Yameen dug into the ground with her dagger, revealing a stony, blood-red layer beneath the grass. She pinched a tiny seed between her fingertips, examining it. “I came here several times to gather red life-petals and herbs. Mereeth said many flowers don’t grow anymore because the clouds block too much of the sun’s light.”
“You came this far alone?” Before bonding, Famere had gone on short trips to gather healing supplies, but for the last nine months she had been a warrior.
Yameen gave her a sly smile. “I came with your mother. We even traveled all the way to the West River once. Suns do many things fighters are not aware of.”
Famere had never been to the West River. Wyshea legends talked of powerful creatures there called greneth, which her people avoided. “Wasn’t that dangerous?”
“We never crossed the river into the meadows.” Yameen sheathed her knife. “Mereeth said greneth are stronger and faster than shadows, maybe even stronger than raacor. Graceful, but very fierce. They kill all trespassers.”
Her friend’s knowledge amazed Famere. “Why risk going so far from mrilwood?”
“It’s less risky than going into battle, Fam. And some plants only grow in special places.”
“That sounds like an adventure.” Goflin tapped Famere’s arm playfully. “I’d like to meet a greneth.”
Famere recalled the raacor attacking her and stared at him wide-eyed. “That’s mad.”
Yameen patted Famere’s leg. “Blessings for your help in my healing.”
“I’m glad you’re all right.”
Yameen leaned playfully toward her. “Aren’t you happy we rescued you and led you here?”
Famere touched her arm. “I owe each of you a life-debt.”
Goflin gave her an innocent expression. “Are you worried, Fam?”
“Bosho says you worry all the time,” Yameen said matter-of-factly.
Her cheeks burning, Famere wondered what else Bosho had said about her, but was too embarrassed to ask. “I don’t want either of you to get hurt.”
“We weren’t ambushed, Fam.” Goflin smiled.
“Truly.” Yameen chuckled.
Famere’s face flushed. “I would have escaped.” But she had to admit she might have been wounded in the process.
Goflin became serious. “Scavengers never look for a fight, yet they were waiting for you.”
“The slayers were too,” said Yameen.
Famere shrugged. “Probably just bad luck. No one could have warned either of them in advance.”
“Ison could have.” Goflin sounded certain.
Famere's mouth twisted. “Why would a wyshea mageen work with slayers to stop me from seeking peace?”
Yameen’s nose wrinkled. “Ison didn’t talk to me when I tried, Fam. I think he hates you.”
“I don’t hate him. I don’t hate anyone anymore.”
“That’s good, Fam.” Goflin lifted her hand and kissed it.
That brought a smile to her lips.
Yameen twisted her torso in both directions, stretching. “Bosho says Ison wants to be the wyshea guide, wants you, Fam, wants everything he can’t have.”
“He’s baethe.” But it made her question how far Ison would take things to get what he desired.
They became silent when a small group of slayers crossed an arm of the meadow. It made Famere uneasy to do nothing while slayers hunted them. Her eyelids kept closing and her hands slid to her lap as she sagged.
Goflin covered her hand with his. “Sleep, Fam. We’ll take watch.”
“Blessings,” she murmured. She drifted off, but for one disturbing breath, in her mind she saw blood covering the meadow everywhere.
24
Hope Citadel
The office door banged open. Jennelle looked up from her history book.
“Afternoon, commander.” Tuffs stomped into the office. Sahr bulbs in wall holders cast shadows on him as he plopped into a chair against the wall with a grunt. He pulled his green handkerchief from a pocket to wipe his sweaty brow. “I’ve been riding all morning and need a rest.”
“Take your time, Tuffs.” Malley had his legs resting on a stool while he sewed a button onto a tunic. Pausing, he pushed his black hair back over his shoulders, and then continued working.
“Don’t mind if I do.” Tuffs took a stick of dried meat from a tunic pocket, broke off a piece, and shoved it into his mouth. “Don’t you ever get tired of reading, Jennelle?”
“Rarely.” She smiled. “Gasten collected books for decades and I inherited his passion for them.”
She hadn’t shared with anyone that after she had spared the life of the wyshea commander in the yellow meadow, she had been plagued by uneasiness and fitful dreams. Unsure of the changes occurring in her, she felt compelled to delve into her father’s books to learn as much as possible about the other races.
Also, her desire to tell Malley about her feelings for him increased daily. But the timing never seemed right. Sometimes the thought of doing it scared her more than facing wyshea in battle. Not telling him scared her just as much. However, she didn’t want to lose his friendship and have moments like these suddenly feel uncomfortable. Maybe Malley felt that too.
From a plate on the desk she picked out a piece of cured meat and tossed it to Red, who lay in a corner. Snapping it out of the air, the fangor gulped it, then rested his head again on his paws.
“Me, I’ve no interest in reading even one book,” Tuffs said out of the side of his mouth.
Malley smiled. “Neither do I.”
Jennelle snuck a glance at Malley, noting his shiny hair, lean face, and lips. She continued reading. “How did the news of Basture’s doubled trading costs go over?”
Tuffs snorted. “Pretty much as expected. Northerners are glad we kept them out of the last battle, are angry at Basture, and feel safer here—whatever the price—than living in Prosperus.”
Jennelle flipped a page. “Good. We need independence from Prosperus as soon as we can manage it.”
“There’s a few things I have to tell you, Jennelle.” Tuffs clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back. “Our perimeter scouts reported Cresh leading two hundred riders north of here, executing a search pattern.”
Jennelle slapped her history book closed. “Who would Cresh be looking for?”
Malley stopped sewing. “And why did Basture send Cresh instead of asking us to do it?”
“There’s something else.” Tuffs yawned. “Scouts found sign of Blood’s scavengers. They stayed outside our perimeter, but left signs of real blood. Had a fight north of here with someone.”
“Strange.” Malley slid his boots off the stool. “Blood usually arrives after a fight, not during it.”
“Right,” said Tuffs. “Anyway, knew you’d want to hear. I sent a few riders to follow things, but don’t know what to make of it. There’s two more items. Military Coordinator Lask’s shield cavalry unit is running exercises an hour east of here, and another smaller group of cavalry, about a hundred, is camped just east of our perimeter.”
“Any contact?” Jennelle got up and placed the book back into its space on the large wall bookshelf.
Tuffs closed his eyes. “The minister’s soldiers ignored us when a scout showed a flag.”
The door swung open and Sparks stood stiffly in the doorway.
“Come in, Sparks,” said Jennelle.
“Yes, sir.” The tall Northerner strode in, her clothing crisp as her stride. “An urgent message from Finance Minister Basture, sir. Delivered to the front gate by a Prosperan cavalry soldier.” She handed Jennelle a sealed parchment roll.
“Thank you, Sparks.” Jennelle adjusted the spectacles on her nose. She liked the young woman and had promoted her to be Tuffs’ understudy. Besides being one of the most knowledgeable Northerners, Sparks was dependable and efficient. Riders liked her, and no one resented taking orders from her despite her young age. This was also due to her hard work and willingness to do jobs no one else wanted. Eventuall
y, Sparks would make a great leader. Some days Jennelle had to remind herself that she was barely a year older than the redhead.
Tuffs closed his eyes again. “Carry on, Sparks.”
“Yes, sir.” Sparks’ red locks flew as she pivoted and left, her boots tapping the wood floor.
Breaking the minister’s wax seal, Jennelle unrolled the message on her desk. “Minister Basture wishes us to kill any wyshea messengers because, and I quote, ‘...the wyshea butcher has set traps by offering peace and several have been killed already.’”
“Several wyshea or soldiers?” asked Malley.
“Hard to say.” She handed him the parchment, intuition pounding a warning in her gut as she brushed back strands of hair. “Our scouts haven’t seen any messengers from the wyshea butcher, and yet Basture’s already warning us about them. How is he able to get information before we do about what’s happening on the border?”
Malley read the letter. “It says allies informed him.”
She shook her head. “We have much closer ties to our allies than Basture does.”
Malley tossed the parchment aside. “Maybe not after the last battle, especially if Basture told them we refused to help.”
Red rose and stretched.
Jennelle sensed the fangor’s excitement. She ran a hand through her hair. “Tuffs, give the signal for workers to come in from the fields and get four hundred riders ready.”
“Four hundred?” Tuffs’ eyes snapped open. “That’s practically half our riders. Why so many?”
“Cresh has two hundred, and two-to-one sounds like good odds to me.”
Malley smiled at her. “Should be enough.”
Jennelle liked it that Malley was usually in agreement with her strategies, and that between the two of them they seemed to be able to see all sides of any situation. Her father, Gasten, had told her that her mother and he had shared a similar relationship.
Tuffs gave a small smile. “Cresh is one of our allies, Jennelle.”
“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” She stood and reached for the two sheathed blades hanging on the wall hook near her desk, handing one to Malley.
“I just sat down,” grumbled Tuffs.
“You complained an awful lot when we left you in the citadel during the last battle.” Jennelle smiled at him as she strapped on her blade.
“I must have been sick in the head.” Tuffs got up and left.
Jennelle gazed out the window to the side of her desk, which overlooked the citadel’s main yard. The overcast sky had gnawed at her more and more after the light had split the clouds over the meadow. And the sky had grown darker. “Malley, things are getting interesting, aren’t they?”
“It’s too early to tell.”
Jennelle swung around. Their eyes met, but Malley didn’t say a word. He’s as curious as I am.
Tuffs’ horn blew outside as Jennelle walked briskly out of the office with Red at her side. Malley followed.
A short hallway led to the front door of the command building. A stairway to the left led up to the second floor, which held their living quarters and guest chambers, and to the right a door led into a large dining area and social function chamber. Neither had been used much after Gasten’s death.
Jennelle walked through the outer door. Crossing the large wooden platform, she stopped at the front edge and inspected the men and women assembling their maqal in formation, puffs of dust rising from sixteen hundred hooves. Their cavalry was better trained than any Prosperan unit, and she was proud of it.
The rest of the riders and children watched from the sides of the fortress. Tuffs and Sparks stood at attention to the side.
A sentry above the main gate called down, “Riders a hundred yards out, sir.”
“Who?” called Tuffs.
“Man and woman wearing gray robes, sir.”
“Interesting,” said Jennelle. She flicked a hand to Tuffs, and he shouted, “Let them in.”
The sight of the citadel had always calmed Jennelle in the past. But now, for some reason she couldn’t identify, it seemed as oppressive as the darkened sky.
She fondly remembered all the strolls she had taken on the upper walkway with her father, stopping often to gaze out at the land. Her throat tightened for a moment.
“Thinking of him?” asked Malley.
She nodded.
He said softly, “I think of him often too, Jennelle.”
“Thanks, Malley.” She cleared her throat. “It took years to cut the posts for the citadel. When I asked father why the trees had to be so big, and why norre—which are so hard to cut—he said he wanted an outpost strong enough to protect Northerners against anything coming out of the Wild Lands. I wonder how much of his caution was based on stories, and not facts.”
Malley shrugged. “My guess is some of those stories had some truth to them. We never knew about death mounts until eight months ago. Out here caution is a good thing.”
“You’re probably right.”
Stables, food storage, a water pump room, community buildings, small gardens, bunkhouses, and private quarters lined the citadel’s inner walls. In the southern corner of the courtyard were six-foot stone statues of Dosh and Deve. Both gods were smiling. Dosh held a plate of food and Deve a water pitcher. Jennelle’s father hadn’t believed in the stern Dosh and Deve of the Prosperan priests, and twenty years later no Northerner did either. Jennelle was thankful for that. Flowers were planted around the statues.
Metal grated as the iron crossbars on the main gate were slid to either side. Men heaved on strong ropes attached to door rings to swing open the thick, sahr-imbued iron doors.
Several dozen men and women carrying farm implements entered, strolling toward the tool shed. Most Northerners rotated among farming, hunting, and other essential duties. Jennelle’s father had believed shared work would put all Northerners on equal footing and build a stronger community. If someone was more skilled at hunting, farming, or something else, and wanted to specialize, that was usually accommodated too. It made everyone happy.
Arriving behind the workers, the young man and woman with gray robes and sandaled feet stopped their horses in the twenty-foot-high gateway. Both riders rode bareback. A sentry waved them in, and they spurred their maqal forward.
Jennelle examined them, guessing they were mageen. She had read the Order wore gray robes, and she didn’t know of any other race or people that did. The tall man had a frail build and a boyish look with a bowl of sandy hair. Slightly taller and a few years older, the woman had a sharp nose, thin lips, and dark eyes beneath her long, straight black hair.
The visitors stopped in front of the platform. Everyone in the citadel watched them.
Bowing, the young man spoke softly to Jennelle. “We are from the Order of Mageen. I’m mageen Raif, and this is my sister, mageen Whippet.”
Whippet looked away, as if disgusted to have to acknowledge them.
Questions flooded Jennelle, but she doubted the visitors would give many answers. Secretive and rarely seen, mageen had never visited Hope Citadel or Prosperus. Even her father knew little of them or their Order.
She gave a small nod. “I’m Commander Jennelle. This is Tuffs, Sparks, and Malley.”
“Charmed,” said Malley.
Raif shifted on his mount, gazing from Whippet to them. “We would like to accompany you, sir. We are on a journey to find our mother, and the Prophetess told us you would lead us to someone who may help us.”
“Prophetess?” asked Jennelle.
“A mageen who has visions,” said Raif.
Malley gestured to them. “I didn’t realize mageen mingled with the races. I thought the Order had pledged no involvement.”
“It’s beneath us to be involved with the races.” Whippet’s scornful voice was deeper than her brother’s.
Raif frowned at his sister, and lifted a palm to Jennelle in a placating gesture. “Power Mageen Harken has made recent allowances for some of us. We will only follow and observe, if yo
u are agreeable.”
Jennelle wondered if they posed any risk. Outside of their clothing, they looked ordinary, but she guessed their simple attire told her little about their abilities. She smiled and gave a gracious wave. “By all means, it’s rare we have company, especially mageen.”
Whippet’s expression remained indifferent.
“Thank you, kind sir.” Raif gave a small bow. “Come, sister.”
The two mageen walked their maqal to the side of the Northerner riders.
Mageen, a prophetess, and Power Mageen Harken, all intertwined with a larger pattern. Jennelle sensed it, even though she didn’t understand it. Walking down the steps to her mount, she said to Malley, “More and more interesting.”
“It is.” Though his eyes showed more caution than curiosity.
Jennelle retrieved her gloves from under Luck’s blanket and put them on. She scratched Red’s neck, deciding to leave the fangor behind. “We’ll come back soon, old boy.” Mounting her maqal, she sent to Red, “Guard the home and Sparks.”
Red gave a brief howl and wagged his tail.
Jennelle considered the six hundred troops, along with children, that would remain behind in the citadel. “Sparks, no one is to enter this citadel, including any of Minister Basture’s officers or troops. Understood?”
“Perfectly, sir.”
“And don’t let anyone out.” Jennelle patted Luck. “Tuffs, do you know the central location of Cresh’s troop movements?”
“I do.”
“Then lead the way.” When they passed through the gate, Jennelle’s pulse pounded with the hoofbeats of four hundred and five riders.
25
Mageen
Seething inside, Camette watched the mageen ride out with Jennelle and the Northerners.
Before Tuffs had reported to Jennelle, Camette had given the older man a few warm biscuits and honey to coax him to tell her what he had learned from the scouts. The tired man had confirmed what she sensed; the stirrings of danger, death, and the movement of F’ahbay’s forces.
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