Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles #1)(5)

“NO!” Xavier, the oldest boy in the troop, bolted up out of his sleeping sack and into a fighting crouch. He looked around wildly.

Once upon a time everyone, including the Captain, thought Xavier had real potential. He was massive for his age, strong, and growing into a powerful man. He just couldn’t fight for shit. He didn’t like hurting people and nearly fainted at the sight of blood. But now, when no enemy was in sight, he executed the fighting stance perfectly. Ready for combat.

Sanders was too unnerved to notice for long. His eyes continued scanning, looking out into the dark pools of shadow. Wondering what hid just out of sight. Wondering what looked back.

“Commander, something is out there,” Xavier hummed from his ready crouch. With nearly silent steps, he crossed the short distance to sit next to Sanders.

The velvety black lay thick over the barren land. Holding its breath.

“Do you think it’s the Mugdock?” the young man persisted.

Sanders glanced at Marc, hovering worriedly over his charge, then back at the night. “I don’t know. Mugdock don’t usually come this far. Doesn’t mean they won’t.”

Xavier let that settle in for a moment. He asked, “Do you think it’s something to do with the girl?”

Sanders let the question dissolve into the air. He didn’t know. She was an enigma. Where had she come from and why was she allowed to travel alone in distant places? Did her companions all perish, leaving her to continue on her own? Even if that was the case, she wasn’t from anywhere close. Sanders had seen travelers over the years, he’d met people from distant places, he’d even bedded a few, but no one had ever been as light of feature as the waif. Her br**sts and chest were so pale they showed faint blue veins. Her hair was the color of burnished wheat even with all the dirt, and fine. Almost like soiled feathers, which meant it was probably fluffy when cleaned. She was lanky and slim, which wasn’t all that rare, but covered in a functional, lean muscle. Her finger tips were calloused, which might have been from playing an instrument, but her hands were muscled as well, as though she was used to working with something heavy. The pads of her feet were tough, especially the balls and toes. Each of those things weren’t strange in its own right, except the coloring, which could be explained away by a childhood disease, but as a whole it was unnerving. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she’d done some fighting. A lot of fighting, if truth be told.

Maybe where she was from women fought as a sport, or for an audience. Or maybe they fought for survival or as penance for a crime. Which was sickeningly similar to the Mugdock.

Leilius gave a loud scream and rolled around, thrashing. Xavier moved to him quickly, shaking the boy awake, trying to keep him quiet. The other boy screamed again, grabbing for Xavier’s head, attempting to execute a lock that would snap Xavier’s neck. Xavier shirked him off easily, batting his hands away and shaking harder. Two others sat up at the commotion.

A wave of fear rumbled over Sanders. His skin tingled. His balls tightened.

Shit was about to blow up.

He gripped his knife and rose to a crouch, ready for an attack.

“Are we under attack?” Gracas asked in a harried whisper. “I don’t see anyone.”

Neither did Sanders. No movement. No sound. Dead trees and barren land stretched out away from them, sprinkled in silver moonlight. If something moved closer, it would have to show itself between pools of shadow. It would present itself, if only for a moment.

A moment was all Sanders needed.

So where was the enemy? Why was every alarm in Sanders’ head going off when emptiness stared back at him?

The girl moved slightly, moaning. Marc was stroking her face, quietly whispering soothing words.

“Commander?” Xavier stared at him, hand on Leilius’ shoulder, waiting for orders. He had apparently stepped up in rank and placed himself in the Second position. It was a good sign for his future. If he had one.

“We hold. It’s too dark to continue en route. Anything could be waiting out there. We need silence. Wake everyone up—no one is getting much sleep anyway. Pack up. We’ll leave at first light if we’re able.”

Sanders lowered again, watching. Logic said nothing waited out there, but his gut said soon they’d face an army. All he could do was wait and see.

It was a long night. The creeping dread never subsided. The bitch of it was Sanders couldn’t see anything the matter. Nor hear anything. His gut said move but his brain said there was no hurry. If it wasn’t for how on edge the boys were, he would think it was time to retire.

“How’s the girl?” Sanders asked Marc as they moved out quietly. It was nearly dawn, but no one wanted to wait any longer.

Marc had deep blue circles under his eyes. “She seems more lucid. She’s taking more liquid and her fever is down. She’s still in danger, but she’s fighting.”

“When did he become an expert?” Rachie mumbled.

Sanders glared at the loudmouthed kid until he shuffled his feet in the other direction. Sanders was not above tossing the kid into another tree.

They set a fast pace, cutting through the land on the fastest route home. They would arrive around noon, a full five days before they were due. If constant fear wasn’t continuously clawing at Sanders’s gut, he would be thrilled to be rid of the young idiots. He didn’t do daycare duty well.