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horse!”
    “Then get him back!” her aunt yelled before slamming shut the door to her bedroom.
    Looking down at the medallion in her hand, Kynthia closed her fingers over the cool metal. “Aye,” she said, gripping the badge until the edges pressed painfully into her fingers and the heel of her hand. “You’d better believe I’ll get my baby back!”

Chapter Three
     
    Leksi flew past the sentries, expecting them to try to stop him, but other than a curious look, they ignored his passing. He craned his neck around to make sure no arrow or quarrel was aimed at his back but the sentries were huddled around their fire, cups in their hands. Their negligence added further fuel to the anger invading the warrior’s gut, but at least one good thing had come of that wicked night—the stallion beneath him.
    The beast upon which he was straddled was as fleet as the wind rushing through Leksi’s hair. Sleek muscles bunched and stretched as the large gray stallion raced through the night. His gait was even, his willingness to allow a strange rider upon his back a relief. Even without the benefit of a saddle, the beast gave a very comfortable ride. A blanket would have been better than only the broad bare back, but Leksi had not wanted to waste time in finding one.
    “A Rysalian stallion,” Leksi said to himself as the horse churned up the miles separating them from the Mad Rapists, as the warrior had labeled them. Perhaps not adequate compensation for all he had suffered at the women’s hands but a prize he had no intention of returning, even if a man—or woman’s—horse was oft their most valued possession.
    The stallion was a rare prize, indeed. Without doubt from superior stock, well-trained, well cared for, the beast was a veritable gift from the Prophet this ill-fated night.
    “And he belonged to you, didn’t he, Kynthia?” he yelled aloud. “Well, he’s mine now, bitch!”
    He would never forget the names of any of the women, but two he would brand into his memory like battle scars—Celadina, who had been the first to savage him and Kynthia, who had not even considered him worthy of an Amazeen’s purse.
    A frown hovered over Leksi’s face.
    “Why didn’t you think me worthy?” he wondered.
    To be cast aside by a woman did not set well with the Venturian warrior. He’d never been turned down before. The insult grew worse with every mile over which the magnificent beast sped. By the time he cleared the gate at Tasjorn, the capital of the Ventura Province, his anger was a sharp prod that pricked not only his ego but his heart as well.

* * * * *
    Kratos watched his friend as Leksi pushed his food around on the plate—piling it first to one side then scraping it across to the other to mound it there before returning it to its starting point only to begin the process again.
    Leaning back in his chair, the older warrior folded his arms and studied the man who—though much younger—was Kratos’ superior. Strangely quiet for over a week now, hardly any appetite to speak of, a dark, and the brooding gleam in his eye were all signs Leksi Helios had something on his mind. It was only a matter of time before the Captain of the Venturian Guard scraped up the courage to broach the matter with his old friend.
    Leksi glanced up, looked down, and then glanced up again. Kratos was staring at him. “What?” he asked.
    Kratos raised a bushy brow but remained silent.
    Giving up on the fare that had grown tasteless over the past few days, Leksi dropped his fork and wiped his mouth on his napkin although no food had passed his lips during the evening meal. He swiped up his tankard of mead and finished off what was left. He looked at Kratos as he put down the tankard. “I’ve a question for you, Kratos,” he said.
    Kratos nodded but did not reply.
    “How do you…?” Leksi began then stopped to clear his throat. He tried again. “How do you know when a woman is bothering you?”
    A second bushy brow shot up then