Page 9 of The Healer and the Warlord

Istared into the fire, its merry crackling at odds with my bubbling frustration.

Every second I waited without making another escape attempt, the louder my father’s voice echoed in my mind, telling me I needed to be protected.

Even as we rode, my hands bound, toward an enemy encampment, I didn’t feel unsafe with Kelvar. A fact that only prompted my father’s voice to argue that I was being incredibly naïve. The Warlord had stolen me from my bed in my sleep and absconded with me across the sands.

Still, after two days in his presence, I felt assured that if he were going to hurt me, he would have done so by now. Not to mention, his quiet admissions as he held me next to the fire last night had seemed far too vulnerable for one with nefarious intentions.

No—Kelvar would not hurt me.

As we rode in oddly companionable silence, the thought that had grown like a pebble in my boot from a small irritation to a festering wound, was the thought of what would happen after Clan Katal ransomed me back to my father. The small amount of freedom I had been afforded, from the occasional ride alone to the time I spent healing injured riders, would disappear. The argument that I should be able to sleep on my own and spend my time with whom I chose would be snuffed out. I had been kidnapped once, and clearly I must be guarded even closer to keep it from happening again.

But if I escaped from Kelvar and returned to Clan Padra, such arguments would be dashed. I would have proven that I could protect myself.

Such thinking didn’t change the fact that I was indeed safer with Kelvar than I would be wandering the desert alone without a horse or protection, though.

I narrowed my eyes at the campfire, as if it might hold answers, but that too only frustrated me. It had sprung to life with nearly explosive energy as Kelvar held out his hand. While I had been gifted with immense power—healing and calming horses and even calling plants to life in impossibly dry soil—such things had always been beyond me. Perhaps if they had not, I wouldn’t be in such a position.

I ripped my eyes from the dancing flames to instead look out at the horizon. I could no longer see Kelvar in the deepening twilight. Instead, I admired the ombre sky, staining from fiery orange to dusty purple as the sun disappeared below the tops of the dunes.

A puff of dust appeared in the distance, and I squinted. Perhaps Kelvar had found prey and was giving chase. The cloud grew closer, and I frowned. It seemed far too large to be produced by Kelvar on foot, and he had left Dileas behind. In fact, it seemed large enough to indicate the pounding hooves of several mounts.

I struggled to my feet, a difficult task with my wrists and ankles bound together, but I managed. With a better view, I could see that indeed a group of three riders galloped in our general direction. At this distance, I could not make out the color of their clan sashes.

Still, an ember of hope lit in my chest. I could not make it back to my clan alone, but perhaps I could convince these riders to bring me back. My father would surely reward them for returning me unharmed—a price that would still be less than whatever the Lord of Clan Katal demanded. Or even better, I could offer my healing skills to their clan in exchange for aid in returning to my family.

I raised my bound wrists in the air, desperately waving to make myself visible. I even jumped up and down, stumbling a bit with the constraints of doing so while bound, but I did not relent.

The riders drew closer, but they appeared to only be riding in the general direction of the rocky cliff we camped against.

“Over here! Help!” I shouted.

The riders swerved, barreling straight toward our camp. My heart leaped into my throat with both nerves and relief. I did not know these riders, but this would be my chance to prove to my parents that I was not so helpless as they supposed.

As they drew closer, I squared my shoulders and raised my chin.

I was a daughter of the Ballan Desert, and I would act as such.

Dust whirled around me as the group of three riders encircled me, and I fought to not cough around it as I blinked against the burning in my eyes.

“What is a little thing like you doing alone in the desert?” the leader of the group asked before I could clear my throat and speak.

His tone instantly made me bristle, but I tried to stand my ground. His sash was the blue of Clan Tibel, and the snarling hyena of the clan’s emblem adorned the handle of the dirk at his waist. My father was not enemies with the Lord of Clan Tibel, but neither were they friends.

“I could use your aid,” I admitted. “I’ve been captured from my clan, and I need help to return.”

“Why not just take his horse and run?” another of the men asked, jerking his chin toward Dileas.

Dread settled like a rock in my belly. No good men would suggest such a thing. Horses were sacred to the desert, as was the bond between horse and rider. I would not steal Dileas, who stood near the fire watching us warily.

“I am the daughter of the Lord of Clan Padra, and I have more honor than a common horse thief.” I raised my chin as I spoke.

“If you still have honor, this hasn’t been a proper kidnapping,” the first man snorted, and the other two chuckled darkly in response.

Nausea bubbled up in my throat. Even waking up on a foreign horse, held to Kelvar’s chest after being whisked away in my sleep, I hadn’t felt as unsafe as I did surrounded by these riders. I made to step back, forgetting my feet were bound and tripping.

Before I could fall, the third man reached down and grabbed me by the arm. My shoulder wrenched painfully as I lost my footing, and I tried to pull out of his grasp. His fingers only dug deeper into my flesh, and I squeaked in pain.

“Whoever kidnapped you didn’t do a very good job, tying you up nicely and leaving you for us to find,” he commented.