A Woman Warrior Born

by Alexander Edlund

A scream—Breea tore herself out of bed and hurtled to the source in an adjoining room.

  Simarn sat on another bed, knees pulled up to her chest. The covers were thrown aside. Her cheeks were wet and her eyes wild. Breea moved toward her. When she touched Simarn’s shoulder, the young woman shuddered, and a moaning sob rose from her chest.

  Gently, putting an arm around the girl, Breea drew her into an embrace. Simarn began crying in long, groaning sobs.

  Dori rushed in with three armed men. She stared for a moment, then surprised Breea by dismissing the men with a perfunctory, commanding order. They left, and Dori moved to the edge of the bed, curtsied to Breea, then fled.

  Moments later she brought a tray with sweetly scented water, hot cider, and fragrant spirits. Breea motioned for Dori to join them on the bed, but the young servant wiped her own eyes, took a drink of water, and began to sing.

  Surprised, both Breea and Simarn watched as she sang softly, a peasant song of spring, of flowers blooming through melting snow, and of birds returning, of planting, and spring festival.

  Dori’s voice was sweet, and Breea could feel Simarn relaxing. The young woman drank some wine, and wiped her nose with a corner of the fine linen sheet.

  Dori sang another as she and Breea tucked Simarn under the covers once more. Simarn looked up at Breea with eyes so lost that Breea got under the covers beside her. The young woman put her head on Breea’s shoulder, and began to cry once more, but this time it was softer, born of an unbelieving thankfulness, and the knowledge that though she was rescued, much had been taken from her.

  Breea awoke late the next morning and heard activity in a room to her right. She was alone in the bed. She checked the wound in her back and found it closed, though it had bled some in the night. Most of her body ached as she put on the robe Dori had placed next to the bed and walked stiffly into a breakfast room lit by morning sun streaming through tall windows.

  Simarn sat on cushioned seats before the windows, a blanket wrapped around her, eating pastries and bacon with her fingers from a plate in her lap. Breea took another plate from the table and joined her. Breea decided not to mention the previous night. The young woman would not want to talk about it, Breea was sure. She remembered SaKlu, and imagined how it would be with her if he had succeeded. Dark shame rose in her chest. Breea shoved the evil from her mind, and looked out the window.

  Silently, the two women ate and watched the people passing on the street below. Many had black shawls draped over their shoulders. All who did walked up the street in one direction.

  "Why do they wear the shawls?" asked Breea, nodding at the people passing below.

  "They go to worship."

  "Why did the guards burn that small temple?"

  Simarn, still looking out the window, said, "The Yasharn hate any worship except in their Temple and of their god. Some try to keep their own faith. They hold service at night. The Yasharn punish them by burning their temples. It is the same everywhere."

  "What happens to the people they take away?"

  "It is said that they are forced to convert. The men are put into the army. The women are made slaves to the priests or sold at market. If the men do not convert, they are fed to an isl lizard. In pieces."

  In the crowd Breea recognized the woman Scaukra had been with the previous night. Putting her empty plate on the table, Breea ran to the bedroom, and began frantically pulling on clothing. Simarn followed, and stood in the doorway watching, worry growing on her face.

  "Where is Dori?" asked Breea, belting on her daggers.

  "She went to get me some clothes."

  Breea selected a blue cloak from the closet, walked toward the door, and said, "Tell her I will be back, but I know not when."

  Afraid, Simarn asked, "You will return?"

  Breea stopped, went to Simarn, embraced her, and said with conviction, "I will."

  Pareetha’s red hair was not hard to find in the thin crowd, and Breea shadowed her through the streets. As they neared the Temple the crowd thickened, and Breea began to feel out of place in the black-shawled throng. When she heard a merchant’s voice singing, "Worship in proper order in fine virgin wool, dyed in the blessed vats of the Temple. Praise the One," she bought a shawl, and hurried to find Pareetha again.

  One last turn of the street stopped Breea with the view. People behind her swore and jostled around her, forcing her forward.

  The Temple’s stone face sat atop a wall of basalt. Before the wall lay a wide paved space a hundred strides across. A long wood ramp lined with guards led to a double pair of massive doors set in the front of the cathedral. Above the doors the intricately carved stone rose hundreds of feet until it became two soaring spires that stabbed the sky. Smoke poured from the fires on them in black streaks.

  An undulating mass of people flowed up the ramp, sweeping Breea along. As she grew closer, the face of the Temple reared above her as though it knew her and wished to consume her soul. The two sets of double doors, flung wide, were as tall as Limtir’s roof.

  Remembering her purpose, Breea pushed forward through the crowd, managing to find Pareetha’s red hair again. She kept close while staying in the center of the throng to avoid the gaze of the guards along the ramp.

  Inside, row upon row of columns stretched to a distant, vaulted ceiling. Streams of colored sunlight beamed through high stained-glass windows. Breea walked in awe, unable to take in the sheer immensity of the place. All of Limtir would not have filled it. Rhythmic chanting echoed through the vastness. A subtle, cold pressure enclosed her, but she ignored it, trying to keep her eyes on the woman, but the grandeur around her drew her attention. There was no doubt that the Temple was of the Legend Time. Pareetha moved away from the crowd, walked up to a wooden door, and knocked three times. It opened and she slipped in. What was this?

  Another woman approached and knocked in the same way. The door opened and she went in. Breea walked up to the door and knocked three times. It opened and a guard ran his eyes over her body, then beckoned. Breea walked in, and saw the last woman walking down a dim hall.

  She started to follow when the guard grabbed her bottom and said, "When you’re finished with a priest, come see me." Breea kept her blades in check, and walked away down the hall, following the woman down another corridor to a spiral stair. They went down and entered another corridor. Breea passed many wood doors and chanced a glance backward to see another woman exiting the stair behind her.

  Ahead, Pareetha spoke to a pair of guardsmen, then passed through a double door. Breea lengthened her stride to catch up with the second woman, hoping to hear what was said. At five paces she slowed, and tried to calm herself.

  The woman walked up to the men, and said, "I come to assist the Holy Temple in the holy works of Ginamf Helmit."

  One of the guards stepped out and put his arm around her waist and pulled her to him.

  "Why don’t you assist me, Oline? Ginamf’s withered meat can’t be enough for you."

  She pushed out of his grasp saying, "I prefer withered and hard to young and soft."

  The other guard guffawed at this and opened the door for her. Breea stepped forward, and their attention turned to her.

  She said, "I come to assist the Holy Temple in the holy works of Duyazen Kedalmtel."

  The guard answered, "Who?" and walked over to Breea to get a better look at her.

  He pushed Breea’s hood back, and smiled appreciatively.

  His partner said, "The old high priest. The one who wouldn’t accept the new edicts, and they fed his fingers to the isl until he saw truth."

  "Who’d a thought he’d want a bitch?" He shoved a hand at Breea’s groin, waving his fingers. "I’ve got a whole set, lass."

  Clenching her jaw, Breea pushed his hand away, skipped to the door, and was through before either guard could do anything. She heard their guffawed laughter as she walked away hard and fast.

  Pareetha was far down the long, dark hall. The second woman was not to be seen. Breea followed, tho
ugh she wasn’t sure why she was still tracking the healer. Breea had wanted to get into the Temple to find Duyazen, and now it seemed that Pareetha was simply a whore. Yet why would a healer sell herself to a priest?

  Pareetha walked most of the length of the Temple to a door guarded by two large and well-armored guards with swords drawn and held at their chests. Pareetha didn’t even glance at them and pushed open the door. Breea followed, holding her breath and staring at the ground.

  Inside, she felt a deeper cold envelop her. Pareetha was striding down the hall.

  Breea listened, and ice penetrated her body. She gasped and stumbled to her knees. Cold threads entangled her, weaving into her, suffocating the flame within. Instinct told her not to call on the flame. Shivering, she wove boundary patterns she’d read but never tried. They were supposed to mask a presence from detection.

  Shaking with cold, she used the wall to stand. Without listening, she could feel the whispers of power in the stone, reaching out, touching and clinging to her like strands of spider web across a forest trail.

  There were two choices: leave and run, or go on to discover what was within. She was here to find Duyazen. However, there was a weaver here of immense power, power that was akin to that of Lupazg. Breea shuddered and followed Pareetha.

  A long stairway down ended in a chamber lit with lamps hanging from the ceiling. The room was filled with women sitting cross-legged on the floor, fifty or more. There were no guards.

  Breea balked at entering the room. Complex strands of woven power lay over the women like a dark blanket.

  A door opened and a man in Temple guard uniform called, "Deba Harthen."

  A woman in a fine dress stood and walked into the room.

  Breea slipped into the room, and made her way around the edge to the far door. She felt even stronger weaving beyond the door and waited until Pareetha was called before venturing in. Pareetha’s face had gone slack, eyes unmoving.

  The guard took Pareetha’s arm and guided her into the dark room. Breea nearly cried out in fright when she saw the hand guiding Pareetha. It was pale-skinned and clawed. The face looked human, but the pupils of the eyes were white.

  Breea mastered herself and, pulling her hiding boundaries tighter, followed Pareetha into the room, stepping aside to stand by the door. Power flowed in patterns so complex Breea couldn’t begin to understand them.

  It was a small room. Two priests sat behind a table at the far end. Pareetha was guided to stand before them. One had a pile of parchment before him and scratched with a quill gripped in a clawed hand.

  The older priest asked, "Speak all of Batusha."

  Pareetha spoke in a monotone. "Htaas is dead. They have the girl you seek. The priests believe her Chosen of the One. They will not allow any outsiders other than me into the guild hall. They searched me for weapons when I entered."

  White-pupiled eyes bored into Pareetha, and the priest asked, "The girl? How do you know?"

  "She has a bear-fur cloak and can fight. She killed Htaas. Her hair changed color in the Rautukana Challenge. Scaukra says she is the Master of Batusha. She is almost dead."

  "Wounded?"

  "Yes. I am sure she has died by now."

  "Have you seen her dead?"

  "No. Scaukra asked me to heal her, but she bled inside. There is nothing I can do."

  "Tell Scaukra that you can help her. Have him bring you to her again. Kill her with poison, but do not let anyone see. You must be present when she dies. Do you understand?"

  "Yes."

  "What else?"

  "Scaukra loves her."

  "Then you will enjoy killing this woman, but you will do it carefully, so that he will not know." The priest flicked a finger in dismissal, and the guard guided Pareetha out a door in the opposite wall. The guard did not follow. Breea could feel energies descend to encircle and bind Pareetha as she passed the threshold.

  The younger priest consulted a list and said to the guard, "Heather Lathen."

  As the girl entered, Breea stepped out, going the way she had come, and all but ran to get out. At the door guarded by the two large guards, she waited for someone else to enter, but none did, and none seemed to be leaving this way. Desperate to get out, Breea made a hasty plan, unraveled her hiding boundaries, and pulled open the door.

  Both guards turned their heads to look at her.

  "I am instructed to find Duyazen Kedalmtel. Where may I find him?"

  Disgust oozed from the guards as their eyes crawled over her, and one said, "Holy Sepulchral House," pointing to a door down the hall.

  The door led to a hall and another guarded door opening onto the street running east beside the Temple. Once outside, Breea could feel strands of sickly power clinging to her as though the Temple did not want to let her go. Priests were everywhere, walking singly or in pairs, some on horseback. Many carried bundles of parchment. Most didn’t give her a second glance.

  The buildings beside the Temple were tall and oppressive, in design hinting at peak-roofed castle shapes. Looking at them, Breea thought they might have a certain somber beauty had they been built of something other than black stone.

  A procession of priests spilled out of one, a coffin clutched in their midst. One began a chant matching their swinging gait. The others answered in chorus. Breea stood aside and watched them as they passed, heading for a double door near the rear of the Temple. People in the street moved to give them way, most touching their foreheads with their right hand and raising it to the sky.

  On the front of the building a kneeling man had been carved. The front doors were open. She walked in, only to be pushed out by another procession. After they passed, she walked down a hall of black stone, trying each door she came to. All were locked, except one that led to a privy. She wandered through the building, smelling rotted flesh. A final double door in the long hall opened to a vast round chamber stacked head high with coffins.

  A feeble voice sang a tuneless melody from somewhere behind the rows of wood boxes. The stench was overwhelming, and Breea gagged, trying to keep her coughing quiet with the shawl.

  Across the room a door opened and a voice said in a muffled shout, "Duyazen! Yeh still alive? Here’s a priest."

  The singing stopped and the feeble voice acquired some strength. "Praise the One, put him in the fourth row by the Door of Ages."

  Breea crept around the stacks until she saw a bent old man in a threadbare black robe trimmed in bands of red-gold, yellow-gold, and silver. His back was to her as he pushed a small cart before him. A messy stack of parchment threatened to spill off the top of the cart. He held a quill with the thumb and index finger of his left hand, for he had no other fingers. Examining inscriptions on the coffins, he made notes on the parchment, dipping his quill frequently into a glass inkwell.

  A different door opened then closed, and the old man turned toward the sound, raised his fingerless right hand to his forehead and stretched the hand skyward, palm up, a worshipful smile on his lips. He started singing once again.

  Breea stepped closer and lowered her shawl as he turned his hairless head to her. His face changed, and a strangled sound came from him. He stumbled back, knocking over the cart. He fell over it, gaze locked on Breea. She reached out to help him, but he scrambled away on the floor, bumped into a coffin, and covered his eyes with an arm saying something over and over that Breea could not understand.

  "I’m not here to hurt you," Breea said.

  He lowered the arm to peek at her, and frowned, some of the horror gone, but not the fear.

  "Your hair is wrong," he said, staring at her wheat-colored hair.

  A chill shivered over Breea. "You know me?"

  Lowering his arm further to look at all of her, he shuddered and clamped closed his eyes. Tears dripped from the wrinkles at the corners, and he shook his head in negation. A door opened, closed. He touched his forehead and raised his palm upward.

  Breea knelt and said, "I am here to talk with you."

  He opened
his eyes and shook his head. He seemed to forget her presence and, using the coffins, pulled himself up, then began to shuffle away.

  Breea followed, not knowing what else to do. The door opened again and the old priest made his motion to the sky again as it closed, ignoring Breea on his heels. They left the room through an arch that led down a passage to an open cloister. A huge statue of a kneeling priest sat in the center of what had once been a garden, in which only suffering weeds now grew. Breea followed as he unlocked a door, revealing a small, bare living chamber with only a table, a bed, and one chair. A bedpan and bucket of water sat in one corner, and a grilled window above the door shed pale morning light.

  He sat with a grunt in the chair, and stared sorrowfully at the floor. Breea could smell the unemptied bedpan, and left the door open.

  He began to groan.

  Breea gathered her courage and said softly, "My father came to you to ask a Calling for his daughter many years ago."

  His groan became words. "Oh my Yash..."

  "Do you know me?" she asked.

  He sagged onto the table, and began to cry through words Breea could no longer make out.

  Breea moved next to him, "What did you see at my Calling?"

  He sat up and looked far away. "Ruin."

  Breea knelt at his side and put a hand on his shoulder. "What do you see? Please."

  Staring for a very long time, he did not answer. Finally, she stood to leave.

  "They deserve you," he said.

  She froze. He did not continue, so she asked, "Who?"

  His eyes had narrowed. Turning old eyes of utter hatred on Breea, he said, "They deserve you!"

  She bit her lip, hoping and fearing that he would continue.

  "I see you atop a pile of stone that was once the blessed Temple." He sat straighter and spoke with more force. "Atop a hill surrounded by the dead, atop a beast of hair and fury eating its way through a wall of men. A blade always in your hand, all blood, all ruin, all death." He paused and smiled a smile that made Breea want to take a step backward. He began laughing a cracking cackle that disintegrated into a coughing fit, only to start laughing again. Breea fled.

  Wandering aimlessly through the deserted building, she found herself on a street that led to the Temple’s main cloister, a huge rectangle of arched walkways and living quarters sprawling from the back of the Temple. A dead Gamanthea-Dur tree rose in the center of the open court.

  Homesickness struck in a wash of emotion. She walked over to the trunk, and slumped against it to the ground. Aloneness welled up and she pulled up her knees to her chest, put her head on them, and rocked back and forth.

  Evil was everywhere. In the Temple, at Limtir, everywhere in this city, and Duyazen believed it dwelt in her as well. All ruin, all death...

  Hearing the tramp of booted feet over the cloister walls, Breea looked up. She ran to an iron grate door and peered out. A long file of helmeted Temple guard tromped past. A short, thick-limbed officer in black chainmail rode a black stallion next to the men.

  He twisted in the saddle to look behind at a lesser officer galloping to catch up, and said, "Oozing priests! They’ve not even told me where we’re going!"

  Riding up beside the horse, the man handed him a rolled parchment and said, "We are to hold Batu Lane and the Way of Arrows against escape."

  Ripping off the seal on the paper, the officer glanced at it, then raised his head and called, "Par oot!"

  The column of guard stepped into a light jog, and Breea’s memory leapt. In a flash, she was through the gate, running along the column, past the officer on his horse, down the street beside the Temple. Shawl blown off, blonde hair swirling behind her, Breea passed the front line of guards and sped beyond them, sprinting at her best speed.

  Beside the black side of the Temple she ran, dodging shocked priests until the outer wall of the Temple grew large before her. Guards were opening broad doors to let the approaching column exit. Those along the wall above waved and hollered, pointing to her. After a short discussion, two raised bows.

  Keeping a straight path as they drew back their strings, she waited until the instant the arrows were released, then shifted to the side. The arrows arced, came down, and shot past a good ten feet to her right. They fired again, and Breea swerved. This time they missed by only five feet, but the door was close. One fired but the other waited until she changed course, and as she dodged the second arrow clipped her cloak.

  The guards at the door had been watching the display while opening the door, but were now trying to close it. Two standing in the opening shouted to their fellows as they formed a line bristling with swords.

  She heard shod hooves clattering on the stones behind her, and the flame within roared. The men before her braced themselves for her impact, extending their blades, but she hopped and leapt into the air, sailing high over their heads. As she flipped and landed beneath the stone wall, she heard a crash behind her. She dove to her right as a blade whistled. The officer galloped past, and Breea leapt in pursuit.

  Wheeling his mount, the man found Breea sailing through the air at him, a dagger removing his throat.

  Stepping on the horse’s rump, Breea went flying over, landing beyond the gate, rolling, rolling, and then rising into a full run. Looking back, she saw the men on the wall firing at her. Dodging with all the agility she had, she sped across the broad open space in front of the wall. Arrows struck the paving stones all around, but none found their mark.

  A bell on the wall was clamoring as she ran between buildings, gaining cover from bowshot. Fear was in her, but with it a secret joy. This was what she was best at. Still running, she sheathed her daggers and dropped her blue cloak.

  Pushing for all possible speed, Breea let the core of energy feed her body, and settled into a forest-running pace, weaving down the thronged street. Then something odd began to occur.

  A boy sitting on a cart piled high with hay began jumping up and down pointing her way and yelling excitedly. Heads turned. People saw her and stepped out of her way. More took up the call. A corridor was cleared for her down the street, people waving whatever was in their hands, cheering as she flew past. She could see the path forming about two hundred strides ahead of her and put on more speed. A thrill she had never experienced came over her.

  Ahead, two Temple guards stepped into the corridor and charged her, only to be attacked on all sides by people. Breea slowed as they pulled the bodies away before she reached the spot. Two more guards met the same fate. Breea skidded around a corner, people scrambling to get out of her way as she left the lined road to dodge her way down the Way of Arrows. People here were looking her way, wondering what was going on, but she was past before they could react.

  Finally, another turn and she skidded and slipped to a stop before the red doors of Batusha Weapons Guild. The two men at a table inside stood as the door banged open, drawing weapons, then chak’ood when they recognized her.

  "Arm!" she said breathlessly. "The Temple is marching to attack you!"

  The one who had been sitting behind the table grabbed a hammer from the desk, ripped aside a curtain behind him, and struck a thick metal pole that was suspended there. A long, deep ringing sounded. The outer doors swung closed using a solid sheet of iron as counterweight that fell behind them to further seal the entryway.

  An inner door flew open and a warrior stepped in with shield and short sword.

  "What alarm?" he asked.

  The two men in the entry chamber looked to Breea. She said, "The Temple is attacking."

  Murder holes appeared in the ceiling as men pulled out wood plugs. The man with the shield stepped back and whirled on four boys who were standing at attention behind him.

  "Spread: The Temple attacks. The Master has returned."

  They ran as soon as he turned back to Breea. She stood trembling as unused power filled her, growing unbearable. Closing her eyes, she bound the energy, then opened her eyes to the three men watching her closely.

&
nbsp; No escape again, she thought. What am I doing here? The old priest’s words echoed in her thoughts: They deserve you.

  Someone ordered through a hole in the roof, "Bar all doors on level one."

  Adrenaline stabbed, and she asked the men before her, "Have you archers for the roof?"

  "Aye, Master," said the one with the shield, hope sparkling in his eyes. "There’ll be bowmen on the roof by now."

  Breea tried to remember what she had learned in her siege warfare classes. "Keep them hidden until the enemy is close, and get water ready for fire."

  The man with the shield turned to two more boys who were waiting near him, and told them Breea’s words.

  "Has this been expected?" Breea asked.

  The man who had been behind the welcoming table was now dismantling it, and said, "Aye, Master. Logat is the planner."

  "Take me to him."

  Men and boys ran about carrying weapons and armor as Breea followed the three to the top floor of the guild hall. In a brightly lit room, six men talked around a central table as one held down a freshly unrolled city map. Most were being helped by young men to put on armor.

  All activity ceased as Breea entered. They chak’ood, and Breea tried not to show the quailing she felt under their stern, expectant gazes. More men entered with the two priests.

  "Anule," she said, and they relaxed superficially. She walked up to look at the map of the streets.

  A voice said from the ceiling, "At least five hundred approach on Batu Lane. Swordsmen with a wheeled ram. Archers taking buildings."

  Breea could see that Batu Lane ran north–south, crossed by the Way of Arrows, forming the corner where the guild hall stood. The Way of Blades was one block up. To the south Batu Lane was crossed by Ertu Lane. Armorers Alley was the center street of the block west of the merchant house.

  "Who is Master Logat?" Breea asked.

  A round man with large, inquisitive eyes and an unkempt beard saluted Breea with fist to palm.

  "What is your plan?"

  He leaned over the map, pointing with a pudgy finger. "Control of the streets and roofs around this hall and the merchant hall with thirty archers atop each. We have the tallest buildings in the district, and the only flat roofs. The Temple will attempt to break the doors, and we’ll let them, filling each successive chamber with their dead."

  The voice from the roof said, "Two hundred approach from Ertu Lane," then, "Battle!"

  Logat frowned and shouted upward, "Where?"

  "North! Way of Blades, the column on Batu is turning."

  The masters filed up a stair to the roof. Breea could hear the sounds of fighting over the houses on the next block.

  "The people fight," said a tall warrior in oiled chainmail, pointing north up Batu Lane.

  They could just make out a mob of people charging down on the tail end of the Temple guard column. Temple archers were appearing in the windows on the other side of the street.

  Over the distant din and cries of battle rose a roar that trembled the air. Breea’s heart awoke and she gasped. "Bay-ope?"

  A warrior beside her said, "That was a man?"

  Fire exploded inside Breea, and she flew in one bound to the stair leading down, crying, "We must attack! He will be overwhelmed!" and ran down the stair, not giving the men time to react. She jumped down stairs shouting at the top of her lungs, "To the street! To the street! Follow me!"

  A trickle of men running after her turned into a flood by the time she reached the lower chamber, where men were struggling to raise the iron door. More helped and they all surged into the street, heading north.

  Breea stopped after almost charging down the street by herself. She looked up and saw to her relief that archers were still on the roof. Master Logat was glaring down at her. She shouted up to him, "Cover the streets, and hold the hall."

  On the street, a hundred men watched her with battle lust in their eyes, and perhaps a bit of regular lust as well. Somehow it was flattering at this moment, and she drew her daggers.

  "Do you know the wedge?"

  They did, and began forming.

  Breea watched and shouted, "Shields to the fore!"

  They bustled some more until they had a complete shield wall two men deep, and Breea ordered, "Silent charge until you meet the foe," and ran down the street.

  Two blocks up, the column of Temple guard were filing down the Way of Blades, not looking their way. Breea glanced backward at the tight group of men behind her and saw that they jogged in perfect form, their very strides in unison. A voice in the back of her mind marveled at such perfection.

  Some of the Temple men saw them approaching, and Breea turned her run into a sprint. The men behind her surged after. Temple guards tried to turn toward the new attack, but it was too late.

  Breea leapt, somersaulting into the heart of the column as the Batusha wedge slammed into its flank with a thunderous cry.

  Breea’s daggers were green streaks that left the air glowing after their passage. Shocked guards tried to retreat from her, only to be pushed back by others around them. No armor, leather or metal, was proof against them. Breea cut her way out of the column as the Batusha warriors behind her sliced completely through the Temple men. Leading the Batusha warriors once more, she ran up the street and struck the rear of the group that was now engaged by the mob. Breea and the Batusha men cut the guards down like reaping wheat, and left the street paved with black cloaks.

  The mob, slain by a third, had been about to break and flee when the last few guard fell to Batusha’s blades.

  Always a few feet ahead of the of the Batusha men, Breea found herself surrounded by townspeople armed with clubs, sticks, pots, daggers, and a few swords. There was a lull as the two groups looked at each other over a small heap of bodies.

  "Arm yourselves!" cried Breea as a battle cry heralded a charge of guardsmen from the Way of Blades. Breea took a shield from the ground, and stepped into the point of the reversed wedge the Batusha men had formed. At her cry they charged into a phalanx of guard that outnumbered them three to one.

  Breea’s shield arm was nearly broken by the concussion as the two forces met. She let the sword of the man in front of her slide past on her shield, and stabbed him in the eye through his helmet face guard.

  The wedge line of Batusha warriors was forced back. It started to buckle as it lost members, but the mob poured around the sides and attacked the phalanx flanks. Breea saw the Temple formation compress. She shed her shield and slipped into the packed throng of guards, using her daggers where they could not wield their swords. The battle became a melee. Breea leapt and whirled, evoking agonized cries from those in front of her before the bodies behind hit the cobbles. Her daggers carved a bloody path, weaving green patterns, sprays of blood erupting in their wake.

  More people came running down the street and dragged down the guards that the warriors had not yet slain.

  Breea led the bloody Batusha men down the Way of Blades, where the green and rust-red colors of Limtir fought around a cart in the midst of a seething mass of black. A few Temple archers tried to fire down from windows, but watching Limtir archers discouraged them. Bay-ope stood head and shoulders over the surrounding attackers, axes lifting and falling in bloody arcs, two or more black uniforms disappearing beneath each blow. The Limtir line buckled in the press. Bay-ope roared and the men around him redoubled their defense.

  Batusha warriors tore into the exposed backs of the Temple guard. The skill of Limtir and Batusha piled the street with bodies. The remaining Temple men fought to the last man.

  "Breea!" roared Bay-ope. He had to climb over a waist-high pile of bodies to reach her. She hugged him with all her might, ignoring the gore that dripped from his scale-mail. He laughed, and she felt it rumble up out of his chest where she pressed her head, one of the most comforting sounds she had ever heard.

  "Master!" said one of the Batusha warriors.

  "Captain!" called a Limtir guard.

  Breea reluctantly
let Bay-ope go and turned to the warrior. Bay-ope began to answer the guard, but stared instead at Breea as she responded to the call of master.

  Breea heard the distant clatter of hoofbeats, and a column of cavalry appeared around a bend, five or six blocks away.

  "To the hall," shouted Breea, motioning for Bay-ope and the other Limtirians to follow. A familiar face showed among the forty or so remaining Limtir guard, and she ran through them to give a surprised Yavay’adil, and groggy, wounded Ajalay, enthusiastic hugs. The healer was dressed in black, like a Yasharn priest. The Limtir Tomeguard hefted wounded fellows to their shoulders, and grabbed bags and gear from the cart, then everyone ran toward the Batusha Guild Hall. Four of Batusha’s master warriors maintained protective positions around Breea.

  The street between the guild hall and merchant hall was littered with dozens of Temple guard bodies bristling with arrows and crossbow bolts. Groups of Temple guard were massed down the street in both directions beyond bowshot. The archers cheered in welcome as Breea’s group came into view. She took in the scene and told the Batusha warriors to retrieve as many arrows as possible. Bay-ope ordered the Limtir guard to help them, and looked at Breea in amazement.

  Ripping arrows from bodies, Breea cried, "Into the hall!" as Temple cavalry thundered around the corner.

  The horsemen were met by a rain of arrows from the Batusha archers, and the charge disintegrated. The Batusha archers were some of the best Breea had ever seen, a match at least for Limtir. Before her flashed a vision of her first battle at the village of Gell. Standing immobile amid the carnage, bloody arrows in both hands, she watched the remaining Temple riders flee without really seeing them.

  The last to retreat inside the hall, and occupied by her thoughts, she failed to see the awe on the faces of the Batusha warriors as they stepped back to form a respectful path for her. As the iron door lowered to seal the hall, she handed her arrows to a warrior, then helped Yavay’adil bring Ajalay to a fourth-floor room with a bed.

  Master Logat strode in, chest puffed out, and Breea turned to him expecting anger, but found his large eyes full of excitement and adoration.

  "Beautiful," he said. "General Przen in execution. Beautiful. Farnad in speed." He chak’ood, at a loss to express more, then added as an afterthought, "Master."

  Blushing, Breea said, "Anule, Master Logat. Please double the archers on the roof." A thought from her training came to mind, and she said, "Double them only if it will leave us with reserves. Some men must remain fresh."

  "I Serve, Master," he said, and walked out.

  Yavay’adil looked at Breea with the same amazed expression as Bay-ope. Limtir’s captain ducked in through the doorway. Yavay’adil looked at the four warriors who still flanked Breea, and she asked them to wait outside, and to close the door.

  "I have been learning," said Yavay’adil to Breea, and placed his hands on Ajalay’s head. Breea felt him delicately gather strands of essence and begin an ordered weave. Amazed, Breea felt the complexity of the weave and had an urge to assist, but quelled it as Yavay’adil tied the weave closed and removed his hands. A blue glow shone in Ajalay’s skin in the shape of his hands. The glows migrated together at the bloody gash in Ajalay’s forehead. The wound stopped bleeding, and clarity returned to her eyes.

  "Thank you, Yavay’adil," she said, saw Breea, and sat up to embrace her.

  "What are you doing here?" Breea asked.

  Pain and bitter sorrow bled in Ajalay’s eyes so that Breea wished she had not asked. Yavay’adil and Bay-ope’s faces echoed the same pain.

  Ajalay said, "We lost Limtir."

  Breea trembled and clenched her jaw. She executed a boundary to keep herself under control.

  "He returned, and slew...so many, before we could escape." Tears Aja could not hold dripped down her face, following hard lines of anger and loss.

  Overwhelmed, Breea sat on the bed, and erected another boundary as the first threatened to collapse.

  Someone knocked at the door and asked politely, "Master Banea?"

  Breea stood, struggled to gather herself, and nodded to Bay-ope to open the door.

  A priest glanced at the new arrivals then said to Breea, "Master, the wounded are asking for you."

  Taken aback, Breea motioned for her friends to follow as the priest led away. He guided them to a small, crowded infirmary. She saw Sabar and Ootha in beds side by side along with many others, some freshly wounded in recent battle, others drained of life by longer pain. Sabar gazed at her, but she could not read him, and she wondered for the first time where Scaukra was.

  A warrior with his belly cut open, near death, called out to her. "Master."

  She walked over to him and gripped his upraised hand.

  "May I have your leave, Master?"

  Breea blinked, looked at Yavay’adil, and said, "No."

  The anguish of the failed showed in his face, and Breea said, "You will live."

  He grimaced in pain and confusion, looked at the priest who was staring at Breea, eyes wide. The wounded man took this as a sign, and his face lit with fanatical trust. Yavay’adil moved up, and began replacing the intestines in their proper places.

  Thinking quickly, Breea felt she should prepare them somehow for what was about to happen. She surveyed the room, ending at the priest. "You believe me Chosen of the One. It is true that I have power." She waited for that to sink in, then said, "These friends of mine do also. You shall be healed by our hands, to fight the enemies of Batusha."

  Yavay’adil whispered in Breea’s ear, "I’ll need some help for this." She turned in question, and he said, "Your strength. I can do but one on my own."

  He began to weave, and many of the men struggled to sit up to see what he did. Breea put her hands on his shoulders, and let herself relax a boundary. Yavay’adil flinched under her hands.

  When he finished, he was shaking with the strain, and the soldier’s entire body glowed. The man ran a hand over his belly in disbelief, and passed out. A shocked silence filled the room. Breea felt drained, though the fire was still present.

  Yavay’adil said to the priest, "He will sleep for days, but will wake. Give him water in very small amounts many times a day."

  Yavay’adil healed each man in turn with Breea’s help.

  Once healed, Sabar and Ootha stood, and Breea watched them warily as she gave permission to those who were fit to return to service. Breea turned to them and waited to see if they would speak, but they did not.

  The priest, who had watched all in benumbed silence, moved as though he feared to make a sound in the presence of such beings, and said, "Master, Sabar broke the Rules of Order of the Testing. As brothers, they stand together, and await your judgment."

  Breea stared at them, trying to think what to do, what Bay-ope would do. Finally, she said, "Discipline will wait. Batusha is under attack. Return to your duties, masters."

  They both saluted, cracking backhand fists to palm, and said with emotion, "I Serve, Master."

  They left, and Breea sat on a bed with a huge sigh.

  "You lead these men," said Bay-ope. A statement, not a question.

  Ajalay sat next to her, "Your power has grown."

  Worried, Breea’s fear of herself bloomed, but she checked it, turning her mind to other things.

  She asked Ajalay, "Why did you not help Yavay’adil heal the men?"

  "I damaged my ability to weave while I fought Lupazg. As we crossed the bridge over River Glacier Chasm, I called upon the essence of the mountain, and it—" She faltered. "I can no longer touch the essence."

  Bay-ope laid a hand on her shoulder and said, "She saved us all. She broke the bridge and filled Fall Rock Gap with stone. You saved us today, Breea. It looked ill for us on the street. Yavay’adil got us into the city, and all was well until the Temple soldiers arrived. We assumed they were for us and formed a line." He paused. "These men of yours fight well."

  Breea started to tell him that they were not her men, but stopped before she said
anything. She tried to collect her thoughts. How many had she killed? Duyazen was right. She had enjoyed the battle. And Limtir was lost? The priest was right. Death and ruin.

  Yavay’adil raised his head from his hands, and said, "There are wounded of ours. Help me heal them, Breea."

  Breea struggled to focus on his words. Upstairs, the Batusha men were busy giving greetings to the Limtir guards, and all were talking loudly of the battle. Silence announced her in the room. Batusha men chak’ood, and Limtir guard bowed. Breea felt ill. She acknowledged them, and was grateful to do nothing more than release power for the healing.

  Looking down, she saw that where she gripped Yavay’adil’s shoulders was covered with blood. She started to ask if he was wounded, then reason made her bring her hands up. The sleeves of her blouse were soaked to the elbows, sticking to her forearms with the blood of those she had slain.

  Horror rose.

  Yavay’adil stood from the Limtir man he and Breea had just healed. He grabbed her gory hands with his own and, forcing them down, made her look into his eyes. He held her gaze until she fell into his. Warmth came to her then, and she relaxed.

  "Is there someplace quiet I can go to wash?" he asked.

  Breea looked at him, not comprehending.

  "Someplace to wash?" he asked.

  The priest who had followed them stepped forward, indicating that he knew the way.

  Yavay’adil took Breea’s hands and dipped them into a cauldron of warm water. Gently, he washed the blood from her. The priest ordered that clean clothes be brought, then stepped forward, offering to take this duty. Yavay’adil nodded and sat heavily on a bench. When the priest finished with Breea, he then reverently washed Yavay’adil’s hands.

  Breea stared into the bloody water and remembered the killing. Remembered enjoying it. She felt a piece of herself dying. Then Yavay’adil was before her. He kissed her hands, and her forehead. She looked into his blue eyes, and saw there a care so deep that her fears faded before it.

  In a side room she changed clothing, returning to the comfort of her friends before dark thoughts could overtake her.

  A breathless boy ran up to them, chak’ood, and said, "The Temple attacks!" and sprinted on.

  On the roof, Batusha archers and Limtir guard shot into the ranks of Temple guard below who were trying to bring a sheltered ram into play against Batusha’s doors. The warriors huzzahed at seeing Breea.

  A warrior’s head snapped back and he fell dead across Breea’s path, a bolt buried to the fletching in his eye. She stepped over him, and boys dragged his body away. More boys brought arrows, large stones, and lumps of iron from below. In gaps between archers, young warriors were having a hollering good time trying to smash Temple guard with the heavy missiles.

  Bay-ope went to the Limtir guard and joined them with a bow. A crash sounded below as the ram struck. Breea walked along the ranks of archers, the perimeter of the building, her face stern, trying to deal with the feelings she felt.

  Master Logat chak’ood and said, "The Temple follows the path, Master." Another crash of the ram. "They will break the door and discover how to die within twenty such chambers."

  A whistling volley of arrows sailed down to clatter on the stone roof, many finding marks in unarmored boys running about with supplies and water. The ram struck again.

  Breea turned her gaze to the Temple rising above the houses across the city. Master Logat spoke more, but she did not hear him. She looked at the men on the roof, the small pile of the dead in the center, boys writhing in agony, or still, some being helped off the roof by others. Another volley whistled down, and Breea left the roof.

  She found Ajalay and Yavay’adil in the planning room. Ajalay was talking earnestly with the priest who had been with them since Breea’s return. They turned to Breea, and she saw in their eyes new respect, awe, and the bite of fear. The priest knelt, and no one spoke.

  The priest said in a shaken voice, "Chosen One. We have waited. We have not forgotten."

  Ajalay said, "Breea." The tone the Tetr-Sanis used was not one of mentor to student, nor of peer to peer, but something more. Breea did not quite recognize her own name in that tone. Ajalay collected herself and said, "This weapons guild was formed two thousand years ago by Lutna, a man who was probably one of the last of the Alach. They have been waiting these two eons. For you."

  Breea had no words.

  Yavay’adil moved up beside her, put an arm around her shoulders, and said, "Sounds reasonable."

  Both Ajalay and priest were taken aback, but Breea looked gratefully at Yavay’adil. He too was touched with some new fear, but care overrode it. She could see that he was determined to see her always as simply Breea. She felt then such a surge of love and affection for the healer that she embraced him so tightly he grunted.

  Ajalay seemed frustrated. She had something of deep import to state. Her voice was cool as she said, "The words of Lutna match the Abitalen in many ways. It would appear that Lutna knew that the knowledge of weaving would vanish from the world, and created the weapons guilds to assist the first generation of Alach to emerge."

  "We Serve," said the priest, still kneeling.

  "Anule," Breea said to the man. He did not rise.

  Ajalay said, "I believe now that the Alach were in fact destroyed by the Oregule in the last and most horrible battles of the Legend Time." She paused to see how Breea would react, then said, "I do not understand all. I have so little. The other tomes we were able to take do not speak of such things. The Abitalen histories speak of six greater Oregule: a wolf, a bear, a cat, a raven, a lizard, and a spider. The Abital Prophecies hint that the Oregule will do terrible deeds, but that the Alach will rise to meet the returned Life Bane."

  Understanding came with a surge of essence. She knew why she must fight. She knew! Power roared up and Breea let it wipe anguish, fear and confusion from her mind.

  Into the quiet, she said, "I am the first."

  Somber, Ajalay nodded.

  "I am Alach." Power flooded her with no boundary, but hurt no longer. Breea looked north. Her enemy was there. She turned to leave.

  "You are going into battle?" Ajalay asked.

  "Yes. My enemy is in the Temple."

  Cold power rippled up through the building, and nausea almost forced Breea to vomit. She gripped her belly as it heaved.

  Ajalay said, "Oregule!"

  Breea listened for the source of the sickening weave and felt bitter essence as it welled up from beneath ground and dragged at the hearts of the defenders. The weave was immense. The reverse of its weft pointed at the Temple.

  Breea gathered herself and struck at the weave with her power. It flinched away, as though surprised, and retreated back into the ground below.

  Master Logat with two others came down from the roof. "Master," he said as he chak’ood.

  Breea acknowledged him. "Anule."

  "There is battle again to the north and east. Mobs attacking the Temple force. Our archers have slain their officers. They are without leadership, and are ripe for harvest."

  Breea nodded and said, "I must go to the Temple. Is there another way from the guild hall?"

  "There is the dock tunnel we hoped was secret, but it is also under attack. The alley door as well."

  "Open the ways to the front door. We will make a sally."

  The masters looked pleased, and said together, "I Serve."

  Breea nodded and walked past. Logat sent orders via boys standing ready, and they all went down, gathering warriors along the way, until they came to the door that opened on the first- and second-level stairs. Masters Sabar, Ootha, and Neprawn the Tall strode up to join Logat and other masters in a protective ring around Breea.

  They opened all the doors of the first-floor maze until they came to the hall that led to the second chamber breached by the Temple soldiers.

  Cries of agony and rage came from beyond.

  Warriors put their shoulders to the doors, for they opened outward and were jamme
d by bodies. Through the widening gap, Breea glimpsed Temple guard on either side of a ram. There were not enough left to hold up the log, however. Most were holding shields above them against the hail of crossbow bolts from the ceiling. She could feel weaving power entwining them. With a sweeping of her hands, Breea pushed aside Sabar and Ootha.

  They complied hesitantly as Temple guard charged at Breea through the gap. She spread her arms, and said in a woven voice, "Stop."

  As though a blow had struck them, the guard faltered, falling over themselves with benumbed expressions.

  Breea swallowed her surprise and said, "Fight no more. Leave this hall."

  The men followed her direction without resistance. A moment before, they had been flashing with battle lust and craving violence, but now a vacuous stare met her gaze, and she felt an echo of deep, twisted pain.

  She touched a man as he turned away, and jerked back her hand. Loathing quivered through her.

  Gathering power, she stepped forward and gripped his arm. Within his flesh a shifting pattern that seemed alive in its complexity enveloped the patterns of the man’s self, twisting inward, feeding on the man as it pulled him slowly apart. Gritting her teeth, Breea reached out with herself and applied hot force. The weave tore, then unraveled. The man screamed, body rigid. He slumped to the ground.

  Breea left him and walked after the other Temple guards out into the street. Bodies crumpled in waves as arrows from the guild hall took men standing dumb. Touching another, Breea felt the same horrible, consuming weave. A wave of cold energy rippled through the ground. The Temple men moved as one to take up the battle again, attacking the hall and Breea.

  Sabar and the other masters were engaged immediately on all sides. They fought with an intensity to match the frenzied Temple men, and no guard could get within eight feet of Breea. Archers on the roof kept the Batusha men from being overwhelmed as she sought the source of the wave.

  She gathered herself and shouted, "Halt!" The battle stopped, only to be restarted by another wave of cold power.

  Breea oriented to it, and felt a chill, putrid touch. The tip of one of the spires of the Temple showed just above the houses. Another wave swept past and the Temple guard attacked in bloodlust frenzy.

  Kneeling in blood, Breea put her hands to the cobblestones. Her fingers ached from the icy power flowing beneath her. She poured her strength into the ground, burning away strand upon strand of the weave there.

  The battle stalled again. Sabar, Ootha, and others gasped for breath, leaning on their swords.

  Her warmth spread from her to the near buildings. The chill weave writhed under her touch, but she felt no victory. Rather, fear grew, for she knew now the immensity of the weaving under and through the city. All her power was but a campfire atop a glacier. She got up. She would need more than her own power to fight this.

  "Bar the doors, and hold the hall," she ordered the men around her, and set off at a run for the Lute and Swan.

  Bodies were scattered in the streets, houses burned, and groups of Temple guard and townspeople raged in battles between them. Looters emptied shops, scrambling away upon seeing Breea.

  On the steps of the Lute and Swan, soldiers in noble livery were standing guard. They did not attempt to interfere with her, and she took the stairs up to her rooms five at a time.

  Simarn, dressed in a fine cream dress belted at the waist, and with ribbons in her hair, was talking with Dori where they stood before widows looking down at the street.

  Breea greeted them in passing, went to her bags, and took out the orb.

  Dori and Simarn ran in, and Breea said, "Stay here."

  "Did you hear there’s a battle?" asked Simarn, then noticed the orb. Green light beamed from between Breea’s bloody fingers.

  Not knowing what to say, Breea hugged each of them, and ran.

  Stopping at the edge of the wide space before the Temple, she surveyed the high wall and the tremendous Temple blocking out much of the sky. A thousand people, worship shawls forgotten and falling off, were streaming down the ramp. Soldiers on the ramp were filing up its sides to man the walls above.

  Breea fought her way up the ramp, expecting an attack, but the guard that noticed her took one look at the bright orb and backed away. Breea entered the Temple as terrified worshipers fled, herded by priests in hooded robes that hid their faces and hands. A wave of fear and nausea preceded them. They halted as Breea pushed through the wall of their presence, and each lifted a clawed hand to push back their hoods, revealing eyes with white pupils.

  To herself, Breea whispered, "I am Alach," and drew a dagger.

  They bared fangs at her.

  Essence moved and the massive doors began to swing. With only a moment to choose, Breea leapt inside. The crash of the doors closing behind was deafening.

  In unison, the Dauthaz opened their cloaks and drew curved, two-handed swords. Breea called upon the power of the orb, and piercing green light filled her end of the Temple. The creatures flinched and squinted their eyes.

  Using the moment, she charged to the left. The Dauthaz there swung its blade. Breea parried and struck it in the chest with the orb. It fell back with an inhuman cry to thrash on the floor. Leaping, Breea passed over it and nearly ran into a weave. There was nothing to be seen, but she could feel the weft of power hanging between the nearest column and the wall.

  She whirled to face the beasts. Blades whistled. Wild with fear and power, Breea parried and dodged. The essence around her shimmered and flickered as blades cut into it, but none made it to her flesh. Bestial cries echoed in the vast hall, and dark-robed forms writhed in agony from her blows. Some launched themselves at her, trying to take her into the weave at her back, but she ducked and parried. There was no time to think, only to give a desperate defense with the occasional counterblow. Still, a mound of bodies formed around her.

  Breea whirled, seeking foes. When she saw there were none left, she fell to her knees gasping, feeling as though her soul had been beaten with clubs. Gritting her teeth, she clambered over the cold bodies, and walked to the center of the hall. She looked back at the closed doors. Reminding herself of her purpose, she turned away from them. She moved down the vast hall. Power tickled at the edge of perception on either side between the black stone columns. Halfway, she stopped, fearing that she was being led into a trap.

  Turning to retrace her steps, cold energy flowed across her path, a woven wall that she could feel. She stabbed it with a dagger. It felt like she had struck a wall of stone through which a river of ice flowed. Her hand began to ache with cold, and she pulled back. Another wall flowed behind her.

  The stone beneath her feet and the air above came alive with power, and in a flash of fear she realized that she was completely trapped. The walls of cold formed a sphere around her, rising into the air, lifting her within it. Panic tried to take her as she was carried deeper into the Temple. Frantic, she lashed at the weave with her dagger with little effect.

  At the rear of the great hall lay a round space whose floor was an intricate mosaic. The stones in the center of the floor peeled upward, flowing back until the floor was gone.

  In the center of the pit hung a translucent gray orb the size of a human head. She was lowered to one side, until stone touched her feet once more.

  It was so dark that Breea did not see the figure on the other side of the orb until its head moved. A pale man sat there in a nest of darkness. Light from Breea’s orb was reflected in eight white spider eyes where human eyes should have been, and Breea knew which Oregule she faced.

  She flung her power at the weave imprisoning her. Woven strands expanded and ripped. Green light cut through the dark and lit the room. Standing free, Breea raised the orb. The Oregule was all white like Lupazg, and watched her impassively.

  Dark threads erupted from the walls and struck. Breea’s light was overwhelmed and she felt stabbing pain as threads penetrated to touch her. Wielding her dagger, she cut them away, and called forth ever more of her st
rength. To her despair, much of her power streamed out through the cracks in the orb, doing nothing, though the orb had become a green sun, her dagger a shaft of light.

  Greater and greater loops of power struck at her, encircling, beating back and smothering her light. Breea sheathed her dagger and gripped the orb with both hands, raising it against the attacks. Threads of dark vanished, consumed where they reached into her light. The creature was standing at the gray orb now, its hands on the stone. Breea could feel the power it called. Vast threads spread throughout city and countryside drew back, lending their power to his attacks.

  Breea leapt forward to strike the Oregule with the orb, but a wall leapt up before her. She drew a dagger and sliced through it, but another wove together behind it.

  Feeling the power of the gray orb growing, Breea looked for escape, but everywhere was cold darkness.

  She felt a weave rear over her like two fangs.

  It struck and Breea fell to her knees under the blow. The blades of darkness sank deeply into her sphere of light. Desperate, Breea poured her very soul into the orb, and felt it cracking further in her grip.

  In despair, she threw her will into her blade and sliced clear and slammed her green orb into the gray.

  Energies warped, and the backlash lifted Breea, flinging her into the wall. As she hit the floor, so did the gray orb, and a violent shudder passed through the earth. The green orb was dust in Breea’s hand.

  Rotten power unraveled, loop after loop writhing and flowing in all directions. The Oregule struggled to hold the untying in check, and was ripped apart by the massive energies, its form dissolving into a cloud of white mist.

  Silence descended on the space, then an ominous rumble began. Breea called on the flame. It answered, but barely. She struggled to stand, and stumbled her way to the one exit she could see. A tight passage led to stairs. They ended at a hidden door on the back of a lectern pedestal.

  She shoved open the door and was greeted with a cacophony as the Temple spoke in an agony of ear-splitting cracks and deep groans. A long rending of breaking stone heralded the failure of a section of roof directly above. Breea ran. A great section sailed down to crash into pulpit and pews with a concussion that made the floor leap and sent wood shards and stone flying in all directions. Breea kept her feet and, using what little power remained to her, sprinted for the doors of the Temple. The roof failure spread, raining destruction. Breea dashed down the side of the great hall, peppered with bits of stone, some hitting hard enough to make her stagger.

  The air grew chill. The Oregule was re-forming. Most of the roof had made its way to the floor heaps, choking the air with dust. Skirting the rubble, she staggered to a halt before the doors, and chanced a wild glance backward. Something there was released. Breea knelt and drew both daggers, holding them before her as she’d seen Lupazg do. A wind of bitter essence struck at her. It split around and over her and hit the Temple doors. For a moment they held, then shattered outward with a rending roar.

  Stunned that her defense had worked, Breea rolled over from where she had fallen and stumbled into the sunlight. Cold froze the flesh of her back, and she fell, solid skin cracking open. She writhed on her belly in pain so severe she couldn’t even scream.

  The clump of boots drew near, and she forced her head around. It studied Breea with multiple unblinking orbs.

  Thin lips pulled back in hatred as it said through clenched teeth, "Kaass, Alachk."

  There was savage superiority in the Oregule’s bearing as bent over her, white medallion swinging free from its chest. Strands of freezing essence looped about Breea. She whipped her arm around, cutting through a set of eyes with the dagger she still held.

  The Oregule reared back, screaming, and raised a hand at Breea. White fog bled through with crimson warped about its hand, stabbing at Breea.

  A crossbow snapped and the Oregule’s head was wrenched back as a bolt passed through its skull. It became mist and vanished. Its medallion fell, ringing on the flagstones, and bounced to land on Breea’s right hand, stinging her right ring finger. She jerked away.

  Rending groans heralded the impending collapse of the entire Temple. Stone fell, shuddering the wall where she lay. When the Temple collapsed, she would be buried, she knew, but at least the Oregule was dead—for now.

  Hands gripped her shoulders, and she was lifted and dragged toward the ramp. Head hanging limply, she saw a cream-colored dress.

  The wood of the ramp jumped as the Temple lost more of its structure. Stone showered from above, some striking Breea. She was dropped. Simarn got up and dragged Breea farther down the ramp. Dori appeared and helped. They pulled Breea sixty strides farther down before the air reverberated with a crumbling roar and the ramp leapt and shuddered as the Temple collapsed. Rock fragments sang through the air, and chunks came bouncing down. A cloud of choking dust blew past, enveloping them.

  From where she lay, Breea moved her head to look at Dori and Simarn where they had fallen, cowering on the planks of the ramp. Simarn struggled up, gripping a small hunting crossbow, fearful but ready, her dress torn and turning red in places. Dori stayed curled, sobbing in pain and terror.

  Through all her own discomforts, Breea felt the tip of her right ring finger tingle. Eight spots of blood stood out. She wiped away the blood with her thumb and saw eight holes had been torn from her skin. It was the same pattern as the Oregule's eyes. Spider eyes. She forced herself onto her elbows, feeling blood streaming around her torso from her back, and looked around. Above them, the ramp was crushed and buried. Below, at its base, midway between the wall and houses, a large group of Temple guard stood staring at the ruin of the temple. A mob poured out of all the streets, chasing dozens of other guardsmen in frantic retreat.

  Hundreds of townspeople rallied behind a strange brown banner on a pole that Breea recognized as her bear-fur cloak. The man at the head of the mob was Scaukra.

  He signaled a halt that the townsfolk reluctantly obeyed. He ordered four groups formed: one to attack straight on, two others to flank at angles, another to cut off retreat to the ramp. A few Temple men made a dash for the ramp, closely pursued, while the rest grimly formed a phalanx and stood ready.

  Scaukra waved the banner, and leaned it at the men. A thousand voices shouted, "Breea!" and attacked the guard.

  Breea dropped her head to the grit-covered wood, and listened to the slaughter in her name. Simarn’s crossbow released. With a grunt, she levered its string and released again. After the screams of battle faded, boot steps approached.

  "Master?" said Scaukra. He draped Breea’s cloak over her, and kneeling, chak’ood. "The city is yours, Master."

  ###

 

  Thank you for reading!

  If you enjoyed A Woman Warrior Born,

  and want to continue Breea's story,

  Vol. 2 Come the Wind is now available!

  To be among the very first notified when

  Volume 3, Fire Borne, is released, please visit

  https://www.alexanderedlund.com/

  …and sign up for New Book Notification.

  Discover other titles by Alexander Edlund

  THE BOOK OF BANEA

  Vol. 1—A Woman Warrior-Born

  Vol. 2—Come the Wind

  Vol. 3—Fire Borne *

  THE KEELIC TRAVERS NOVELS

  Keelic and the Space Pirates

  Keelic and the Pathfinders of Midgarth *

  Keelic and the Perdition Quest *

  * Forthcoming

  Thanks for reading.

  Alexander

  About the Author

  ALEXANDER EDLUND is the author of four novels. A native of the Arizona desert, Edlund now chooses to live in wet climates, especially temperate rain forest.

  A Woman Warrior-Born is the first in a planned series of six books about Breea Banea. Look for more of Edlund’s work arriving soon.

 
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