The Battle Lord's Lady by Linda Mooney

Author:Linda Mooney
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, scifi, fantasy, novel, erotic romance, futuristic, apocalyptic, battle lord, mutants
Publisher: Linda Mooney

Chapter Twenty-Five

Enemies

Atty stood by the window all day and watched Yulen as he personally tended to every family, spoke solemn words over each wrapped body, and helped to light the wood below the pyre. There was another man dressed in dark robes who remained with him throughout each ceremony. She guessed he had to be their man of faith for the compound.

At one point she caught Yulen glancing in her direction. He must have known she would be watching from that particular window. And although he made no gesture or motion that he’d seen her, she knew he was aware of her.

The wind was blowing in from the northwest, keeping the smoke from enveloping the compound. Still, the odor of the burning bodies was inescapable. As midday approached, nine of her victims had been sent to their eternal rest. The remainder would be taken care of that afternoon. In the distance she could hear a bell toll nine times, then seven more times.

Berta came with another tray. The amount of food on it was tremendous, making Atty venture to ask the woman, “Why do you bring so much?”

“The Battle Lord specifically asked me to,” the servant replied. “Especially the milk. I was ordered never to forget the mug of milk.” For the first time she paused and dared to ask a question back. “What are we supposed to call you?”

Atty managed a sad smile. “What are they calling me downstairs? Or do I want to know?”

Berta gave a little grunt. “They say your name is Atty, but I thought I heard the Battle Lord refer to you by another name once.”

She took a shaky breath. “My full name is Atrilan Ferran. He’s the only one to call me Atrilan. Everyone else calls me Atty...when they’re not using other choice words.” She gave the woman a wary smile.

The servant woman nodded. She hadn’t missed the wide swath of water overflowed from the tub onto the floor, nor the shredded shirt when she’d come up to clean earlier.

“Atty,” the woman softly said to herself, as if she were tasting it to see if it was palatable. “I’ll be back this evening with your dinner tray.” Giving her a curt nod, the woman left.

In the afternoon the wind shifted, but the change in the weather had been anticipated. The remainder of the funerals were on the opposite side of the compound where Atty couldn’t watch, even though she could still hear the sounds of crying and the crackling of flames. When the sun had passed over the roof to the other side of the main lodge, she decided to lie down for an hour. The sun was beginning its descent when she awoke and saw the woman standing at the foot of the bed, watching her.

Shaking the sleep from her eyes, Atty sat up and scrambled back toward the wall. Her ears could catch no sound other than the soft echoes of the dying fires in the distance. The funerals were over. Tomorrow would be a fresh day.

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