Clans Of Luteri Bk 02 Ch 08 End

Hey, Everyone. So these are the final chapters of the two-book series. I hope you like it. I want to give a huge shout to Bellie444, without whom I wouldn't have posted this. Check out her writing. She's great. -Harp

Chapter Eight

"Corsaire!" Aslin was yelling even before she reached the Aspens, riding straight into them, Ilian weaving and dodging trees, the horse's sides heaving, lathered and blowing. Ilian was exhausted. "Corsaire!"

She didn't see anybody, looking around frantically. The woods seemed empty. Corsaire Hold was another hour from the eastern border, but surely they would hear her soon. She penetrated deeper and deeper into the Aspens, still yelling. Nothing. Her voice was getting hoarse when Ilian bolted sideways to avoid collision with Deter, Ruthe crashing through the trees toward her.

Ruthe threw himself off his horse, running to her as she dismounted, staggering, coming to meet him. He grasped her upper arms, looking her over.

"Are you hurt? What's wrong?" he said.

"Ruthe!" she panted, looking all around them. "Where's my father?"

"He is riding in the woods behind us, not far. What has happened, Aslin?"

The bond throbbed in her, pain, the wolf was in pain, pain like he was dying. She ground her teeth, getting control of herself, breathing.

"Duellan clan attacks Tavishi Hold. Kane stayed to protect me. Corsaire must come," she got out.

It was such a relief to tell him. Ruthe would come, her father, her clan would come and Kane would live, her wolf, they had to live, she could not exist without them. She waited for Ruthe to move, to react, anything. Ruthe just stared at her, not speaking. Did he understand her?

He slowly dropped her arms, stepping away from her. She gazed at him in disbelief.

"Ruthe! Tell them!" she cried urgently.

He just stared at her. Something shifted in his eyes.

"No," Ruthe said, shaking his head. "No, we will not. We will not fight for them. We will not come to the aid of Tavishi."

"Pelar wasn't killed by Corsaire, Ruthe! She was killed by Duellan!"

Ruthe made a face at her, disbelief and then dismissal.

"It doesn't matter! Tavishi killed Anore of Corsaire. That's our feud with them."

"Kane's other form came to protect me. He attacked their line alone! He'll die!"

Ruthe's fists clenched and he glared at her.

"I would protect you with my life, Aslin, but not him. Not them."

She approached him, her panic rising, clutching at his arm with both hands.

"You can't let this happen!" she cried. "You cannot just leave them to die!"

"I can, and I have no difficulty with it," Ruthe said grimly, pulling away from her, turning to Deter. "I will take you back to the hold, Aslin. You'll be safe there."

"Ruthe!"

He made no sign, walking to Deter. She watched him go, watched him turn his back and just walk away from her, frustrated need and fear and the beginnings of hate rising in her, choking her. Corsaire weren't coming. They were abandoning her. Of course they were. It was all lies and posturing and they weren't hers and she wasn't theirs. Her eyes narrowed at him, her teeth coming up.

"Then I go to Tavishi!" she said, breaking and running for Ilian.

"No!" Ruthe cried behind her, and she heard the fear in his voice, coming after her, heard his running steps. "Aslin!"

His hand went to her arm, whirling her around. He jerked her toward him, his face close to hers.

"Listen to me! Duellan are too many. Tavishi cannot withstand them alone. That's why Kane sent you here, so that you would live. Corsaire are your clan, we will protect you now."

"My clan!" she sneered, blind with tears. She struggled in his grasp but he held her effortlessly.

"Duellan will kill you, Aslin."

She was suddenly cold. She slowly drew herself up, her face becoming calm. She looked Ruthe down and up. Her voice was even when she spoke.

"I know that. Let go of me. I ride to die with my clan. It's my right."

He stared at her. Denial came to his eyes. Then desperation, but the way he dropped her arm told her he couldn't stop her. She backed away warily toward Ilian, not trusting him, her hand going to rest on the dagger at her waist. Ruthe's eyes followed her hand, narrowing, then to her face.

He didn't move, his fists clenched, but he watched her closely, his jaw working. Then he paced once, side-to-side, running his hand through his hair. She had to get to Ilian. She turned, walking quickly to the horse.

"I won't let you do this," Ruthe suddenly said, striding toward her quickly. "You're coming with me."

"Daughter."

She turned, Ruthe did. Her father was on his horse Enith, two mounted Corsaire clan warriors behind him, watching.

"Father," Aslin said, turning to face him but staying near Ilian. They wouldn't keep her here, she would fight them, Ilian would. She began to breathe fast, looking at her father's face. She could hardly speak, could hardly breathe, the words coming in bursts, her throat closing around them. "Duellan attack Tavishi Hold. Please. If you love me. My bond. His other form. They're hurting him, I can feel his pain, but he's still alive. Help them, please."

She waited, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, her hand on the saddle, ready to mount Ilian when he refused. Kavini turned in profile to the men behind him.

"Corsaire clan rides to the aid of Tavishi Hold," he said.

Both the men wheeled their horses around immediately and left, riding hard for Corsaire Hold. Aslin sagged against Ilian, the tears coming hot and fast, now in relief.

Ruthe immediately went to her father.

"We ride to their aid?" he cried in outrage.

"This is the trap we set for ourselves when I rode into Tavishi Hall fifteen years ago with a truce band on my arm to ask for an oath," Kavini answered him. "Now we fall into it."

Ruthe appeared to force himself to calm, breathing, returning to her father. He stepped closer, his voice low and urgent, glancing at Aslin.

"Let me take her to the caves, High Lord, if she is why you do this. She is clan, she is my cousin and I will protect her. I will keep her there with me where she is safe. Nobody will see us. She will not leave, I swear it, I will take the dishonor, you do not have to say you knew anything about it. I will free her the moment we get word that it is over. But don't send us to Tavishi's aid. Leave them! This attack is a gift! Duellan will kill them and we will be rid of the feud that way!"

Her father just stared at him. Ruthe stared back and then shook his head at whatever he saw in Kavini's face. Ruthe made a violent motion of rejection, his face twisting, tears of rage coming to his eyes.

"They are Tavishi!"

Kavini walked to him and took Ruthe's head in his hands and pulled him forward, pressing his forehead to the other man's, their long dark hair mingling. Ruthe relaxed against him, choking his breath out once, his jaw clenched.

"The paths of honor and vengeance part here, Ruthe," Kavini said to him. "And we must take one or the other. Aslin is within her rights to ride to die with her clan if that is what she decides, and by our laws we cannot stop her. She is within her rights to call on her clan for battle in defense of her bond and by our laws we cannot fail her. To do otherwise, to choose vengeance, would destroy us. You know this, son of my heart. Corsaire must choose honor."

#

Kane woke. Everything hurt, but his side most of all. Warm air blew onto his left cheek. He reached with his arm, his side shooting pain, and pushed something heavy away. It returned, more warm air. He opened his eyes, gummy, the world coming into view, blurred.

He was on his back, his head turned to the side. He shifted his eyes a little. Grass, dry and brown. Something he couldn't figure. A man's hand, just his hand, a ring on the smallest finger. Kane turned his head and a stab of pain through it made him gag weakly. A black blur obscured the sky. Pain. Shai, it hurt so much.

#

Kane woke. Warm breath. Something was in his eyes, wet and sticky. He blinked quickly, focusing, staring, and saw a large dark liquid eye staring back.

Shaol.

His vision blurred again, darkness taking him, but he couldn't remember where Aslin was.

#

Kane startled awake, panicking, trying to remember where Aslin was. He felt for the bond. It was alive, faint with distance. He had sent her on Ilian to Corsaire Hold, telling the horse to defend her, to run.

Relief went through him. Duellan clan hadn't caught her. She was safe.

Tavishi. His clan. They would have no warning.

He rolled onto his side, curling up, his hand going where it hurt the most on the other side, encountering something cold and hard and thin, jostling it. He cried out and then blew his breath, panting in pain, rolling onto his back again, lifting his head to look down at himself.

He was naked. There was a gash across his chest, bleeding, another on his arm. There was an arrow in his right side in his lower ribs, in the bone, another in his right thigh. He raised his head more and cried out, his hand going to his head, blinding pain, coming back shaking with blood, his hand covered in it, so much blood, his breath stuttering. It was in his eyes. He slowly brought his elbow to his side, avoiding the arrow, trying to get his breath. His ribs were broken.

He wondered briefly how many Duellan clan lay dead around him. It looked like he had taken about a quarter of them. Duellan would still be too much for Tavishi.

They hadn't expected to stumble into his beast directly in front of them on the grassy plain. He had taken them by surprise. The Luterian wolves of the High Lords didn't go into battle, not ever. The beasts didn't understand that. But his beast had understood the direct threat to Aslin just fine, and it hadn't mattered even a little to the animal that he faced a line of mounted Luterian warriors, or what standard they flew. All that mattered was defended his bond.

They'd rolled over him and left his beast for dead. He should be dead. Kane felt dead.

He was losing consciousness, his head falling back. Kane grunted with effort, shaking his head to clear it, sending pain through it in an explosion of light. He fell back and didn't feel himself hit the ground.

#

Shaol's breath on his face. Kane was on his back. He opened his eyes, reaching his arms around the horse's neck, lacing his fingers in the horse's mane. Shaol raised his head steadily and Kane cried out, the movement stretching his side as he was brought up. He couldn't breathe, short hitches. His leg with the arrow collapsed under him as he tried to stand. He held on, afraid to let go and fall, hanging off of Shaol's neck limply as sparks lit behind his eyes and crackled in tiny bursts he watched.

He slid his leg and got it under him, trying not to put weight on it. He grasped Shaol's neck, making his way down in painful increments, trying to breathe, leaning on the horse's shoulder. It took him forever to reach the horse's side, holding on to whatever he could. He missed his grasp and jolted, straight through his head to his ribs to his leg, so many textures and layers of hurt, the arrow in his side wavering.

His stomach heaved and he swallowed heavily, and again, acid rising. Shaol stood absolutely still.

Kane looked at the stirrup in front of him and gave a wheeze of weak laughter, losing all his breath, sucking it in slowly. Shaol had never seemed so tall. He threw his foot into it, his bad leg collapsing, grabbing the saddle's edge with one hand as he twisted to avoid the arrows bumping and his vision went black at the corners. He hung off of it, panting.

He gathered and pushed and heaved himself up and onto the horse, yelling with the pain, his voice hoarse, ending up half on his good side in the saddle, the arrow in his side jostling again, sending agony through him. He slowly brought his leg over, bit by bit, whimpering, trying to leverage himself, to get the height he needed not to jostle the arrow again. His leg finally fell limply onto the other side of Shaol.

He tried to straighten in the saddle. He couldn't get enough air. His head stabbed and dizziness hit him and he lost all sense of himself, his balance gone. Shaol shifted, compensating for his slide and Kane jerked awake, leaning himself to where he needed to be.

Centered, his head bowed forward, canted, his upper body curling around his side. His forehead touched the pommel, leaving a smear of blood, and he jerked back. His hair hung in his face as he dipped again.

He realized Shaol wasn't moving forward, was just standing there, and then he forgot, drifting. Shaol stood patiently.

He would take Aslin walking at dawn in her cloak. Aslin in morning light through the window, dark hair over her pale shoulders. She woke, her eyes opening. They were dark, such dark eyes. She smiled at him. He jerked in the saddle.

"Home, Shaol," Kane croaked, unable to whistle.

Shaol moved forward, the thuds of his huge hooves on the grass, every step sending pain through Kane's side, his leg, his head.

The horse picked his way through Duellan bodies and parts of bodies, stepping on a man's arm, who moved. Shaol brought his back leg up high as he stepped and then brought it sharply behind him, kicking the man in the head as he walked over him, his ears flattening briefly, his teeth clacking.

#

The smell of smoke. Kane looked through his hair that was hanging in front of him. Dead Luterian sheep Duellan had left, bloody forms Shaol passed, a farm on fire. Tavishi on the ground in front of it, two men and a woman, Duellan arrows in them. A Tavishi man was still hiding behind a cart, a child with him. They stared at him as he passed.

Kane looked. Two men dead, farmers, two Tavishi warriors on the ground also dead defending them, sword wounds, their warhorses standing over them. Kane stared at their blank faces as Shaol went around the horses warily. Milos and Bran. Kane's vision blurred as he looked at the horizon.

More smoke, more fire in the grasslands. Shaol walked the trampled grass, riding the wake of the Duellan warriors as Kane's head dropped forward again.

#

Kane woke on Shaol and in pain. His head was hanging in front of him. He raised it, wincing, looking ahead as Shaol walked down the path. Kane stopped the horse. He could see down into Tavishi Hold.

The Tavishi gates were twisted and broken open.

The village was empty, bodies of Duellan and Tavishi clan warriors strewn on the cobbled streets. He saw Davit just past the gates, the man dead on his back, his throat cut. Davit, Kane's mind full of the man, memories crowding him. He pushed them away.

They would have pulled the villagers into the castle while Duellan broke the gates. Kane's eyes raised to the castle. In front of it writhed a mass of Duellan colors, yellow and black, so many of them, Luterian warhorses snapping their teeth and screaming and stomping, the sounds faint from here. Tavishi warriors in gold and brown fought back as they had obviously fought them from the gates. He could see his father, fighting.

Kane's beast had taken out many of Duellan's numbers, but Tavishi would still soon be overcome, he could see that. Duellan were to many. They would all be killed, and behind them were those they protected. Helene. All of them.

"Skit, Shaol," he muttered, the horse in motion under him, Kane going to die with his clan. Kane urged him faster, straightening to the degree he could, a trot and then a canter down the winding path, his vision wavering, motion being pain. He couldn't see, sweat in his eyes, or more blood.

He looked ahead and slowed Shaol, squinting, not understanding. His vision wavered as he watched Luterian warhorses sailing high over the lowest spread of the ruins of the Tavishi gate from the main road, jumping over it.

Corsaire clan colors, a standard of Aspen trees, Kavini at their head, Ruthe on Deter beside him. Corsaire warriors at Tavishi Hold.

Kane stared, Shaol still in motion as the Corsaire figures raced straight up the village streets toward the battle. Then Shaol jolted going down the decline and the colors faded into a blur, the dizziness coming so fast. Kane's head fell back and Shaol missed his step, feeling his rider going.

For the first time since he had learned to ride as a boy, Kane fell off his horse. He landed with a dull thud on his back and was still, silence in the forest.

Shaol slowed to a walk and came around slowly, walking to stand over his rider, blowing above his leg with the arrow, his side with the other arrow, then his head, then his face. His rider didn't move. Shaol tossed his head, pawing at the ground next to him. The horse finally stood, raising his head, eyes alert and roaming, his ears rotating to sound, waiting.

#

Kane woke. Everything hurt, but his side most of all. He was on his back. His eyes opened. He was in a cot in Tavishi Castle, in the Healer's Hall. He turned his head to his right. Aslin was asleep on a far cot, her dark hair falling across her cheek. Kane raised his head a little to see her better, relief washing through him, and then let it fall as pain laced through his side. He lay there, breathing, looking at the ceiling again.

"The Tavishi healers say they think you'll live, but I'm still holding out for fever," he heard from his left. "They found you where you fell off your horse at a safe distance from the battle. Very heroic of you, I must say. Naked again, I have to point out. It makes me think you are a pervert. My cousin hasn't left your side for two days, and this is the first real sleep she's gotten, so don't be self-serving and wake her if you can possibly help yourself."

Kane turned his head. He could just see Ruthe leaning against the wall, his leg crooked, his dagger out.

Ruthe began to sharpen it. Kane looked away, staring up at the wood rafters, breathing shallowly. Shai, his side hurt. He glanced at Ruthe again, having to raise his head a little to see him better.

Aslin had made the request and Corsaire had answered, coming to the aid of Tavishi on her behalf, defending her bond. Kane almost couldn't believe it, but that was the only possible explanation.

"I hope you know that I still hate you," Ruthe said, not looking at him, the shrik of his knife on the stone. "I have always hated you. Not just that you are Tavishi, not only for the feud." Ruthe looked up long enough to point the tip of the knife at him. "You, Kane, the person."

Ruthe looked down again, continuing to sharpen his knife.

"I hate that you go prancing all over the world dragging your Luterian warhorse with you. I fear you will be killed like the careless person you are and he will fall into the hands of foreigners who will breed him with lesser horses. I hate that you found my pretty cousin in this Alverian land of savages, that I wasn't the one to protect her, that she must suffer you. And I find you to be an arrogant and selfish and irresponsible person, Kane, and you think you are funny when you are not."

Kane released his head back with a grunt, breathing.

"I had no idea you like me so much, Ruthe," he said. "I am flattered."

Ruthe glared at him.

"This is what I am talking about, you believe you are amusing," he retorted.

Kane laughed weakly and then groaned, his hand going to his side.

"I hope it hurts," Ruthe muttered.

Kane gave another small chuff of laughter.

"It does, Ruthe. I can describe the pain if it would please you."

"Kane?" a voice said from the doorway. "You're awake?"

"Helene," Kane responded, trying to see her and falling back again, pulling in shallow breaths, relieved to know she was all right. "You're just in time, before this one bores me to death despite the healer's efforts."

Helene came in, looking like their mother Aletha, so graceful, in a dress as green as her eyes, her shoulders bared, long wavy hair loose and warmed in the light from the window, two strands drawn away from her face, her lithe form. Kane smiled to see her.