Page 12 of Sword of Desire
“I doubt we’re going to have a civil conversation.” She glanced behind her. “They’re getting closer.”
“Who said anything about civil?” While Ackley knew the men were gaining ground on them, they still hadn’t made a move to attack. Trying to keep his posture casual, he slid a second dagger from his sleeve into the palm of his hand. Things were about to get interesting.
They stopped fifteen feet from the man directly in front of them.
“I understand you speak for the hundreds of soldiers now camped on Emperion land,” the man said, his accent thick.
“Where’d you hear that?” Ackley asked. At least the man hadn’t insinuated the army was invading or attacking. Camping sounded neutral, making him speculate further about this group of men. He kept his shoulders down, listening for any sounds of attack coming from behind him.
The guy leaned forward on his horse, eyeing Ackley. “I read your letter.”
Ackley inwardly cursed.
“Your man is fine, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Finnegan was not only well-trained but had specific instructions to not be taken alive. If Finnegan was unharmed and had handed over the letter willingly, then these men had to work for the empress. Most likely, they monitored the border for threats. Since this group hadn’t attacked Ackley and Gytha, they must be trying to determine their intentions. It was probably why the man hadn’t yet withdrawn the daggers tucked under his sleeves, or gone for the knives in his boots, or even the short sword strapped to his back hidden by the hood of his cloak. Funny that Ackley had similar weapons in the same places.
“Well?” the man asked. “Do you speak for the soldiers or not?”
“Yes,” he answered, choosing his words carefully. “I speak for the men temporarily camped just inside Emperion’s border.”
The corners of the man’s lips pulled downward. “You’re Prince Ackley?” Although he asked it as a question, the man said it with purpose, demanding an answer.
Trying not to roll his eyes, Ackley took a deep breath, pulling the necessary facade over his face as he prepared to play the part he needed to. “Yes,” he drawled, using his refined voice. “I am Prince Ackley of Marsden. I’m here assisting King Owen of Melenia as he fights for his crown, trying to rid the kingdom of the traitor sitting on the throne. King Owen remains in Melenia while I am here with my men seeking temporary asylum. I want an audience with Empress Rema.”
The man’s eyes shifted over to Gytha. “And you?”
“I’m Captain Gytha.” She said each word slowly so the men could understand her. Though they used the same language, the men spoke with a higher tone and clipped syllables.
Ackley raised a single eyebrow, awaiting the man’s response. Just looking at Gytha with her dark hair slicked back into a single braid, her squared shoulders, tanned skin, brown eyes, and muscled arms gave no question—this woman was a warrior through and through, strong enough to take on anyone here.
The man’s attention returned to Ackley, and their eyes locked. Ackley got the impression that this man was trying to decide what to do with him.
To diffuse the building tension, Ackley decided to speak first. After all, he needed to meet with Rema. Idina, Owen, and Harley all depended on him. “I assume you’re some sort of guard working for the empress?”
The man didn’t respond.
Ackley smiled. “I suggest you either take me to meet with Empress Rema, or you deliver my letter to her.” He leaned forward on his horse, casually placing his arms on his horse’s neck. “As a prince from another kingdom, I have the right to demand an audience with your ruler.”
Gytha added, “I’m sure your empress would want to know why there are soldiers on her land.”
“That’s why I’m here,” the man finally replied, scratching the side of his neck.
Ackley tensed, knowing the man had just communicated something to his men who still surrounded them.
“We’ll take you to a nearby inn,” the man said. “You will remain there while one of my men takes your letter to our empress.”
“Very well,” Ackley said as he eyed the men around them. They hadn’t questioned where Marsden was located, why he was helping Owen, or why they needed asylum.
The leader tilted his head to the right and nudged his horse that way, turning his back to Ackley.
Ackley steered his horse alongside the man. “What’s your name?”
The man smiled. “You can call me Brodek.”
“Tell me, Brodek, do you have a title to go along with that name?” If that was even the man’s name.
“A title as in captain or lieutenant?”
