A Warrior's Debt

A WARRIOR’S DEBT

By

Trudy Thompson

© copyright September 2006, Trudy Thompson

Cover art by Jenny Dixon, © copyright June 2006

ISBN 978-1-60394-616-2

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

CHAPTER ONE

Menila

Halfway to the village, a strange sound filled the darkness. Shana Kerr paused and turned about, searching for whatever made such an anguished noise. The strangled groan of an injured animal called out to her. She glanced around again, hoping to find a break in the dense trees that would offer a minimum amount of light to guide her but found none.

Shana ignored the rapid pounding of her heart and listened carefully. To her left, undergrowth rustled as something thrashed about. She stepped from the path, ignored the heavy dew that clung to her cloak and soaked through to wet her gown. She pushed aside a vine of wisteria, shoved away a dew-brightened web of an industrious spider that stuck to her hair and continued through the dense forest.

The trees grew thicker. Darkness closed in around her. She shoved her hands into her cloak pockets and continued, ducking low branches, twisting to avoid thickets and decaying leaves.

She paused in a clearing where the moonlight was sufficient to gather her bearings and listened. She heard only the normal sounds of the forest.

Yet something out there needed her. The healing gifts long nurtured within her awoke. Her fingers tingled. Warmth flowed through her body and centered in the palms of her hands.

Shana drew deep for the inner sense that had guided her through many seasons. She concentrated on the forest and searched for something that might be out of place. She pulled her hands from the pockets of her forest-green cloak and, trusting her instincts to guide her steps, walked forward.

Another deep groan split the silence.

A creature lay enveloped in a white aura of moonlight filtering down through the trees.

Shana raised her hand to shield her eyes from the brilliant light. She walked forward slowly to pause less than four steps away from a man lying on the forest floor.

Another step. Two. Shana dropped to her knees.

She reached out to him, hesitated, and then rested her spread fingers on her bent knees as she searched for an injury.

Never had she seen such a man. Even lying on the forest floor, his height surpassed hers by several feet. Shana glanced down his long legs to his booted feet, and then up to study the strange leather leggings that covered his muscular limbs. She paused when she saw the enormous sword encased in a leather scabbard, etched with foreign symbols, belted at his hip.

A rush of apprehension caused by the mysterious weapon shook her. She pushed caution aside and continued her examination of his wide shoulders and strong arms bared by a dark leather vest etched with similar markings open across his abdomen, exposing ripples of muscle beneath his taut flesh.

A deep groan spilled from his lips.