Curse of the Jenri

Curse of the Jenri

by Stephanie Barr

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2017 Stephanie Barr

Discover other titles by Stephanie Barr at Smashwords.com

Conjuring Dreams or Learning to Write by Writing

Tarot Queen

Beast Within (First of the Bete Novels)

Nine Lives (Second of the Bete Novels)

Saving Tessa

Musings of a Nascent Poet

Dedicated to Stephanie, Roxy and Alex, always.

Thanks also to Lauralee Proudfoot who insisted I never give up on this story

To Chuck Larlham who totally backed her and beta read it over and over.

To Lee Barr, who helped me beat out many of these characters and provided magical lore insight

And to Fiona Sky who edited it.

Cover by Ryn Katryn, Digital Art

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return toSmashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

One – Introductions

Two – A Friendly Scuffle

Three – Reminiscence

Four – Recrimination

Five – Ancient History

Six – Curse of the Jenri

Seven – Self-Invited Guests

Eight – Disclosures and Distractions

Nine – Jenstra's Choice

Ten – Paradise Lost

Eleven – Remorse

Twelve – Inauspicious Beginning

Thirteen – Restless Night

Fourteen – Another Rude Awakening

Fifteen – Relative Hardships

Sixteen – Jenri Honor

Seventeen – Jenri's Lost Legacy

Eighteen – Truce and Enlightenment

Nineteen – A Confrontation between Allies

Twenty – Unexpected Abilities

Twenty-One – Unbreakable Chains

Twenty-Two – An Incentive to Leave

Twenty-Three – Dragon Poker

Twenty-Four – Justice

Twenty-Five – Reunion

Twenty-Six – Recriminations and Plans

Twenty-Seven – Escape and Rescue

Twenty-Eight – Once More into the Breach

Twenty-Nine – Covert Operations

Thirty – Casden Meets the Jenri

Thirty-One – Cadon Takes a Stand

Thirty-Two – Cadon Takes Charge

Thirty-Three – Bromden Manages an Ace in the Hole

Thirty-Four – Tander Wins the Hand

Thirty-Five – Respite

Thirty-Six – Relative Paradise

Thirty-Seven – Homecoming

Thirty-Eight – Revelations and Invitations

Thirty-Nine – Jenri, a New Beginning

Forty – Jenri, the Next Generation

Who's Who

About the Author

Song of the Jenri

I sing the magic incarnate.

I call the earth to my will.

I harness senses insensate,

Powers that murder or heal.

I dance the swordwielder's ballet,

A courtship of crystal and steel.

I strum the song of the archer,

A demon in gemstones and teal.

I am the mist of the shadows,

Invisibly, silently screened.

Mine is the bite of the viper

Unnoticed, unheard, and unseen.

I am the sword, the Avenger,

Known by my title: Jenri.

Mine is the role of Protector,

Defending the right to be free.

One – Introductions

One should never make an enemy for gold. Gold will eventually disappear, but an enemy can be forever.

—The Lore and Wisdom of the Jenri, by Klavaron Jenri

Watcha lookin' at, Melded?

Melded spun around, the spear he'd been leaning on instantly at his assailant's throat. Years of experience held back Melded's hand before he actually killed Timon. What in the name of Bastor's black heart are you doin' sneakin' up on me? Y'wanna get yourself killed? And it's Captain Melded to you.

Ah, Melded, don't be sore. You've been standin' out here for more than an hour. Me and the boys just wanna know what you're lookin' for.

Melded paused, considering several rude and vicious responses that included a well-deserved buffet on the head. Instead, he shrugged. Timon was his recently-killed brother's only boy and, if he hadn't the smarts of a local fern, he was skilled with a dagger. Melded turned his eyes back outward, through the iron gate. He searched the outlying wooded areas again, his ears straining for the sound of an errant footfall, his nose sampling the air to detect an odd scent. All he smelled, of course, was his unwashed nephew. He sighed. "I'm lookin' for her."

Timon peered between the bars at the green blur of forest beyond, empty of anything but trees. Given Timon's eyesight, he might not even see the bars. Who?

Melded clouted him on the back of the head with his fist. Timon, why're we here?

Raylee paid us.

Melded shook his head. No, stupid. Do you remember us snatchin' that big, hulkin' son of a bitch and bringin' him here?

That bastard! I wish Raylee'd let me kill him.

Well, yes, you saw how easily he killed four of us, Melded reproved, still inwardly amazed. He did so after Merlo had all but knocked him out with a spell that killed Krikee just standing next to him. And the behemoth was drunk off his gourd at the time!

It was damn dumb luck, that's all. He killed my pa with a dirty blow. He cheated.

Melded stared at Timon, dumbfounded. True, Melded was a mercenary, but he could not see how their victim could have cheated by defending himself when he'd been blindsided by magic and set upon by more than twenty rogues. It was too much like thievery or something equally dishonest for Melded's tastes, but you can't eat if you don't get paid. And Raylee paid pretty well. My point is that bastard can fight like ten regular men, if not more.

So?

"So, he ain't alone. He's married—married to a Jenri. Raylee don't think she'll come to get him, but me, I know she will."

So what? You ain't afeard of no female, are ya?

"Like Nether, I'm not! If you had any brains in your head at all, you'd be scared shitless yourself. Didn't you hear me, idget? She's a Jenri. You saw how he can fight and you can bet his wife fights just as well, if not better."

In a pig's eye.

Melded shook his head and resisted the urge to clout him again. No sense in shaking up his miniature brain any more than strictly necessary. Timon, don't you know nothin' about the Jenri?

Them old wives' tales...

Do I look like an old wife t'ya? Let me tell ya, they fight worse than demons and they sling spells like sorcerers. They can come up behind ya, soft as smoke, and loose five arrows afore the first strikes, and not miss wit' one of 'em.

Ya may not look like an old wife, Melded, but ya sure sound like one, chortled Timon, only to have his laughter cut off with Melded's blow. Perhaps sloshing that puny brain might be of some use.

You really don't know nothin', do ya? Melded asked, shaking his head. "When I was young an' stupid, though pro'bly not as stupid as you, I saw four Jenri come to th'fair. At first, I didn't see nothin' but their lean bodies and short tunics, just like all t'other young fools. But they didn't have t'fight no crowds to reach no vendor an' the mos' hardened huckster slashed his prices without haggling.

I thought I knew everythin', that all those stories were hogwash. Some say th'Jenri'd know a lie when they heard it. Some say they'd kill a man for pleasure. Some say their souls were sold to the dark forces an' that's why they was cursed with no sons for a hunnerd generations. Some say their souls were sold for coin alone, assassins for whoever parted with silver. I scoffed at mos' of 'em. Then I saw them fight in exhibition for gold, Jenri against Jenri, their blades flashing like fireflies too fast to see, women in blue-green leather, their jewelry glowing as they danced with steel in the sun...

Melded halted his reverie and noticed he had finally gotten Timon's attention. I didn't know what's true, what ain't. Still don't. But I knew I didn't want no Jenri for an enemy.

Timon furrowed his low brow in monumental concentration. And now ya got one?

You think I don't know that, ya dip? Why in Nether do you think I'm out here, peerin' out into nothin', hopin' to get some inklin' of whether or not that Nethercat is comin' to cut my balls off?

Timon seemed taken aback by that. They cut your balls off?

Oh, for Bastor's sake, will you get back inside? You're makin' my head swim with your foolishness, and I have to have a clear head.

Alright, Melded, alright, Timon demurred, backing off. But mark my words, there ain't a bitch born yet that I'm afeard of.

As Timon's footsteps faded away on the uneven cobbles, Melded sighed and shook his head. Idget. We're screwed if she comes alone. Bastor himself couldn't save us if she brings other Jenri to help her.

Once more, Melded scanned the landscape, hoping for a sign that she was there, that she watched. But there was nothing, so he turned and stomped back to the barracks. She—they—would come.

Beyond the gate, dappled with sifted sunlight, there was only the unbroken sea of green, just ferns, trees... and Layla.

Silent suede boots of signature Jenri blue-green, shifted in the underbrush without disturbing the delicate froth of ferns. Layla crouched, an integral part of the landscape, indivisible and unseen, though in full view. Her senses fully alert, she waited motionless, her whole attention on the tall iron gate thirty or so strides before her, her eyes following the old soldier as he turned from it.

Brushing back the strange Jenri streak of red hair from her eyes, she knelt soundlessly to wait for dark, the hem of her soft leather tunic just touching the ground. The tunic was deep amethyst, but it was crossed and belted with the same Jenri color as her boots. Silver glistened in the rune-worked shaft of her sword, and the grips of her throwing knives and dagger. Even the length of her bow writhed with silver symbols. Her silver headband was studded with aquamarines and disappeared into her thick brown hair. More aquamarines hung at her throat, now as always, the sign of her Clan. Silver and aqua proclaimed what she was; she wore amethyst for what she loved: purple was her husband's color.

It was for him that she came.

As the shadows lengthened, she became a shadow herself, another purple shape in the underbrush. In the lee of a tower, she scaled the crumbling wall of the castle unnoticed, unheard. She came up just below where guards kept watch in the turret, sliding beneath them on the battlements, in the shadows, and slipping soundlessly into the keep itself.

As she descended toward the dungeons, she heard the snores of the guard before she was close enough to silence him with a quick twist of his neck. The body slid noiselessly to the ground, neck broken. There was no blood on the floor around it, no blood on her.

She trusted her nose to bring her to wherever they had taken Tander. There would be a smell of old smoke and past burnt flesh, urine and feces from those forced to remain trapped or tortured into a loss of control. She knew that the smell would most likely be part of the dungeon proper, not that of her husband specifically—at least she hoped—but that would be where she would find Tander.

Her nose led her true. She found Tander at the end of the torture hall, bathed in the red glow of a smoke-blackened fireplace. There was no need for a cell. Thick chains were attached to manacles on his wrists, his ankles and the crude collar around his neck. They had taken no chances with a man who left five bodies in his wake. And it was well known that only a man who could best a Jenri in some test could be her mate. That made him doubly dangerous.

Tander. Her whispered word was barely louder than a breath, lost in the soft clinking of his chains, the tired creaking of the staples straining against his gentle movements. There was no indication he'd heard her. He did not lift his head.

She moved forward, distressed to see her proud mate listless, defeated. His long black locks hung, unwashed and greasy, over his face. They had stripped him of all but his loincloth, and she could see the lash marks on his back and shoulders. Blood seeped in thin rivulets to show where he had struggled against his chains. But he was not struggling now.

Tander, she whispered again, reaching a hand to lift his face to her hungry eyes, but was forestalled with the sound of a rattling snore. She could not help but smile. Only Tander could sleep in a position like that. She reached out and touched his cheek. My proud warrior. What have they done to you?

"Layla—? The word was a question from his cracked lips, but when he opened his eyes, they widened in surprise. The shocking blue eyes glared at her for only a moment before he grinned, What took you so long? Where are Riko and Kena?"

Probably where I left them, in Arkona.

You came here alone? Layla, are you daft? These people are dangerous.

Layla stiffened. Aye, and your point would be what? I am dangerous myself.

He turned the full force of his startling blue eyes on Layla and even she flinched at their intensity. 'Tisn't funny, Layla! These men have no honor. They are scum, and they were able to take me. They have resources, magic and weapon. Leave and return with help.

And leave you in this discomfort while I scamper back two days there and two days return? Aside from the exhaustion we will all feel? I think not.

Layla, you can't take on a castle of mercenaries and magic-wielders alone!

Layla smiled. Can't I?

Tander pressed his lips together, but was forced to smile at her determination. Bastor damn me to Nether, Layla, but you're stubborn.

Aye, I know that as well. It is not as though I make a secret of it. A smile touched her chiseled features, a smile only he could bring. "Tander, don't fret. I am well able to handle all that I might come across here, never fear. You were drunk and set upon when you weren't looking, I assume anyway. I knew exactly what I was getting into."

Did you? They wanted me, but I fear for what men like this will do to you if you are captured. Do you think I want to be your downfall? That I want you hurt in your attempts to rescue me? Go back and get help, Layla. I'll figure a way out of here. He pulled on the chains to demonstrate his intentions, but winced as they rubbed raw flesh.

More foolish talk like that and I will clout you on the head. Content yourself that I stay. There is nothing in this castle I fear.

Tander, ignoring pain, flung himself forward fruitlessly, cutting further into his flesh with the iron bite of his manacles, then hung against them, limp with defeat. And if you're wrong, I will have your fate on my conscience. Some protector I turned out to be.

She stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his while his hands strained against the chains to reach her. She didn't know whether it was to hold her or push her away, but he did not tear his hungry mouth from hers.

Your days in chains have affected your mind. Since when have I needed a protector? You underestimate me— She ran a finger along a lash mark and her voice hardened, —and my anger. She could see the relief in his eyes at her touch, the turquoise glow of her necklace reflected on his sweaty skin as the pain abated.

A voice behind her startled her. In my entire acquaintance with Tander, I have only found reason to envy him.

She spun around, crouching, a throwing dagger instantly in her hand, hearing the clank of chains behind her as Tander strained again against his bonds. She flung the dagger unerringly into a guard's throat, but was forestalled from throwing another by a strange lethargy that immobilized her muscles and spawned an odd pain in her midsection. She fell to her knees and then collapsed sideways against a stone block. She saw the red glow on her skin and found the strength to spit with a mouth still under her control. Magic!

Facing her was a man, obviously lord of this ill-kept keep, flanked by a slight balding sorcerer on one side and a thick-lipped guard on the other. The leader was only a few inches shorter than Tander, but just as broad. His chest was bare, but he wore a wool cloak clasped with a copper brooch emblazoned with the figure of a jackal. At his side dangled the well-worn hilt of a sword. The copper band in his red-gold hair proclaimed his gentle birth, belied by the ugly curl of his lip.

The sorcerer, dressed in shabby green silk, look dismayed at Layla's grimace of pain. He tried to get the attention of the leader. Lord Raylee, there is something wrong. She should not be in such pain! Layla spat again. Amateur. His sorcerer status was tattooed over his nose: fifth level. Odds were his teacher was disreputable, else this bungler would never have attained that rank.

Raylee ignored his hired magician.

Layla mouthed her own counter-spell, her jewelry glowing with preternatural light, and managed to gain enough control over one of her hands to reach into her belt and pull a second throwing knife. Pain notwithstanding, she flung it perfectly into the remaining guard's throat, to the shock of the sorcerer. The sorcerer swallowed convulsively and mumbled again, increasing the stasis spell, and to a greater degree, the pain in her midsection. Layla managed to smile wickedly at his fear. You're next, spell-slinger.

Raylee laughed at this. Fine talk, Jenri witch. Someone told me you'd be foolish enough to come. I would have expected a Jenri to be smarter than that. But, as you can see, I was prepared with Merlo, here.

Incompetent dabbler, Layla managed through gritted teeth.

Raylee laughed again. How brave your words, yet you are trapped within his spell. Although I have to admit, I expected him to be more useful in the capture of the King of Amerland. I'm not complaining. We have sent messengers off to get a ransom for Amerland's absent king. I suppose we could expect some recompense for his lovely bride, as well. Raylee walked forward and crouched, grabbing Layla's chin in his hand and looking her over carefully. You will be more entertainment than Tander here in the meantime. And if they don't come through, slavers might find you worth a coin or two.

With Tander straining at his chains again, Raylee stroked his hand along her cheek to her lips, smiling a smile that dissolved into the rictus of extreme pain when she clamped her teeth on his finger, biting down so hard he heard the bone snap. His high-pitched scream echoed deafeningly through the dank dungeon as he yanked and pulled on his hand, only releasing it at the expense of his finger's top knuckle, which Layla smugly spat out.

They might not find me that valuable after all, she said.

Raylee pulled his sheathed sword from his belt and swung it furiously, smashing it into the side of Layla's face and knocking her head painfully into the stone block. Tander threw himself violently against his chains, managing to yank the staple holding one chain to the wall part way out with his exertions. Why don't you come pick on me, you bastard? Her locked in a spell, you have the balls to strike a woman! I'll show you how a man fights! Layla, are you alright?

Layla, her eyes focused perfectly on Raylee's, said softly. This walking corpse cannot hurt me, Tander. Trust that his life is all but over.

Always with the brave talk, Raylee hissed, tearing a sleeve from the sorcerer's robe to bind his wounded hand. You won't be so smug when I'm through with you, little witch. But I'll wait a bit for that. Right now, I'll settle for relieving you of your jewelry. He gestured for one of his guards to come forward, but then recalled that both of his guards lay dead, throats destroyed. He sneered. Careful to avoid her mouth, he slid his hands around her neck to undo the silver clasp of her necklace. The necklace, glowing with magic, only shocked him in return, so that again, he howled in pain. Layla's smile widened.

Raylee pulled his hand back as if to backhand her. Release your spell, witch.

Layla managed to raise an eyebrow. It's tied to your magician's spell. Until he releases his, I cannot release mine.

You lie!

Layla couldn't shrug, but the sentiment was clear. Your trained, semi-magical monkey can confirm what I say, as if I cared at all.

Merlo!?

I-I-It's certainly possible, and I suspect, t-t-true, Merlo stuttered. Besides, my lord, I think the spell has gone awry, else she would not be in so much pain. Really, sire, I beg you allow me to release it.

Raylee snarled, scowling. After a moment, his brow cleared. He walked past her carefully and unsheathed his dagger, resting the tip against Tander's throat above the band. I can kill him in a heartbeat if you dare try anything. Merlo, release your spell. Then, you, Jenri witch, you will remove your jewelry and leave it on the floor in front of you.

Don't be daft, you pathetic excuse for a fungus! She'll kill you without thought, scoffed Tander. Layla, don't worry about me. This idiot probably couldn't figure out where I keep my brain anyway. Toss a knife into his gut. Raylee, you honorless scum, thrust away, go on, I dare you! My fleas have more courage than you!

The red glow about Layla ceased and, obediently, her necklace also stopped glowing. Layla, breathing hard, collapsed to the ground. A part of her noted that the pain in her midsection had gone, but had left behind a throbbing ache that she found disturbing. After a moment, she managed to pull herself to her hands and knees, still not looking at Raylee and apparently still recovering. Raylee smiled at her submissive posture.

Without the slightest preamble, she spun on one knee, her other leg swinging around in an arc that caught Raylee in the ankle. He fell sideways, his dagger arm flinging outward for balance, his other scrabbling against Tander to keep from falling. Layla, in the process of coming to her feet, slammed a slim blade she had braced between her fingers into his nose and thence his brain. Raylee crumpled, dead. Layla avoided the weight of his body when it fell.

Still half-crouching, Layla took an instant to check the lack of pulse, then smiled. You underestimated Tander, but you respected him. Pity you weren't smart enough to do the same for me. She pulled his dagger out of his hand and then flung it across the room before adding, Not that it would have made the slightest difference in the end result.

Two – A Friendly Scuffle

There is no weapon quite as effective as stealth.

—The Lore and Wisdom of the Jenri, by Klavaron Jenri

Layla rose to her full height and confronted Merlo. "I apologize for my error. Now, you're next."

Merlo, a much higher caliber coward than he was a magician, threw himself prostrate on ground, blubbering for mercy. His gyrations disturbed several piled weapons and they fell with a reverberating clatter.

You weasely bastard! You spell-slingers are all the same, stomach-turning snakes with no more character than a snail, Tander spat.

Layla ignored Merlo, fishing out the keys from a dead guard and using them to good effect on Tander's manacles. You gonna let him live? Tander asked her as she freed one of his wrists.

I don't kill for pleasure. He's harmless, she said. 'My fleas have more courage than you?' Seriously, you said that?

Gotta be a brave flea indeed to bite through my tough skin, Tander said, without hesitation and with every appearance of seriousness.

Well, keep your courageous fleas to yourself. I'm uncomfortable enough.

What did his spell do to you? Tander asked suspiciously.

Mostly, it immobilized me. There might have been something else... I'm not sure, Layla said, bending to remove an ankle chain, but Tander had noted the frown.

He reached down and tipped her face back up. What is it? You were in pain, weren't you?

Some, she shrugged. I was a little worried that it might affect the baby, but the bulk of the pain appears to be gone.

The bulk of it? Tander sputtered, then stopped point blank. Baby?

Yes, Layla said, returning to her task of unlocking chains.

On the floor, Merlo began to shake so strongly that it rattled a shield he had thrown himself upon.

Layla, do you mean to tell me you came here, without your support, when you were pregnant? Are you out of your ever-loving mind?

I didn't know I was pregnant when I left Arkona. I discovered it yesterday.

"You didn't know you were... Layla, what by the light of the five moons were you thinking to wander into this castle—alone—when you were pregnant?"

She freed his last chain. To retrieve my baby's father.

Then bring reinforcements! Layla, you're tough as nails and a marvelous fighter, but you should never have come here alone. You could have been killed! Or the baby could have been!

Layla's voice became ominously soft. Perhaps you think that gestating dulls my skills. Did you notice them lacking? She stared Tander down until he began to look sheepish. I came expediently; going back for the others might have cost you your life. And I am well aware of my precious cargo. Or, at least, I am now. She stared at the top of his chest for a moment, her brow furrowed. I couldn't bear to lose you, Tander, she said softly, at last.

Tander clasped his wife up high on his breast for a quick, but deep, kiss. You're an idiot, Layla, he said fondly, changing his tone radically for Merlo who was trying to crawl to his escape. Move again, spell-slinger, and I'll see what use I can put these torture devices to.

Tander stroked his hand lovingly along Layla's cheekbone already purpling from Raylee's blow. Layla smiled and Tander could have sworn the pain in her eyes lessened as if the throbbing eased, becoming less important in the light of his sympathy. How badly did he hurt you?

Layla shrugged. Nothing significant.

Merlo was still blubbering as she turned to retrieve Tander's clothes and trappings. Do stop that, bungler, she told him. I have no intention of killing you.

Tander, more to the point, whacked him full force on the back of his neck with the edge of a hand. Merlo was instantly silenced.

Tander, I think you killed him, she reproved gently.

Aye. It may not have been your intention, but it was certainly mine. Soulless swine. There are things one cannot allow to be done to one's wife.

Oh, said Layla philosophically. Very well, then.

Tander smiled and reached for her again, but instead snatched a blade from her dagger belt. An instant later, another guard slid to the floor, the hilt of a throwing knife protruding from his throat.

I thought you didn't do knives.

I don't, but I couldn't reach my sword. I had this soft pregnant woman in the way.

Soft, nothing. We must be swift, Layla admonished.

Tander took the hint and began to don what clothing he could tolerate. He managed to overbalance trying to put his boots on while standing, and toppled into a stone wall, delivering a ringing blow to his own head. As he lay there, dazed, Layla knelt beside him, necklace shining with healing power. He opened his eyes immediately. Dreamily, he said, How did I ever win you?

Without warning, she hugged him fiercely, avoiding his welts. I could never have chosen anyone over you, Tander. Never. She stepped back and handed him his silver circlet studded with amethysts. How else do you think you won, Tander?

Tander threw back his head and laughed, knowing she spoke only the truth.

A Jenri knows laughing heartily when escaping by stealth is imprudent. Tander was not a Jenri, and his laughter, like everything else about him, was large. Like a tidal wave, it washed, incongruously cheerful, through the dank stone corridors, filling the heavy air with his happiness, echoing and reverberating with joy.

Layla rolled her eyes, disgusted, then pushed him onto the stone block to work his feet into their boots without more mishap. You are so practical, Tander marveled, still laughing at himself. Pity you didn't think of this before I fell.

Who said I didn't? I just like to see you land on your ass. Here, she said, as she handed him his sword harness.

Tander slipped his sword harness over his shoulders, ignoring the protest of his abused flesh. He decided to forgo his tunic, stuffing it into the pack Layla had in her hands. Then he snatched his pack from his wife before she could actually slip it over her shoulders. Don't be stupid, she protested. Your back is a mess and you'll be in enough pain.

If you think I'm going to let my wife, who is already carrying more than her fair share of weapons as well as my seed, carry this awkward sack on her back as well, you are much mistaken.

How will you retrieve your sword? You don't have a back-up weapon.

I'll carry the sword in my hand, he retorted, stubbornly trying to reach the second shoulder strap with the aid of a few colorful epithets.

What about your wounds?

Tander put on his blankest look. What about 'em?

Layla shrugged. Suit yourself.

Tander, suiting actions to words, took the sword up in its leather half-scabbard, which was more than two strides long, and held it loosely in his hands. His short sword was notably missing. Damn thieving mercenaries, Tander muttered. At least they didn't take my real sword.

Probably couldn't lift it. Layla gestured to her armory, errant knives retrieved and again dispersed upon her person. I have several weapons I can share. Foolish to be dependent on a single weapon. Layla carried eight knives on her dagger belt; one for wielding and seven for throwing, a small hand axe, a bow and quiver of arrows and a slender sword. And those were just the visible weapons.

He knew she had more blades and a garrote hidden out of sight. Tander also knew she would feel better if he took a couple of her spare weapons, but he stubbornly shook his head as he tied his wrist braces to his belt. She shook her own head slightly, pulled a sheathed dagger from her boot and strapped it to his belt. Frowning, Tander opened his mouth to protest, but she gestured him silent. He stared at her for a moment, battling her cold brown eyes with his vivid blue ones and then shrugged, with another grimace as the raw flesh objected.

Tander didn't like knives and their ilk. They were the weapons of thieves and other low-class scum, present company excepted. Oh, he could handle one well enough—no sense being stupid—but a man wielded a sword, a real sword, or the occasional battle axe, not like the lightweight one Layla carried. He would have to be hard-pressed to unsheathe the inferior weapon and he knew she knew it. For the three years of their marriage, Tander had been steadfast and vocal in his refusal to learn the use of most of the astonishing Jenri arsenal.

When both had readied themselves for the now-inevitable confrontation, Layla led the way out of the dungeon on silent tread, keeping her senses alert for ambush. Tander, always impressed, watched her slide soundlessly over the rough-hewn stones, becoming unconsciously part of the shadows until even he could scarce distinguish her from the flickering shapes projected by dying torches. Tander then turned his eyes and ears away from his ethereal mate and became intent on the other shadows around them as he followed in her wake.

Not soundlessly, of course.

The heavy tread from his boots reverberated throughout the castle, mocking Layla with its echoes. Layla was forced to swallow a sigh. Tander had many excellent qualities, but stealth was not numbered among them.

Even so, the hallways they walked were deserted. The elusive shadows between the torches on the wall hid no soldiers. No door crashed open to flood them with armed men. When they found the huge front hall was also unoccupied and the front door left open, Layla turned to her mate and whispered, I don't think they dare attack us where we might use the walls to advantage. Count on it; they will be waiting in the courtyard!

He nodded in agreement and shrugged, making no effort to hide his grin. Layla knew Tander never regarded an open confrontation with disfavor, which was just as well as the men outside the open doorway could undoubtedly hear his loud footsteps.

At her silent direction, he slowed his gait while she hurried forward silently and stood just within the doorway. Outside, she could hear the mercenaries talking.

Bastor! They're coming closer now! For all he's been in the master's hands for half a day, he does step lively! one soldier said.

Aye, but the steps're slowin'. How d'we know them're his steps and not that rottin' nobleman's? Maybe the master's killed the witch, said another.

Don't be daft! That sounded like Melded.

Aye, maybe he's right, said the unmistakable voice of Timon. I daresay it's just the master's footsteps after all! She's only a woman in the end.

There was the sound of a soft blow as if someone had been clouted with a fist. Young fool! Did you ever hear the master laugh like that? That was the Jenri's chattel let free from his chains, make no doubt.

But why can't you hear her? asked the second soldier.

There was the sound of another blow. She's a Jenri, you turf-headed, sheep-buggering clodpole! You don't never hear a Jenri! Now, shut your mouths, all of you! I don't know if I'm more afraid of the bugger what was chained up or standing next to you empty-headed fools! Probably kill me by mistake.

Layla's lips twitched at the crude praise.

Tander halted behind her. She put her fingers to her lips and then sank to her knees, creeping along the edge of the doorway on the floor. Her head slipped out for a split second and returned almost immediately, having assessed the force facing them instantly. Remaining unnoticed in the fog-shrouded semi-darkness, she memorized the shape of fourteen men, only two of which were armed with bows, the rest with melee weapons.

Sliding two throwing daggers from her belt, she stepped from the shelter of the shadowed doorway and threw one dagger unerringly into the throat of an archer. The other archer fell at the next heartbeat, the hilt of the second knife sprouting from an eye socket. The arrow already drawn on his bow flew wild as he fell thrashing to the ground.

Two men leapt forward, swords drawn while the others stood, shocked. Layla sliced diagonally through the head of her attacker, literally detaching half his head with her amazingly sharp sword. Tander, with disgusting ease, killed the other by slamming his head against the stone wall with a half-hearted backhand.

"Hold!" Melded shouted as others rushed in where their comrades had fallen. His men froze at the sound of command in his voice. The leader shook himself, stunned at the effortlessness with which four of his men had been destroyed. As if she could read his mind, Layla had pulled another dagger ready from its sheath with her left hand and rested her right hand easily on the haft of her sword.

Her mate lounged casually beside her, his sheathed sword held loosely in his hand and a pleasant grin on his face. At the sight of the semicircle of ten scruffy soldiers still standing, his smile widened appreciably, and he laughed his low hearty laugh again. What a sight for this early in the morning, Layla! They're as ragged a band as I've seen since last we were set on by footpads. Aye, and me without my breakfast yet! He shook his head, eyes laughing. Can we never be set upon by respectable-looking fellows?

Timon, who, along with a dirty face and haphazardly cropped red hair, had a runny nose, took exception to this. Pretty fellow, yourself! Standin' behin' the Jenri witch! Fine talkin' from a Jenri whore!

Shut up, idiot, the Melded hissed, clouting him with his fist from behind.

The former prisoner beamed. Jenri whore! Oh, Layla, blast if I don't like it! Jenri whore! He threw back his head and laughed again.

Layla spoke quietly over her shoulder, You needn't laugh, Tander. It was not meant as a compliment.

Nonsense, retorted her husband. Don't doubt for a moment he'd give up half his manhood to be called the same.

Melded threw a darkling look at his fiery compatriot and addressed Tander. What have you done with Raylee?

"I? Nothing. I was in chains. My wife, however, dispatched him quite neatly, never fear and... How many others, Layla?"

Three.

And three others. Six if you count these fellows here. He indicated the twitching corpse of the archer.

What of Merlo? asked Melded, hoping two soldiers might still be lurking behind this cocky pair. Was he one of the three?

No, Layla said. Tander killed him and another soldier.

Porner, a tall scrawny fellow in leather armor, whined, They got every one but us, Melded. Just them two!

Shut your trap, Porner! Melded snapped.

You are wrong, of course, Porner, Tander pointed out kindly. I hardly think the simple killing of two men should earn me any recognition at all, especially since one of them was the worthless Merlo. Really, Layla deserves all the credit.

What about him? Porner asked, gesturing at one of the corpses.

Hardly worth noting.

You killed my pa two days ago, you, you... stuttered Timon.

Yes, yes, Jenri whore, I remember. I don't count casualties I might have caused when I was captured. We were discussing this night only, Tander explained.

Can we get on with this? Layla said. I'm tired and would like to be on my way.

Another mercenary, possessing one ear and only three teeth, leered appreciatively. When we've taken care of the bastard behind you, I'll show you a bed and proper. Tander snatched one of Layla's throwing knives from her belt and sheathed it in the fellow's throat. Layla spared her husband a glance, brow raised.

He shrugged. Reflex.

Layla regarded the remainder of the soldiers disdainfully, a scornful curl on her lips. Are we going to exchange pleasantries all morning or is one of you going to advance and get killed? You would be wise to just leave well enough alone and let us go in peace.

Several men bristled, but Melded's voice cut through the muttering. What would it be worth to save a fight?

Layla looked at him blandly. Best to ask yourself that.

Come along, there, fellows, I think...

Melded, would you take a look at all that silver? one man mused suddenly, his eyes caught by Layla's glistening aquamarines. There's six month's pay there at least. Jewels, too.

Porner licked his thin lips and added, Even the Jenri's whore's got 'em. Wanna wager them pouches are heavy wi' gold?

Melded appeared torn, for, although Raylee had paid well, the payment paled in comparison to the jewels the Jenri wore. Even so, she was Jenri.

Bastor damn the gold! another man sneered, swinging his sword one-handed with a swooping sound. "I heard the Jenri were only good at unarmed combat!" He patted his stained trousers with his free hand significantly, and the men around him laughed.

Tander sighed and pulled his huge blade free from its scabbard. Bad choice, he said as Layla's throwing dagger embedded itself between the man's fingers.

The man doubled over and fell to the ground screaming. Timon roared in rage and threw himself at Tander but met only his blade. His head and half his torso dropped onto the dusty cobbles, followed only an instant later by the rest of his body.

All but Melded leapt into the attack as if galvanized. Four rushed Layla, who became a blur of sword and knife. The first man went down instantly with a dagger through the eye. She stayed low, in an easy crouch, her sword in her right hand and her crystal-tipped dagger in her left. As she sidestepped the clumsy blow of the next assailant, the slim blade of her sword pierced behind the kneecaps from the side right through the joints in his armor. She dropped even lower to avoid the reckless swing of another blade, then came up and over, behind the third man and buried her knife