by A. K. Wilder
“We’ll have to walk the horses.” I dismount, stifling a groan as I hit the ground.
“Can we pass the waterskin around?” Kaylin asks before I can order it. “Hard climb, but we’re nearly there. Bladon is a giant, flat hilltop surrounded by a scattering of trees and dense scrub.”
“Bladon,” Ash says. “It means—”
“—flattop in Aturnian.” She and Kaylin finish the sentence together.
“Helpful information.” I pass to the head of the party, and Ash’s mare whickers to Echo, our horses briefly touching noses. Ash looks exhausted, though her clothes are drying and she’s stopped shivering. I survey the others and realize what bad shape we’re in, all except Kaylin. He seems untouched by the battle, which I can’t fathom unless Piper gave him healing I don’t know about.
There are grunts and hushed exclamations as the others dismount. We pass around the waterskins, Kaylin taking a deep drink right along with everyone else. Then I lead our party up the hillside.
The sailor is right about one thing—the climb is short but steep. I’m breathing hard when we reach the top. “We’ll let the horses rest a moment, check all directions, and carry on, quick as we can.”
“Thank the dry flar’ned bones for that.” Ash guides her mare toward the deepest grass and flops to the ground.
The plateau is lush and ringed with trees. In the open spaces are patches of yellow flowering fireweed. The horses go straight for the grass with little encouragement. They’ve had no chance to graze since the dried cornfields we found them in this morning, and that was hours ago. “Mind the fireweed,” I warn the others. Horses won’t usually touch it if there’s a better choice, but I don’t want to take any risks. The crossing was hard enough on them without further challenging their digestion. “Kaylin, give us a look at the distance viewer?”
Kaylin goes to retrieve it. The others run up their stirrups and loosen their girths a notch, letting the animals breathe deeply. Samsen and Piper spread out to check the paths on the other side of the hilltop. The healer walks with a limp but doesn’t complain. I’ve known Piper all my life. She’s never been one to complain about anything.
Kaylin and I head to the north edge of the hill and check the docks at Capper Point.
“Socked in,” Kaylin says, handing the viewer to me to take in the fog blanketing the harbor. “We’ll not know until we get there. In any case, I’ll find you a sloop with no one the wiser. Your horses will be a problem, though.”
“We’ll deal with it at the time.” My guts knot at the possibility of leaving Echo behind, selling her off to an Aturnian farmer or hunter. It shouldn’t have come to this. Five instead of six. I grit my teeth and look through the distance glass. “You’re right; there’s nothing to see but a mass of gray.”
“At least it’s sunny up here.” Belair sprawls in the grass, lacing his hands behind his head for a pillow. “Storm clouds to the south, though. I think Kaylin’s right about the rain.”
“Don’t get too comfortable. We mount up again as soon as I check west and south.” I pan with the viewer. Endless trees and sky and distant fog. “Let’s not forget we’re in enemy territory.”
“What an odd bird.” Ash points skyward.
Belair frowns. “Turkey buzzard?”
“Too big.”
I follow her line of sight with the distance viewer. The sun dazzles my eyes, and bright spots cover the image. “Can’t tell.” I leave them and check beyond the eastern ridge. I have to smash through the lantana, but once I have a view of the valley, I feel a slow smile rising. Finally, open vista, clear as far as the eye can see, all the way to the south of Clearwater. Footfalls sound behind me and I spin, drawing my sword.
“It’s only me!” Ash holds up her hands.
“Don’t just appear out of nowhere like that.” I sheath the sword, glad I didn’t lunge before I recognized her.
She stands next to me and breathes deeply. “What a spectacular view.”
“As long as there are no Aturnian troops milling around below, it’s not bad.”
“Is that likely?”
“I don’t know. This is their realm we’re traipsing through. It’s easier if I think Nadonis and those mercenaries were after ransom, or if they feared some kind of retribution if they hoisted black sails. But if they’re Aturnian sympathizers…”
Ash threads her arm through mine. “Shall we wade through the lantana and view the western valley, my Heir?” Ash asks with a twinkle in her eyes.
“With all speed.” She’s not called me my heir in a long time. It’s always said in a teasing tone, and it reminds me of childhood and makes me feel lighter. I take her hand, and we hike to the other side of the plateau. As I push back the last barrier of tobacco bush leaves, I drag Ash back. “Down!” I whisper at the same time that De’ral shouts it in my head. I pull Ash flat to the ground with me.
“What is it?” Her cheek presses into the dirt.
“A camp.” A large camp.
Slowly we worm toward the edge and peek through the tall grass.
Ash sucks in her breath. “Gutted stuggs. Look at the size of that herd.”
De’ral rumbles in the depths.
“I’m more concerned with the campsite.”
“Concerned” is too mild a word. In the valley to the west of the plateau, directly below us and not far from the north road, is a camp the size of Toretta City. The camp is a city. And it’s full of Northern Aturnian troops, judging by their traditional flag, black with twelve bright stars shooting across it. They also fly the Gollnar banner, red with a dark horse galloping in the wind. Gollnar and Aturnia? United? Chills wash over me. Father must know about this! I squint through the glass. There’s a third flag, white background with twin circles, one red, the other smaller and so dark it’s almost black. I pass the viewer to Ash. “Check the flags.”
She puts the viewer to her eye, her hands shaking. “Northern Aturnia and Gollnar together?” she echoes my surprise. “The third is…it’s…”
“Tell me,” I say in a rush.
“New to me. Never seen it before except—”
“Give me the glass.” I quickly scan the camp. They have been here awhile, judging by the well-worn paths crosshatching the long rows of tents, the grazed pastures, and the general industry. Everyone is busy—shoeing horses, marching on the parade grounds, lining up to a very large tent that appears to be the mess hall. I’ve never seen such a large encampment.
Ash taps my shoulder, hard. “We have to go. Right now.” Is that her pulse beating double time in her neck? I put my arm around her before we crawl backward from the edge.
“Quickly and quietly.” I take her hand and lead the way back. “Straight to Rita and mount up. I’ll signal the others.” She squeezes my hand once before letting go. We sprint out into the field.
But it’s too late.
Samsen shouts a warning as a dozen riders crest the unguarded track on the northeast ridge. They’re on Gollnarian horses—pintos and blacks with white spotted rumps—and carry long, metal-tipped spears. Their dress is Gollnarian, too, with their round shields and long bows. I know that much. Quivers of arrows, feathered in red and blue fletches, are slung at their backs. A party from the encampment, probably their scouts, but are they savant? I come to an abrupt stop and let the distance viewer slide from my hand into the tall grass. No matter how this goes, being caught holding a spying glass won’t help our cause. Ash, who was running behind me, slams into my back. “I told you to get on your horse.”
She raises her brows. “Thought you might need a translator.”
I call to the others, and she slaps my arm.
“Speak Aturnian,” she hisses under her breath. “Better yet, don’t say anything.” She steps in front of me. “Hello!” she sings out in the common Aturnian dialect. Even I recognize the greeting. She says more, keeping her vo
ice light and carefree; I don’t know how. Belair is on his feet, sweeping up his coat. The others retreat toward us as the riders flood the hilltop. Samsen’s phantom circles overhead, and Piper’s serpent coils around her neck and left arm. All hands are ready to draw weapons. De’ral pushes up toward the surface of my mind, making my temples sweat.
I give a quick shake of my head to them all. “Wait and see. Ash might talk us through this.” I tip my chin subtly toward her so they understand. The faces of those Aturnians we caught flash before me. What if they really were lost, just like us? The irony turns my stomach cold.
The riders shout as they approach, but the dialect is no Aturnian I recognize, not that I necessarily would. “What are they saying?” I ask Ash without moving my lips. I glance at Kaylin, who stands on her other side.
Ash turns briefly to me. “They’re speaking Gollnarian.”
“They are Gollnarians, by the look, but what are they doing half a world away from their realm?” Samsen whispers.
Whatever the answer, it’s not good news.
“Remember, we’re savants traveling to Aku,” Ash says quietly. “They must let us pass. Just let me talk.”
“But be ready to make a break,” I say, though I’m not hopeful about our chances. The horses are at the other end of the plateau, startled by the new arrivals, and the Gollnar riders have us surrounded as they gallop the hilltop in ever-tightening circles.
Ash stands tall, waiting for them to bring their horses to a halt. When they do, she steps forward a pace, directly in front of the lead scout. Her hands are open in a gesture of goodwill, not an easy stance when hedged in by armed riders. She speaks fluent Gollnarian. I recognize a word or two now that she’s identified the language, and of course the repeated “Aku initiates,” the meaning all realms know and respect. The conversation goes back and forth for some time—the captain fires questions and Ash answers back in short, concise, and very formal-sounding words. At one point, she turns to Kaylin and asks him something in Aturnian. He, apparently understanding her perfectly, goes to the donkey pack to retrieve something.
De’ral growls, and it vibrates in my throat.
“Steady,” I say, but am glad for his presence.
Ash and the captain keep talking. Again, I wish I’d taken my language classes more seriously. But some things need no translations, like the way the captain sizes up Ash and Piper, perceived as the weaker of our group or, worse, as someone to victimize. Can I just rip his arms off and throw them over the cliff? Judging by Samsen’s face, he feels the same. We have laws against harming women in Baiseen, against harming anyone. It appears the same tenets don’t hold true here.
Crush them, De’ral says. So far, we haven’t agreed on much, but he’ll find no argument here. My phantom pushes hard, but these scouts have each of us in their sights. If I drop to my knee, I’m sure to find an arrow in my neck before De’ral breaks the surface.
Kaylin steps between Ash and the captain, handing over our travel documents. I can tell instantly that the captain is not happy with them, and I know why. There are six of us traveling and only five documents.
Keep the party’s number to five. The Bone Thrower’s instructions echo in my mind, much too late. Damn it all.
The captain dismounts and passes his reins to the man beside him. His long spear he keeps to hand.
Ash talks fast, pointing to Kaylin, the coast, and the donkey.
The captain chuckles, his dark beard wagging. I doubt she has told a joke. The other scouts join the laughter. He then makes a show of reading the scrolls and glancing at the corresponding savants.
If we bear the harassment, they’ll probably let us go. It’s law in all the realms. A little loss of face and then on our way.
Another dozen scouts crest the rise and flow over the plateau. Our horses are caught and led back to the circle. An order is barked, and another three scouts leap to the ground. With their spears at the sailor’s throat, his sword is confiscated.
And just like that, our best weapon is gone.
Our saddlebags are brought to the captain’s feet. He takes his time going through them, pulling things out and stuffing them back in again, especially Piper’s and Ash’s. He whistles when he finds their underthings.
The other scouts, both men and women, laugh.
Ash keeps her face neutral while the captain holds her favorite purple dress up like a dance partner and goes through the motions of a Gollnar tanglok. My blood heats at the disrespect, and De’ral slams into the back of my mind, enraged. I make to step forward, but the captain has moved on to my pack.
A cold sweat breaks out across my forehead when I realize what he’s found—the sack of gold coins marked with the Palrion shearwater and my Baiseen family seal. I curse to myself. What was I thinking?
Now we must admit we are from Palrio and then explain why we are so far off course, given we are not spying but savants on our way to Aku. If they suspect we’ve seen the camp, none of us will be going anywhere, I am certain.
The captain drops the items back in the saddlebag and stands in front of Ash.
Too close! De’ral’s rage echoes in my mind.
My only thought is to snatch the captain’s spear and impale him with it. De’ral is so near the surface, I think my skull will crack. Behind, we are outnumbered four to one.
If they are non-savant, though, we have a chance. It should be obvious by robes, but what if these scouts are hiding their rank? Then I hear Ash blurt a question, catching the word “non-savant.” Has she outright asked?
“Non-savant?” the captain repeats. He follows with a deep belly laugh and holds out his arm, his cuff riding up. Ash stares at his wrist, but I can’t tell what catches her attention. The captain’s eyes go skyward, and we all follow his gaze. Coming out of the clouds is a dark-winged creature, the bird we saw earlier. Only it’s not a bird at all. It’s a phantom, up scouting us the whole time.
I should have known.
It dives, the wind whistling through its wings, making a high-pitched searing sound that grows louder by the second. The creature folds into an arrow and gains such speed, a boom cracks over the mountaintop and shakes the earth. The horses try to bolt, but the scouts hold them back.
“Ash, to me!”
She turns to run as the phantom hits, diving into the earth, burying all but the tail. Grass and rock fly up like a geyser as the remains of the phantom turn into a tangle of barbed, lashing vines, growing at a terrible rate. An alter!
“Look out!” I warn as vines wrap around Ash’s legs and trip her to the ground. I bolt toward her, but a scout tackles me from behind and pins me with his spear. De’ral roils, but the scout has me on my feet before I can raise him.
Ash is trapped, my whole company guarded, unable to respond. The phantom sprouts new vines, reaching toward her and out to the others. Kaylin ducks his captors in a blur of movement I can’t follow and rushes to Ash’s side. She buries her face in his chest, but a dozen spears point at their heads.
The captain smiles. “Alter phantom, didn’t you know?” He speaks Palrion? “I wouldn’t anger him if I were you.”
“Last thing on my mind.” Ash chokes out the words.
“Release the little non-savant,” the captain commands his phantom.
The vines loosen, and Kaylin helps Ash to stand. The phantom spirals around itself and shoots toward the darkening clouds, altering once again into the monstrous winged demon. The spears remain leveled on Ash and Kaylin, but it looks like only the captain of this band is savant.
“You’ll need to come along and explain to our High Savant what you’re doing so far from the road to Aku.” The captain turns to the scouts and shouts orders.
A spear jabs my back, and a scout binds my hands in front of me. A tall Gollnar woman with multiple yellow braids, she nods to the horses. “Which one?”
They al
l speak Palrion? What is happening here?
Thoughtlessly, I incline my head in the direction of Echo. The captain watches, eyeing Echo with the same interest he showed the Baiseen coin and seal. Of course he does. She’s the finest horse here. And I’m a fool for not pointing to the donkey. I’m sure Ash is thinking the very same thing.
The scout motions to the others, and I’m given a leg up into the saddle at spear point. Just as Kaylin predicted, rain begins to fall. It’s too late for a distraction, at least on the spot. Samsen, Piper, and Belair are all in the same predicament. Hands tied, aboveground, and riding toward the enemy camp—the huge enemy camp they don’t know about—with spears pointing at their backs.
The captain lifts Ash onto Rita, giving her thigh a more-than-friendly squeeze. “Our lieutenant will want to question you all privately,” he says as Kaylin, also bound, is boosted up behind her. The captain’s eyes linger on the sailor, too.
Ash looks down her nose at the man defiantly, but he’s already turning to Piper with his hunter’s gaze.
I shake my head at Samsen as he strains against the bindings. Not yet, but we have to do something before we reach the enemy camp.
As if hearing my thoughts, Kaylin turns and winks at me. Actually winks! For an instant, I see he’s calm, unperturbed, but only because he has no idea what’s ahead. The size of the enemy camp. The sheer number of troops.
His lack of fear may rise from ignorance, but at the moment, I’m grateful for the shred of hope it brings. I’m also glad he rides with Ash. Wherever my earlier jealousy stemmed from, it has vanished, replaced with a desperate need to come up with a plan, and fast.
18
Ash
The only thing keeping me from panic as I ride, hands bound, rain falling, is Kaylin doubling behind me. We don’t speak, but his presence, the way he leans forward and turns slightly so his shoulder presses against my back, makes me feel like there is hope. Plus, there’s his handiwork on the headland to remember. I know what he’s capable of. But with his hands bound, the scouts ready to skewer us at any false move, and his weapon taken from him, how can he possibly save us?