Free Torn By War: 4 (The Death Wizard Chronicles) by Jim Melvin Page A

a member of my personal guard.”
    This amazed the guards, who were tall and proud.
    Elu wasn’t sure what to do. Finally he bowed. “Elu is honored, your highness. He accepts.”
    “Very good. I will require your services in the morning.” Then she fled the room.
    Afterward, Elu had lain alone on his bed, too excited to sleep. “The queen’s personal guard . . .” he said over and over.
    THREE DAYS AFTER the meeting of the Privy Council, Sir Elu alerted Torg that the queen wished to speak with him in the gardens behind the palace. Laylah was uncomfortable but accepted it as a necessity. Torg took both Obhasa and the Silver Sword, sliding the latter into its new jewel-studded scabbard. Then he strode out through the back of the palace. Several henchmen skittered alongside him.
    The queen stood amid an expanse of wildflowers, holding the reins of a pair of spirited destriers in one hand and her white staff in the other. One of the war horses was a muscled stallion almost as magnificent as Izumo, and though his coat was white, his eyes were blue, matching the petals that engulfed his coronets. Next to the stallion was a white mare. Torg had seen no other horse as great, save Bhojja herself. The mare’s name was Arusha, and she loved only Rajinii.
    “This stallion, among all others, is the only one Arusha will tolerate as a mate,” the queen said. “His name is Vājin, and hitherto he has never abided a rider. Can you tame him?”
    “You know that I can,” Torg said, “though I will remove his reins and saddle and ride in Tugarian fashion.”
    Even as he spoke, Torg could hear Rathburt shouting, “Showoff!” But Torg backed up his boast and soon rode Vājin as if the two had been paired for life.
    “Race you to the first gate,” Rajinii shouted and spurred Arusha forward. Though Vājin ran with surprising speed for his girth, the stallion was no match for the mare. The queen beat Torg to the gate by several hundred paces.
    “Arusha is indeed a great horse,” Torg said as he rode up beside Rajinii.
    “She has no equal.”
    “Except for Bhojja.”
    “I will have to see it to believe it.”
    They cantered through the gates and into the fields north of Jivita. It was nearing dusk on a beautiful, but exceptionally warm spring day. The horses slowed to a walk. Several dozen horsemen hovered within sight, but Torg and the queen paid them no heed. They rode for a while without speaking, enjoying the smell of the sweet air.
    Finally Torg broke the silence. “Why Elu?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Rajinii!”
    “You know why I did it—to make you angry. You’ve hurt me. I wanted to hurt you back.”
    “When he accepted your offer, he knew naught what he was doing. Rescind it.”
    “I’ll do no such thing. Besides, he is pleased to be in my service.”
    “When the wars are over, he’ll no longer be pleased.”
    “What does that matter? Few will survive the coming horrors. Once I fall, he’ll be released from service, so you can stop fretting.”
    “Why are you so certain of your demise?”
    “Women know these things.”
    “A poor answer.”
    “It’s the only one I have to give.”
    Torg rolled his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. Then he stared hard into Rajinii’s eyes. “Tell me your dreams.”
    “Why, Torgon , you’ve never said such a thing to me before. Are you flirting?”
    “Not those dreams, Rajinii.”
    The queen grew defensive, her lips pursing. “Don’t we have more important things to discuss? Military strategy, for one.”
    “It’s clear that General Navarese has everything under control.”
    “Navarese is brash and uncouth, but he serves a valuable purpose.”
    “In other words, he frees you from attending planning sessions.”
    “Of what use is planning? The druids will attack, most of them will die, a lot of us will die, and then we’ll wait for Mala to finish us off. It’s not nearly as complicated as Navarese would have us believe.”
    “Nor as simple as