Close now. So close.
After a moment of waiting for Gatak to look at him, to no avail, Dotag finally spoke. “It is nearly done,” he boasted. “No humans still dwell in the mountains. Only in their valley. I have sent the gifts we stole from them to other packs, and many of them have joined us. We are ready.”
Gatak looked over at last. “Are you?”
“We are many. We are strong. Their homes will not stand before us. They will flee. Any who stand and fight will die.”
“Then I hope none of them try to flee,” said Gatak. “I hope you kill them all.”
Dotag showed just a bit of his teeth. Gatak stepped closer and pressed her forehead to his. They both closed their eyes for a moment and shared a breath. When they pulled away, Dotag’s ears were back in pleasure, and he viewed her with a hungry look in his eyes.
But she had other things to see to.
“I must go for now,” she said.
Dotag’s face fell, and his ears came back up. “Go?” he said. “Go where?”
“To speak with the Lord,” she said. “And to ensure our victory.”
“We will win,” insisted Dotag. “The humans cannot stop us.”
“I believe you,” said Gatak. “Do not worry. I will return soon.”
“You said that before,” said Dotag. “You did not come back for a long time.”
Gatak lowered her ears and pressed her head into his chest. “A few months are nothing. There are many years ahead of us. But I will not be gone that long this time. I promise I will return to you before the attack.”
Dotag seemed comforted at that—and at the feeling of her pressing into him. “You vow it?”
“I vow it,” she said. “Watch for my return.”
She made her long, slow climb down the cliff. She hated coming down. It always took so much longer than climbing. But it was worth it to view the world from those lofty heights—not as high as a bird, but with solid ground underneath you, like a throne from which you could view the world far below your feet.
Gatak reached the bottom and lumbered off into the darkness, to a place she knew was well out of sight of Dotag, where no troll had any hope of seeing her.
Once she was certain she was alone, her eyes began to glow.
Her form shrank. Her limbs grew slim. Tight clothing sprang from where it had been wrapped deep within her form.
Kaita emerged into the night. She took a deep breath of the air, reveling in her returned sense of smell. Trolls could smell almost nothing, and she always felt like she had a wolf’s nose after she resumed human form.
But she had little time to enjoy herself. Her eyes glowed again. She took her raven form and flapped up into the air. The mountain winds were with her, and in no time she had reached the Shade encampment. They had set themselves up in rows of tents, buried deep in the mountains where few had any hope of finding them. Even rangers would not have drawn near to the camp, for the trolls were between them and the city.
She landed in their midst and resumed her human form again. A wave of fatigue struck her, but she shrugged it off. There was a moment’s shock among the Shades, but it did not last long. Their commander’s habits were well known, and they relaxed as soon as they recognized her. Phelan stepped up, bowing low before her.
“Order everyone to be ready,” said Kaita. “The trolls will attack soon. When they do, we shall fight beside them.”
“Of course, Commander,” said Phelan. “We are prepared to strike at a moment’s notice.”
“And the special team I tasked you with putting together?”
Phelan hesitated. “They, too, are prepared. Eleven of our best soldiers. They will infiltrate the keep and kill every Telfer they can.”
Kaita fixed him with a look. “You have doubts?”
“The Telfer keep is well defended, Commander. I worry for the success of their mission. But I have faith in your plan.”
“You should,” said Kaita. “I myself will be on that mission.”
His eyes widened. “That is too dangerous.”
“It is necessary,” said Kaita. “I know the keep. I know all of its secret ways, the passages in and out. Do not trouble yourself over my safety. The Telfers are the ones who should be worried.”
“As you say, Commander.” Phelan did an admirable job of trying to hide his doubt. He bowed again and left her.
Kaita spent a little while longer patrolling the camp, ensuring that everything was prepared and that her soldiers were ready for the battle. Finally she accepted that things were as prepared as they were going to be, and she made her way to a tent to sleep. But she lay awake a long time, staring at the top of her tent, fingers playing at her braid in the darkness and listening to the gentle nighttime sounds of the camp.
Close now. So close.
Maia led me back to my cell. But when we reached it, I found a surprise. Mag stood against the bars, her arms passed through them and her wrists manacled. Two guards were moving a mattress into the cell.
I looked at Mag. “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” she said, sounding almost disappointed. “Dryleaf said his cot was too hard for his old back. He asked for a softer mattress, and the guards would only provide it if I let them truss me up. I agreed for his sake.”
“And I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it,” Dryleaf piped up from the back of the cell. He sat on the cot, smiling broadly, as the guards wrestled the new mattress in and placed it on the floor to the right.
Mag studied my face. She must have noticed my red, puffy eyes, for she frowned. “You look a bit worse for wear. Did she hurt you?”
She had, of course, though not in the way that Mag meant. So I forced a chuckle. “We did not have a brawl in her chambers, if that is what you mean.”
“Hm,” said Mag.
Dryleaf found his way to his feet as he heard the guards retreating from the cell. He probed at the air, and when he found one of them, he patted her on the back. “Thank you again, very kindly. It is good to see that even in dire times, the hospitality of Calentin knows no bounds.”
“That is kind of you to say,” said the guard. She looked a little ashamed, as if she had not expected her duties to include imprisoning such an old and frail man.
“Not as kind as you have been,” said Dryleaf, his smile widening.
Once they had left the cell, I walked myself in. Maia shut the door behind me, and when I turned, I saw that he was eyeing me carefully. But he said nothing as the guards locked the door again, and he turned to go. The woman Dryleaf had spoken to went to unbind Mag’s wrists.
“Thank you for not making this difficult,” she said.
“Think nothing of it,” said Mag. “I told you it was for the old man’s sake.”
The guard smiled and unlocked the manacles. She glanced up the hallway where Maia and the other guard had retreated. When she spoke again, her voice was soft. “I … I wanted to let you know. I have heard many tales of you, and I know you are no evil person. I hope the Lord Telfer does not treat you too harshly. She is a fair woman.”
“You would know better than I,” said Mag with a smile.
The woman stepped a bit closer. “I heard a story once … is it true that you held a breach in a keep wall for four hours, alone?”
Mag’s smile dampened. “It is. That was not a good day. I was only alone because all my companions had died.”
The woman’s face fell at once. “I … I am sorry to bring an old grief to mind.”
“Do not trouble yourself.” Mag smirked. “And, if I may offer a word of advice?”
She had not yet pulled her hands back within the cell. Now she seized the front of the girl’s shirt—quickly, but gently.
“You are a little too close. I could seize you, smash your head into the bars, and steal the keys to escape.”
The girl’s face flamed as Mag let go of her shirt and gave her a little pat on the cheek. “I … will keep that in mind. But I do not think you would do such a thing
.” She reached to put the manacle keys on her belt—and then she frowned. “Dark take me. It would not have helped you, anyway. I must have put the cell key somewhere …”
She froze and looked up at Mag suspiciously. Mag smiled broadly and raised her hands.
“You took all my pouches. I could not hide a key on myself if I wanted to.”
The guard sighed and rolled her eyes. “Very well. I believe you. I wish I could say this was the first time I had lost it.” With a rueful shake of her head she left us, grumbling under her breath.
“They brought you food?” I asked, once she had gone.
Dryleaf nodded. “They did. And fine fare it was, for a prison. It was when they brought our meal that I asked for the mattress. Thank you for seeing to our arrangements.”
“I did nothing,” I told him. “Ditra thought of it on her own.”
He nodded. “It is as the girl said—she sounds like a fair woman.”
“She is, I suppose,” I said. “Though just now she is trying a bit too hard to be like our mother.”
“That displeases you, I gather.”
“My mother was a hard woman. So hard, for so long, that she forgot how to be gentle. And that is all I wish to say about her for the moment.”
Dryleaf nodded. I went and sat on the floor by the cell door, just where I had rested the last time I was in here. Mag, too, resumed her position, leaning against the other end of the bars. But when I glanced up, I found her studying me. I did not wish to speak with her any more than with Dryleaf, so I avoided her gaze.
“This is a nice jail,” said Dryleaf, not seeming to mind our silence. “I have been in far worse.”
That drew me somewhat out of my dark thoughts. “You? In jail? What for?”
“I assure you, only for other misunderstandings like this one,” he said, chuckling. “I may be old now, but I have gotten myself into a great deal of trouble under many names. Good people end up in prison all the time. Some of my most popular stories are about just that thing.”
“Well, let us hope that your luck holds out,” said Mag, “and that this trip to a cell is no worse than your previous ones.”
“No, indeed,” said Dryleaf. “Already it is a good deal more pleasant. Fear not, my lord of Telfer. I have a feeling this will all work itself out in the end.”
“I am not the Lord Telfer,” I said quietly, turning away from him.
Ditra sat in her chamber for a while after I left. She stared long out the window, at the gentle snows that fell outside it, into the darkness that was gathering to the north. Then she roused herself and went to bed. The tray of food lay where she had cast it on the floor, untended.
She went through her morning the next day in a dark mood. Again and again she tried to put me from her mind, but again and again her thoughts returned to me. She could sense it affecting her decisions, creating long silences before she realized someone had spoken to her, and that she had to answer. It was hard to concentrate, hard to focus.
During her midday meal, she finally threw her knife down onto her plate and abandoned her pathetic attempt to eat.
She rose and went to the door of another chamber down the hall, knocking at it twice.
“Yes?” came a soft voice from inside.
Ditra opened the door. Her daughter sat at a desk across the room, her quill out, a stack of parchment in front of her. She had been copying from a tome of history recently—a pursuit Ditra did not particularly understand, but it took up her daughter’s time and kept her from getting underfoot, for which Ditra was grateful.
“Mother,” she said, beaming. She rose and ran to her in the doorway, throwing her arms around Ditra’s waist.
“I have not been able to visit you of late,” said Ditra, trying to maintain a regal tone. “I thought we could speak for a moment, in this brief calm between storms.”
“Storms?” Her daughter looked up into her face. “Is something the matter?”
“You have heard about the attacks in the mountains,” said Ditra sternly. “It ill behooves you to play at ignorance, V-Vera.”
Ditra stumbled over the name, her throat suddenly dry. It had been my name, of course, before my wending. She had meant it as a tribute to me, especially because she had not known I was ander. But it seemed a poor decision now.
Vera, for her part, looked chastised. It hurt Ditra to see it, but she steeled herself. She had not even been particularly harsh. Vera would need to withstand much worse than this, when she one day took Maia’s place as lead ranger, after he became Rangatira.
“Come,” said Ditra. “Sit.”
She guided Vera back to her chair by the desk, and then she sat on the girl’s bed. For a moment they waited there in silence, both staring at their hands, which each of them had folded in their lap. The silence drew on, long past awkwardness and into discomfort.
“Do you … do you want to be a ranger, Vera?”
Vera looked up at her, eyes wide. “Why, yes, Mother. Of course. You know that.”
“You have said so,” said Ditra. “But I have often told you that it is what I expect. I mean to ask … do you want to be a ranger? Would you, if I were not Lord of Tokana?”
It was clear the girl had not considered it before. Now she frowned and looked away, her eyes growing distant. “I think so. All of our rangers are certainly very dashing. And I am always happiest out in the wilderness.” She flushed and looked quickly at Ditra. “I do not mean to say I am not happy here—”
Ditra forestalled her with a raised hand. “I understand what you mean.” Better than you can know. “Go on.”
Vera frowned again, and she began to twist her hands. “I have never fought before, of course. I like my training, but I do not enjoy the thought of … of killing. But I know we never do it without reason.”
Do we not? thought Ditra. I always thought Mother was too careless of others’ lives.
She closed her eyes and steeled herself. Enough. She had become a confused mess, and she would not serve her people well in this state.
“There have been some … arrivals, to the keep,” she said to Vera.
“Guests?” said Vera, frowning.
“No,” said Ditra. “Prisoners. They may be here on dishonorable business.” The words tasted bitter in her mouth. Even she barely believed them.
“I cannot remember the last time we had prisoners in the dungeons,” said Vera, her voice suddenly small.
Ditra could not help a snort of laughter. “I could not have said that when I was your age.”
Vera smiled at Ditra’s laughter, brief and grim though it was. She had always loved it when they laughed together, and loved it all the more for how rare it was.
“I … I have something I think I should tell you,” said Ditra. “But it is a long tale, and a difficult one. Do you remember—”
A horn sounded. Ditra shot to her feet.
“Mother?” said Vera.
“Stay here,” said Ditra. She almost left, but at the last moment she stopped. Turning, she embraced Vera, holding her tight. “Be strong. I will return when I can.”
She ran from the room. A door at the end of the hall led her into a passageway onto the walls. Soldiers of her house started in surprise as she emerged into the open and marched down the ramparts. She stopped at the first person she saw—and suddenly she realized that she knew the woman. It was Whetu, the former ranger whose family had narrowly escaped their village’s destruction a few weeks before.
“Whetu,” she said, nodding. “I am somewhat surprised to see you here.”
“Rangatira,” said Whetu, bowing with a fist to her forehead. “It seemed clear things would come to a fight before long. I took up your service again, for that seemed better than waiting idly for the trolls to come to us.”
“Maia assigned you?”
“He did, Rangatira,” said Whetu.
Ditra’s mouth gave a wry twist. Maia had not mentioned it, but then, he had been rather preoccupied lately. “I am glad you are her
e. I am assigning you to guard my daughter’s chamber. Find two others on your way and bring them with you, on my authority.”
“Yes, Rangatira,” said Whetu. “No harm will come to her.”
Ditra nodded and walked on while Whetu ran to do her bidding. Ditra stalked up to the short tower overlooking the east gatehouse, and there she found Maia.
“Report.”
Maia turned at the sound of her voice, and though he kept a passive expression, Ditra could see the relief in his eyes. He was obviously struggling to maintain his customary good humor, but it was overpowered by a worry he could not entirely hide.
“Rangatira,” he said. “Trolls have gathered at the north end of the dale.”
Ditra suppressed a shudder. They had all known that Kahaunga was the trolls’ eventual aim, but her scouts had guessed that any attack would not come for several more days. Ditra had thought they would have more time—time for the king’s reinforcements to arrive, time to work out another solution. Time to find and eliminate the Shades, mayhap.
A thought came to her briefly that that might have happened, if she had ordered Maia to work with us, as he had wished to. But she quashed that thought immediately. This was a time for action, not doubt.
“How many?”
“Many,” said Maia. “More than two hundreds.”
Ditra’s eyes shot wide. “Two hundreds?” She realized that soldiers all around them were staring at her, and she forced her expression back to one of impassive calm. “What are they doing?”
“They are holding their position for now,” said Maia. “But they may only be waiting until they finish gathering their forces.” He paused. “I did not even know there were that many in the mountains.”
“Of course there are,” she snapped. “The Greatrocks stretch for hundreds of leagues.”
“I mean the mountains of Tokana,” said Maia. “We have never glimpsed a pack even a fraction of this size.”
The Tales of the Wanderer Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 4) Page 50