Daughter of Light (Follower of the Word Book 1) Read online

At the end of the counter stood a short, portly man. It had been some time since Lore had been to Mostyn. What was the innkeeper’s name? Jacen? Jardin? The man turned around. Jarl.

  Jarl’s face lit up. He made his way down to the end of the counter. “Captain Lore, what a pleasure.”

  “Good evening, Jarl,” Lore said. A bunch of voices rose behind him in raucous laughter. Lore turned. Hazy smoke hung over the large room. A cheery fire burned across the hall in the large fireplace. Everywhere he looked, almost every table was filled. Lore turned back to Jarl. “Pretty busy this evening.”

  “Aye. The militia is moving out. A lot of unrest at Hershaw Pass . The last Temanin Commander tried to take the pass. Killed a lot of good northern men. We killed a lot of theirs too. Don’t know why they think they can take the pass. We've held it for hundreds of years. But it seems the empire isn’t ready to quit yet. So more men are needed. Tonight they are enjoying a few last creature comforts before heading out. But I’m sure you know all this.”

  “Yes. I saw the call go out for the militia.” Lore turned and looked over the room again. At least half the tables were filled with men. Most were young and strong looking. There were a couple of older men with salt-and-pepper hair. And one boy who looked barely old enough to grow a beard. All wore the blue uniform. Only some would live through the conflict.

  “So what’ll it be?” Jarl said.

  Lore turned back around. A heavy feeling settled across his chest. “A room, a meal, and a mug of ale.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jarl placed the tattered rag he had in his hand down on the counter. Then he paused as his eyes lit on someone. “Would you mind me asking a favor of you, Captain?”

  “Sure, just as long as it does not interfere with my duties.”

  “See that woman over there?” Jarl pointed toward the far side of the room near the fireplace.

  Lore looked over. It took him a moment to spot her, but once he did, she stood out amongst all the other people. She was young and beautiful, out of place compared to the other guests this evening. She had long fair hair pulled into a thick braid that hung over one shoulder. Her skin was smooth with a hint of color on her cheeks. For a moment she looked up, and he caught sight of large eyes beneath dark lashes, unlike the rest of her pale complexion. In all, he had never seen anyone like her.

  “Yes,” Lore said.

  “I don’t expect any trouble tonight. But sometimes when the men start drinking, things can get out of hand. And the lady there is traveling alone. So would you mind if I placed you in a room next to hers, just to be safe?”

  “Certainly.” Lore turned back toward Jarl.

  “Good, then let’s head up.”

  Lore settled in the room across from the young woman. Then he headed back downstairs. The young woman was still at the far table, finishing her dinner. Lore noticed many of the men stealing glances in her direction. Some were even bold enough to stare outright, hoping to catch her attention. But she seemed oblivious to all this.

  The woman pushed her bowl aside and stood, stretching as she did so. Even in traveling pants and dark shirt, she looked feminine in every way. She stepped over the bench and headed across the room. More heads turned her way. She appeared to have no idea she was attracting so much attention.

  As Lore went to sit down, he saw the young woman stop. He waited and watched the exchange between the young woman and the table full of militiamen. His hand stole toward his sword. Then he saw the glint of metal as she briefly moved her hand.

  So she was a swordsman, was she? And she wore a sword glove too. Not too common nowadays. The men around the table settled down, and the young woman continued toward the stairs, then disappeared moments later.

  Jarl had nothing to worry about, Lore thought. He sat down at a table with two other men. She was probably a mercenary, albeit a young one. It would explain why she carried a sword and traveled alone. If so, she could likely take care of herself.

  The noise level in the common room rose. Men began to chat amongst themselves. Lore overheard a couple conversations and knew the men were talking about her. A woman hurried over minutes later with his dinner.

  “Thank you,” Lore said. He grabbed his spoon and dug into the hot food.

  For the next ten minutes, Lore did nothing but consume the meal. Later, his stomach filled, Lore drained his second mug. He didn’t feel much like talking. Lore just watched the people around him. The men were becoming more rowdy, having had several drinks already that evening. One broke out in song, which the others picked up immediately. His heart went out to all the young men gathered, knowing that soon they would be facing war.

  With this sobering thought in mind, he slowly stood. Lore made his way across the room and headed up the stairs toward his room.

  As he prepared for bed, his mind went over the next few days. Arrive in the White City, deliver Avonai’s response, and find a varor for Lady Astrea, unless Jedrek Mar’s daughter had chosen to accept Lord Gaynor’s offer.

  Sometimes Lord Gaynor could be so stubborn. Who knew anything about Jedrek’s daughter? Far better for a varor to be chosen from one of the daughters of the guardsmen. But in the end, it was Lord Gaynor’s decision.

  Lore sighed at the thought of training some young woman who probably had no idea how to even handle a sword. Dropping down on the small bed, he pulled the pillow under his head and blew out the candle.

  • • •

  Rowen jerked awake. The rattling noise she had heard in her sleep seemed louder now. She shifted in her bed and glanced at the door, which she had barricaded with the small nightstand. A faint light shone beneath the furniture. The nightstand trembled. A jolt of surprise burned away the last of her fatigue. The rattling noise was the door.

  Someone was trying to get in.

  Rowen stole away from the bed toward her pack in the corner. If she could just reach her sword—

  The door burst opened, sending the nightstand sliding across the wooden floor.

  Rowen fell to her knees and scrambled to find her sword, cursing her foolishness for not keeping it near her.

  “There you are.” It was a man’s voice.

  Before Rowen could turn, a hand covered her mouth. Another one snaked around her middle, pinning her arms to her sides. The man’s fingers muffled her shout for help.

  Her assailant laughed, his breath whispering across her cheek. “No one can hear you, sweetie.”

  Rowen gagged at the rancid smell of his breath. She tried to bite his hand, but his hold across her mouth kept her teeth clenched together.

  He stood, hauling her up with him, his arm still tightly wound around her arms and middle. Rowen struggled against his grip and turned her face, trying to break either hold. But the man behind her was too strong.

  He let go of her head and forcefully swung her around, gripping her by her forearms. Rowen opened her mouth to scream, but he pushed his mouth down on hers.

  Repulsed and terrified, she jerked her head back and screamed, straining against his hold.

  The man teetered for a moment, then pulled her back against him. His hand clamped painfully down on her mouth again. “No more of that.” He brought his face close to hers.

  Rowen stared into black eyes. She frantically searched for a way to escape. She looked down at the wrist clamped across her mouth and realized, as the man began to push her back toward the bed, that his hand was bare.

  She could touch him.

  For one second Rowen wavered, having sworn she would never touch another with her mark. Then her legs hit the end of the bed. Petrified, Rowen reached for her glove and fumbled it off. Then she reached up and gripped the man’s wrist.

  Heat burst inside her. It spread across her chest and raced down her arm toward the mark on her hand.

  The man stopped and stared at her. “What-what are you doing to me?” He let go of her and tried to move back. “Don’t touch me!” He tried to wrench himself free of her grasp.

  But Rowen could not remove her ha
nd. Images began to flash through her mind. Heavy, burning emotions passed through her body. She tried to pull away, sick by what she saw, but the heat from her palm continued to enter the man. By now, he was shouting at her and shielding his eyes.

  Rowen saw…everything.

  Then the images began to fade, and her hand dropped.

  The man shouted at her and backed away. Rowen could no longer see him. She fell to the floor and retched, the contents of her stomach splattering across the wood. Never had she experienced such darkness. Never had she thought a man could have such thoughts about a woman.

  Vaguely she heard others enter her room. Rowen threw herself across the room and grappled for her sword. This time, she found it.

  She pulled it out of its sheath, turned around, and held it out in front of her. People scurried around her, startling her every few seconds by their movement. She shook her head in an effort to clear her mind. It took her a moment to realize that the man who had tried to take her was being hauled out of the room by two other men.

  “Are you all right?”

  Rowen swung her sword toward the voice. A man crouched a couple feet from her, just barely out of reach of her sword. He held a candle in his hand.

  “Are you all right?” he said again.

  Rowen squinted at him. His face moved in and out of focus.

  “She’s in shock,” she heard him say to someone over his shoulder.

  Her mind finally caught up with her. The danger was over. The man who had tried to hurt her was gone. Or was it? What about this man? Or the other two still in her room?

  “I’m…I’m all right,” she said. But she kept her sword pointed at the man before her.

  The man looked past her sword to her face. “Everything is fine. You’re safe now.”

  Rowen lowered her sword slightly and stared at the man. He looked back. Sandy brown hair hung near green eyes. A tiny white scar followed his clean-shaven jaw. She looked at the hand he offered. His hand was brown from time in the sun with short-clipped nails.

  “Trust me.”

  She wanted to. She dropped her sword a little more.

  “Listen to the man,” one of the other men said across the room. “You can trust the captain.”

  Captain? Rowen looked back at the man. He still had his hand extended toward her. He wasn’t dressed in uniform. But he reminded her a little of her father.

  Rowen took a deep breath and made her decision. She lowered her sword.

  “Here, take my hand,” he said.

  She kept her sword clutched in her right hand and grabbed his hand with her left.

  He helped her up off her knees. “I’m afraid your room is a mess. So I want to offer you my room for the night.”

  Rowen shook her head. “I couldn’t take your room. Where would you sleep?”

  “I’ll sleep in the corridor, next to the door.”

  “Next to the door?” The cold rush of fear returned.

  “I protect people for a living. You have nothing to fear from me.”

  Rowen looked for the other men, but they had already left. She turned back to the man before her. The others said she could trust him. Could she?

  He waited quietly, his warm hand still touching her fingertips.

  “All right,” she said finally. But she would keep her sword close.

  The man led her out of her room and across the hall. His room looked similar to hers except for his clothing that was strewn across the floor, and a large dark cloak that hung on the bedpost. The stranger walked in and began to collect his clothing and gear.

  Captain, Rowen thought again. She watched him move around the room. Was he one of the captains in the army?

  He finished gathering his stuff and came up to her. “If you need anything, I’ll be just outside the door.”

  Unsure of what to say, Rowen merely nodded. He walked past her and out to the hall. The door clicked softly behind him.

  Rowen glanced around the room, still feeling uneasy. The bed stood in the corner with grey wool blankets thrown back and the sheets wrinkled from use. A nightstand stood next to it. The stranger had left his candle lit on the nightstand. Over the bed was a small dark window.

  She crossed the room and picked up the candle. She searched the rest of the room and found nothing more but a little dust and a cobweb in one corner. She bent down and looked under the bed. Nothing. No one here but herself.

  Rowen placed the candle on the nightstand and her sword next to it. She reached over and pulled one of the wool blankets over the sheets. It felt odd to be sleeping in a bed some stranger had been using only minutes before. She hesitated, then climbed onto the bed. She pulled the top cover over her body and let out a long exhaustive sigh. Perhaps she didn’t care.

  Sleep, however, eluded her. Rowen stared up at the ceiling. The mental images she had caught while she’d held the man with her hand came trickling back. She watched through his eyes as he gazed at three women gathered at a round stone well… He sat on a stool in what looked like an inn and grabbed a young woman passing. He slowly let her hair down. She giggled, but Rowen knew what burned inside his heart…He watched a young blond girl play near the open doors of a barn…

  Rowen twisted around and buried her face into her pillow. She could feel his emotions now, and it sickened her. The images of his deeds kept rolling through her mind. Faster, faster. Woman after woman. Taken, violated. She squeezed her eyes shut. She was going to retch again. Please, someone, make it stop!

  The images and feelings began to fade away. Rowen slowly opened her eyes and stared at the pillow. She breathed hard, but didn’t dare move more. She was afraid the images would trigger again.

  She waited a minute longer. Nothing happened. She pushed herself up and stared at the pillow. The images did not return. Her shoulders slumped in relief.

  Rowen pushed back her hair from her forehead, and found that she’d been sweating. Her head hurt now. But at least she couldn’t see anything. She rolled down onto her side and laid her head on the pillow. She watched the flame dance above the candle. Slowly her heart returned to its normal beat.

  Her eye caught a shadow that moved across the thin stream of light below the door. Rowen tensed. She gripped the cover and held still. A shuffling sound came from the other side. She glanced at her sword, prepared to grab it.

  Something blocked out most of the light. The shuffling stopped a few seconds later. She thought she heard breathing on the other side of the door.

  Rowen reached past the blanket and touched the hilt of her sword. She would not be surprised this time. She would quickly run across the room and fling the door open before whoever was on the other side could do anything—

  Wait! Rowen let out her breath. She remembered now. The man whose room she now occupied said he was going to sleep outside the door.

  She still watched the door, ready to grab her sword if the man did anything. Seconds turned to minutes. She could barely hear his breathing now. Gradually she relaxed. The man could still be planning something, but fatigue held her mind and body. She could barely keep her eyes open. She would just have to trust him, for now.

  Rowen leaned over and blew out the candle. She curled up beneath the covers and watched the door again. He still did not move. Curiosity overtook her fear. Who was he? Why would he offer to sleep outside her door?

  Not all men are bad, she reminded herself. Her father had been kind. And Noland, for those couple of weeks after her illness. The stranger had said he protected people for a living. Yes, in a way the military did that.

  She closed her eyes. Somewhere along the edges of her mind she could still feel the images she’d seen in that man. But nothing came flashing back now. She curled her fingers over her marked palm and brought her hand up to her chin. She never wanted to be put in that situation again. A situation in which she was tempted to touch someone else.

  • • •

  Lore thanked those who had helped him subdue the drunken man, then he returned upsta
irs. It was not the first time he had slept on the floor in a hall. His job demanded that he protect those in his charge, even if it brought discomfort to himself. Many times he had guarded Lady Astrea’s room that way when she had traveled. But now Lady Astrea was a young woman, and a female varor would be much better than him or any other guard. Her varor could stay in her room with her.

  Jarl came up the stairs with a pillow and blanket in hand.

  “Captain, thank you so much.” He handed Lore the bedding. “With the militia in town, I’m afraid the inn has become more rowdy of late. But we haven’t had a problem until tonight. That poor young woman.”

  “I’m just glad I was nearby to help,” Lore said. “By the way, do you know where she’s heading?”

  “No,” Jarl said. “I never asked. But the war has been causing many people to move lately. Seen lots of families come through here on their way to Avonai.” Jarl ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I should be off to my own bed. I’ll sleep better tonight knowing you’re watching over the young woman. Anything else I can bring you?”

  Lore shook his head.

  “Then goodnight, Captain.” Jarl headed back downstairs.

  Lore placed the pillow and blanket on the floor and stretched out in front of the door. So what was her story? He shifted so he could see the crack at the bottom of the door. The candle was out, and there was no noise on the other side.

  Lore moved back onto his side. There was one thing about this evening that kept niggling at him. He had run into the young woman’s room expecting to pull some man off of her. He’d found a man, all right, but he’d been cowering in the corner, shouting something about his eyes and light. Lore had ignored his words at the time, furious to find the man in the young woman’s room at all. But now he wondered what the man had been talking about. Perhaps it was only the ale talking.

  Lore shifted again. His thoughts went from the man to the beautiful young woman. How did she do it? Somehow she had subdued her intruder before Lore had gotten there, although the state he had found her in was anything but what he’d expect to see in a victorious heroine. The way she had looked at him, her dark blue eyes wide with fear. No, not victorious at all.