Rise of the Shadow Warriors Read Online Free PDF

woman and the men with her. His mind muddled through his thoughts as if slogging through the thick mud of a sand bog. Fire blazed through his pores and his skin was soaked with sweat.
    Trust did not come easy but he’d heard her words clearly. Maso virus. Argan knew of no cure but was unwilling to give into death’s embrace so easily.
    “What would you have of me?”
    The woman raised her hand slowly and showed him the small pouch containing the medicine. His gaze tracked the delicate fingers to a slim arm and up to a face with finely boned features. Red hair lit with golden strands of fire tumbled over her rounded shoulders. Thin brows a match for the red arched over glowing eyes.
    “The herbs will help you. Drink it all.” Pouty lips with the lower more full than the top shaped words in Standard.
    Argan understood her but hesitated. Memories of poison and treachery held him immobile.
    She must have read his thoughts. Silver eyes danced and the mouth he continued to stare at, tipped up in the corners. “Trust must be earned but we don’t have the time Warlord Argan.”
    She knew him but he did not know her. “Who are you?”
    Not Kabanian. No Kabanian woman would venture out alone and though Argan was fairly certain they were close to Raasa, this female did not have the exotic face and diamond eyes of the people he’d come to know. Nothing about her appearance hinted at a clue to her race.
    Swirling depths of silver studied him as avidly as he studied her. “My name is Shaina and your time wanes, warrior.”
    “Warlord,” he corrected absently. His stomach heaved and this time Argan couldn’t prevent the groan from escaping.
    Curling to his side, he made no attempts to hide the agony as his insides ripped apart followed by blasts of heat.
    “Warlord!” Firm fingers gripped his chin, turning his face back toward hers. “Take this now.”
    Something wet pressed against his mouth and Argan swallowed the drops of liquid. It was easier than choking on the mixture she forced on him. His parched throat struggled and would have sent her offerings back up but she clamped her fingers over his lips.
    “Easy there. Stay with me.” Her gentle voice soothed. The hold on his chin turned into a light caress. A thumb brushed his bottom lip.
    Argan blinked to clear his vision. He needed to see her. Wisps of softness trailed along his jaw, across his brow before settling on the top of his head where a gentling massage ensued.
    Relief. Such relief if only briefly from the pain. Sinking further into the hand running through his hair, Argan closed his eyes. He always thought he’d meet the Blessed One after a glorious battle. One in which he’d reign victorious. There was no victory in being felled by sickness. Vaan would feel his loss greatly.
    Thinking of his friend spurred Argan on and he strained to lift his head from the ground. “Vaan,” he gasped.
    The woman sat much closer to him, her face within inches of his. She smiled when she met his gaze. A smile that tugged at his toqa in spite of his weakness.
    “You’re going to feel better soon, Warlord. Today is not your day to die.”
    Whatever she gave him must have started working. Already the stomach pangs eased. Sleep sought to pull him into darkness but he owed her and Argan was not comfortable owing a stranger anything. “Argan Kril offers you a debt of life.” He licked his dry lips and gathered what he wanted to say. Vaan would give her anything for saving Argan’s life. “The Overlord will pay whatever you ask.”
    She laughed and the musical notes roused him to wakefulness. “It’s not your Overlord whom I saved. What would you pay Warlord Argan?”
    Argan paused. She teased. He wasn’t used to people teasing him. Sometimes his fellow Warlords tried but never so freely. Occasionally, Mikayla would also play her games of mirth and Argan would pretend not to notice.
    But this female. She did not know him well enough to tease, yet her smiling visage and