by Hannah King
At the time, Lead Talrinious had only been a simple farmer, but rowdy and strong, unwilling to back down. After the massacre, he had discovered a secret pass through Daun into the Brawl Mountains and led us to safety.
Over the years we’d survived there undetected, hunting in the valley, scrimping, saving every scrap of food. We were weak, afraid and terrified that Faldir would find us, but by some miracle, we had survived.
Temper was mild that year, a relenting season, almost as if it felt the need to apologize for its behavior the years before. The river hadn’t frozen over, so we’d fished from it. We’d hunted the animals that wandered prematurely from their dens in the unusually mild weather.
Then our leads had organized the Sustainers, to prepare for the next year. Those who joined would hunt and trade outside of the valley and bring back supplies to prepare for the next season of temper.
This enabled us to build warmer structures in the mountains, and store away food, clothing, and weapons. The children grew and our numbers increased. After several years of luck and wit, the Parters still hadn’t discovered our hideaway.
It was still a struggle to stay ahead of the game, to be able to catch our breath. One wrong move and everything we’d fought for all those years could be washed away like it never existed. I was afraid that if we Sustainers couldn’t bring back aid to our families, our streak of luck could run out just like that. They relied on us heavily.
In less than an hour, the packs were finished. Outside, we collectively handed the rations out. By now scores of us were rallying in the center of camp, standing at attention, waiting for orders.
Wes ran up to me.
“I’ve been looking all over for you,” he panted. “The captains want you back at the front with them, they’ve got a horse waiting for you.”
Camphraz wrinkled his forehead in question and Ayla gaped. There was no time to hesitate, so I followed him.
We made haste toward the front of the company, dodging fielders who were shouldering and securing their quivers or tightening their scabbard belts. As we made our way, I noticed that Wes’s face was twisted with emotion, tear streaked even.
“Wes, are you all right?” I heard myself asking as we navigated through the congested crowd. I thought maybe he was grieving Captain Warner. He did not answer me at first.
“My cousin, Byrne,” he said at last, his voice tight and strained. “He was one of the watchmen that tried to stop the scouts. He was shot down.” He blinked away the pain that surfaced in his eyes.
I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. I squeezed his cold hand awkwardly. Then I let go and silently scolded myself for not knowing what else to say. He looked away and continued to guide me toward my new place, with the captains, at the front of the company.
The leads were only a few paces ahead of us with their own accompaniment of guards. I was too numb to even comprehend the idea that I was to ride so close to them. Wes left me quickly to take up his own post.
The other captains didn’t bother to acknowledge my presence, but Tratis greeted me solemnly and handed me the reins of a steed.
“This is Staghorn. I’m assuming you can ride?”
I nodded, taking the leather straps into my hands.
“Ride with your gloves off,” he ordered. “Inform me im-mediately if you sense shazod ahead or behind us.”
I obeyed, removing my gloves and sliding them into my pack. Then I swung up onto my mount, struggling a bit. It had been years since I’d ridden, but I tried to appear steady and assured.
With the raise of the lead’s flag it was time to depart. Seemingly there was no time for speeches or explanations that the others hungered for. Behind me, the rest of the company picked up their feet, beginning a steady but strenuous pace.
We headed east. I knew behind us the ghost-like tents flapped eerily in the wind, and the animals crept in, eager to explore the shelters we had shunned.
As we journeyed out of the thick shadows of the wetlands we had camped in, we were greeted by the sunrise, finally unobstructed by the thick vines and skeleton like trees of the Elm Beds. We were silent as we plodded along, everyone sullen and focused. Nobody even dared to comment on the absence of zignots swarming around us.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WES
THE DARK, STINKING Elm Beds were behind them at last. The morning mist had cleared, and the sun rested on Wes’ pale face and warmed his damp clothes. They were still marching through the same grassy plains they had tread upon for two days now. All around them the eastern plains seemed to go on forever, the rolling hills like waves in an endless sea.
Wes took a deep breath of the fresh air, but his heart was heavy. He was positioned a short distance from the rest of the company, bringing up the rear, his fellow watchmen posted on each of the four sides of the troop. Every minute or so he would turn and take a long, thorough look over his shoulder at the wide expanse they had crossed over, searching for any sign of pursuit.
For the past three days, there had been no sign that anyone had been following them, but as Wes checked over his shoulder for what felt like the hundredth time that day, he was still filled with dread for what he might see. His tired eyes scanned the lonely landscape. The grasses and wildflowers behind them were trampled where the troop had marched, but the wind would soon clear their tracks. There was still no sign of the Parter army or even scouts.
Wes stared straight ahead once more. The rhythmic pace was wearing at his soul as he was forced to trudge along even slower than the company of fielders ahead of him. They at least had the company of each other.
Loneliness smothered him as he tried and failed to keep his mind off the grief that threatened to overwhelm him entirely. There had been no time to mourn for Byrne, or even to recover his body so as to give him a proper burial. When the orders to abandon camp had been given, Wes had been expected to do his part, to put his duty above his pain. In the mad rush of preparing to depart he had almost been able to forget, to numb himself to the cruel reality; but, out here, there was nothing to keep his mind from it, no distractions, only miles and miles of lonely grasslands.
The marching fielders were solemn as they followed the mounted leads and captains who led the troop. Wes knew they were fearing and longing for their loved ones back in Brawl, but he had no family left to claim. His cousin Byrne had been the last. His father had been killed in the uprising, and his mother had died long before that from an illness. Every year the return to the sanctum had only ever reminded him of his orphaned state.
He watched the exasperatingly slow-moving troop, shaking his head. To them the pace was grueling. They were doing their best, but to a Swiftfoot the pace seemed impossibly slow. He had longed to run ahead to Leida with the other messengers to announce their upcoming arrival, but he had been selected to act as a watchman yet again.
What will Leida be like? he wondered numbly. He’d heard stories of the beautiful city; strong and well-fortified, at the base of the hills and mountains. It was guarded by an impressive military, and the people there were elite and wealthy. Even the poor owned property and slaves.
In Leida there were universities, temples, markets full of incredible foods from all over the world, and healing houses with medicines that could make you better almost at once. But he remembered one thing his father had always told him.
“Leida doesn’t like strangers, boy. They’re a pure people. They are who they are, they like who they are, and they don’t like to muddle their city with wayfarers. The only foreigners there are slaves doing their master’s business.”
Yet Captain Tratis seemed so confident that they would open their doors. Wes hoped it was true.
The day dragged on, and still Wes saw no city upon the horizon, only grassy hills. Somewhere out there was the Northern Sea, but at this pace, they might never get out of these plains.
“Take rest!” Lead Talrinious’ voice traveled over the company when dusk had fallen upon them. Another day was over, with n
o hope that tomorrow would be any different. The journey would resume at first light of dawn.
Wes joined the rest of the company, relieved to be back among them. They were breathing heavily, untying their packs, worn down from the lack of sleep and meager rations they had been surviving on. One fielder pulled out a blanket and covered her face with a groan, while two others rummaged through their provision packs.
Wes wasn’t hungry. His bones ached and his eyes burned from being awake for so long, begging him for rest. He had barely slept, not since the night he’d seen Jare stumbling into the camp with the news of the sanctum’s discovery and of Byrne’s death.
“You, Perimen,” a commander approached him. “You’re on first watch tonight,” he ordered.
Wes accepted the command without revealing his exhaustion.
Most of the fielders were fighting over the flattest spots on the ground. The captains stayed together at the front, separate from the rest of the Troop. Wes looked on, wondering if he would see Talitha, but it was already too dark. She had been riding alongside the captains these past three days, looking miserably out of place, but attempting to hide it. What a time to be promoted, just as all hell had broken loose.
While the others sank into sleep, Wes stretched and prepared to take his watch. There was a damp breeze beginning to blow across the dark planes and so he wrapped himself in the dusty wool of his cloak and tried to look alert. He hoped someone might relieve him come midnight, but no one ever came.
TALITHA
I had fallen into a restless sleep. The heavy wool of my blanket could only dull my code, I needed the close, thick leather of my gloves. They were the only thing I had that could quiet my mind.
Even as my tired body slept, my senses were wide awake with the pacing of the watchmen, the tossing and turning sleepers, the horses, the crickets hopping about in the grass, the roaches under the rocks, and the animals we’d scared away when we’d made camp. Rabbits huddled below the earth in their burrow’s, safe from the predators that were hunting in the tall grasses.
“We’re moving again,” Gray shook my shoulder, breaking me out of my dreams. Pain erupted all over my frame at the motion. I opened my eyes groggily, the pale light of dawn was blurred by the thick mist that we had come to expect each morning in these parts.
Around me the other captains were already up and about. Gritting my teeth, I sat up quickly, my sore muscles screaming in displeasure. It was a cold morning, and I shivered as I was forced to unwrap myself from my blanket and stow it away with my pack.
Tratis approached me, holding out a tin cup containing a steaming black liquid. I looked up at him in wonder, accepting the cup and letting it warm my freezing hands. Could it be? The smell was dark and bitter, undeniably coffee.
“One of the benefits of being a captain,” he said, looking pleased with himself. My sluggish mind begged me to start gulping it down, but I was apprehensive.
“But, how? Without a fire?” I questioned sleepily. There were to be no exceptions, fires could not be lit within the camp during this journey for fear enemies would see us. All of us had borne the usual splitting headaches every morning that the liquid generally soothed so easily.
Tratis looked at me as if amused and shook his head. The answer dawned on me and I felt my cheeks burn at my stupid question. Fireholders held heat in their hands. With little effort he could quickly set a pot boiling.
“Water, grinds,” Tratis shrugged. He pointed to a tin pot that was clipped to his saddle bag next to a couple of battered cups. “Heats up pretty quickly for me,” he grinned, wriggling his fingers. “I have to ration it of course, but on a morning like this I thought we could all use a pick-me-up.”
“Drink it fast, we’re setting off soon,” Gray threw over her shoulder. She was already saddling her horse, always the first one ready.
I gulped the coffee down greedily, for a brief moment feeling grateful to be where I was, if only that it meant having access to the heavenly tin pot. Once the cup was drained, I felt it’s energizing magic begin and instantly went to work saddling Staghorn.
When it came time, I stretched painfully before hoisting myself back into my saddle with a groan. I knew I should have been grateful to have been given the luxury of not having to ruck with the others, but my muscles had been trained to march, not ride. The pain and stiffness from the new and uncommon posture had still not worn off fully.
In a short while the company was moving again, our mounts trotting swiftly through the tall grasses. It was another two hours before the mist lifted, dissolving into a gray day.
“See that line of hills on the horizon?” Tratis broke the silence among the captains, guiding his reins so that his horse fell in step with mine.
I squinted, following his finger as he pointed. It was difficult to discern the hills he spoke of with the rolling plains around us, but I nodded all the same.
“Beyond them is Leida,” he said.
“Leida,” I repeated the city’s name to myself, trying to get comfortable with it.
“It’ll be nice to experience a little hospitality after our long trudge,” Lewis commented.
“Should be,” I agreed, although he hadn’t been speaking to me.
How would it feel, receiving that hospitality while knowing that the rest of our people would have to survive temper without us in the mountains, without even the knowledge of whether or not we had been delayed or killed? Waiting? Wondering? Grieving? Starving? The majority of them were those who were either too old, too young, or too weak to join our ranks. There were only a few leaders and fielders stationed among them.
I wished my parents could know that I was safe. I longed to know what their supplies looked like, or if they had prepared for the possible absence of our provisions. Even if they survived this temper, would we ever be able to leave Leida? Now that the Parters had sniffed us out, I wasn’t sure.
“How did you know Leida would welcome you?” I asked Tratis suddenly. He could have been shot down from the walls the night he’d gone to them for help. “The city might have been swarming with Parters, just like Ralstag was.”
Whether or not he heard me, he offered no answer, only kept his eyes fixed on the horizon and patted his horse’s head.
A light rain began to fall, steadily increasing. It seemed the season of pel was coming to an early end. Soon we were all soaked through, our shoulders hunched over, the deep cowls of our cloaks pulled tightly about us to protect us from the sudden damp.
Amid our heartbreak and worry we began to wonder if our journey’s end could possibly mean building fires again, perhaps drying our rain stained clothes, drinking something hot, roasting fresh meat that hadn’t had the life dried out of it, and more than that, rest for our worn bodies.
We reached the end of the eastern planes by noon, the grass receding into rocky hills as the rain continued to pound down on us. The captains were forced to dismount and lead our steads along by the reins. None of us felt like hiking, our boots slipping on the wet rock, and the wind slapping against our faces.
When we reached the peak, we were rewarded by a view of our journey's end. Stretched out below us was a wide valley that ran alongside the base of the mountains. Beyond the fields of tall grass and short trees I first spotted the foggy outline of the sea to the north, and then, the city of Leida.
A collective murmur spread through the company as we locked eyes for the first time on our destination. I squinted through the gradually decreasing rain, straining to decipher the taupe stone walls of Leida from the surrounding mountains. Within the protection of those walls I thought I could see acres of farmland, private villas and lush gardens. Beyond that, a city seemed to grow out of the ground. It was unlike any city I had ever seen, majestic and formidable as it rose upward, one with the mountain.
This was not an outpost like Ralstag in the northern territory, or a bustling port city like Wrendall; even the old Cronin as I remembered it paled in comparison to the city of Leida. There was a
n ancient splendor to it, a city that would stand through the ages, solid and unyielding. I understood now why the Parter forces had not yet dared to give them trouble; the wall alone, thicker and higher than I had ever seen, sent a clear message.
The company moved with purpose now as we marched downward, into the valley. Once we were on even ground once more, I remounted with the other captains. When I looked over my shoulder, many of the other fielders were casting anxious glances, whispering to each other nervously as we grew ever closer to our destination.
It was late in the day when our troop approached the gate. The city was now blocked from our view by the walls that loomed high above us. A hush had fallen over the fielders as we were ordered to come to a halt. I noticed that our captains and leads looked nervous. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath.
“Leiden keeper, we come in peace, grant us entrance!” Lead Talrinious shouted, his voice ringing through the air.
There was silence. I glanced at Tratis, but his eyes were straight ahead, confident. Then came a great rumbling as the gate was raised with impressive efficiency. I shivered a little.
A company of ten mounted soldiers waited just within the entrance, the Leiden flag raised proudly. One man was positioned at the front, bearing the air of a commander. He inclined his head to Lead Talrinious, his sword remaining sheathed at his side.
Slowly, our company was admitted, one by one. I realized the Leiden’s were checking us with oil for cleanliness before we entered, just as we did in camp. They too had heard stories of the shazod and how they would crawl into a large company quietly, enter a village or city and wait until nightfall to kill hundreds in their sleep.
“This could take a while…” Tratis was saying under his breath to his horse. “Lucky we’re closer to the front,” he winked at me. He was clearly bolstered by the fact that the gate had opened.