Eyes of Crow

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  37

  Rhia woke before first light. As she dressed for chores, she watched Marek sleep, for once visible to her before sunrise. Visibly exhausted, she added to herself with a smile. The approaching doom of invasion accentuated her joy in this simple yet profound moment.

  Later that morning, Rhia, Alanka and Marek headed to the wheat field to train for the upcoming battle. Rhia and Coranna met with Elora, Pirrik, Silina and the other healers to set up a makeshift hospital. The wounded would be brought to the tent for care and, if necessary, to have their souls called home. A few of the healers would work in the field to help the fallen soldiers, but Crows were deemed too rare to put in harm’s way. Rhia fumed at the restriction but couldn’t argue with the logic.

  When she was finished, she joined Alanka, who enlisted her assistance in arrow-making. She showed Rhia how to cut the feathers and adhere them to the shaft with birch tar. Alanka had to redo most of Rhia’s early efforts, but as the day wore on, Rhia’s fingers grew accustomed to the exacting work.

  “Adrek came from Kalindos to fight,” Alanka mentioned.

  “I’m surprised.” Rhia had never mended the rift between her and Skaris’s Cougar friend. “I thought he didn’t like me.”

  “I’m sure he only came for the adventure. He probably thought there’d be a victory party.” She lowered her head. “Pirrik came, too, but he won’t talk to me.”

  Rhia could offer only a sound of sympathy. Alanka’s father had killed her mate Pirrik’s father, Etar. It was hard to imagine how they would overcome such a barrier.

  “Don’t look,” Alanka said, “but a certain Spider is crawling this way.”

  Arcas strode toward them, wearing a thick leather battle vest and a matching set of gauntlets on his forearms. A sword swung in a scabbard at his left side. Watching him from a distance, Rhia noticed how much his physique had changed since she left Asermos. Gone was most of the bulk that came so natural to a Bear, replaced with a Spider’s grace and wiriness.

  Alanka gave a soft whistle at the sight. “If I weren’t in mourning…”

  Rhia jabbed her in the back with the blunt end of an arrow.

  “I’m joking,” Alanka whispered. “I have no appetite for your leftovers.”

  “Good morning, Alanka.” Arcas nodded to Rhia. “Rhia.” His voice was clipped, and the corner of his left eye twitched. “Alanka, are you ready to begin?”

  She thrust a stack of arrows into a quiver, which she strapped across her body. “Ready.”

  He had set up a target in the wheat field about a hundred paces away.

  “Can you hit that scarecrow?” he asked her.

  Alanka squinted at the figure. “Where?”

  He pointed. “Right there, with the red shirt.”

  “No, where on its body do you want me to hit?”

  “Oh.” He seemed surprised. “The heart’s a good place to aim for a kill shot. We don’t know yet what kind of armor they’ll—”

  Alanka had already let loose an arrow, which was sticking out of the scarecrow’s “heart.”

  Arcas cleared his throat. “That’s, er, good. Let’s see if you can hit the head.”

  “The eye?”

  His laugh sounded skeptical. “Sure. Try for the eye.”

  “Which eye?”

  “Pick one.”

  “Left.” With a motion that blurred in Rhia’s sight, she nocked an arrow and shot it into what would have been the scarecrow’s left eye. Arcas just stood.

  “Amazing.” He rubbed his chin and looked at Alanka. “From how far away can you do that?”

  “As far as the bow can shoot.”

  “Can the other Kalindons shoot like you?”

  “Sure,” she said, though Rhia knew she was being modest. “Marek taught me. He’s not quite as fast as I am, though.”

  Arcas looked across the narrow end of the field at the gathering of Kalindons. Some marveled over the longbows, others surveyed the lay of the land and still others quaffed mugs of ale.

  “Which one’s Marek?” he said.

  Rhia closed her eyes, awaiting the inevitable.

  “Oh.” Alanka hesitated. “You haven’t met Marek yet?”

  “Call him over,” Arcas said. “Let’s see what he can do.”

  Alanka mouthed a “sorry” toward Rhia as she set off for the group of Kalindons.

  An excruciating silence fell between Rhia and Arcas. He untied and retied his left gauntlet, then the right one. She organized the newly fletched arrows into stacks of twenty, then double-and triple-checked the count. They continued to say nothing.

  Alanka crossed the field, followed by Marek.

  “Welcome.” Arcas bowed to the Wolf. “I can’t begin to express my gratitude to you and your people.”

  Marek returned the greeting. “It’s our honor to serve under your command. Just tell me how I can help.”

  Arcas gestured to Marek’s bow, then at the scarecrow. “Alanka’s set a tough example to follow, but if you can just hit the target, I’ll be impressed.”

  Marek gave Alanka a competitive glare, then readied himself to shoot. He eyed the target carefully as he set the nock of the arrow against the string.

  “See?” Alanka said. “I told you he’s not as fast as I am.”

  A crack sounded at the target. One of Alanka’s arrows fell to the ground in pieces, split by Marek’s shot.

  “Sorry,” he said to her. “I’ll make you a new one.”

  “Outstanding.” Arcas beamed at the target. “We could actually win this battle.” He thumped Marek on the back. “Have you found somewhere to stay? Our house has extra space.”

  “Thank you.” Marek glanced at Rhia. “I’ve found a place.”

  Arcas registered the look. “You know each other?”

  She stepped to Marek’s side. “We met in Kalindos.”

  Alanka shifted her feet on the grass in obvious embarassment.

  Arcas looked at the other three in turn. “Wait—is this—Rhia, this is him?”

  “Yes,” she said quietly.

  He examined Marek with an impassive gaze. “So you decided to come after all. Good.” He turned away, and Rhia’s throat unclenched.

  Before she could blink, Arcas drew his sword with one hand and shoved Marek to the ground with the other. He held the sharp tip to Marek’s throat, so close that blood would have flowed if the Wolf had so much as swallowed.

  “Arcas!” Rhia started to reach for him, but Alanka held her back—wisely, since any motion might have fatal consequences. Marek’s life balanced on the edge of the blade.

  “You stole my mate,” Arcas hissed.

  Marek spoke through gritted teeth. “You want me to be ashamed?”

  “I want you to be dead.”

  “Why? So she can hate you instead of just not love you?”

  They had attracted the attention of the nearby Kalindons, who watched with casual interest. Out of hearing distance, they probably assumed the fight was a practice maneuver.

  Alanka moved for the bow near her feet.

  “Don’t,” both men ordered in unison.

  “Arcas, please…” Rhia whispered. “We need him. I need him.”

  He started to tremble, but his sword arm remained as rigid as stone.

  Then Marek did something unexpected. His right hand reached out and wrapped around the blade.

  Arcas gasped and almost jerked back in a reflex.

  “Don’t move,” Marek said in a low voice, “or you’ll slice my palm to the bone and I won’t be able to draw a bow. What will your commander say when he finds out how I got hurt?”

  Arcas stared at him. “What are you doing?”

  “Seeing if you’d really kill me. Evidently you wouldn’t, if the thought of merely maiming me sends you into a panic.”

  “Let go.”

  “No.”

  Their gazes were locked. “What do you want?” Arcas said.

  “Peace. Let this be the first and last time we fight. Rhia has chosen.
If you love her, let her live with that choice.”

  Arcas’s eyes narrowed suddenly, and Rhia feared he would thrust the sword forward, but then he nodded.

  “Thank you,” Marek said. “Now relax your elbow so I can remove this thing from my throat.”

  After taking a moment to collect his pride, Arcas obeyed, and Marek slowly moved the sword aside, far enough to let him rise. With care his fingers released the blade, and he got to his feet.

  Arcas sheathed his sword, avoiding the eyes of the others. “I’m sorry,” he said to Marek. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Please forgive my loss of control.”

  “Think nothing of it. If I were in your place I’d have done the same thing.” As Arcas turned to leave, Marek added, “Except I’d have killed you.”

  Arcas paused briefly in his departure. “I need to check on the other troops,” he said without looking back.

  Alanka bounced on her toes. “You were amazing.” She pinched Marek’s arm. “No one intimidates Kalindons.”

  Rhia asked Marek, “Did you mean what you said? Would you really kill him if the situation were reversed?”

  “Not if you told me not to.” He put his arms around her and kissed her nose. “I’ll obey you as well as your hounds.”

  “My hounds aren’t the least bit obedient.”

  “Hmm. Interesting.”

  Shouts came from the other end of the field, where Arcas’s sunrise trees stood. A rider on a dark bay pony burst from the woods, sagging in her saddle.

  Rhia turned to the others. “It’s one of the scouts!”

  They ran with the rest of the soldiers to meet the scout, a Bat woman named Koli. Torin, the Bear commander, was listening to her report, pacing as he pondered her words, which clearly troubled him.

  “What are they saying?” Rhia asked her Wolf companions, who shook their heads.

  “Too many other people talking,” Marek said.

  “Someone needs to attend that horse.” Rhia pushed her way through the crowd, Marek on her heels. She took the reins from the grateful Koli and began to hot-walk the pony in a wide circle. The huff of his breath and clop of his hooves drowned out much of the conversation, but at least Marek had gotten close enough to hear. From what Rhia gathered, the enemy had moved within striking distance and could invade as soon as tomorrow.

  When her path brought her near Torin and Koli again, she overheard an alarming fact.

  “There’s armor for the horses,” Koli said. “They mean to use them in battle.”

  Rhia pulled the pony to a stop.

  Torin clenched his fists. “That will put us at a disadvantage—not only because of their greater height but because they think we won’t harm their mounts.”

  “We will if we have to,” Lycas said. “We’ll do whatever it takes.”

  The pony nuzzled Rhia’s hand, no doubt searching for a treat. “We can’t,” she said. Everyone looked at her, and she drew the bay gelding forward with her. “The horses didn’t ask to fight. They don’t deserve the pain and death of war.”

  “What would you have us do?” Lycas’s voice filled with scorn. “Ask the Descendants very nicely to dismount so we can kill them?”

  “He has a point,” Arcas said. “On foot we’re no match for a cavalry.”

  “You both speak as if it’s easy to kill a horse whether you want to or not.” Torin gestured to the woods. “They’ll come out of those trees and cut us down so fast, our archers will have time for only one shot, if that. The only solution is to keep them off the battlefield in the first place.”

  “What about a row of pikes?” Arcas said. “We could conceal it under leaves at the edge of the woods and lift it just as the horses step out of the trees.”

  A gasp of revulsion permeated the crowd.

  “Good idea,” Lycas said to Arcas, then raised his voice to Torin and the other people gathered around. “Our lives—our entire village—might depend on it. We don’t have the luxury of coddling enemy weapons, even if they have pretty fur and big brown eyes.” He glared at Rhia.

  Her anger boiled, but she wouldn’t let her brother see it. “Torin’s right, but killing the horses isn’t the answer. Mother used to make a potion to calm our ponies during a bad thunderstorm. What if we used it to sedate the enemy’s mounts, enough that they can’t be ridden into battle?”

  Elora stepped forward. “Do you have any of this potion left?”

  “I’m sure we do. Father said it’s been a mild season for storms.”

  “With a small sample, I could make more,” the healer said. “But how do we administer it in time?”

  Torin frowned. “Someone would need to sneak into the enemy camp tonight and slip the potion into the water troughs.”

  The crowd hushed as everyone examined their toes. It was a suicide mission.

  “I’ll do it.”

  Rhia stared at Marek, who held up his hand.

  Torin approached him. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “Marek, of Kalindos.” He returned the general’s bow. “As a second-phase Wolf, I can become invisible at night and move with complete stealth. I’m the only one here who can do that. It makes sense to send me.” He held up his bow. “I’ll fight when I return.”

  “If you return.” Arcas took a step toward Marek. “Why would you risk your life for us?”

  Marek simply looked at Rhia. She shook her head and begged him with her eyes not to go.

  But it was too late.

  Rhia and Marek stood outside her door early that evening. The others—Elora, Tereus and Alanka—stayed inside to give them privacy. Koli waited near the stables on a fresh pony to take Marek as far as it was safe to ride without being discovered.

  Rhia placed the long clay bottle of potion in Marek’s palm. “My mother used to put five drops in each trough to calm the horses. Elora said twenty should be enough to put them in a lasting stupor but not harm them.”

  He nodded.

  “And the horses can catch your scent,” she added, “so be sure to stay downwind.”

  He nodded again.

  She shook a finger at him. “Only do as much as you can safely. Skip a few troughs if you have to.”

  He nodded a third time. “Rhia?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  She dropped his hand. “Don’t say that like it’s a given. You could be killed.”

  “Or worse—captured and kept from your advice forever.” He smiled as if it were a joke, but his eyes remained sober.

  Rhia looked toward the setting sun, berry-red on the horizon, a portent of a hot, muggy day to follow. “It’s getting late. You should go.”

  “I should. Summer nights are short—I’ll need every moment I can get to complete this mission.”

  “And then come home.”

  His lips twitched. “Home? Here?”

  “Back to me.”

  “Same thing.”

  He put out his hand, and they entwined their fingers, palms meeting, for a long moment.

  Then he was gone.

  Rhia returned to the house. Alanka, Tereus and Elora watched as she slumped to sit at the table.

  “If Marek succeeds,” Tereus said, “we may have the advantage. The Descendant riders’ weapons and armor are all suited for horseback. On foot, they’ll be much less effective.” Rhia nodded and picked at the unrecognizable meat her father had prepared. He gently broke the silence again, “We should sleep. Torin’s men will be here well before dawn for the horses, and I expect we’ll all go with them then.”

  The Asermon horses would not be used to fight, but to deliver messages, carry supplies and transport the wounded. Nevertheless, they could be hurt or killed, and Tereus was offering an enormous sacrifice by donating most of his herd of ponies to the war effort.

  “Yes,” Rhia said. “Let’s go to sleep.”

  They all sat, unmoving, for at least another hour.

  When the sky was empty of light, she retreated to the stable to sleep in
the hayloft. After unrolling the blankets from last night, she made a pillow from a new clump of hay. Yet her head did not long for it.

  She sat near the small loft window and stared out at the field where she had first seen Marek the night before, in full control of his power. Pressing the blanket to her face, she inhaled his scent and prayed to Wolf for his safety. The words clunked together in her mind, unable to carry the feelings they wanted to bear to the Spirit. She could only clutch the cloth and whisper Marek’s name until she fell into a fitful sleep.

  38

  Darkness draped over the wheat field. The soldiers hid within the tall, pale green stalks. Somewhere among them lay Rhia’s brothers, each armed with several daggers of various sizes and purposes, like the other Wolverines. She had barely recognized them when they arrived. It wasn’t their battle dress or the war paint they had slathered on their faces. Their eyes had changed to those of killers. She had become an abstract concept to them, one among thousands they fought to protect.

  Protect from what? she wondered as she stared out at the field from the open flap of the hospital tent. If the Descendants won, what then? Would the Asermons be allowed to vacate their lands unhindered, or would they become slaves, forced to burgeon the Descendants’ strength and dominance? What would happen to the surrounding villages if Asermos fell?

  And the Spirits? The Descendants had driven them from their own city with derision and scorn, if they had been there to begin with. Would the Spirits remain here if no one revered them, or would they take all the magic back to their own realm and lock it away forever? Worse yet, what if Marek were right, and the Spirits themselves would die if no one lived to believe in them?

  She curled her arms around her own waist and shivered, despite the warm night that was coming to an end. Her eyes strained to pick out the archers behind a stone wall, downhill to her right. In contrast to her brothers’ stony countenances, Alanka’s eyes had shown a gut-clenching fear as she approached the battlefield. Rhia knew it lay as much in the dread of killing as in the fear of dying.

  Several sharp-eyed Eagles stood within the archers’ line. They would call out targets and determine weaknesses in the enemy armor or formations. Now they watched the trees at the other end of the field for any sign of movement.