Warlord's Flame (Krystile Warriors Book 2) Read online

  Contents

  Warlord's Flame

  Copyright © 2016 L.W. Browning

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Warlord’s Flame

  Author L. W. Browning

  Published by CPD, Inc.

  Copyright © 2016 by L.W. Browning

  CPD, Inc.

  All rights reserved

  ISBN-

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks to all my fantastic beta readers. You are without equal.

  Very special thanks to my structural editor and story doctor, and cover artist, the talented, Brandye Flowers.

  Sincere thanks to my editors, Maggie Plummer and Connie Walker.

  I appreciate everyone’s efforts and support. So many folks gave freely of their time and talent. I feel blessed for all the help I received.

  DISCLAIMER

  This book is intended for mature audiences

  of at least 18 years or older.

  Chapter 1

  Var gritted his teeth. Doing business with slave traders always made him feel murderous. Meeting in a bar filled with witnesses compounded his aggravation, but their coms were not working and they had no way to change the location of the meet. The gripper had better show up quick.

  Mack laughed and headed for the door. “Try not to kill all of them. At least until we find the girl.”

  The bar patrons glanced sideways at them as they entered. This rough bar in a backward border town called for caution. It was unwise to be too interested in the other people in the bar, but with the reputation of the warlords, the patrons paid attention when he and Mack entered.

  Var navigated to a table with an unobstructed view of the smoke-filled room and sat with his back to the wall.

  “You might also try to look like you just came in for a drink and are not planning to murder everyone in the bar.” Mack was neither funny nor helpful.

  A bar maid grabbed her tray and started toward their table. The bartender blocked her way. “Be careful with those,” he whispered to her. “They are Kryst Warlords. Dangerous.”

  Var knew their blond hair and blue eyes gave them away. People noticed their scars too, especially his.

  Mack chuckled as he turned and straddled his chair and folded his arms across the back. “We are dangerous.”

  Var grunted.

  Mack watched the waitress as she made her way to them.

  “Anything that bounces,” Var said.

  “Aye,” Mack laughed. “I do enjoy the wiggle and bounce of a healthy female.”

  The waitress sashayed to their table and struck a pose that emphasized her breasts. She gave Mack her full attention. Mack looked from Var to the waitress and winked.

  Var’s gaze scanned the crowd before he let his eyes rest on the bar maid. She cocked her hip and flipped her hair back over one shoulder. He took in the tattoos on her cheek and the inside of her wrist. A claimed female.

  “What can I get for you?” Her voice sounded husky, sexy. She directed the question to Mack.

  “Beer,” Mack said.

  Var held up two fingers.

  She swung her hips as she crossed the floor to the long wooden bar that ran across the back of the room. The bartender drew the amber liquid and she grabbed the handles of the foaming mugs, weaving her way back through the tables to set them down in front of Var and Mack before giving them a sultry look.

  “Two danon a mug,” she said, smiling as she leaned closer to Mack.

  He smiled back and plopped six danon on the table.

  The waitress bent down to pick up the money, making sure Mack got an unobstructed view of the curve of her breasts.

  After an appreciative regard of her display, Mack took a long drink from his mug.

  The barmaid hesitated a moment before she left their table with the same swing to her hips.

  Mack grinned. “I am a service oriented fellow,” he said. “And I bet she gives great service.”

  Var thought the waitress deserved the extra tip just because she had not pulled back in horror when she saw his face. “She is claimed.” He reminded Mack.

  “Claimed, healthy, and friendly.” Mack shot back with another grin.

  “And does not figure into this mission,” Var said.

  The waitress’s claiming marks meant she was mated, probably to the bartender and owner of this establishment. For all her flirting the waitress was off limits, even though her mate had no problem sharing her. Honor demanded that no male touch the mated female of another.

  Mack took another swallow, “You do not believe in the prophecy.” When that went unanswered, he scanned the room. “This used to be a great place to visit.”

  Var nodded in agreement. Though he did not believe in the prophecy, his loyalty to Koda meant he would not fail this mission. He refused to lose another innocent female to the Conglomerate.

  When the Conglomerate refused to grant Trade Status to this society, their economy had been devastated. Forced to trade on the black market, these people embraced the buying and selling of slaves as a means to keep themselves fed and able to afford black market goods. They now subsisted on danon made from the sale of the unfortunates who fell into their grasp. The slave trade prospered here. Var refused to let his memories affect this mission.

  An older man approached them from the corner of the room. “Can I help you fellows find something?” he asked.

  Gesturing to an empty chair at their table, Var nodded and the man sat down. “What would you be looking for on this fine night?”

  Mack glanced at the waitress.

  “Ah. Women,” the gripper said. “I have several that might suit you. Well trained and delicious, they will comply with your every wish.”

  Var turned his attention to the slave trader at their table. He was old for a gripper, the buying and selling of people being an occupation best suited for younger men. The man’s dark hair hung limp to his shoulders. His tired gray eyes looked too old, even in his weathered face. The gripper’s scarred hands, palms down and crippled with arthritis probably
caused him much pain. The old man let his eyes take in Var’s scar, but he did not stare. Being a gripper, Var felt certain the old man routinely saw much worse.

  “I’m Westerly,” the slave trader said. “If I don’t have what you want, I can get it. But most likely, it’s already in my stable.” His smile showed yellowed teeth with only a few missing.

  Mack spoke, “We are looking for a particular female. A friend said you could help us.”

  “Something exotic?” Westerly’s eyes narrowed.

  “Something rare,” Var answered.

  The old gripper smiled again and lowered his voice even more. “Would you be meaning an MX?” He shook his head. “EMpath with eXtra abilities. The Conglomerate has every bounty hunter in the known societies searching for them. You would think it would be easier to capture one, what with all of them running loose now, but they are hard to come by. Yes sir, hard to find and harder to keep. And worth a fortune.” The old man nodded for emphasis.

  “We are well-funded,” Var said. “Krystiles.”

  Mack grinned.

  Westerly leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Krystiles,” he repeated in a whisper. “Best to be careful.” He slowly assessed the others in the bar. “People are killing each other to get the empaths. I heard tell of one. Not too far from here. Of course, I would need payment up front. They’re hunted. Every ska in every little village is hoping to cash in on an MX. The Special Threat Squads are paying good money for them too. They bring a lot more if you can keep them alive. ‘Course that ain’t easy, so I hear.”

  Var kept his face passive with no indication of the hate he held for the Conglomerate’s goons. STS troops or Special Threat Squad worked only for the Conglomerate. Var felt no surprise that the STS were here hunting empaths. If possible, Var held the STS in even less esteem than the skas and militia who roamed the region. Those ruffians who lived off the work of others and thought themselves to be glorified outlaws only got in his way.

  The STS troops or Special Threat Squad, the soldiers of the Conglomerate, were no better though they had fancier uniforms and better weapons. The warlords knew that the STS were hunting empaths. If possible, Var held the STS in even less esteem than the skas and militia who roamed the region. The skas and militia who lived off the work of others and thought themselves to be glorified outlaws deserved only his disgust. Of course many thought the Warlords of Kryst to be outlaws as well.

  Westerly scanned the room again before he leaned in and whispered. “I heard tell the Warlords of Kryst are hunting them too.” His eyes flicked to the silver cuff on Var’s upper left arm then to the similar one on Mack’s arm. “Word is that Koda, the Warlord Leader, said he will buy them or take them by force. Either way, he means to own all of them.”

  The old gripper’s eyes wrinkled at the corners.

  Var said nothing.

  Westley’s gaze darted to their swords. He thought a moment. Var could see the exact moment his greed got the better of him. The old man could retire off the sale of the MX and he probably already had a buyer lined up, but Krystiles, were much more valuable than danon and the wise man did not oppose Koda and the Warlords of Kryst.

  The old man cast a furtive glance sideways, leaned forward and spoke in a hushed voice, “I think we can come to an agreement that will be beneficial to all of us. Slaving is not what it used to be. Since these MX creatures are loose, everybody and his brother thinks he’s a gripper.”

  Their attention turned from the conversation as three dark haired men entered the bar. All more than six feet tall, they wore leather breeches and vests, and high black boots. Each wore a sword strapped to his belt, and knives they made no effort to hide.

  “Competition,” Mack said.

  “They cannot pay as well,” Var said. The fact that they had a pre-arranged deal with the gripper meant nothing to him.

  “The dead do not pay.” Mack smiled.

  The newest patrons to the bar made their way to where Var and Mack and their new gripper friend sat as they fanned out around the table. They positioned themselves just out of reach of the warlords.

  The leader of the group glared at Var and Mack though he addressed the gripper. “Westerly, we’ve been looking for you. We’ll speak privately.”

  “He is busy.” Var kept his voice soft. Westerly fidgeted in his discomfort.

  “He’s going to be busy with us,” the leader said.

  Var noticed the speaker’s broad shoulders and attitude. He was the obvious leader of this band of outlaws.

  “We would not be interrupted.” Var saw Mack pull the matchstick from his mouth.

  When the big one reached to draw his sword, Var sprang up with a dagger to the man’s throat. He pressed just enough to see a droplet of blood bead up and slowly trickle down the man’s neck.

  All attention turned to Var and the man he held. Everyone froze for a silent beat.

  Mack, already on his feet, had grabbed the one nearest him and put his knife close to the fellow’s ribs.

  “Outside,” Var said. He held his knife firmly to the leader’s throat while he guided the man out of the bar and around to the side alley.

  Mack chuckled and helped his man outside while herding the third in front of him.

  In the alley beside the bar, the rest of the ruffians waited for them. Mack released the one he held and shoved him to the ground. Var backhanded the one he held, stepped away from the fallen man and pulled his sword. Mack moved so that he and Var could fight back to back in the middle of the gang.

  The men showed signs of some sword training, but not enough. The warlords, accustomed to fighting together, sliced and parried and blocked until the men lay bleeding in the dirt.

  Var picked up the leader and hauled him around the corner to the darker alley behind the bar.

  Westerly followed them.

  Var shoved the man up against the wall. “I would hear about your business with the gripper.”

  “We are after MX,” the man panted.

  “I would know how you can afford to buy an MX,” Var said.

  No answer came.

  Var pulled his knife down the man’s chest in a shallow slice that began to bleed. Little droplets of blood grew larger. Var knew the sharpness of his knife. The man would not even feel the pain for a moment. When his eyes grew wide and his own blood ran down his chest, Var knew it was time.

  “You should answer him,” Mack said. “That knife can cut much deeper.”

  “No. No, we were gonna steal her,” the man stammered, turning his attention to Westerly. “He probably stole her from somebody else. He’s hiding her! We’re just gonna steal her back and sell her to the STS.”

  Var nodded. “The STS. I would know the location of the MX.”

  “W-we don’t know. He wouldn’t tell us. We’re tired of waiting on the old man.”

  Westerly grinned and spit on the ground. “I knew they were planning to steal her. Varmints!”

  Var sliced across the leader’s throat, granting him a mercifully quick death. He was already disappointed that so many knew about the MX and they could not afford to leave witnesses. This mission was already off to a bad start. His people needed the empaths too desperately to allow others who tracked them to live. Mack caught his eye and nodded before finishing the others.

  Var let the man drop and turned to Westerly who took a quick step back as Var turned his attention to the gripper. “We would see the MX. We can pay or we can take her. Do not try to trick us.”

  Westerly considered the dead men on the ground. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I’ve heard about you fellows... I’m a businessman, not a fighter. Let’s talk about price.”

  “We would see the MX first,” Var said.

  “Sure thing. The problem is, too many people are after her. I can’t hide the girl forever. Eventually, someone’s gonna kill me and steal her, or just steal her outright and leave me with nothing to show for all my trouble.” Westerly paused. “And she has been a lot of trouble.” After a final glan
ce at the men on the ground, he turned his attention to Var and added, “I’ll take you to her now.”

  Mack put a new match stick in his mouth and winked at Var as he fell in behind the old gripper.

  Chapter 2

  Bess sat on the bare ground beside the road in the morning heat. The metal collar around her neck felt hot to the touch from the burning sun. She despised the dirt covering her and she smelled bad. They all smelled bad. The slave keepers, not overly fond of hygiene, must have assumed the captives did not mind all the dirt. The slaves were given only basic necessities to keep them alive. From the shade of a nearby tree, the slavers laughed at something. Probably a rude joke. They were an immature bunch and hateful. They sat in the shade and enjoyed a cool drink of water. Meanwhile, she baked in the sun with the other women on the line, all of them thirsty and hungry most of the time. They had done the same thing every day for days that felt like weeks.

  Shackled with fourteen other women, on the slave chain, Bess had become efficient at shielding herself from their misery. If only she could stop her own.

  While she listened intently to their conversations, she seldom spoke with them although she knew most of their languages.

  As an empath, she read people’s emotions, but since her abduction, she could read emotions more easily than ever. For reasons she did not understand, she now also read some of their thoughts. She had never been in such close proximity to other people. Their emotions made her ill at first so she interacted as little as possible with them. There was misery enough of her own. She did all she could to avoid being bombarded by the despair of the other unfortunate captives.

  Bess surprised herself by how easily she adapted to reading their thoughts as well as their emotions. She did offer comfort to the victims of rape by easing their memories of the event. Once or twice, she entered the dreams of the rapists and influenced their nightmares. From time to time, she frightened them so much that they did not attack the women. Still, the shame she felt about being spared while so many others suffered added to her guilt.

  Bess was fortunate the superstitions of the slavers kept them from touching her. The many wild rumors about her kind helped her. No doubt the Facility deliberately spread much of the false information. Bess especially appreciated the rumor that anyone who touched an MX would go insane. As an eMpath with eXtra abilities herself, that particular rumor worked to her advantage. Even hooking and unhooking her from the slave line inspired the utmost caution on the part of her captors. Empaths could “read” more when touching the skin of a person. Of course, that resulted in their most important law. For an MX to touch a ‘normal’ was a crime of assault.