Warcry

Vaughan

    DAGGER-STAR
WHITE STAR
DESTINY’S STAR
WARPRIZE
WARCRY

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    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.

    WARCRY

    A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

    PRINTING HISTORY Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / May 2011
    Copyright © 2011 by Elizabeth Vaughan.

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    eISBN : 978-1-101-51494-8

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To my editor, Anne Sowards

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
     
    Thanks have to go to the following: To Tom Redding, who knows the name of sharp pointy tools that split things. To Jacqueline Harris of Northcoast Soaps for her enthusiasm and skills. To Jennie Moening, she of the evil Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Dip, which has gotten me through so many deadlines. To Patricia Merritt, gentle muse. To Kandace Klumper, gentle muse with a critical eye. To Denise Lynn, gentle muse with a whip and a chair. To Mike Konwinski, who helped me with the sword. To Keith Flick, who did not help. (Hippoflys? Really?) To David Browder, Fred Barkman, Roberto Ledesma, and Brad Faggionato, because after all, it’s the camaraderie, not the abuse. To Betsy and Dan Candler, dearest friends, I am really sorry about the prune whip incident. To Jean Rabe, who pointed out the obvious to me. To my long-suffering copy editor, Kristin Ostby. To all my friends and family, who understand when I get a strange look in my eye, and reach for pen and paper. To the Maumee Valley RWA Chapter, for their wonderful support and encouragement. To my agents, Meg Davis and Merrilee Heifetz. Finally, to my wonderful writer’s group—Helen Kourous, Spencer Luster, Marc Tassin, and Robert Wenzlaff. I know I’ve forgotten someone; please forgive me if I have. And for all the efforts of so many people who help me, please know that any mistakes found in this book are mine and mine alone.

CHAPTER 1
     
    SWEAT STUNG HIS EYES AS HEATH PARRIED THE blow.
    He ignored the burn as his sword rang against the other. He was tired, yes, but to admit exhaustion was to admit defeat. To admit defeat was unthinkable.
    The grasses underfoot had been matted down during their struggle, and they were slippery. He backed away, feeling for surer footing, keeping his attention on the enemy.
    “Had enough, city-dweller?”
    The taunt meant nothing. What mattered was the location of his enemy’s blades. Sword in one hand, dagger in the other, both to be avoided. Heath tightened his grip on his own weapons and considered any weakness he could use to his