Praise for Elizabeth Vaughan’s
Chronicles of the Warlands
WARLORD
“A superb climax to an excellent saga…Romance and fantasy readers will appreciate this terrific trio as Elizabeth Vaughan provides a fabulous finish to a superior story.”
—Midwest Book Review
“An outstanding conclusion to an inventive and riveting trilogy with a passionate, powerful love story at its core.”
—The Romance Reader
WARSWORN
“A moving continuation of the wonderful Warprize. Bravo.”
—Jo Beverley
“I loved [this] sequel…I can’t wait for number three!”
—Anne McCaffrey
“The dramatic tension is riveting, and the emotional stakes are high in this excellent novel. Vaughan is an exceptional new talent, and the next chapter in this series will be highly anticipated!”
—Romantic Times
“Readers will be delighted…Unusual and thoroughly enjoyable.”
—Booklist
WARPRIZE
“Possibly the best romantic fantasy I have ever read!”
—Anne McCaffrey
“I loved Warprize! Keir is a hero to savor, and Elizabeth Vaughan is an author to watch.”
—Claire Delacroix
“Vaughan’s brawny barbarian romance re-creates the delicious feeling of adventure and the thrill of exploring mysterious cultures created by Robert E. Howard in his Conan books and makes for a satisfying escapist read with its enjoyable romance between a plucky…heroine and a truly heroic hero.”
—Booklist
“The most entertaining book I’ve read all year.”
—All About Romance
“Simply mesmerizing. The story is told flawlessly.”
—ParaNormal Romance Reviews
“Wonderful…Run to the bookstore and pick up this debut.”
—A Romance Review
DAGGER-STAR
ELIZABETH VAUGHAN
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
DAGGER-STAR
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2008 by Elizabeth Vaughan.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ISBN: 978-1-1012-0711-6
BERKLEY® SENSATION
Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
BERKLEY SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
This book is dedicated to
Patricia A. Merritt,
who read every word and always asked for more;
and
Denise Lynn,
who took every phone call, listened,
then convinced me to get back to work.
Thank you both so very much.
CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I wish there was some way to list all the people who helped me during the writing of this book. But for once, my words have failed me. So please know that I am deeply grateful to all of you for the love and support, and please forgive the lack.
But I must say a special thank you to my agents, Meg Davis and Merrilee Heifetz, and my editor, Anne Sowards, for their understanding, support, and confidence in me.
ONE
WATER squelched between the fingers of Red’s glove as she pounded on the door.
The wet wood seemed to give under her attack, and she eased back a step, cursing under her breath. Best not to be too fierce, seeing as how she was begging shelter for the night.
Her feet squished in her boots as she stepped back. Some water from the roof of the small hut dripped under her cloak and down her neck. She cursed again as the wet chill rolled down her spine under her armor.
Impatient, she raised her gloved fist and pounded again.
Rain fell in sheets around her, obscuring the cleared area around the hut. She cursed the rain, cursed the night and the cold. She glanced back over her shoulder at Bethral, who was holding the horses, her hood pressed against her head by the weight of the water.
Red was certain that they’d never been this wet, cold, and filthy. The horses’ heads were hanging, poor tired beasts, their legs and bellies caked in muck. Beast was favoring a hind leg, and Red feared he’d strained it badly. They needed shelter, needed it now. Only the faint trace of woodsmoke had brought them here. There was no other sign of shelter for miles.
She turned back to the door, raising her gloved fist to pound on it again, when the door was pulled back, scraping against the dirt of the floor. A wave of blessed heat and the smell of food and fire pressed against her cold face. The hot air was thick with the scent of stew and spices she didn’t know. Her mouth watered.
A figure blocked the door, a
big man. Red tilted her head to look into brown eyes flecked with gold, glaring at her, questioning, and full of something she knew only too well.
Pain.
She swallowed hard and her stomach clenched. “Shelter,” she croaked, her throat raw. “We ask shelter for the night.”
“We?” A deep voice rumbled softly, and the door swung open wider, as the man peered over her shoulder and out into the rain. A fire crackled on a hearth behind him and the fragrance of his dinner filled her nostrils.
“My friend and I and our horses.” She swallowed her pride and anger, for asking did not come easy. “We offer peace and honor the household.”
The man snorted softly, as if at a jest. “Such as it is.” He gave her a long look, then nodded once. “Bide.” The door closed.
Red snarled, letting her rage bubble up. She backed away and squelched over to where Bethral stood patiently in the rain. Her sword-sister looked out from under her hood and raised an eyebrow.
“The man said to ‘bide.’” She took the reins of her horse. “Not sure, but I hope that it means—”
The door creaked open, and the man came out, wrapped in a cloak and carrying a small lantern. He pulled the door closed behind him. “Come.”
Red took the lead, tugging on the reins to get her horse moving. Beast let his neck stretch out to its full extent before he heaved a sigh and lifted his feet out of the mud to follow. Bethral waited a pace or two before following with her horse.
The man led them around the hut, passed an old stone well, and moved into the night. Red peered ahead, surprised to see a large stone structure appear in the darkness. He moved carefully to open an enormous wood door, sliding it off to one side. She led her horse into the dark barn, far enough to allow Bethral to bring Steel in as well.
They stood there, dripping, and gaped. The man lit three lanterns that hung from posts. The building was huge, with box stalls lining both sides of the wide aisle. The place smelled dusty and disused.
A rustling noise came from one of the boxes and a small white goat stuck its head out, blinking sleepily in the soft light. It bleated softly, as if asking a question.
“Visitors,” the man’s voice rumbled. “Go back to sleep.”
The white head pulled back.
“I’ve never seen the like,” Red spoke in the echoing darkness as she took off her dripping cloak. “It’s huge.”
“From the days when this was a rich and foolish man’s breeding farm.” The man pulled back his hood and hung his lantern on one of the hooks. “The fool is gone, the barn remains.”
“And you?” Red asked. In the light of the lanterns, she got her first good look at the man. A good strong face, handsome even, but etched with lines of sorrow. Dark brown curls, with traces of silver, and those brown eyes, flecked with gold.
“And me,” he replied, not really answering her question. He gazed at her with tired eyes. Not so old as she’d thought he was, but his pain was.
“I go by Red Gloves.” Red said.
His eyes flicked to her gloves, but thankfully he made no comment.
“My friend is Bethral,” Red said.
Bethral pulled off her hood and gave the man a nod. His eyes flickered over her blonde hair and blue eyes.
“Our thanks for—” Red continued.
He waved off her words. “See to your animals. Make free with what you find, for I keep no horses. Down that way is a foaling room. There’s a small hearth there for heat. I’ll bring you wood and such as I can spare.”
“Again, our….” Her voice trailed off as he flipped his hood up and left the building, leaving them standing there. She glared at the door. “Rude pig.”
“We’ve shelter,” Bethral said quietly, as if that excused the man. She removed her cloak and moved farther down the aisle. “There’s water and buckets.”
“Let’s get at it, then.” Red tied off Beast and Steel. “You water them, and check Beast for me. I’ll get the gear.” She pulled off her sodden cloak and tossed it on a hook to dry. “By the Twelve, everything is soaked,” she swore. “What do you wager the food is wet and mucked, eh?”
Bethral nodded absently as she pulled two buckets from the trough. The horses stirred, straining as she placed the water down in front of them. “Easy,” she crooned as they drank.
Well, no point in talking now that Bethral was focused on the beasts. Red grumbled under her breath as she pulled the sopping saddlebags off Steel. She grunted as she took the full weight and lugged them to a nearby bench. Next the saddlebags from Beast, who stomped a front foot as the weight was removed, but never pulled his head out of the bucket.
Bethral was stroking them as they drank and then reached to feel between Steel’s forelegs and chest. “They need walking out.” She kept a hand on Beast as she knelt to check his leg. “There’s no swelling. We’ll know more in the morning.”
Red grunted as she pulled the saddle off Beast. “The cloaks didn’t protect much.” She placed the saddle on a rack nearby. “Leather will have to be worked in the morning.”
Bethral removed Steel’s saddle, and racked it as well. The bridles, too, leaving the horses with their halters.
Red untied Beast, who threw his head toward the trough. She pulled his head down, and started to walk him down the long aisle. “Stop that, Beast. You’ll cramp up for sure, and then where will I be? In a goat barn in the middle of nowhere, with a strange goatherder and naught for aid.”
Bethral snorted a laugh as she followed, leading Steel, and for a while there was no sound but hooves on beaten earth as they walked the horses down the wide aisle.
After a few minutes, Red handed off the lead to Bethral and went in search of what she could find. Her voice echoed the length of the barn. “There’s straw.”
“Fresh?”
“Well, dry at least,” Red answered.
Bethral kept the horses moving down the aisle and turned them just out of the light. “Any grain?”
“No, we’ll have to use our own. I did see clean rags, and some bottles and jars, but I can’t tell what’s in them.”
“Smell them.”
“I’m not sticking my nose in those, thanks kindly.” Red strode back into the aisle. “They cool yet?”
Bethral patted Beast on his chest, moving her hand down between his legs. “No.”
Red nodded, giving the wet gloves on her hands a tug to tighten their fit. “I’ll fork down the straw and hay, and get the grain ready.” She turned slightly, toward the ladder to the loft, only to pause at the base of the ladder. “You still have that molasses in your bag?”
Bethral gave her a look as she turned the horses again. Red shrugged. “Aye, I know, I said you were spoiling them too much with the sweet grain.” She pulled herself into the loft. “They’ve earned it, wading through the muck and mire of that bog for two days.”
“True enough.” Bethral’s voice floated up to her. “But whose fault was it that we were lost in the muck and mire to begin with?”
Red bit back a scathing retort and gripped the handle of the pitchfork she found in the loft. The wet leather of her gloves mushed against the wood; she snarled again, and set to work. First the horses, then themselves. Once she was dry and had food in her belly, Bethral could complain all she wanted.
And would.
Red attacked the straw, flinging it into the boxes below her. She made quick work of the task of the bedding and getting the grain ready. Normally Beast would fidget if he smelled grain and molasses, but he continued to walk with Bethral, calm as you please, as Red made up the feed buckets.
“They’re tired and hot.” Bethral said quietly. “A bit longer and I can let them eat.”
Red nodded. “I’ll see if I can find that foaling room.” She moved down the wide aisle, in the faint light of the lantern.
Sure enough, a door to the side opened into what could almost be another barn, it was so big. An open stall at one end, with a wide barn door, and two bunks at the other end, with a small h
earth for heat. It was stale inside, as if no one had entered in some time. But there was a lantern inside the door, and Red took it up and returned to Bethral’s side.
“It’s there as he said, with a small hearth and bunks. I’ll drag down our gear.” She lit the lantern.
“Go. Get a fire started and get yourself dry.” Bethral said softly. “I’ll take care of the horses.”
Red gave her a grateful glance, and took up a bucket of water from the trough. It would be cold, but enough to get clean of the muck.
It took a moment to lay a fire, and it started to crackle at once. Red pushed the door shut to let the heat start to build in the room, and placed the water close enough to the fire to warm. There was a small copper pot that she usually used to make kavage; she found it in one of their packs and filled it. It sat by the fire, reflecting the light happily, a touch of the familiar in an unfamiliar place.
Her leathers came off easy but the linen padding underneath had to be peeled from her skin. Her nose crinkled as she got a good whiff. She stank.
She fumbled about in her saddlebag and pulled out her tunic and trous, and a spare set of gloves. Slightly damp, but clean. She also found the soap.
With the heat on her skin, Red plunged her gloved hands into the bucket and started to work up a lather. It would feel so good to get some part of her clean and dry. Washing with the gloves on was something she was used to. Better than the alternative, that was certain. She’d dry them well, and oil them in the morning. Wouldn’t do to lose her extra pair. Too damn hard to replace.
She heard Bethral’s voice, and knew the man was back. She listened, then snorted softly. Her sword-sister was using the same voice she’d use to calm a shy horse. She’d seen it, too, in those brown eyes with gold flecks, seen the man’s grief. Knowing her sword-sister….