Page 12 of Surrender

Hours passed as the men debated courses of action. Kylar knew his warriors chafed at the inaction, desperate to charge into battle. But he also knew the invading Tabun army was huge, larger than any in the memory of even the oldest Gadolinian. Well trained and fearless, they were ready to fight to the death. It would be cunning rather than force that would give his men the advantage.

He listened to half a dozen ideas argued vehemently by his men then rose and held up a hand. “In the absence of my father, I act as your king. I’ve learned many lessons from our great ruler. The most valuable is that no action taken rashly bodes well for its outcome. I need time alone to weigh your input. We will take a break. Go and rest.” He glanced at Heinrich. “Spend time with your loved ones. We will gather here again at dusk.”

He headed out of the room. Haldor started to follow him, but he waved the man away. Much as he would have valued discussing their options with his friend, Kylar couldn’t allow anyone else to shoulder the burden of this decision. It must be his and his alone.

The weight of an invisible crown lay heavy on his head.

Chapter Eight

Darkness had fallen when he walked back into the great hall. His men awaited him, their boisterousness, their bravado gone. They spoke in hushed tones, had barely touched the lavish banquet laid out before them.

As one, they stood, bowing their heads in respect. He greeted them on the way to the head of the table. Clapping a shoulder here, shaking a hand there, stopping to murmur a few words in Heinrich’s ear. The man nodded, and the ghost of a smile flickered in his eyes. Kylar ignored the hand he offered and gave the man a firm hug then took his place before them.

“I’ve thought long and hard about all your proposals. Asked myself what would King Sigrun do. At the insistence of our holy ones, I even sent for the oracle to cast bones and read them for me.” He gave them a wry smile. “You all know how I feel about that old windbag. I’d have been better off gnawing the bones and sucking out whatever dregs of marrow still remained inside them.”

Kylar stopped and scanned their faces. Of their physical bravery, he had no doubts. Each of them had proven his valor time and time again. The men he had chosen shared other traits as well. Honor, respect for all living creatures, and the character to do what was right, no matter how great the price.

“Elwen will go back to the palace tonight. He’ll say he’s a Gadolinian slave from Naritea who seized the chance for freedom when his master fled the city. They won’t know we’d sooner become slaves ourselves as put other living souls into a lifetime of bondage. He’ll be laden with flasks of honey mead he’ll claim he stole from his master’s storehouse.

“Once their tongues are loosened, he’ll mingle with the Tabun to see what more he can learn. When the auction is scheduled to begin, what other worlds are sending representatives to bid. The rest of us will remain here.”

Kylar raised his voice to drown out the growing murmurs of discontent. “I know, I know. It is the worst kind of torture for a warrior to sit and wait. To do nothing. But trust me, brothers. We’re all chafing to take action – and so are the Tabun. They’ll be up all night, expecting an attack. Tomorrow night, we send Elwen in again to spread rumors of our army gathering in the foothills, waiting for darkness to descend. The Tabun will muster every man they have, guard every entrance to the city, every passage and alleyway.

“By the time the auction takes place, they’ll be exhausted from nights with no sleep, days spent jumping at every noise they hear coming from the empty buildings. I will go alone into the palace, disguised as a bidder from a distant planet. Once the auction has begun, I’ll sound Odin’s horn, and you’ll storm the palace. With creatures from so many different worlds in their midst, chaos will reign. We’ll smuggle the captives out then drive the Tabun back through the portal.”

Haldor’s voice rang out. “No, my lord. You will not go alone. I will be by your side.”

Gunnar stood. “And I as well. You cannot deny me that. My beloved Signe is one of those captives.”

One by one, the others rose, declaring their allegiance and vowing to fight to the death for king and country. Kylar raised both hands in the air. “Brothers! Valiant warriors all. I thank you for the respect you show to our king. Your bravery has never been in doubt. I understand your need to avenge the wrongs done to us and win back your honor.”

He paused, realizing he had to offer them something that would allow all of his men the dignity of playing a crucial role in the battle to come. “We will draw straws. Five of you will accompany me. As for the rest – your king and I need your strength and courage to lead our army in the battle against the Tabun. Your role is more important than the that of the handful of us fate will choose to slink into the midst of them in disguise, like children playing dress-up.”

Kylar knew his words wouldn’t fool any of them. Soldiers all, they recognized the danger of going into the heart of the Tabun stronghold. Defenseless, without shields or swords. But they also knew his plan was sound.

The next two days passed slower than any in Kylar’s memory. The twin suns, Phalyx and Zalyx, crept across the sky. At times, he swore they hung motionless for hours. He joined his men in drills and mock battles, all of them honing their skills for the mortal combat to come. He drove himself till he nearly dropped from exhaustion.

But if the days dragged, the nights were even worse. Sleep eluded him, no matter how hard he pushed himself. He tossed and turned, his heart sick with worry for his father. A true Viking warrior, the king had refused to acknowledge his growing frailty over the past few years. He insisted on taking part in every competition, leading every hunt.

Balam wouldn’t kill his prized captive, but he’d surely beat the old man or try to starve him into submission. The caverns below the palace were cold and damp. Sigrun was proud and stubborn. Kylar feared his father wouldn’t survive until the auction. If beatings and hunger didn’t kill him, the shame of knowing he was about to be chained up and led into the great hall of his own palace to be sold as a slave would drain him of the will to live.

When Kylar did manage to drift off into fitful slumber, his dreams caused him another kind of torment, filled with images of the willful wench he’d held in his arms for a few moments. He woke with his fingers curled, as though they were cupping her soft breasts under the rough woolen cloak she’d worn. His cock swollen and hard, he relived the way her body had molded to his when he’d pinned her against the wall in that dark passage. His mouth hungry for another taste of her lips.

If his dreams were filled with her touch, her taste, the early dawn brought even more compelling images. In that land of half-wakefulness, half-sleep, she came alive. Running beside him again, flashing a triumphant grin when she kept up with his pace. In that twilight world, he pulled her against another wall and guided her hand to his cock. Her fingers wrapped around it. Stroking, caressing. Building the need to bury himself inside her. Then the throbbing of his cock would drag him out of slumber.

Kylar never asked himself why the woman he’d spent only a few fleeting moments with had managed to worm her way so deeply into his mind. He simply accepted it. She was meant for him. His Norn must have decreed it. The three witches had linked her soul to his at the time of his birth. One did not question fate. What was to be had been written long ago.

In his heart, he knew she was one of the four female captives. Far too often it was images of her, and what Balam was no doubt doing to her, that drove him to fight so hard. Haldor had to step in more than once to rescue one of his warriors during their mock battles. Only the clash of sword against sword, muscles trembling with fatigue, erased the image of the fiery vixen being shoved to her knees, forced to open that sweet mouth and take in Balam’s stiff prick.

Kylar prayed that when the time came, he wouldn’t have to choose between freeing her and rescuing his father.

Chapter Nine

Talia forced herself to stand tall when the cell door opened. Her dreams had been filled with disturbing images again. Images of a man with piercing blue eyes like those of the stranger who’d seized her in the street. In them, it was he who spanked her, fondled her until she was near gratification.

Lately, she’d taken to summoning his face when Leto made her bend over the table and worked the horrid wooden probe in and out of her bottom hole. She’d discovered if she pretended it was his hand, his body touching hers, the shame and revulsion receded, replaced by a shocking thrill.

She felt certain he’d survived, that he’d managed to fight off their attackers and escape. When the training sessions became unbearable, she indulged in flights of fancy. Imagined him coming to her rescue once again.

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