by Diane Rapp
Kriegen displayed amusement by the carefree swish of his tail.
You bring more surprises, Kriegen. Do you care to explain these…creatures? The Gray’s eyes remained riveted on the strange entourage.
We introduce Felesia and Jordan. Felesia makes friends of wild creatures, by communicating mentally, and Jordan is Jarrack’s son. He can testify that his father plans to commit host murder.
He needs no coaching. Speak if you are able to hear us, Jordan.
The young man stood erect, assuming an attitude that masked his true nervousness. I hear you and can speak. It is true. My father forces his mind into the minds of his sons and doesn’t care if they die as a result. I’ve sworn blood feud against him and will fight to prevent him from killing the minds of my brothers. Intense emotions vibrated from Jordan’s mind.
The Gray’s fangs glistened as he snarled. The Council has decided. The group waited in silence, and Kriegen’s ears tilted forward.
The Council will not permit host murder. We support the intelligent humans in their fight against the Evil One. The Gray glared as he continued, With recognition of intelligence comes responsibility to obey the law. Kriegen and his pack must train these humans, teach them the law, and explain the penalties if the law is breached. As for the Evil One, we declare him outlaw. Wolves will travel with you to deal with this human called Jarrack.
Kriegen leaped up like a pup, wagging his tail vigorously. We’ve won their support! Now Krystal will fight with a full army.
19 ~ MARASUTA’S ARMY
Marasuta sat in lotus position on the polished wooden floor with his eyes closed. A bowl of incense burned on a small altar filling the room with a musky odor. Tanya heard his quiet breathing as she entered the scent-filled room and watched a moment, reluctant to disturb him.
“What do you wish, Tanya?” His back was still turned, and she jumped at the sound of his clear voice.
“I regret the intrusion, sire.”
“As you should, but it has been done.” He unfolded himself and rose in one fluid motion, turning his calm face toward her. “What is it, child?” His tone sounded fatherly, forgiving.
She relaxed. “A messenger arrived. He waits in the meeting hall and Chella requests your presence.” The words tumbled from her lips, and she heard Marasuta sigh with relief.
“Good. It begins.” Marasuta bowed before his kami-dana, as he asked for the blessing of his gods. He retrieved his sword from the polished lacquer table where weapons were neatly arranged by size. “I will follow.”
“Yes, sire.” She bowed but hesitated.
“Something bothers you?” How could he know everything and move so quietly? She practiced moving with deadly silence, like her master, but felt like a stumbling oaf in his presence.
“If I may be so bold, sire.”
He frowned. “Do not ask permission for courage, Tanya. You have questions, and I am your commander. Speak.”
Again she blundered. “In your opinion, are my women prepared to meet the enemy?”
“You fear the responsibility of their death?” He slipped his sword into its sheath and examined her face. “As their commander, you worry whether you’ve done right by leading them toward war.”
She nodded, her stomach churning.
“Tanya, a good leader worries about those who follow. It’s good to ride into battle fortified by years of training, better still if we never needed to fight. Samurai live on the edge of death, praying daily to avoid war, but ready to fight at a moment’s notice.” He smiled. “Would you ask any one of them to remain behind in safety? Would you hide in this retreat to avoid facing death yourself?”
“No! I must rescue my son and destroy Jarrack. I’d fight him even if I knew I’d die!” A burden lifted from her heart, and she grinned. “I’ve answered my own question! Thank you, master.”
“We spend our lives learning small lessons but always have much to learn. This war must be fought. You are a good leader. Your women chose to join the Samurai of their own free will, and they’ve been trained. Each one is willing to die if necessary, because their cause is just. I trust you to lead them. More importantly, the women trust you to lead them.”
Tanya followed Marasuta as he walked confidently toward the meeting hall. He was a short man, hardly taller than she, but he looked powerful and strong. His only concession to age was gray that laced his long black braid, swinging rhythmically down his back as he walked. Tanya absorbed a measure of his confidence and followed her leader.
A wolf waited in the meeting hall with Chella and Maggie. His dark coat was dusty and his long tongue dangled as he panted. Marasuta asked Chella, “Have you spoken with him?”
Chella’s usually calm voice sounded breathless. “Yes. This is Konig from Kriegen’s pack.”
“We had the pleasure of meeting him last year.” The black wolf raised his eyes to meet Marasuta’s gaze. “I regret I can’t hear you, Konig,” Marasuta bowed, “but I am pleased to receive your message.”
Maggie’s dark eyes sparkled. “Kriegen will arrive here in two days time with Krystal’s daughters. They have an army of wolves with them.”
“Good!” He turned to a nearby guard, dressed in the silks of command. “Send out messengers. Have everyone prepared to leave within four days but secrecy is essential. Jarrack must not have reason to expect us.”
The guard bowed and hastened from the room.
Tanya’s heart pounded. Four days! She could hardly wait to tell her company. Marasuta saw her eagerness and motioned for her to leave. She walked calmly out of the room and then raced like a schoolgirl down the path to their quarters.
Marasuta glanced around the hall, noting that he stood alone with Chella, Maggie, and Konig. He smiled and gestured at the cushions. “Let me hear the entire message. I’m sure you have more information. When last I heard, Konig was at Krystal’s side at Havenshire.”
Konig settled onto a comfortable cushion but thumped his tail, impatiently waiting for the women to interpret his thoughts. Marasuta met the wolf’s steady gaze and grinned.
*****
Krystal stood watching Donovan from her hidden niche. He looked close to reaching the black box, and she worried the guards would notice and summon Jarrack. She mentally tried to touch Donovan’s mind, calling his name. This time she felt his mind but could not hear him speak.
Her nails dug fiercely into her palms as she clenched her fist. If he only knew our plans! I must make him understand. She concentrated on sending clear images of her strategy, hoping he could hear her thoughts. Would it do any good?
Alex gently touched her shoulder, and she turned to leave. His eyes looked sad and his thinness worried her. As they entered the safety of the secret passage, she said, “You must take better care of yourself. When did you last eat?”
“I ate when you did,” he answered in a deep soothing voice.
“I’m doing great! You’re the one who looks like death warmed over, so don’t try to change the subject.”
“My dear girl,” he assumed a fatherly tone, “you are the leader of this mission. Everyone heeds your command. If I vanished today, the plan would proceed smoothly to its conclusion.” He grinned at Krystal’s frown. “Let’s compromise. We’ll both eat a hearty meal as we discuss your final plans.”
Krystal followed the doctor, her mind reviewing the strategy for the hundredth time, as they meandered down the dark passageway. Had she thought of everything? Donovan studied the history of war but still fell into Jarrack’s trap. Could she expect to prepare a foolproof strategy against experienced soldiers? The plan must work! Donovan’s life hung in the balance and the future of her people depended on her success. The thought startled her.
When did I start thinking of them as my people? I slept in their houses, ate their food, and strangers offered to risk their lives for me. They are my people. She longed to tell Donovan everything she learned, to introduce him to all the good people who helped and sacrificed for his release.
&nb
sp; Our plan must succeed!
Perhaps military inexperience worked to her advantage. She used wit and feminine logic to approach the problem, without yielding to military training like a soldier. Jarrack underestimated her courage and power, precisely because she was a mere woman. He might not anticipate the attack until it was too late.
It’s too late to make changes.
Her army was on the move. Farmers hefted pitchforks, cooks wielded carving knives, blacksmiths swung hammers, tradesmen carried bows, and Samurai (of mixed gender) were all moving toward Havenshire to fight. Most important, an army of wolves joined them, an advantage her troops desperately needed. She prayed the plan would work.
Donovan, I wish I could feel your reassurance, she thought. Fighting tears she swallowed a bite of stew and smiled at Alex. The doctor sat asleep in his chair with his food half-eaten. “Sleep might be more important than food for him. We won’t have much time for rest in the next few days.” Slipping the fork out of his hand, she covered him with a shawl and lay down on a cot herself.
*****
Two moons glowed overhead as a bizarre army entered the gates of Marasuta’s compound. From a raised platform in the square, he surveyed the unusual collection of wolves and humans traveling together without surprise, but raised an eyebrow when a young dragon flew overhead. The dragon carried an odd contraption in its talons, a basket filled with red clay pots.
“Did you know about the dragon?” he asked Chella.
“Konig said that Felesia had a surprise for us. It makes sense. Felesia used her panther and hawk to scare the wits out of common folk. I wonder how Jarrack’s son joined her company.”
Marasuta frowned, recognizing angry scowls from his usually somber Samurai. “He bears an uncanny resemblance to his father. We should hear his story, and explain his presence before trouble stirs within the ranks. Watch him for his own safety.”
Chella nodded. “I won’t let him jeopardize our plans.”
Trenton was the first to reach the platform and swept Maggie’s small body into his arms with a roaring laugh. “I’m glad to see you, lass.”
“I could smell you a mile away!” She shoved him away. “When was the last time you took a good bath?” She grabbed her nose as he planted a wet kiss on her cheek.
“I had a good soak just two weeks ago. Oh what stories I’ve got to tell you, sweet thing, enough to fill a winter of evenings by the fireplace.”
“More tales will accumulate before I’ve the time to hear them. Where’s Tessa?” Maggie asked.
Trenton’s face clouded.
“What’s wrong? Is she hurt?”
“Tessa travels with the wolves. She hosts Amber’s ancestor minds, so they don’t want her far away.”
“I’ll see her, wolves or no!” She stomped in the direction of the wolves with Trenton trailing behind, grinning.
Chella hugged Lauryn and frowned at her cropped hair. The girl laughed and ruffled the shorn locks. “It’s a much better style, doesn’t fly into my eyes all the time, and it’s easy to wash and dry. I’ve a mind to keep it short.”
“You’re just like your mother!” Chella laughed. A concerned expression flickered across Lauryn’s face but vanished as she introduced Felesia and Jordan.
“We need to hear Jordan’s story right away.” Marasuta stepped forward and eyed Jordan. “His presence threatens peace among the Samurai.”
Jordan fidgeted under the hostile stares aimed his way.
In defiance Felesia said, “Jordan’s in greater danger from his father than anyone else.” Her eyes challenged the onlookers. “Jarrack plans to kill the mind of one of his sons and use the boy as a replacement body. Jordan swore blood feud with that evil man and shouldn’t live in fear of the blue haze!”
Jordan heard Felesia defend him with pride and love. Marasuta watched the couple with discerning eyes and turned to his troops.
“Hear me!” His voice rang across the square, hushing the crowd. “This man may be the son of our enemy, but he has sworn blood feud against his evil father.” The crowd muttered. No one proclaimed blood feud against family.
Marasuta continued, “You’ve all heard that Jarrack plans to kill the mind of his own son with sorcery, and this boy confirms that fact. To protect his own life and the lives of his brothers, Jordan declared blood feud. He joins our army to defeat his evil father and deserves a place of honor in our ranks.”
Marasuta’s voice took on a steely hardness. “Let none dispute his place or raise a hand against him! I pledge my blade in his support.” His sword slid from his scabbard with a hiss and glinted in the moonlight. Samurai stared at the sword in hushed silence.
After a few heartbeats, he slid the blade home. “Get to work. We have little time left to prepare.”
Marasuta turned to Jordan. “Mind my word, Jordan. If this is a plot of Jarrack’s to infiltrate my army, this sword will take vengeance upon you.”
Jordan nodded. “If I were a tool of Jarrack’s, I’d slit my own throat.”
Marasuta marched into the castle without further comment, ignoring the glowing red eyes of the dragon. He knew the creature was poised to strike if Jordan was harmed, but bushido required he disregard the danger. The men would obey his order, but he worried about the women who once suffered in Jarrack’s dungeons.
Two days later, small groups dispersed from Marasuta’s castle looking innocent to the casual observer. Their exodus coincided with quiet traffic that flowed through the rest of the countryside. Night travelers filtered through the forests, accompanied by ghostly shapes on silent padded feet. The unusual army moved without trumpets, banners, or armor. It didn’t resemble a lethal army, but the deadly intent and orderly passage of lowly rabble might surprise any commander.
*****
Jarrack scowled at Beltram, sweat trickling down his pudgy cheeks as he narrated his story. Garth stood behind his master, deeply aware of their danger. He wished he had slipped away, leaving Beltram to travel alone. But he remained oath-bound to the priest, an oath he regretted more each day. He hated Beltram but he feared Jarrack.
Garth listened as Beltram pleaded for his life. He cringed under Jarrack’s cunning grin and his stomach churned. Surly desert riders with curved scimitars and swirling robes led them through dingy corridors to a suite of rooms, a cozy prison. Garth saw madness in Jarrack’s eyes. How could he serve a master who plotted against his own high priestess?
He unpacked Beltram’s robes in the chamber, feeling doomed. Garth’s choices lay between oath-breaking and sacrilege, and his spirits sank as he considered the dilemma. How could he rid himself of Beltram with a clear conscience?
“Garth,” a soft voice whispered from the wall. “Come over here.” A woman beckoned him from a door that opened in solid rock. He almost fainted. Krystal touched a finger to her lips and motioned him to follow her.
He obeyed, entering a secret corridor with frightened eyes. “Oh, High Priestess, I thought you were dead.”
“I’m glad to see you, too.” He blushed at her smile. She said, “I must ask you to do something important for me. Can I trust you?”
He jumped at the chance to redeem himself. “I’d do anything for you.”
“Jarrack takes important visitors to view Donovan. I have a vital task for you to accomplish when you go with Beltram. It could mean life or death to Donovan. Do you understand?”
He nodded with wide eyes as she explained the task. She said, “Go back to Beltram and serve him normally until you get your chance to help. Can you do that?”
He prayed he could be a good actor but felt elated. He’d help Krystal and prove himself worthy.
As Garth’s face hardened with determination Krystal said, “Take this dagger and don’t fail me. Your success is worth the King’s life.”
He slipped into Beltram’s antechamber and forced himself to perform routine tasks. He grinned as he worked but no one noticed.
20 ~ BATTLE AT HAVENSHIRE
Maggie snuggled under a
burlap tarp while a farmer piled smelly onions and dirty potatoes on top. The wagon vibrated as the farmer climbed into his seat. Cracking the reins he urged the plodding workhorses into action and stiff wheels bounced down the rutted track. Dirt sifted through the burlap into Maggie’s face. She turned to breathe through a crack in the floorboards, counting the minutes until they arrived at the castle kitchen.
She thought, This plan better work!
The driver cursed as guards outside the gate stopped him. “If you keep this load from Annie, you’ll face her rage when her schedule runs amok!”
The guard chuckled. “Annie’s temper is worse than a banshee. Get on with you, lad.”
The guards inspected incoming loads with less zeal than outgoing carts; concerned about prisoners that might hide in outgoing wagons to escape. Maggie clutched a precious earthenware jar and mentally listed ingredients for her special tarts, apples, thick cream, pounds of sugar, flour, fresh butter, nutmeg, cinnamon, and her potion. She had gathered herbs and boiled the potion, using her special skills to create a tasty weapon.
When the wagon stopped at the inner gate, Maggie wondered if a spear would pierce the layer of vegetables. The farmer grunted answers to questions. Soon the wagon jiggled over the causeway and stopped at the kitchen door. “You all right?” he whispered and pulled back the burlap tarp.
Maggie scrambled from the wagon and darted through the kitchen door. “I’m fine,” she said brushing dirt from her face. She shook out the scarf that covered her hair as a hefty matron in a white apron gestured her inside.
Annie said, “Empty those onions and taters into those barrels and make it quick. I don’t have time to dawdle before the breakfast bell.”
Maggie hugged the cook and set her jar on the counter. She donned an apron and said, “It’s good to see you, Annie! I feared you deserted the kitchen when the desert riders took over.”