Saboteur: The Sedition, #2

By A.J. Maguire

He'd promised to unite the land, to bring Eldur and Human together in peace, but Nelek Dyngannon never expected that peace to come at the cost of his wife. Together, Trenna and Nelek must battle past the demons of Trenna's past, in order to forge a peaceful future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613090404

A.J. Maguire

A.J. (Aimee Jean) Maguire is a science fiction junky and an outdoors enthusiast. She loves stories in all shapes and sizes; which means she reads a lot, watches a great deal of movies, and allows herself to be consumed by select television shows. A devoted parent, she believes her son is the greatest gift of her life and enjoys sharing all of her geekery with him. She graduated with honors from Northwest Nazarene University with her BA in Christian Ministries. Maguire has been weaving stories since she was very young and even confesses to having carried 3x5 cards in her cargo pockets while in the military just in case inspiration hit her away from the computer. Her writing runs the gamut from historical fiction to science fiction and she fully intends to be telling stories long into her old age.

Book preview

Saboteur

T hey’re not going to let you out of here alive, Brock said.

I don’t imagine they will.

His frown twisted, darkening as he turned to face her again. We have to get you out of here.

No. Trenna slowly got to her feet.

Trenna, do not ask me to accept this as your fate.

Brock stared hard at her, as though he might be able to will her into agreeing with him. Trenna saw it, smiled a bit because it was so much like her brother to try and persuade her this way, and moved to his side. With calm diplomacy, she gripped his forearm and met his gaze.

I am not asking you to accept anything, brother. I’m stating fact. You cannot get me out of this one, Brock. Trenna watched the rise of his rebellion in his face and squeezed his forearm before he could protest further. Hear me, please. I hold no hope for my own life, Brock. The Humans will put me on trial, and because it was war, I have no defense. Some of what they say will be fabrication, but most of it will not. I was General Tray’Lana Silvanus before I met you, and I am guilty.

Table of Contents

Saboteur

Table of Contents

Saboteur Title Page

Dedication

Part I:

Mobs

Chapters

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Part II:

The Trial Of General Lana Silvanus

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Part III:

The Saboteur

Twenty

Twenty-one

Twenty-two

Twenty-three

Twenty-four

Twenty-five

Twenty-six

Twenty-seven

Twenty-eight

Twenty-nine

Thirty

Thirty-one

Thirty-two

Epilogue

Meet A. J. Maguire

Works From The Pen Of A J. Maguire

Letter to Our Readers

Saboteur

A. J. Maguire

A Wings ePress, Inc.

Fantasy Romance Novel

Edited by: Karen Babcock

Copy Edited by: Leslie Hodges

Senior Editor: Karen Babcock

Executive Editor: Marilyn Kapp

Cover Artist: Richard Stroud

All rights reserved

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Wings ePress Books

Copyright © 2011 by Aimee Heil

ISBN: 978-1-61309-040-4

Published by Wings ePress, Inc.

Published In the United States Of America

Wings ePress Inc.

3000 N. Rock Road

Newton, KS  67114

Dedication

For Jan, who trades brownies for pages, without which I’d still be working on this book.

Part I:

Mobs

One

TRENNA COULDN’T REMEMBER the last time she’d been spit on. Come to think of it, no one had actually spit on her before. That wasn’t to say she hadn’t pissed off a good many people. In fact, she could name a half a dozen off the top of her head who would have applauded the action. Still, the lukewarm splat of liquid that landed just beside her right eyebrow managed to jar her into reality. It began a slow, uncomfortable trail over her cheekbone that chilled in the autumn air.

Grinding her teeth to keep from retaliating, Trenna wiped the spittle onto her shirtsleeve. All around her, the leering mass of Human bodies was only partly distinguishable from the sway of leaves cascading down from the trees. She thought for a moment that they all looked dirty, their rustic colors blending with the autumnal woodland. Here and there she could see a bright splash of hair, but the mob seemed to smear together, indistinguishable.

A rancid bit of fruit struck her shoulder, splitting open and soaking something greenish into her best shirt. She was fairly certain that it was stained beyond repair, but the scent that assaulted made her stomach overturn. Fighting to control herself and not vomit, Trenna had a hard time keeping on her feet as she was hustled up and onto a long platform at the center of the village. The swarm of the crowd pressed on all sides, preventing escape and broken only by the interference of sporadically placed thatch-roofed homes. The great shadow of fortress Cadabyr loomed over the scene, its blocky shape cutting to the left and shading more than half of the people.

Beyond the teeming mass, curving and bulging into the scenery, the desert-ridden Bray Mountains mocked her for a fool. A half a day’s journey would have brought her to the foothills. Another two, and she could be ensconced in the jagged wilderness of Dyngannon, safe within Eldur borders and with her own people.

Something inside her shouted that they should never have left. Nelek would have grown restless after a time, but at least they would have had more than a pitiful seven weeks of marriage before calamity met them. Her heart twisted at the thought of her husband, memories raking across her vision and drowning out the sights before her.

Nelek Vronat Dyngannon, Duke of Kiavana, grandson of King Porrex and current ambassador of peace to the Human race; Trenna smirked at the long list of official titles he bore. None of them really seemed to match the man. He had a boyish charm to his nature that went against the title of duke, and at the same time she could sense a contradicting power in him, as though he squirmed under the restrictions of being second in line to the throne. Beyond that, well, the ambassador thing was his own doing.

The cacophony rising into the dusk was wildly against her. She caught tidbits of words, all urging violence, and knew if she wasn’t afforded the opportunity to speak soon the Humans would take matters into their own hands and rip her apart. Two sturdy guards on either side of her had managed to dissuade them thus far, but the tensions were rising and she could feel it.

My people!

The crowd roared on.

Good people!

Here and there the multitude began to quiet, friends nudging each other to focus on the newest voice. The voice wasn’t new to Trenna, however, and she felt a twitch of real alarm. Brodis Windringham broke through the crowd and hobbled his way to the platform. Everything about the bastard spoke of hard-earned, festering spite for the Eldur race; his weathered face seemed to be in a constant state of distortion, twisting in various looks of sneering and scowling. When she’d first met him three days prior, Trenna had thought he’d bit down on something bitter. And she was partly right, in a figurative way.

The bitter thing he couldn’t swallow was peace, and for the moment all his ire was steadfast on her person. A hard knot of foreboding settled in her chest. Out of instinct more than thought she covered the flat of her belly with both hands, cursing herself for a fool, cursing Nelek in the same light, and cursing Brodis Windringham for being a hateful creature without a soul.

My people, we have been given a gift! Brodis outstretched his arms, his grimy cloak making a stained brown curtain spanning his shoulders. His silvery-white hair caught the last rays of the sun, creating a dramatic scene for the crowd below. General Lana Silvanus, pride of the Dyngannon Army, has been delivered to us!

Trenna flinched at her former title, vaguely aware of the tumultuous greeting given by the mob. There wasn’t a chance in hell she could escape now. Past the two guards were at least seventeen yards worth of wrathful, churning people. Unless something miraculous happened in the next few moments, the crude, blood-stained block just beside Brodis’ left foot would claim her head. She could plead her case to their sense of Humanity, but given that she was both Eldur and one of their more feared enemies, she doubted that would work.

Calming herself as the crowd paused to listen more; Trenna determined that she would not go quietly. She was willing to sacrifice many things for the sake of peace. Her life and consequently Nelek’s life—Eldur marriage bound two people in blood, making a union so fierce that when one died, so did the other—but she would not, could not, sacrifice the life of their child.

Not willingly.

Nelek would understand that.

Lifting her chin and letting go of a shaky breath, Trenna shifted for a better view of the left guardsman’s weaponry. He had a longsword, which made her frown. She hated longswords. They were never made correctly, off balance and always too big for her smaller frame.

For seven years Lana Silvanus terrorized our people! Ravaged our homes! Burnt villages to the ground!

Oh, for gods’ sakes, it was one village! The words were out before she’d had a chance to think about them. She probably should have begged for her child’s life, or at least made it known that she was pregnant. Maybe then they would have stopped to listen. But she didn’t. Somehow, she just couldn’t. The words were stuck in her throat.

Further incensed by the verbal attack, the crowd began pelting her with a sundry of different items. They had, it seemed, run out of rotten food and opted now for small rocks and pebbles. One particularly jagged object struck her ear as she made a futile attempt to shield herself with her arms.

Bad idea, Duchess, she told herself. But her calm was back, and she felt ready for the impending battle.

Do you see how she defies us! Even facing death! Brodis bellowed. There can be no peace with these people! Their very nature is to fight us.

Everyone has the nature to fight for their lives, be they Human or Eldur.

Silence! Brodis whirled to face her. We have nothing in common with your kind.

A flash of conflict flared in the face of one man near the base of the platform. Trenna saw it, saw the opportunity for peace in just that one Human, and prayed Nelek would forgive her in the afterlife.

We have more in common, you and I, Brodis, than you could ever fathom. She met his umber gaze and held it. Once I stood like you, arguing that peace was a dream and nothing more.

The guard on her left adjusted, bringing his sword closer.

Gag her! I’ll have none of her lies!

Trenna surged into action, grabbing the sword and unsheathing it in one fluid movement. It was just as heavy and ungainly as she’d expected, but she adjusted to it swiftly. Kicking the guard just above the knee and forcing him to stagger, she spun to block the initial attack from the man on her right. More rocks flew at her, bouncing off torso, arms, and hip, some catching the two officers instead. She parried twice, spotted the first guard climbing to his feet again and threw herself into a sideways tackle, sending them both to the ground.

The guard’s head connected with the platform in a resounding crash, and his body went sufficiently limp for her to roll off. Trenna found her feet again, squaring against the remaining guardsman. Somewhere in the more morbid recesses of her mind she was insulted that only two men had been assigned to guard her. And then a craggy bit of rock shattered against her temple, and she lost her balance.

A breathless moment later she was overcome by many hands grabbing, twisting, yanking, tearing, and her feet left the ground. The sword was ripped away. Her body was lifted, passed along by clawing fingers pushing her back to Brodis, back to the chopping block. Trenna found the sense to struggle again, smashing her elbow into the nose of the closest man. Her right side dipped down as the man fell away, but she was lifted again, someone yanking her hair hard enough she could feel the roots coming loose.

She shouted and kicked and bit, her voice swallowed up by the angry clamor just as surely as her body was delivered to the executioner again. Everything blurred together in the furious flock of bodies. The reek of excited sweat became clear, just as clear as the solid press of wooden block against her chest.

I’m pregnant! she shouted, as hard and as loud as she could.

But just as she’d known it would, her voice was lost in the fray. She managed to lever one arm against the chopping block and push herself half off the smelly thing, shouting in desperate strength. Someone laid across her left side, trying to squash her back down again, but Trenna had a foot under her now and she’d be damned if she’d let go.

She saw the mallet a split second before it pounded into her left shoulder, pain coursing fast into her awareness and forcing her against the block. Breath gone, vision swimming from shock, Trenna tried one last time to push upward. The mallet struck again—in precisely the same spot—and she collapsed. Her hair was wrenched back, angling her neck so that she had a clearer view of the horde. At this level it was faces that she saw and not just puffs of hair—angry, bloodthirsty, driven faces, all twisted with their fury.

Apparently the executioner decided that she deserved a different kind of death. Or rather, she thought morbidly, he didn’t want to risk any of the Humans who were holding her down. Trenna wasn’t certain if she couldn’t feel her left arm because of the sweaty, heavy bodies crushing her, or if the mallet had done substantial damage, but the worry was fleeting. One very sharp, very curved blade flashed in front of her face as the executioner leaned over her.

Chilled steel grazed just under her jawbone.

Trenna held her breath.

And then a body leapt in front of her, coming from somewhere on her right and blocking the agitated mass from her view. She felt the dagger begin to pry away from her skin. It took a moment for her to spot his large, regally knotted cloak clasp, and she expelled the breath she’d been holding. Someone was shouting to the crowd, who were stilled by the sudden spectacle before them, but Trenna couldn’t focus on more than the struggle in front of her.

Nelek muscled the blade away from her jaw, pulling backward even as the executioner tried to lever more of his own weight into the strain. He was a damned handsome man, even when scowling, and in that breathless moment Trenna swore he was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. His fair skin was luminescent in the pale light, glistening with a sheen of sweat. He must have ridden hard to catch up to her because his black hair was a mass of tangled curls, with one particular twig caught beside his pointed left ear.

The blade glinting blue-gray in the encroaching night, made a slow progression up until it came to her eye level. Whoever had been holding her hair had released it upon Nelek’s arrival, which she was grateful for on several counts, most of them dealing with the deadly game of tug-of-war that she found herself in. For if Nelek’s strength gave out, at least she now had enough leeway that if she kissed the chopping block, the dagger might miss her completely.

Nelek remained locked with the executioner, kneeling just in front of her, as the orders being shouted to the crowd finally began to register.

Disperse! the voice commanded, half-growling because several were not listening. Or I swear to you, I will tax you all so hard you’ll struggle to eat for a month!

You already tax us! Brodis argued.

Trenna wished she could feel her arm. She’d skewer the man.

Nelek was beginning to tire, she could tell by the determined set of his teeth. Every inch of her body was still held captive by the nameless men around her, or she’d have tried kicking the executioner in the delicates to help. Nelek freed one hand from the struggle, smashing his palm up and into what she imagined was the executioner’s nose. She couldn’t exactly see the hit, but the crunch that sounded at the movement was familiar enough. The big man released the dagger and stumbled back. The weight on her right side lessened suddenly as several of her captors tumbled away with the executioner.

The mallet swung hard at Nelek’s face, blurring in her vision as she began to squirm out from under the press of bodies. Nelek saw the attack, ducked and weaved, slicing mallet-man from armpit to elbow. The assailant yelped and dropped the mallet, clutching his arm as he disappeared into the throng of people.

The other men holding her opted to let go, warily hurrying off the platform as Nelek positioned himself beside her. Trenna grimaced and pushed to her feet, dizzily remembering the two strikes she’d taken in the shoulder. Pain sparkled in her vision, threatened to take her back to her knees. Nelek reached out and steadied her with one hand, keeping the menace of the dagger between them and the now uncertain crowd.

What would you know of taxes, Brodis? You’re a beggar, leaching off the fortress gates after every supper.

Trenna didn’t know who the man was, but she liked him. She could hazard a guess that he was the lord of the great, towering fortress just beside the village by the garb he wore. A full, blue riding cape flowed from his shoulders and over the curve of his horses’ flanks, made all the more impressive by the creamy tones of his stallion. Tufts of graying sepia hair curled in wild array about his head, giving his round, fierce features a sort of trustworthy look. Were he not in a state of fury, Trenna imagined his very face could disarm even the cleverest of politicians.

I’m a beggar because of taxes! Brodis ranted, glancing out at the crowd.

You’re a beggar because you spend all day at the ale house, the lordly man said. This earned a few nervous titters from the crowd, and tensions began to lesson. Now step aside.

No! Brodis, obviously sensing he was losing the mob, stabbed a finger in her direction. This is Lana Silvanus. She has to pay for what she’s done.

You would have her pay for the whole war? Nelek asked, calm, as though he hadn’t just wrestled a dagger away from her face.

She burnt down homes. Destroyed our livelihoods. Brodis had some of the crowd back now, murmuring their agreement. And she wasn’t just a soldier following orders either. She was the one giving the orders. She has to be held accountable!

Lord Cadabyr surveyed the multitude of people, his mouth setting in a grim line. Then she will be held accountable in my court, as befits her rank as Duchess of Kiavana.

You’ll do nothing, Brodis scowled, defiant still though he had lost his support completely. She’ll be given leave to travel and escape back to Dyngannon.

A vehemence in the human struck Trenna as odd. It went beyond the idea of peace negotiations, beyond just the Eldur race. Brodis was wild with fury at her, ignoring Nelek’s presence completely. This was personal for him. He knew her, or had known her as General Lana, but try as she might she couldn’t place him in her memory.

Nelek lowered the dagger. He let it drop to his side, tapping twice on his thigh before he spoke. You have my word that she will remain in Fortress Cadabyr until the trial.

Several soldiers from the castle had not so discreetly pushed their way through the crowd and made a perimeter around his lordship and the platform. A horse was brought to the foot of the makeshift stage, and the soldier leading it offered the reins to Nelek, who very calmly set down his blade in order to receive them. Trenna was ushered onto the horse, trying hard to pay attention to the rest of the argument. But her body hurt and her heart was still clamoring for an even pace, so she missed most of it.

There was a good deal to do with Brodis remembering his place; she caught that much. Lord Cadabyr expressed that his tolerance had reached its limit, no matter Windringham’s status as a veteran—which only confirmed that she’d met the man on the field of battle. As Nelek mounted behind her, Brodis and the diminishing crowd was warned against attempting to murder a noble—Eldur or Human—and several examples of dire consequences were promised if ever such happened again.

The man had eloquence behind him; she’d give him that much. By the time he’d finished his tirade, many in the crowd were cringing, and only half of them understood more than the intent behind the words.

She knew now that the mallet had done a good deal of damage. Pins and needles seemed to prick just under her skin, rolling up and down her arm in constant waves, and she still could not feel her left hand. In fact, were she not holding it tight against her own belly, Trenna might have thought it was gone. Still, Trenna made it a point to keep her back straight and her chin high as they made a swift departure for the fortress. She was aware of her exhaustion and the increasing pain strumming out from her shoulder like the rhythm of a steady beat, but her pride would not allow her to fall in front of these men. Nelek’s arm went around her waist, but he made no other move to support her, seeming to understand the point she was making. She was, after all, still partly General Lana Silvanus. Years of being out of commission could not erase the marks of a warrior, a soldier, or a leader.

It was a short journey to the fortress gates, made in silence with Lord Cadabyr riding just in front of them. Sitting at the very top of a remarkably high hill, the fortress could only be reached via one road making a switchback up the steep incline. Its foundations climbed the great hillock, rising from a dark-colored rocky substance until it molded with a more imperial, whitewashed stone wall. Conical towers lined the curtain wall, each of them capped with steepled roofs boasting green flags, all snapping in the high breeze.

It looked quite impregnable, which would not bode well for them if this trial of hers didn’t pan out right.

Dark shadows pooled in the gatehouse as they passed through, and she shivered more from reaction than from the cold. For one moment, just as she and Nelek were consumed in shadow, Trenna thought perhaps the hysteria of the mob would have been preferable to what lay ahead. Then their horses emerged on the other side, greeted by the light of several torches, and the feeling was gone.

Or not quite gone. Lord Cadabyr dismounted, looking every bit as furious as he had when facing the crowd.

We owe you our thanks, Nelek said, sliding off the horse.

Do not bother thanking me. Cadabyr glared up at where she remained in the saddle. I’d as soon have her executed myself for what she represents. But I won’t allow the fate of Cadabyr to be dictated by Brodis Windringham.

My wife is no longer a member of the Dyngannon Army.

Just as Windringham is no longer a part of mine. That doesn’t make him any less of a hero in the eyes of the townsfolk, regaling them every night with tales of his exploits. Cadabyr paused, watching her face with close scrutiny. And his unmentionable scars.

Trenna realized at last, with the brooding, unhappy glare of the Human lord in front of her, who Brodis was. Whether it was the sudden whiff of burnt flesh breezing through her memory, the pregnancy, or the traumatic events of the day, Trenna didn’t know, but she found herself slipping out of the saddle, suddenly too weak and nauseous to hold herself up.

Nelek caught her, surprised and confused and obviously not liking the way Cadabyr continued to watch her. She pressed her wrists to her stomach as Nelek delivered her to her feet again, forcing bile to remain lodged somewhere in her throat. It would not, she thought sensibly, do well for peace if she were to vomit on his lordship’s boots.

Be aware, Duke of Kiavana, that I am only tolerating your presence out of a morbid curiosity for what you have to say. With one final, scathing look her direction, Lord Cadabyr scowled at them. I hope for both your sakes that you have something substantial to bring to the peace table.

Two

BRODIS STAYED ON THE platform long after the crowd had dispersed. A rain was coming; he could feel it in the ache of several joints. The sky held no signs of it, though. Above him were clear starlit skies, autumn chill making everything look and feel crisper than it had all summer. The center of the village began to overpopulate with shadows, leaving him in the dark, forgotten.

Bunching his fists at his sides, Brodis turned to scowl up at the castle. Torchlight peppered the walls, throwing the basic shape of Cadabyr into relief against the shine of the moon. He wanted to scream.

He’d had her. By gods, he’d had her.

And now she was secure in Cadabyr, her very existence nagging at him, urging him to take action. She’d looked regal in spite of the blood and various bruises on her person, holding her head high as though she owned the land around her. Just as she had thirty years ago, the last time he’d seen her. Her damned pointed ears and those unnatural streaks in her hair, he thought with a scowl. The arrogance of that insufferable woman made