Savage Storm: Rys Rising Book II

The trail inclined up an increasingly steep slope until they finally reached the top of the hill. An austere grove of pines capped the hill in striking contrast to the leafy trees all around. The thick trunks of the old pines reached high and sparse limbs spread their thin evergreen fingers toward the sky. The pines seemed to be a stubborn remnant from a lost age when the land had been different.
Demeda wiped the sweat from her forehead with a loose end of her headscarf and peered into the trees. A man appeared on the trail and beyond him she saw a camp within the grove. A few horses grazed around its perimeter.
“Have you been to this place before?” she whispered to Mei.
“No,” Mei said while looking up into the pines that loomed overhead with vague disapproval. “But I think I’ve seen this grove from a distance. It’s called Daler’s Hill.”
The name was a little familiar to Demeda, who believed she had heard the name in a folk song. When she asked Mei about it, Mei reminded her that Daler was a hero who had served Jayshem in the days when men rose above the animals. Here, according to the songs, Daler had been commanded to give up his firstborn to Jayshem in sacrifice.
“Did he do it?” Demeda said.
“Some songs say yes, some no,” Mei said. “But the truth is that the gods, especially Jayshem, often make us pay a high price to keep living.”
Remembering the baby boy that Mei had given up to flee for her life, Demeda realized that her friend lived with the reality of bitter sacrifice. Whether the mythic Daler had slain his firstborn for god on this hill or not, Demeda worried that the location bore an ill omen.
They entered the glen where a couple dozen Kez warriors lounged. Some were napping; others tended to weapons and repaired gear. Demeda swept her eyes among them, searching for Amar. She did not see him, but then her intuition quivered along her spine and she looked behind her.
Amar stood on the trail she had just traveled. His hair was a little longer and hanging over the shaved sides of his head. Ulet’s old armor sparkled upon Amar’s chest, marking him as a true lord of these wild lands. His intense eyes stared at Demeda as if she tempted him all over again.
Demeda slid off the rump of the horse so fast that she startled the animal. Mei kept control and calmed the horse with a soothing word and a pat to the shoulder, but she shot an annoyed look at her friend.
“Sorry,” Demeda muttered and took a few hesitant steps toward Amar. She wanted to fly toward him and wrap her arms around his neck, but she did not. All the Kez were watching, and a palpable uncertainty clogged the glen. Would Amar take up with this woman again or pack her off to the waiting Temulanka as he should?
Amar came into the camp. He nodded appreciatively to Tedi, Geddo, and Muka. Demeda waited as Amar came closer to her. She was trembling when he stopped face-to-face with her.
“Demeda,” he whispered, almost to himself. She was relieved to hear him utter her name with his softly savage voice. She noted happily that he regarded her with some sort of wistful turmoil. He was working hard to stifle his emotions, but his eyes burned warmly and the stern set of his lips melted. Demeda knew that he wanted her. He wanted to take her again and again and damn the consequences. Excitement banged through her body and raced down her inner thighs.
Demeda wished that she looked nicer. Her old blue dress was worn at its seams and she was grubby after a night of camping. But Amar had never seen her properly groomed and dressed anyway.
Amar reached out and touched the Infoh badge hanging around her neck. His fingers pressed thoughtfully into the edges of the amber hawk. Suddenly afraid that she offended him, Demeda raised her hands to take it off and return it, but he halted her.
“You can keep it,” he said. Shedding the trinket from Gendahl’s life was for the best. The only remnant he needed from his days as the Lord of the Lin Tohs was his sword.
“Thank you, Lord Amar,” she said. This was a good sign.
He took her hand and led her into the heart of the camp. Demeda glanced at Mei, who dismounted and followed. They stopped at a smoldering cooking fire tended by a man that Demeda recognized from her abduction. Another slight man was rolled up in a bedroll napping, but he roused himself upon the arrival of the women.
“Urlen,” Demeda cried brightly upon recognizing the oddball outlaw. His non-threatening friendliness was welcome.
“Princess, I am glad to see you well,” Urlen said. He stood up and straightened the net of bronze plates over his torso and wiggled uncomfortably until his clothing hung right again.
He squinted at Mei as if on the verge of recognizing her, so Demeda introduced her.
Mei grinned. “I tended you one day not long after your initiation,” she explained and Urlen nodded. That explained why he found her familiar but failed to be aware of her name. His recuperation from the initiation had been a long one and the first days had been spotty for him.
“Walk with me,” Amar said and tugged on Demeda’s hand. With a commanding look, he conveyed that Mei was to stay behind. After coughing, Urlen warmly offered her a seat on his bedroll, but she hesitated. Mei was obviously worried about Demeda, but reluctant to voice her concerns.
“I will be fine,” Demeda said to her although neither of them really believed it. Demeda was painfully eager to walk alone with Amar no matter the risk. He might be about to promptly turn her over to the Temulanka, but still she would go.
They walked out of the glen and into the trees. Demeda’s heart pounded faster with each step. She was once more within his aura of radiant strength where masculine appeal and lurking brutality mingled into an intoxicating force that she wanted both to submit to and control.