Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles #1)(7)

“Commander Sanders.” The runner, a lithe lad, was hardly out of breath. “I was sent to see if you needed aid. You’re moving quickly and five days early.”

The mention of the time constraint meant the Captain knew Sanders was back and wanted a damn good reason for it. Fine. Sanders would have to have an audience with him, anyway. He just wished he could’ve rested for a second or two before he walked into the next battle zone.

Chapter 5

The haze was returning, which meant consciousness was close. A cool liquid trickled past her lips. It tasted fresh and delicious, though it had no taste at all. Water. That was okay. Deft, soft fingers placed a cool rag on her forehead, dabbing twice before moving away.

Forcing calm, relaxed limbs, Shanti kept her breathing steady and rhythmic. She wasn’t ready for a confrontation. Not without knowledge of this room or that beyond. She waited patiently, eyes lidded, for the woman to adjust the sheets and then move away.

Mentally peeling a thick film from her Gift, she groggily opened her mind. Needing to know what lay in wait, she let her feelers trickle into the room, and then reach beyond. Without warning, shooting pain stabbed through her temples and down through her gums. Flashes of discomfort pulsed behind her eyes. Hastily, not able to help a sharp intake of breath, she reeled her power back in.

Ouch.

Okay, that wasn’t going to work. She’d severely strained her Gift along the way. She’d have to settle for getting to know one person at a time. It was more personal, anyway.

She focused in on the hazy mind-path of the woman in the far corner. On a normal day the person, so close, would be a crystalized bunch of motives and feelings, intents coloring her mind-path as loudly as speaking across the room. While she couldn’t read thoughts, per se, she could read the motivations behind them. The average person she’d experienced in her travels, however, not raised with knowledge of mental power and all its branches and nuances, would usually advertise their intentions so grossly that it might as well have been reading thoughts. It was great for her cause, but very noisy if she didn’t actively work to tune it out.

Sweet and fairly dense, the woman continued about her day in dull monotony; she had no real expectations, and no real desires. She had no drive to do anything but her simple occupation, which was folding sheets.

Well, that was good.

Shanti allowed her eyes to open slowly, the gloom of soft light coming from a drawn shade in a window to her right. The window was big enough to slip through. No bars covered the outside. She wasn’t a prisoner. Not yet, anyway.

Her body lay immobile in a small bed with crisp white sheets, the frame not much wider than her body. Two landscape paintings hung on the wall she faced. The artistry was second rate but the frame gleamed, made from a well-crafted, polished wood.

Ugly art housed in exquisite word-working. Strange. Shanti wondered if a family member had done the paintings, and this woman was too kind to say the painter should take up another hobby…

The sting of cleaning detergent assaulted her senses, and there was no sound outside of the room. No coughs of the sick or the murmur of voices from jailers. The furniture and dressings, though slightly worn, were clean and well taken care of; everything here was loved. If she didn’t know better, she’d say she was in a room in a home.

Shanti let her head fall slowly so she could see the woman on the other side of the room. She had a pleasant disposition and unruly brown hair. Her shoes were worn, like the furniture, but of similar quality. This woman had wealth; too much food eaten often, expensive wood purchased to house lack-luster art, leather shoes? Wealth didn’t fit with her current occupation, though.

As though realizing she was the subject of scrutiny, the woman glanced at the bed while folding a white sheet. “Oh!” she gasped with a delighted smile, dropping her chore and taking a few steps closer.

Suddenly apprehensive, Shanti hastily clutched the stranger’s mind, sweat blossoming on her brow with the effort. Trying to work through the sludge of her consciousness, Shanti fed a pure shot of terror into the woman’s emotions, and she hesitated immediately in her advance.

“Where am I?” Shanti asked with a thin voice that was supposed to be intimidating.

The woman stared at her, uncomprehending.

How about use the correct language, you idiot!

She wracked her fraying brain, trying to remember which land she was in and what they might speak. She had ten languages in her arsenal. It would be a rare thing if she couldn’t find one they both shared.

If only her mind wasn’t so slippery.

She switched to the Forest Region’s formal dialect. “Where am I?”

The woman shook her head again, forehead lined, trying to understand by sheer will alone.

She’d wandered off path, somewhat. That wasn’t good. Mountain region? “Where am I?”

The woman’s dark hazel eyes sparkled even as she wrung her hands. “In my home, my lady. We need to get you stronger. You nearly starved to death!”

Shanti dropped her mental stimulation. This woman was not capable of harm, thank the Elders.

“Am I the only one here? How were you—“

The woman nearly bounded to the bed, stopping Shanti mid-word. “How do you feel? You gave us all quite a scare! How did you come to be in the middle of nowhere by yourself? You must have traveled a long way…”

Barely resisting the sudden urge to feign a light coma, Shanti took a deep breath and let a brief smile grace her face. She needed information about this land. She needed a reference point from which to plan the next leg of her journey. She also needed to know what they planned to do with her. If the Graygeul had their hands in this society, she and all her people were as good as dead. This woman was obviously a great resource.