She hawked and spat. “No. Let’s get this over with. Then I’ll go lie down for a bit.”
They proceeded over to where three of Turenski’s men were standing guard around the tent where the emissary and his men were being kept. Seeing their battle prince, all three saluted. “Go get Turenski for me,” Lucien ordered one of the soldiers. The man hustled away, and Lucien motioned toward the tent. “Do you need to go inside?” he asked her.
“No. I’ll just take a peek through the doorway.” Peeling the flap away, she stared inside the structure. Lucien noticed how she blinked hard a couple of times as she changed her vision. Her eyes were watering, as evidenced by the tears on her dark lashes. She closed the flap and turned to him when Turenski arrived to see what the battle prince wanted.
“You’re to keep the emissary and his guards under quarantine. None of them have had the virus, and Pechard just came from the battle lord’s tent where he could have been infected.”
Turenski nodded in acknowledgement.
“Oh, and if any of them try to leave their tents, you have permission to physically bind them. Just try not to harm them. Understood?”
“Understood. Contain them in any way possible without causing bodily harm.”
Lucien gestured for Johna to follow him on their way back to the big blue and silver tent. When they were out of earshot, he stopped to face her. “Well? What did you find out? Anything?”
“All three men are Normals, and all three have had the virus.”
He stared at her, momentarily stunned by the news. “Are you—”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she snapped. “Why are you always doubting me?”
“I’m not doubting you,” he hastily apologized. “If it sounds that way, I’m sorry. It’s just that…”
“Was it what you were expecting? Or not expecting?”
He started to answer her when a shout came from the outer edge of the encampment, toward the roadway. Lucien rushed through the trees until he reached the line of sentries, and skidded to a stop. They were gathered in a field formation, their swords presented to the line of horsemen filling the road. The strangers were armed and armored, but their weapons appeared to be crudely made, as was their protective gear.
Drawing his own sword, he made his way through the wedge, to the front where he could address this apparent battalion. Standing there, he took a stance and waited for them to make the next move, giving the signal for the men to remain silent and wait for his next command. At some point he knew his father would be notified of the group’s arrival. Until he was, Lucien was in charge.
The mounted regiment remained halted. Lucien couldn’t tell who had spotted whom first, or who had brought this group to a standstill. He scanned the men for some sign of aggression, but their faces were blank. Unreadable. Yet there was a mounting sense of antagonism filling the air, and most of it was coming from the strangers.
There was movement from the middle of the pack. Gradually, the horses parted to allow a man on a pale, almost milky-white stallion to come forward. He stopped less than a dozen yards away from Lucien, and casually removed his helmet.
Lucien felt his eyes widen at the sight of the man who could have been his father’s double. The hair color was off, the scar was slightly different, and the eyes were a deep-set blue. But the resemblance was enough to make him uncomfortable.
“You, there,” the man called out to him. The voice was nothing like his father’s, thankfully. “You. Identify yourself. Why are you on my lands?”
At the last second, Lucien made a decision. “I am Rasman Dakota, son of Gerrod Dakota, Battle Lord of Twelfth Rock. Who are you?”
“I am Yulen D’Jacques, Battle Lord of Alta Novis,” the man replied. “And because you have come upon my land without permission, I have no choice but to consider you to be my enemy. Have your men drop your weapons now, or I will be forced to destroy you.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Imposter
Lucien knew the man was blowing steam, yet it wasn’t quite a bluff. He had no doubt this imposter who called himself the Battle Lord of Alta Novis wouldn’t hesitate to order his men to attack. It was only a matter of how far each side could push the other before one of them either backed away…or charged.
His first inclination was to call the man out on his charade. To tell him he’d met Yulen D’Jacques, and this man was a phony. But that same sense of caution that had made him claim to be an entirely fictitious person from an equally nonexistent compound now told him to hold off on that idea. Instead, Lucien chose to see just how long he could hold off this ragtag, albeit powerful army, until his father arrived to assume command.
“Forgive us, Battle Lord. We’re only passing through on our way to Upper Strong Bay. We had no knowledge that this land was under your holding.” He gestured behind him with his thumb. “We saw the rubble of the last compound we passed by, and figured it would be okay to camp the night here before continuing on.”
The fake D’Jacques glanced back in the direction of Schutz Ridge. At the same time, Lucien noticed how the majority of his own forces were keeping to the trees to hide their true numbers. Fortunately, the horses and wagons were also tethered farther into the woods where this bogus battle lord couldn’t see them and make a guess as to how many soldiers he was actually facing.
Then again, neither do I. I don’t know how many men this imposter has, either, he told himself. The road made a turn a hundred yards or so away. From just eyeballing it, and given that this man’s troops were riding in pairs, he counted at least three dozen armed individuals. It would be wise to assume there were more out of sight around the bend.
As if reading his mind, the counterfeit battle lord drew his horse closer to Lucien. “How many of you are there?”
“How many do you have?” Lucien countered. The man grinned, revealing gaps in his teeth, and Lucien wondered if it was from poor dental hygiene or the result of battle.
“You have quite a mouth on you, young battle prince. Then tell me, how many Mutah do you have in your army?”
“Why do you want to know?” Answer a question with a question. It was one of the first tactics he’d learned from his father.
A thread of worry crawled up his spine. This man had told others he was out to kill as many Mutah as possible. If he caught sight of Johna, with her distinctive eyes, there was every chance he would try to attack them without further provocation.
The man’s head jerked up to look over Lucien’s head. Hearing the sound of his soldiers moving out of the way from behind him signaled to Lucien that his father was coming to join him. When the battle lord stopped beside him, from the corner of his eye Lucien noticed he was in full battle armor, including his helmet to conceal his face.
Slowly, Yulen drew his sword. “Identify yourself,” he demanded of the imposter.
“Yulen D’Jacques, Battle Lord of Alta Novis. Are you the battle lord of Twelfth Rock?”