Warrior's Touch (Deadly Touch book 2)
This Is War

Llew moved close to Jonas.

“Llew—” Jonas started.

“Let me protect you,” she murmured.

In truth, she was unsure who should place themselves in front of whom. He was still stronger than her, but they already knew he couldn’t defeat Braph. Whatever happened, Llew could heal. Besides, Turhmos still wanted her alive. She edged forward.

Hisham stepped backward, his sword raised and ready, as Braph moved forward.

“You know how this works, Llewella,” Braph purred. “If it were up to me, Turhmos would return Orinia to me, and you and Jonas could run off back to Quaver and live happily ever after. I think we both know that’s not going to happen, don’t we? And with Aris in the picture …” He shrugged and took the time to look troubled. “Llewella is of use to us. Jonas isn’t quite so much, anymore, but Turhmos will still have its show.” He turned to Hisham. “You, on the other hand …”

“I vowed to die for my country,” Hisham said.

“Yes. Fighting Aenuks. And what of your vow when you die protecting an Aenuk?”

In the glance Hisham afforded her, Llew saw none of the hostility that normally resided there. Replacing it was a new resolve.

“I’ve discovered a certain plasticity to the concept of right.” Hisham turned back to Braph. “And you, my man, are not it.” He had reached Jonas and Llew and placed himself between them and Braph.

Braph gave that infuriating smile he always did when he knew he was the most powerful man in the room. He flung out his whole arm, catching Hisham’s side and sending him flying with a strike reminiscent of Jonas’s Syakaran power. Then he held the hand before him, palm up, as if waiting for Llew to take it. He was from another planet if he thought she would. But then her hand was moving towards his and no matter what she did, even gripping her wrist with her other hand, it kept reaching out to him.

“You will come. And he will follow,” Braph said as a statement of fact. His fingers closed around hers and he turned to the bunker entrance.

“I thought this one wasn’t meant to give you as much power.”

“You’d be surprised—” Braph cut off as Jonas lunged at his back, a knife in hand. The knife skittered across the floor and Jonas stumbled back. “Don’t tempt me, Jonas. My brotherly affections only go so far.” He kept walking, Llew with him. “The Turhmos president has plans for you.”

Braph’s control only extended as far as Llew’s wrist. She dug her heels into the ground, but he kept walking, dragging her with him until she toppled, one hand still in his grasp, and only one to catch her fall. He kept on. She scrabbled to right herself before she was dragged along the floor.

Jonas grabbed her wrist and pulled, trying to add his weight to her efforts. Hisham joined him. Llew’s arm hurt and tingled in cycles as the men healed the damage they were doing. Jonas tried to peel her fingers from Braph’s, then Hisham had a turn, but nothing worked. Four hands gripped her forearm and pulled. She gritted her teeth against the pulsing pain. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She didn’t want to go with Braph. She tried not to, but she cried out in pain and frustration. And then they were at the bottom of the ladder. Braph released her, physically. Hisham and Jonas released her as if repelled, stumbling back, and Braph guided Llew to the steps, until her body took over, one step at a time, at his beckoning.

“As I was saying, you might be surprised how little power it takes to control you. Besides, I don’t plan to fly across a continent anytime soon.” He didn’t follow her up straight away. To Jonas and Hisham he said. “You’re out-numbered. Sooner or later, you’ll fall. If you want the chance to say goodbye, you’ll come up. Stay here and I can’t control what happens.” The bottom step struck a discordant tone under his boot. “The choice is yours.”

Calloused hands clasped Llew as she emerged topside. Turhmos troops crowded the narrow alley. They passed her along to where the main body of men waited.

Merrid crouched over Ard’s still form by the old house cows’ paddock. She looked up at Llew, her own face bloodied and bruised, while tears ran down her cheeks.

“Is he alive?” Llew asked. No one answered. “Let me heal them.”

“They are traitors,” one of the soldiers growled. “We don’t waste Aenuk magic on filth.”

“They are loyal to the Aenuk race and are more deserving than any of you lot.” Llew peered around at the hardened faces. “Besides, the only damage will be to their own fields—”

“If they’re not evicted.”

Llew spun to face Braph.

“Don’t,” she pleaded. “It’s all they’ve got. Please, let me heal them. I’ll use an Ajnai. It might reduce the damage.” A ripple ran through the tight-knit group. It was likely they knew the word, even if none of them had recognized the saplings they’d passed. “I won’t run.” Llew glanced at Braph’s device. The blood vial was nearly empty.

Braph held up another vial, full. Behind him, a soldier extracted more blood from his own vein.

Loud enough so even Jonas and Hisham should hear, and without breaking eye-contact with her, Braph said, “If my brother and his loyal puppy come up, then Llew may offer the farmers her services. If not, then we will just have to see how they fare on their own.” He looked over Llew’s shoulder to Merrid. “My guess is, not well.”

A silence settled over the mob. A few moments passed before a rush of movement announced Jonas’s surrender. Braph took the shift in attention as an opportunity to extract the nearly spent blood vial and replace it with the full. He handed the empty vial to another soldier already waiting with sleeve rolled up and syringe at the ready.

Jonas stumbled forward on a wave of shoves. Hisham, treated little better, followed not far behind.

“The Syakaran …” Braph pointed to his half-brother, as if the soldiers couldn’t recognize the highly popularized hero. “… is no longer a threat of any consequence.”

Jonas continued forwards, propelled by rough hands, showered in jeers. He disappeared into the crowd, tripped, was hauled up, shouted at, spat on.

Llew called to them to stop, leave him alone, but her words fell on deaf ears.

She kept losing sight of him. Every glance she managed was met with an expressionless stare. Jostled this way and that, his eyes never left her, except when he stumbled, or disappeared altogether. Every time he regained his feet, he sought her out. But he wasn’t asking for help or assigning blame. In this moment, all they had was their lives.

“Enough!” Braph bellowed and a hush descended immediately. His device returned; he was suddenly a worthy leader. Llew glared at that blasted device. When she looked up, Jonas mouthed, I’m sorry.

“This one we let live with the knowledge that he was once powerful. Believe me, it’s unpleasant.” Braph’s last words were lost in a cheer. He raised a hand to silence it. “Exact your revenge if you must but leave him alive. Your country still has plans for him.”

The reaction was swift. Jonas went down in the middle of a dozen soldiers. Llew felt sick. Again, she tried to fight free, but she was held firm.

“And this one—” Braph looked to Hisham. His hand lowered to his hip and came up, passing a Gaard to one of the men. “You know what to do,” he said, his voice low so it was possible Hisham hadn’t heard.

“No!” Llew called, but a new tide had already branched off, pushing Hisham towards the corral. “This is murder!”

“This is war,” Braph snapped as ropes were bound about Hisham and a fence post. “And he is the enemy.”

“That is murder!” she screeched.

Braph turned a strange smile on her. “You want me to let him run? Give him a chance? Very well.” He pushed his way through his men. A ripple of nervous laughter washed around her when Braph reached the captive. “Let him run!” Braph announced, driving an increase in his popularity. Across the satisfaction-hungry men, he grinned at Llew, and flashed the Gaard now reclaimed by his own hand. Freed, Hisham looked around at his audience, and paled at the raised weapon.

“Run, run,” Braph urged. “We want to see your celebrated, superior Karan speed.”

Hisham pushed his way through the Turhmos troops. Realizing that Braph had no plans to shoot him while he was still enmeshed in the crowd, he grabbed one of the soldiers and held him between himself and Braph.

Braph laughed and strode straight towards Hisham, Gaard raised and pointed at his head, troops sidled out of his way, smoothing his path.

“Run, little Karan. Or we will find out how much of a shield your brain is for the men behind you.”

A path cleared behind Hisham.

Braph reached Hisham and pressed the Gaard tip to his forehead.

“You can fall here, or you can test my long-distance aim. It’s up to you. Three …”

Hisham chose to attempt to cross deeper into the farmland, perhaps seeking eventual shelter.

“Two …

Braph let him jump the fence into the paddock Llew had half-killed.

The Gaard trembled in his long-held grip, the weapon trained at Hisham’s back.

“One.”

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Hisham made it a few more quick strides before a shower of red popped from his back and he went down, disappearing over a rise. A sob escaped Llew, and she strained against her captives.

Braph strode back to her, the sea of soldiers parting for him.

“Shall we?” He extended his whole arm, inviting her to make her way to Merrid.

Time to focus on what she could do something about. She couldn’t save Hisham. Merrid, and maybe Ard, she could.

“I need someone to shift him to the tree.” She ignored Braph’s offered arm and spoke in a steady tone, betraying none of her distress – she hoped.

Braph sent a small group of soldiers to subdue Merrid and shift Ard.

“He’s dead,” one of them said when he went to lift the farmer.

“Are you a doctor?” Llew snapped.

Braph gave her a wry look, which she returned with a pointed one of her own. No one would be declaring Ard dead until Llew had had the chance to bring him back. Unless she was too late.

Merrid joined the throng around Llew at one of her newly planted Ajnais. She didn’t know if the sapling could help, but at least the possibility had been enough to convince Braph to let her try.

She knelt by the tree, mid-thigh height and a little over an inch thick. She closed her eyes in a silent prayer, though she knew little of gods. She wrapped her fingers around the tiny trunk. The sapling gave an eager vibration, like a child allowed to help with dinner for the first time. Llew smiled, a warm glow of motherhood of a different kind going through her. She sent it a message to calm, this was serious business, and dangerous. The sapling sobered a little, a determination to make her proud pulsating from it.

Holding back a delighted laugh, Llew reached for Ard’s hand.

Nothing happened.

She was starting to wonder if he had died, and had been dead too long, when the tingle prickled her skin, faint at first. The power flowed through her, from tree to man, from one hand, up her arm, across her heart and down the other arm. Her muscles ached from her awkward crouch. She shifted her weight. The power flowed. The sapling radiated pride.

Ard gasped. Llew got such a fright she nearly leaped back, but she held on. The power flowed faster for a time, then it ebbed again. The grass around the base of the tree began to curl and turn brown. The sapling itself felt brittle. Still, the power channeled through it, through her.

“That’s enough,” said Braph.

“But—”

“That’s enough!” He sliced his hand down where she touched Ard, breaking her hold. “He’s alive. That will have to do. The tree is dead.”

She cursed him under her breath, but he was right. The sapling had gone silent, dead by her hand. Llew stood, closed her eyes in a silent thank you and farewell, but she didn’t feel sad. The sapling’s own conviction to their task protecting her from sorrow. And Ard lived. No other outcome would have satisfied.

“Time to go,” Braph announced.

“But—” Llew looked off to where Hisham had fallen, then around for Jonas, who stood deflated. Powerless and beaten he had no fight left in him, and Llew struggled to find her own. What could she do against a powerful Braph and a horde of Turhmosian soldiers? She could think of nothing. And so, she let herself be pushed back to the corral.

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