Warrior Bride

By Cammie Eicher

In all of Thule, there is only one woman warrior, Catera of the Wolf Clan. When the new king Daegren comes in the guise of a simple messenger to inspect the clans, he is fascinated with this warrior leader. And when the time comes for him to choose tribute from the Wolf, he claims Catera to be the king's mate. Stunned and furious, she seeks to avoid what seems a cruel fate but knows she must submit for her father's honor and that of her clan. Daegren soon comes to understand his claimed bride is no ordinary woman. When a border war breaks, he orders her back to her clan for safety although he will fight with the Dragon Guards. Her defiance of his order and obvious affection for his uncle, the former king Xendor, lead him to refute his claim, an action with consequences for which they must all pay the price. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fat Cat Books
• Release date: Mar 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393842934

Cammie Eicher

Cammie is a native Ohioan who moved to northeastern Kentucky and fell in love with its rolling hills and wonderful people. She loves sunshine, coffee and traveling to weird little places usually accompanied by her fearless sidekick Minnie, who loves rides as much as any other dog in existence.

Book preview

Chapter One

Catera settled into her favorite nook in the chiseled wall far above the silent keep. Here, the darkness and the stone’s curve hid her as she stood watch. She could protect the roads leading to the fortress and, more importantly, be alone for a few precious moments.

Privacy was scarce inside the imposing walls of the Wolf Clan fortress. The isolation imposed by geography and their own nature led over time to a comforting, yet often vexing, familiarity. All knew each other, loved each other, and held one another’s secrets. Catera treasured knowing that here, if nowhere else in the kingdom, she would always be accepted and loved. Yet she sometimes needed a sanctuary from that intimacy.

Still, she found no comfort in this favorite hiding place tonight. She gazed into the vast blackness spread out before her, its depths silent except for the cry of a werdel on the hunt and the loneliness in the whispering wind and shivered.

Change was coming. She felt it deep in her bones, inside the core of herself. Had she been any other female, she could have gone to the elders and confided her concerns. Or she might have sought out those with the powers to divine the future. They were accustomed to young women seeking prophecy and guidance.

Catera was no ordinary female. She was the leader of her clan’s armies, and the only woman warrior in all of Thule. While her clanswomen could openly disclose their worries, her men looked to her for strength and courage. She dare not show weakness. Whatever the spirits held in store, she could do naught to stop it.  She could, however, prepare for it. She would train her men harder and keep a keen eye open for omens and signs.

Sighing, she stood and pulled her cloak more tightly around her. As she descended from the rough tower wall to where the watch fire burned, she closed her mind to the whispers on the wind and the glimmer of the clouds crossing the moon ... and to the fear that something unknown came swiftly toward this very fortress, to change her life and that of the Wolf forever.

Rise up, oh people of the great land, and greet he who would be your king.

The words of the ancient ritual poured from the high priest's lips as honey from a vial, smooth and rich, resonating through the great hall filled with royals and clanfolk alike. When he was done, Daegren would be king.

And his uncle would be ... what? No king of Thule ever removed himself from the throne. Always, as far back as history recorded, ascension came through death. Yet his uncle stood three steps behind him, as robust as any man in the hall, despite the graying of his hair and the slight stoop of his shoulders.

Xendor could have ruled Thule for many more years.

The cadence of the priest's words slowed, dragging Daegren's attention back to the matter at hand and away from the mystery of his uncle's abdication. He stiffened as the priest shouted the time-honored words, Come forth, great king, and accept thy crown!, hesitating a heartbeat before stepping forward. Xendor moved with him, placing the jeweled crown upon Daegren’s head and the responsibility for the kingdom upon his shoulders. As was tradition, the ambassadors of the six clans of Thule formed an arc behind their new king while the priest delivered instructions for ruling. Daegren struggled to understand the lecture, which was delivered in Old Language, taking comfort in the knowledge few others could comprehend either.

The full import of his coronation came as he turned to face the ambassadors. All were loyal to Xendor; each waited for the new king to prove his abilities.

Or his incompetence.

These ambassadors he knew so well looked different today, clad in their finest court garments and expressions ranging from neutrality to speculation. At the head of the arc stood the elder of the Dragonfly Clan, his mother's people, responsible for the magic of the kingdom. At the other end stood the stoop-shouldered ambassador of the Meadow People, the gatherers who practiced the medicinal arts, and most highly esteemed at the court. Filling out the circle were the ambassadors from the Sojourn Clan, the wanderers and adventurers, and his father's people; the Water Clan, which lived along the ocean and was said to command the waters; and the Nurture Clan, known for its expertise in farming, guided by the moon signs.

There was a gap in the curved line where a Wolf Clan elder should have waited. That there was no representative from the Wolf was no surprise. Their tribal lands lay the farthest from the governing palace, and the way was hard. Only the death of a king might bring an elder to the palace to offer respect, and Xendor was alive and well.

Struggling to remember the ritual he crammed into his memory in the last three sennets, so brief a time, Daegren nodded to each ambassador before dropping to one knee. Now he must speak the time-honored words which would seal his coronation. Although the stones on which he knelt chilled him, sweat beaded Daegren’s brow as he made the proclamation binding him as Thule’s new ruler. His words came out even, his voice strong, as if he practiced years for this day.

The reign of Xendor is ended, and the time of Daegren begins. I am your king. My way is just. Bow before me, my people, and pay me tribute. As cheers rang out in the great room, he rose and took the massive throne of his ancestors.

Night came and nearly passed again before the last of Daegren’s subjects presented their gifts in a rite of coronation strictly proscribed and which he dare not change. It was with a lighter heart that he endured the final of the family tributes, presented by a very old man who spoke an exceedingly long time, and with little grace. When the old man presented his family's tribute of one small goat, the great hall was empty save for the new King Daegren, the former King Xendor, and a bevy of yawning servants.

You have done well. Xendor spoke softly as they crossed from the public rooms of the palace to the king’s private quarters. The tributes were generous. That bodes well for your reign.

Which should still be yours. Daegren removed the crown from his aching head. You have many years left to you.

And I intend to enjoy them. Xendor smiled. You have always been a suitable heir so it pleases me to see you made king. The people know their future, and as for me, my plan is to take advantage of my remaining years.

What will you do with them?

Become an ordinary man. Xendor's smile slipped. I was raised to know I would be king and trained for the day I would stand in the great hall and assume my place. Whatever time I have left to me, I wish to spend it in the same pursuits as those whose greatest concern is whether there is wood for the fire and food for the table.

Daegren couldn’t argue. He had been granted the freedom to live as he wished, even knowing he might ascend, if his uncle was to die childless.

Why did you never marry? He often wondered, but only now found the courage to ask. You enjoy the company of women, and who among them would not wish to be queen?

Ah, but I found none I wished to make my mate. As a young man, I cared only about finding pleasure in females. In my middle years, I led our troops in war and felt it unfair to take a queen until I came home. Then I became old. He patted Daegren's shoulder. Now we are at your chambers, and I bid you goodnight.

He grinned as he walked on toward his own chambers where, Daegren was sure, Xendor's favorite concubine awaited.

Inside Daegren's own bedchamber, two servants greeted him. He sent the male away immediately, preferring to undress himself. The female presented a greater dilemma.

It was obvious she was there to serve a different sort of need for the new king. The young woman knelt upon the bed in a submissive pose, her face painted with the rich red lips and darkened eyes of a concubine. Daegren wrestled with the quandary presented to him, contemplating the first kingly decision he was called upon to make.

He wanted nothing more than to send her away and sleep. Yet to do so immediately after his coronation was unwise. She might be yet another tribute. To refuse her would cause a rift with one of the loyalists. And, too, sending her away untouched might lead to speculation about what manner of male he was. Unable to perform, some might whisper, leading some discontented citizen to wonder if this king would also fail to produce an heir. Or the rumors might speculate as to whether Daegren secretly preferred males to share his bed.

Come to me. The female slipped off the bed and walked toward him, sliding her fur robe down and off as she moved. Beneath it she wore the thinnest of gowns, designed to reveal more than conceal.

She was a comely woman, with long hair, a rounded figure and doubtless trained in the arts of love. That made Daegren's decision even more difficult. To have been sent to him was an honor like no other for a woman like her. To deny her would be to dishonor her.

An arm’s length from him, she dropped at his feet to bend down before him, forehead to the floor, in the posture of respect with which the kings of Thule were traditionally greeted.

Stand. The female rose, her eyes downcast, as was fitting. Daegren tipped her face toward his.

He was prepared to tell her she was as desirable a woman as he had ever seen, but in his state of exhaustion, he would disappoint them both. He would invite her to his bed to sleep, and allow her to slip away before dawn as was expected.

That was before he looked into her eyes and heard the ragged edge to her breath. Her youth, her nervousness, the anxiety in her eyes ... he damned whoever made this gift to him. She was not only a nubile who had yet to bear a child, but a virgin. He could not let her return to the women's quarters in such a state. The next man to possess her would know, and the rumors would begin in earnest.

He traced the curve of the nubile's cheek, regretting the tremor the simple action brought.

You are very beautiful, he said softly, knowing how important this night must be to her. Prepare me for bed.

The female's hand trembled as she undid the bone clasp of his ceremonial robe. He let her slip off the last of his clothing before leading her to the pillowed bed. As he did, Daegren made a silent vow: Unlike his uncle, he would take a queen as soon as possible and ensure an heir to the kingdom. And she would be a woman of experience, for this was the last time he'd initiate a virgin. They offered far more trouble than pleasure.

So this is where a king begins his reign. Xendor walked into the depths of the dragon caves, where Daegren groomed a blue-winged dragon with a brush of tarden tendrils.

Or a captain of the Dragon Guard ends his. Daegren hung the brush on a peg chiseled into the wall and turned to his uncle.

I would not have expected you to be awake so soon, Xendor chided. Or did my coronation gift fail to please you?

You provided the woman? Daegren raised an eyebrow. I thought perhaps she was tribute from another loyal subject.

Xendor laughed. No, she was raised here in the palace and trained to ... well, I need not tell you her specialty. I chose her personally and instructed my finest concubines to prepare her for a king. I hope her performance was satisfactory.

Extremely so. Daegren smiled. You may express my appreciation to her teachers, if you'd like.

I shall do so. Xendor pulled a piece of fruit from his tunic, twisting it in half to share with Daegren. You jest about the woman being tribute, yet that is a near-truth. As you know, the clans must offer you tribute in their homelands, and among them you may find a mate.

I expected to choose a woman from the court.

Xendor shook his head. These women will flatter and seek to draw you to them, but they care nothing for you as a man. They only see the throne of queen empty and anticipate the power it brings. For your good and that of Thule, you should find a suitable mate outside these walls. Choose an amenable woman, a good breeder fair in looks and teachable in the ways of the court, for you may wish her beside you at times. You should avoid the Dragonfly Clan, as they are your mother's people, but surely you can find a comely woman in another.

How would you have me find these women?

Xendor smiled. With minimum effort. Send a messenger to each clan to collect their tribute and let him bring back the most suitable women from each. Choose one among them for your mate and keep the others here at the palace if you’d like. There is also honor in being a concubine to the king, you know.

If none suit?

Xendor smiled. Then you must go and find one. Soon. The people of Thule will not forgive two kings who do not breed. If their trust is lost, so will the throne be to some usurper. I dallied too long before remembering the line of ascension; do not make the same mistake.

Daegren nodded and immersed himself in the small details of dragon-tending. His uncle was right. There was great political advantage in a quick union, particularly if the alliance was with a clan that might pose a threat to the throne. Yet he did not know which courtier could be entrusted with the choice of women, and which one might instead pursue his own ends.

He turned to Xendor.

I will go myself, he said. I will not be recognized. The clan ambassadors who know me never leave the court. Those living on their homelands will accept me as a messenger if I proclaim myself so. Some duties should not be delegated, and I believe the choice of mate is one.

Xendor chuckled. The crown has not replaced your need for adventure, I see. If that is what you wish, then go.

I shall. But first we eat. Daegren’s exertions of the night before left him ravenous. I cannot leave until I restore my strength. Your gift nearly wore me out, old man.

Xendor laughed. Never fear. She is now with the other women, describing what an amazing lover you are. You may be glad to be away once they begin to compete for your favor. Tell me now how your search for a new captain of the Dragon Guard progresses.

Daegren was relieved at the change in conversation. He loved his uncle, who took over the role of guardian when Daegren's own father perished in the Great Battle. Yet there was only so much a man cared to share about his personal affairs, even to Xendor whose love life was storied.

A physical likeness and a love for Thule was all he shared with his uncle, who enjoyed the power of the crown. Daegren could have remained content leading the Dragon Guards, elite warriors charged with protecting Thule’s borders and keeping peace among its clans.

It was this upon which Xendor expounded now, the need for Daegren to bring those clans to immediate allegiance. The type of tributes in their homeland, and the willingness of the clan leaders to give them, would indicate where his armies must remind the people of the king’s ultimate authority.

I shall leave on the morrow to begin the visits, Daegren said when his uncle paused for breath. My scribe can prepare a decree allowing you authority in the palace until my return, which I shall make as quickly as possible. All are to believe I have gone to the summer palace to ponder the affairs of state. The tradition you began, Uncle, provides the perfect excuse for me now.

Xendor's face curved into a wide smile. The summer palace was built not for affairs of state, but affairs of the body. If a woman appeals to you, take her there. You will understand once you have arrived.

He stood and stretched. The exhaustion of the ceremony showed in the circles beneath his eyes, a reminder that the habits of his youth now wore more heavily. Patting Daegren on the shoulder, he said, You were not the only one to celebrate the transfer of power, my nephew. I left a silver-eyed beauty sleeping in my bed. I fear she may be lonely when she wakes, so I must offer my companionship.

Watching him go, Daegren felt the full mantle of kingship and wished him well. The man earned this freedom in the waning years of his life.

As for himself ... Daegren knew two things. He must immediately acquaint himself with the clans and assess their capacity for mischief, and he must find a queen with whom to breed. The burden was great. If he died without a recognized heir, the throne would be claimed by whichever clan fought hardest to claim it, and the reign of the lords of Quanida would end after a thousand annos. And if the clans fought as bitterly as they did so long ago, the kingdom of Thule would surely cease to exist. 

Catera spied the rider from the watcher's turret and gave the cry.

A visitor comes! Her words rang through the air as she hurried down the steps and into the courtyard to bang the ceremonial gong. The sound brought a handful of men running to take their places beside the massive open gate, and dozens more to line the entryway. On the other side of the courtyard a bell rang out to call the others of the Wolf, and to alert the kitchen goodwives to begin their preparations for the feast.

Breathing deeply, Catera smoothed the leather of her warrior's garb. Few visitors came to the castle of the Wolf Clan, deep in the wooded mountains. None could remember the last time a king's messenger came. When great King Xendor assumed the throne, her predecessor led a contingent of warriors to the palace to present the clan's tribute, honoring him not only as king but as one of Thule's greatest warriors.

Stand tall, my men, and be proud. Catera nodded to her father, the clan leader Cersus, as he joined them. The warriors formed a V with Catera and her father at the head and waited.

Her heart pounded as the rider drew neared. His garb in the royal colors of goldenrod and silver flashed under the sun against the purple feathers of his steed, as he sat proudly upon the beast’s back.

Stand your guard, she admonished as the rider approached. Do not assume it is he; remain wary of trickery.

Her muscles ached with the tension of the moment, her mind racing at what might happen. She stood watchful, ready to signal her archers in case of deception, reassured by the blade holstered across her back. She learned the art of swordplay as a child and perfected it while other females discovered how to entice a man with simple spells and to manage servants. If this rider was an imposter, he would feel the edge of her blade across the throat before he could spit out his name.

Steady, she cautioned again as he entered the courtyard and halted at the tip of the V. She could sense the anticipation coiled within her men, a result of their training and the lore preserved in hundreds of annos of clan history. She inhaled deeply and prepared herself for the unexpected as the man swung down from his horse. He bowed to Cersus, unfurling the scroll with his credentials.

I bring you greetings from the king, he said, sliding a leather pouch from the neck of his mount.

While her father withdrew the letter and examined it, Catera studied the man himself. Tall and well built, he bore himself as a warrior, an assessment affirmed by the scars he bore. He was older than she, but far younger than her father.

A male in his prime.

Cersus dropped to one knee before the messenger. Greetings to the king.

The king bids you well. The messenger offered the traditional reply.

I present the defenders of the clan. Cersus rose and spread his arms toward the lines of warriors. And their leader, Catera of the Wolf Clan.

The king bids you well. The man stepped forward and took Catera in the traditional embrace of greeting exchanged by warrior leaders throughout Thule. Her father told her it was said to imply a brotherhood by bravery, but she suspected it was simply a graceful way to check for hidden weapons.

Catera practiced this embrace with her father in anticipation of the messenger's arrival. That felt little like it did now. Her father had a soft paunch hidden beneath his chieftain’s robes, but this man’s chest was hard beneath his dragon scale sheath. He was far taller than her father, standing so far above her own not inconsiderable height that her cheek lay against his chest and not upon his cheek, as was tradition.

Catera thought, too, that the messenger held the embrace longer than her father predicted. He clasped her more tightly as well, making her grateful for the armor that served as a barrier between them.

When he stepped away, she needed a moment to collect herself and resume her place at the head of the column of soldiers. Inwardly, she cursed herself for allowing such a distraction. She was a warrior leader, by the spirits, not a silly nubile overcome by her first feel of a man's body.

After she resumed her position, the messenger stepped forward and spoke, following the ritual set forth in the royal records. I come to you as Daegren the King. You shall accept me and pay tribute.

The warriors dropped to one knee and bent their heads in homage, placing their swords upon their outstretched palms as a sign of peace. Catera knelt with them, her hands unwavering as she balanced the heavy weapon. She waited until the visitor returned to her father's side then signaled her warriors to holster their swords. Turning to them, Catera ordered, with the solemnity due the occasion, We are honored with the presence of Daegren the King. You will greet him.

The men united in the whoop that curdled the blood of many an enemy as they rode into combat, the famed war cry of the Wolf Clan. The sound roiled through the valley where the fortress stood, sending birds to flight, yet the king's messenger paid no heed to the raucous cry.

Catera granted him her first bit of respect. Few men could hear that cry for the first time and not flinch.

She sensed the warriors’ impatience as her father turned to the townspeople and castle servants with the same order. Their greeting was a round of cheers, men and women alike bowing before the man who came in place of the king. Catera also felt no need for the drawn-out pageantry.

Generations ago, when Thule was a bloodthirsty land facing as many challenges from within its borders as without, this ritual might have been necessary. That, after all, was why a messenger came in place of the king. If someone died, it would not be the crown wearer. Now the land was peaceful and the kings grown lazy. All of Thule knew the rulers never left their palaces by the sea to venture into the hinterlands.

To Catera, the most foolish part of the ritual was that this man was to be called by the king's name and accorded the same honors as the ruler himself. He was only a man, this one, nothing more. By his bulk and bearing, he was a male of noble birth pulled from the troops for this mission. No doubt this duty bored him, and for good reason.  He had no need to be here. The Wolf Clan always paid its annual bounty, earlier and in a greater amount than required, in order to keep the king's men away.

Catera.

Cersus called her to join him at the messenger's side. This was another ritual they practiced for several sun's risings.

We are privileged with the presence of the king, Cersus said. You will acquaint him with the fortress before retiring to the Great Hall.

Catera bowed, first to her father and then the messenger. She waited until he mounted his steed before taking the creature's lead rope and beginning the procession to the castle. Her men followed in single file, one long line of warriors stepping in unison. The march took place in silence, the onlookers parting to make a path.

Welcome to our home, Daegren, King of Thule. Catera linked her hands for him to step down. Once he dismounted, she bowed again and led him into the castle. Its great stone walls provided a welcome coolness after the courtyard’s heat. The tour was quick, for there were no great treasures here. A servant met them in the west wing, which housed the bedchambers of visitors, to lead them to the room designated for the messenger. Much to Catera's relief, it met with his approval. Had it not, she would need to set a team of workers to preparing another room and by the spirits, they had worked hard enough already to accommodate this man.

Daegren studied the woman warrior as she led him back down the wide center walkway into the great hall with its giant tapestries decorating the walls. She moved with lithe grace, imposing in her warrior garb but indisputably female. He saved the Wolf Clan to visit last, and at each before, he heard the story of the woman warrior. The tales varied by clan.

His mother's people, the Dragonfly Clan, said a spell had been put on Cersus, condemning him to have a girl child who would live as a male. The Woods Clan insisted she was a changeling, while the Reaper Clan believed she was transformed by a wizard after stealing from her clan’s harvest stores.

The Keeper Clan, which maintained the history of all the kingdom, insisted there had been another before, long before Daegren's people ascended the throne, and she was the incarnation of that first female warrior.

He intended, as soon as all this blasted ritual ended, to find out the truth.

Catera stood aside, allowing him to enter the hall first, where a line of servants stood in front of the massive stone fireplace. As Daegren entered, they knelt, the older among them with some difficulty, and bowed their heads.

Greetings to the king, they murmured.

The king bids you well. Daegren's response was automatic. He had performed this exact ritual so many times he no longer need pay attention. He allowed himself a gaze around the grand chamber as the servants rose and bowed themselves away from his presence.

Bid the others enter. He stifled a yawn as Catera made the announcement. He wanted nothing more than to find a bed and sleep until moon rise, but he knew it was a futile wish. He would soon be forced to listen to an ancient recite the clan history, then hear the clan elders complain how slight the harvest was and how little the clan possessed. That happened at each clan before, and he held no illusion this final visit would be less tedious. He knew now why the kings sent a messenger in their stead. It had nothing to do with safety, but rather with avoiding death by boredom.

His eyes remained upon Catera rather than the guests entering the feast hall. He wasn’t surprised when Catera disappeared after the last entered, her father leading Daegren to his seat of honor. Warrior leaders didn’t attend feasts. Their duty was to remain with the troops to defend any encroachment on the hall, particularly when a royal was in attendance. This woman put duty first, as was right.

The night was shading into dusk when Catera left the hall to find Randule, her lieutenant.

You are in command, she said, removing the amulet of power from her neck and handing it to him. She made a face. Tonight my father insists I join him at the feast table. Think of me while you enjoy your meal here in the fresh air, and I am trapped inside that stale room.

Her men grinned as she left, which was her intent. She did not lie; the thought of the upcoming feast filled her with dread. Yet her obligation to her father superseded her duty to her men tonight. Neglecting that would be insult their honored guest; refusing to acknowledge the king’s man would break Cersus's heart. The act could also lead to her imprisonment if the messenger did not take well to her preferring the company of common soldiers to his.

Shoving thoughts of the messenger aside, she hurried to a side door and turned down a short hallway. Walking quickly, she reached her bedchamber where a young female waited nervously.

You need be hasty. The maid