to reach the protection it afforded. The moment she entered the mist, her lungs began to burn. The cloud reached for her with icy tendrils. The odor was sweet, yet not suitable to breathe. She buried her nose deep into the high collar of her fur parka and rode on, praying the fog would lift. Time seemed suspended as she forced her way through the noxious haze. Even the sure-footed Esroth began to stumble, unable to see where his next step would take him. No wonder rumor held no man ever came out alive, they probably never even set foot on the mountain. Mournful cries sliced through the smoky nebula. It sounded as if thousands of voices called to her, all expressing agony and pain. Was it a trick of some kind to scare the fainthearted? She hated to admit she found it effective. The Esroth tried to turn tail and run, but she held the reins steady and kicked his flanks. Her mount snorted, trying to clear his nostrils of the sickly-sweet fumes that burned with each breath. The scared animal began to shake, a sure sign he was about to bolt. She dismounted, grabbed the reins and led her groaning mount deeper into the never-ending fog. When would it cease? There was no trail--no way out. Large rocks and tall trees became visible only when she bumped into them. How could any fog be so thick? It was as if nothing existed and she had fallen into another realm of existence. The animal protested, pulling her back, throwing his head and stomping the ground. She rubbed his neck. "It's okay, boy. We're almost through. Come on, baby, come on," she urged, pulling the reins, forging up the steep incline. Thank the Gods she was going up a slope or she’d have no sense of direction at all. If she didn't find fresh air soon she would die. Breathing through the parka helped, but her lungs felt as if they'd explode from the pressure of the heavy mist that held its steadfast death-grip. Ahead she spotted a white glow. What it was didn't matter. She concentrated on the light, trudging forward, determined not to let the swirling mist consume her. The gossamer glow was like a presence, another entity, and she heard a voice say, "You're almost free, don't stop." Several more steps put the fog behind her, and she fell to her knees in a grassy meadow that stretched before her. The reins slipped from her hand as the Esroth pulled free. All her energy was gone. She couldn't chase the animal if he wanted to run. A smile crossed her face when the majestic Esroth dropped to the ground and rolled in the luxurious greenery. Shayla laid on her back and took long, cleansing breaths, the bright sun in the cloudless yellow-tinged sky warming her face. She glanced back at the fog that hung like a tall gray wall. Whoever had guided her through had her eternal thanks. Spirit Mountain was indeed a mystery, and she was only at the base. What secrets would unfold? How many more perils awaited? Fresh air and the warmth of the orange sun revived her. She sat up, surveying the countryside. Wild flowers grew in clumps throughout the tall grass, creating a colorful quilt of deep purples and reds. The Esroth lay close by, his long legs furled beneath him, leisurely chewing bits of sweet grass as if he didn't have a care in the world. It always amazed her how quickly animals adapted. She wished she could do the same. "Come on, boy, time to go." The hairy, four-legged beast rose and shook his body several times, dumping the contents of the saddlebags. As she picked her clothes from the ground and stuffed them into the leather pouches, she stared at the one last item lying in the grass--the Kiah Rod. Carefully she picked it up and studied the black case. Was she wasting her time looking for a Kiah Master now that the crystal had been broken? "Continue. Have faith." Shayla spun in a circle. Where had that voice come from? She wasn't losing her mind, she heard a man's voice, yet she was alone in the pasture, except for her Esroth and a flock of birds that landed in a nearby tree. It sounded like the same voice she'd heard in the fog. Probably one of the spirits rumored to inhabit the mountain. She shook her head, placed the case securely in the saddlebag and led her Esroth to a large rock. Thank the Gods for a short, flat boulder from which to mount the tall animal. She nudged him into a trot and headed up the slight incline toward a steeper slope. * * * Rydor stared at Olin seated across from him at the small table, his shadow dancing in the torchlight on the stone walls of the cave he called home. "Answer me, Olin. Who could possibly breech the protective spells you've placed around the mountain?" "Someone very special." "That's all you're going to tell me?" Olin chuckled and leaned back in his chair. "What more can I say? You refuse to listen." "I've been listening, but you haven't been making sense, talking about scriptures from the Gods, and things that don't concern me." "Aah, but you're wrong. These matters do concern you, that's the part you refuse to hear." "I will not swear allegiance to any tribe, and I refuse to fight." "It's a battle, not a fight." Olin smiled. "Are you ready to listen?" "Battle, fight, what's the difference." "You fight with your body, but you battle with your mind, and in that there is a world of difference." Rydor stood and began to pace. Apprehension crawled across his skin and sank into his bones, a sensation he didn't like. "I feel. . ." He stopped himself, not sure whether he should confirm Olin's predictions, yet he knew it was inevitable. "Feel what, my boy?" He stared out the opening of the cave, watching the late afternoon storm clouds turn dark and threatening. "Someone is on my mountain." "Good, good. Now we're making progress. Can you visualize this person?" He closed his eyes and took several long, deep breaths, clearing his mind, concentrating on the presence he'd sensed for the last two and a half sun-cycles. Whoever it was seemed too far away to get a clear picture, but then he'd only practiced with animals, never a person. It was easier to picture animals, since their intentions were clear, and he was more familiar with their vibrations. "Tell me what you see," Olin coaxed. "I see an Esroth with a light-haired rider, but I can't make out the face. Whoever it is seems small, not much of a warrior." "So you don't see this person as a threat?" "No. I could defend myself with little effort should the occasion arise." "Are you admitting you would fight?" Rydor turned abruptly. "I said defend." He walked back into the inner chamber and returned to his seat at the table, resting his forearms on the wood, not looking up when Olin joined him. "I've seen what fighting does to men, and I know how cruel they can be." He pulled open the front laces of his leather tunic. "Aren't these scars proof enough?" "The scars on your body, Rydor, are not the problem. It's the scars on your soul you must heal." "Some things are best forgotten and never spoken of again." "How can you mend old hatreds if you refuse to speak of the terrible wrong that has been done to you? Surely you want to leave one day, make your mark in the world, find a life-mate, have children." He shook his head. "Those things mean nothing to me. I will live and die on this mountain, and the world will be better for it." "Next you're going to tell me you should have perished sixteen annual-cycles ago when you were left for dead." "It would have been easier." Olin smiled. "But you've never taken the easy way out, have you?" "Nor will I." "Then it's settled." Olin stood. "That's what I've been waiting to hear." "What? Nothing has been settled." Rydor banged his fist on the table. "What do you mean, Olin?" "You told me all I need to know." In a flash Olin turned to a puff of smoke and disappeared before his eyes, a sight he was used to, but it never ceased to amaze him how the wizard did his tricks, and how he always left before a conversation had ended. A loud clap of thunder pulled him back to the opening of the cave where he watched bright flashes of lightning. The sheer, two megator drop from the entrance to the valley below was an awesome sight, and he'd wondered more than once how long it would take him to fall to his death should he take the wrong step. Rydor had been left at the foot of the mountain by his tribe to die a painful death. Why had he been spared? What purpose could he possibly serve living alone his entire life, only to perish without another person knowing he existed? All three tribes of Zanthus talked about the gods, but he didn't believe in them. It wasn't the gods who saved him, it was Una and Olin. He turned to gaze at the golden-haired cat who stared with dark, intent eyes, as if she sensed his gloomy mood. "Come, Una. We have hunting to do." The silly cat turned her head away from him. "You will not melt in the rain, but you will surely starve." He headed toward the back of the cave to use the hidden passageway that led to a small, tree lined meadow just below the summit. Una ran past him, leaping over rocks, suddenly anxious for the hunt. Rydor picked up his bow and cutter from their concealed resting-place by the exit and stepped into the rain. He stopped dead in his tracks, sensing danger. A cry for help echoed in his mind. Was it his own thoughts, or had he heard someone? With caution he headed down the mountain, following his hunter's instincts. Olin warned he'd have a visitor, and he'd seen a figure on an Esroth, yet he wasn't anxious to meet a stranger, or share his home with another man, even for a night. The call for help grew louder, but the voice he heard in his mind sounded soft, almost feminine. Whoever called to him was desperate, and he was the only person who could offer assistance. * * * Shayla led the Esroth up the steep, rocky slope, barely able to keep her footing in the pouring rain. May the Gods help her. Then she remembered what the warriors had told her once after returning from a dangerous mission in the mountains. She patted the wet animal as she made her way behind him. With one hand she firmly grasped the long, wiry-haired tail and swatted his rump with the other. The Esroth trudged upward, dragging her along behind. It was certainly easier than trying to lead the animal and having him step on the heels of her boots, but she couldn't keep pace. She stumbled over fallen limbs and slippery, moss covered rocks. Was there any human life to be found on Spirit Mountain? Thunder roared, and a bolt of lightning cracked through a tree in front of them, causing the Esroth to panic. "Easy, boy!" Her words had no effect. The large animal bolted and lunged up the hill out of sight, leaving her face down in the mud and pinus needles. She opened her mouth to scream, but her words were silenced by the rain that fell so hard all she managed was a watery gurgle. How she wished Rance and Arden were here. All she could do was pray they were safe. Reaching for anything to hang on to, Shayla pushed thoughts of a heroic rescue from her mind. She was alone, the way the strange old man instructed, and she feared she might die on this god-forsaken mountain--cold, wet and very alone. If she had four legs like the Esroth, she might make it up the slope. Instead she slipped back faster than she could forge ahead. She grabbed the base of a small tree and held on for dear life as water gushed toward her from above. She looked up only to find an endless, impossible climb ahead of her. Cold, stinging raindrops pelted her face with increased intensity as she slid farther down the slope, barely maintaining her grip on the end of the young tree. The first sun-cycle on Spirit Mountain brought gale force winds that knocked her to the ground. Yesterday swarms of insects threatened to consume her. Her skin still itched from their painful stings and bites. She glanced behind her to the rising creek and sharp rocks below. If she lost her grip, she'd fall to her death. The temperature dropped several more degrees and her body shivered violently. Where was the top? She didn't know if she could hold on much longer. The young sapling began to uproot in the saturated earth. More icy torrents flowed toward her, washing the ground from beneath her feet. The small tree could take no more, her weight pulling it from the saturated earth. She careened down the cliff, her hand frozen around the uprooted bark. She screamed at the top of her lungs, but there was no one to hear her desperate cry. She closed her eyes and prayed as she bounced over rocks and fallen trees, slipping into the clutches of nature, tumbling into the gorge below, the fear of failure even greater than the physical pain that wracked her body. * * * Rydor ran toward the scream that echoed in the crevasse he knew all too well. Many animals had fallen to their death in that very place, unable to escape. He slowed his pace as he approached the loose shale cliff. Even Una wouldn't carelessly bound over this ground. He eased to the edge and peered down, his heart pounding at the sight of a small body sprawled face down in a stream that grew swifter by the moment. If he didn't hurry, the body would be swept away toward the falls. "Una, go," he commanded. The cat was careful and agile as she hurried down the steep, rain-washed mountainside. Rydor followed, but he couldn't match Una's pace. As he half-slid, half-walked, he watched his faithful companion pull the body from the water, the parka firmly between her teeth. She swished her tail, her way of telling him the prey was still alive. Una stood guard as he made his way toward the uninvited visitor. In a flash he knelt and rolled still the body over. His jaw dropped at the sight of a woman. She had the long, blond hair he had seen in his vision, but nothing prepared him for a woman of her beauty. His fingers found the artery on the side of her neck. Her pulse was strong. He let out the breath he’d been holding. She would live. Una bent and licked her face. Rydor pried a small tree from her hand then pulled her to a sitting position. She coughed and retched water. It was a wonder she hadn't drowned. Her eyes fluttered open and focused on the cat. He heard her startled gasp before she fell unconscious. Seeing Una was a shocking sight since the giant mountain cats were known as killers. He remembered having the same reaction one fateful night long ago. Rydor brushed leaves and gravel from her face. Even through the mud her delicate, flawless features were far too pale. He cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand, the simple act causing his heart to race. He hadn’t touched another human being in over sixteen annual-cycles, which had to be the cause of his reaction, yet it didn’t explain the odd warmth that spread through his body. If the woman was to survive she needed immediate shelter and warm blankets. The torrential rain had turned the creek into a rapidly rising torrent. He picked the small woman up and cradled her in his arms. The feel of her body against his stirred something inside him, something he'd thought long dead. He ignored the odd feelings and headed up the steep hill. Why hadn't Olin warned him his visitor was a woman? He wouldn't have believed Olin if he'd said a woman would venture up a dangerous mountain and pass through three protective spells to find him. The real question only she could answer—why? The megators home never seemed longer. He'd been forced to carry her over his shoulder part of the way because of the rough terrain. He suspected her whimpers were from bruised or broken ribs. She’d fallen quite a distance judging from the hole in the slope where the tree had once been. If he had not stepped in the indentation and lost his balance he might never have noticed. Rydor entered the cave and hurried to his pallet. She shivered in his arms as he laid her down, and he knew he had to undress her quickly. He untied the laces that held the parka closed then pulled her arms free and tossed the soggy fur garment on the floor. Her clothes were just as wet. He reached for her tunic, but hesitated, his hands shaking. Her top was molded to her body and the unmistakable swell of her breasts caught his eye. He shouldn't stare, but he hadn't seen a woman since he was a boy. Memories and reality were two different matters entirely Una lay beside the bed and swished her tail. He patted his cat on the head. "Yes, she's alive. Very much alive," he said, watching the rise and fall of her chest, focusing on hardened nipples all too visible under the wet fabric. He took a deep breath, grabbed the bottom of her tunic and pulled it up over her head. Beads of water clung to her rosy nipples and glistened in the flickering torchlight. The urge feel the softness of her skin made his fingertips burn. She was so beautiful, so perfect, so tempting. His masculinity reacted and he took a step back. He had no right to look at her, and even less right to touch her. He opened a wooden box and removed a cloth to dry her. A slight moan escaped her lips when he spread the soft towel over her ice-cold skin and patted, careful not to touch the fullness of her breasts. An unfamiliar warmth spread through his body. A man could only handle so much temptation before he lost control. His mind relived his first experience with a woman a month before his sixteenth birthday, but he'd felt nothing like this. This woman stirred potent, threatening lust. It was common knowledge that Voltran warriors had stronger mating urges than other men on the planet, but he never expected an instant response so intense it rocked the very core of him. Her pinkish-white skin indicated she didn't see much sun. Who was this mysterious beauty that lay on his pallet? He pulled the heavy fur cover up then reached under to remove the towel, not trusting himself to look at her nakedness again. Rydor removed her boots then tugged at her leggings, making sure the cover stayed in place. She deserved her privacy and he needed to retain his sanity. The fabric was stubborn, but he managed to tug the wet garment down her legs, all too aware of feminine curves beneath his hands. He smiled as Una jumped on the foot of the bed and curled up, making herself quite at home. "Being a bit possessive, aren't you?" He laughed at her half-growl half-purr. "Guard her well, she looks fragile. What are we going to do with her, girl?" He wished the mountain cat could answer, because he certainly didn't know what he was to do with a beautiful woman in his bed, alone on a mountain. He knew what he wanted to do with her, but that was out of the question. Rydor Celon may have been branded a coward, but he had ethics and would not take advantage of any woman. He picked up her wet clothes, carried them to the main chamber and hung them on the tree rack which had never held garments that small. "And the fun begins." Rydor turned at the sound of Olin's voice and sent him a scowl as he followed the wizard back to his sleeping alcove. "Fun? I believe you have a twisted mind, Olin." "This beautiful creature arrives and your humor deserts you?" Olin chuckled. "This is no laughing matter. I cannot keep a woman here!" "You can, and you will. She is the visitor I warned you about, and she has come to seek your services." "Services? There is only one thing I could do for her, and I'm quite sure she hasn't come for that reason. Now tell me, wise man, why is she here?" "I think that is for her to say." Olin stopped by the pallet and touched her forehead. There were times Olin could be most infuriating, and this was one of those times. "She has a fever." "She'll be fine." Olin smiled as he stepped back. "She's in good hands." He suddenly questioned Olin's judgement. "She needs a healer to quell the fever." "You are all she needs." "Indeed." He stared at the sleeping woman and wondered if she would feel the same when she woke. How had she braved the forces of Spirit Mountain when she was so small and unarmed? Vicious beasts roamed freely, the terrain was rugged, and Olin's spells had never been breached before. "Rydor," Olin began, "you must promise to seriously consider her request." "Explain why I should." "You have an old score to settle, and she is here to provide the opportunity to prove yourself." Olin stepped to Rydor's side and laid his hand on his student's shoulder. "All I ask is that you follow your heart and open your mind. Contemplate her words carefully before making a decision that affects far more than you could ever imagine. Can you do that?" "If it is your wish." "It is. Have faith in yourself and in her." Rydor stared into the depths of the wizard's violet eyes. Olin had asked nothing of him since they'd met, and he owed him more than he could ever repay. "I will do as you request." "You're a good man, Rydor. I knew I could count on you." "I have only agreed to listen." "Aah, but you also agreed to follow your heart, and that is a far greater promise." The wizard waved his arm and disappeared into a puff of smoke. As usual, Olin left him much to contemplate. He knew Olin's words held deeper meaning than their simplistic indication, they always did. Why was Olin so insistent in regards to the woman in his bed? He knelt beside the pallet and pressed his lips to her forehead, the technique his mother used when checking for fever, but the gesture caused Una to growl. "You overprotective hunk of fur." He straightened and Una began to purr. "You are a strange Semita." He'd always wondered why Una, unlike the rest of her species, took to humans, but he was grateful she did. Una saved his life, and now the life of this woman. There was a special quality to the blond-haired beauty before him. Even unconscious she possessed an undeniable air of royalty with an angelic glow that made her appear surreal. He wet a piece of cloth and laid it across her forehead. Did she have mystical powers like Olin? If she did she wouldn't be lying here struggling for breath and burning with fever. He wet another cloth and rubbed it over her bare shoulders, but no lower. Something about her frightened him, and he knew exactly what that something was—carnal attraction. A mesmerizing fascination pulled at him, stirring passion deep within his soul, causing thoughts he had no right to have about a woman he didn’t know. She was the embodiment of the term his people used when they referred to a beautiful, tempting woman--Sutae. It meant, "My precious love", and she was precious. Her shiny golden hair, still damp, spread provocatively across his pillow. He inhaled her sweet feminine scent which he could only liken to wildflowers in the meadows. Little did Olin know he would listen to anything she had to say, a thought that sent shivers through him. Was he vulnerable because he was lonely, craving another being to talk to, or because she was the most delectable creature on the face of the planet? Whatever the reason, he would have to use every technique he knew for self-control to stop his masculine cravings for the woman who so boldly intruded on his life.
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