by Box Set
Matka wiped under her eyes again. “I was a fool for believing them, but I wanted to so badly.” She winced when she caught Otec glaring at her. “I won’t apologize for taking you away. They would have killed you, and then there would be no one to warn the rest of the clan lands.”
After all the time he’d spent with her, he still didn’t know her. “Why would you, an Idaran, risk your life to help me?”
An expression of exquisite pain overtook her face. “My mother was a highwoman slave. Only when I was taken by the priestesses did my father even bother to learn my name. So you tell me, Otec, whether I am an Idaran or a highwoman.”
He was torn between wanting to believe her and wanting to hate her, yet the vulnerability on her face was unmistakable. “And Jore? Is he a highman too?”
Matka shook her head. “No. He believes the world would be a better place if Idara ruled it.”
Otec ground his teeth. “If ever I see him again—”
“You don’t know everything about him.” Her head fell. “We had a sister like Holla once. She disappeared one night and we never saw her again.”
“By the Balance.” Perhaps that explained Jore’s hatred of Holla. Whenever he’d looked at her, he must have been reminded of the sister who’d been murdered.
“My other sister is an acolyte in the Temple of Fire,” Matka went on. “She’s too young to remember being a servant in my father’s house. Sleeping in the blistering attic while my father shared the lower levels with his wife and children, who hated and reviled us. Suka is determined to be the next high priestess. And she’ll probably get it.”
“Are you really half highman?” Otec asked.
“It’s the reason all of us were chosen for this assignment. We could speak and pass for highmen among the clan lands.” For a time, there was only the sound of the breathing and their footfalls. “I know you don’t trust me, Otec. I don’t blame you. But I am trying to help you.”
He didn’t say anything—he didn’t have the words.
And then something whooshed over their heads. It was the owl. Matka tensed, hesitating before ripping her satchel over her shoulder and thrusting it into Otec’s hands. “There’s luminash inside—you might need it.” Then she yanked her swords out and whipped around. “Keep going! I’ll catch up.”
He turned to see Jore charging them. “Matka!” Jore growled, his swords held loosely in his hands. His mouth was compressed in a tight line, his expression thunderous with anger as he scolded her in Idaran.
Matka answered in Clannish. “The king thinks he’s bringing order to chaos. Knowledge to ignorance—but the clan lands don’t need either! They’re good and kind and—”
“Traitor,” Jore ground out as he stopped a few paces from them.
She straightened her shoulders. “I am a priestess of the Temple of Fire. I do not serve Idara. I serve the Goddess of Fire. And this goes against her laws of life and growth.”
“Let the flames consume the dross so that only the pure remain,” Jore said as if by rote.
Matka briefly closed her eyes. “I’ve made my choice, Jore. I will serve the Light. Now you must make yours.”
“Matka,” he began in a softer tone, “let me kill him. No one will have to know you helped him. We’ll tell them he killed Bez and Harim and then escaped, and you went after him.”
“They’ll never believe it.” Her voice shook, but her swords did not. More softly, she said to Otec, “He won’t harm me. Go, before the rest of them come.”
“We’ll subdue him together,” Otec said.
“I’m not going to let you ruin your life for a man whose country won’t even exist in a few months,” Jore growled. And then he lunged, but Matka met his thrust with a lightning-fast parry.
All Otec had was the knife she had slipped him, and he dared not throw it for fear of hitting her. He searched for a stick long enough to whack Jore on the back of the head.
Jore and Matka danced around each other, their blades twisting sinuously around their bodies, which were backlit by the coming dawn. Jore feinted to the right, reversed, and came at her from the side. She blocked him. Barely.
Jore was faster, stronger, better. Matka was going to lose. Abandoning his search, Otec gripped the knife and tried to sneak up behind Jore. The man turned suddenly, his sword arching for Otec’s side. Matka jumped between them. Jore’s eyes widened and he tried to pull back, but it was too late to stop his momentum.
The owl dove between them, taking the full thrust in its middle. Pinned to Matka’s chest by Jore’s sword, it looked up at Matka as it died.
She met its gaze, her expression shocked and wary. Jore stepped back, shaking the dead bird from his blade. Otec tried to tackle him, but Jore sidestepped, his swords arcing down.
Matka darted between them and locked blades with Jore. She managed to throw him off. Barely. “Stay out of the way,” she growled at Otec, sweat pouring down her temples as she charged.
He backed away, feeling horrified and useless—his “help” had almost gotten Matka killed. His head came up at a shout from the direction of the enemy camp. It was close enough he knew he would see Raiders any moment.
“Go,” Matka gasped as she retreated. “The others won’t be far behind. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”
Otec opened his mouth to reply when he heard another shout, even closer this time. He hesitated, not wanting to leave her. “Go to Argonholm,” she ordered between breaths. “Get help.”
Otec thought of his family. Enemy or friend, Otec couldn’t save Matka. Not if he was going to save his family. He started running.
Chapter 9
At midday, Otec kicked the horse he’d demanded from a farmer into Argonholm. “Raiders! Raiders!” Otec cried out as he went. All around him, doors were thrown open, and people in the streets stared after him. He saw no warriors—they too must have gone to defend against the Raiders on the coast.
As Otec reached the clan house, Seneth hurried out to meet him, coughing violently in his hand. The only son of the Argon clan chief, Seneth was around the same age of Otec’s oldest brother, Dagen.
Seneth’s wife, Narium, who was heavy with child, hurried after him, reaching out as if to catch him should he fall. “Your fever’s only just broken. Come back inside.”
He held out a hand to silence her. “Otec?” he managed through his wheezing. “What is it?”
Otec jumped down from the horse. “Raiders attacked the Shyle two nights ago.”
Seneth shook his head. “Raiders couldn’t have come this far inland.”
A crowd was forming around them. “The visiting highmen were actually Raiders. They plan to hit us from two fronts.”
“That’s impossible!” Seneth cried.
Otec forced himself to meet the older man’s gaze. “Shyle has fallen.”
Seneth glanced back at the clan house. “My father—the other men—they’re all gone.”
Narium stepped forward and spoke low. “Come inside. You’re scaring the children.”
Otec looked around and realized she was right. The Argons were mostly a scattering of wide-eyed children, steel-eyed women, and older men. Seneth motioned for Otec to follow him as they turned toward the clan house.
“Gather up anyone who can fight,” Narium called back to her people. “Meet in the great hall.”
They stepped into the clan house’s kitchen, which was larger than the Shyle’s, even though this was home to fewer people. Otec thought of all the times he’d sat at his family’s ancient kitchen table, wishing for silence. Now he’d give anything to be home, with dozens of children running and shrieking around him.
After pushing Otec into a chair, Narium handed him a cup of the Argon’s legendary beer, and gave Seneth a cup of something that smelled like honey and licorice.
“Send a couple of pigeons to High Chief Burdin. He’ll tell my father and Hargar.” Seneth took a careful drink. “I can’t believe I had Raiders as guests at my clan house.”
Narium set bread and cheese in front of Otec, then took out some fibrous paper, cut it into two strips, and began writing, her characters small and tight.
“Tell them there are five hundred Raiders,” Otec said without looking at her. Once his father and brothers were here, everything would be all right. They would defeat the Raiders and free his family.
Seneth gasped. “There weren’t that many before!”
“The women were fighting alongside their men,” Otec said.
Seneth sat back in his chair, clearly dumbfounded. “That’s—”
“I saw it myself.” Otec took a deep pull of his beer, the bitterness fanning across his tongue. He heard people filtering into the great hall.
Lips pressed into a thin line, Seneth made to stand up. Narium put her hands on his shoulders to keep him down. “There’s no point until they’re all here.”
Seneth cast her a look. “I’m going to have to talk to them eventually.” Trying not to cough had turned his face red.
“Push too hard and you won’t be any help to anyone,” Narium shot back.
“Don’t coddle me,” he growled, but she was already halfway to the door that led outside. Seneth turned to Otec. “Tell me everything that happened.”
Otec relayed the important parts. Then he pulled out Matka’s satchel, which he’d gone through earlier. The food was long gone. Left were her drawing tools—charcoal, board, vellum, and extra paper—worthless bits without the magic of her touch. A few of her drawings, mostly plants. But there was also the drawing of the Shyle. Otec’s village would never be the same, now that the Raiders had burned and violated it.
The flower Otec had carved for Matka was gone; she must have kept it with her. He was glad. He had a piece of her, and now she had a piece of him.
Her satchel also contained some small bags of a sharp-smelling powder, which Otec explained must be luminash. Seneth rubbed it between his fingers. “It doesn’t look like it’s going to explode.”
Otec took a pinch between his thumb and finger and tossed it onto the coals. It flared a hot, bright white that quickly faded. He and Seneth stared at the fireplace as if they’d never seen it before.
They tried each of the four pouches. One burned bright and hot, one burned for a long time, one burned in a multitude of beautiful flames, and the fourth burned orange and long, like an ember.
“This could be very useful,” Seneth said, rubbing his throat as if it pained him. “We’ll have to send scouts to warn us if the Raiders come out of the pass.”
Otec gestured toward the village. “I saw nothing but women and children. Who will you send?”
Seneth hesitated. “The boys the militia left behind. They’re faster and lighter than the men anyway.”
“They’re children,” Otec choked out.
“It’s that or send the women,” Seneth growled. He shot Otec a sheepish look. “I’ve been sick abed for over a week—it’s why I’m here being hounded by my pregnant wife instead of at the front lines with the others.” As if to punctuate his words, Seneth started into a coughing fit.
Otec dropped his head, the shame of being purposely left behind burning through him.
Narium reappeared at the doorway. “It’s done.”
Imagining the fate of his mother and sisters, Otec told Seneth, “You should evacuate the women to Tyron. They’ll be safer there.”
Seneth stared at his hands before looking up. “They won’t be happy about it, but I’ll see it’s done.” He looked at Narium for confirmation. After a brief hesitation, she nodded.
Otec watched them, a sudden pang for Matka’s safety shooting through him. Was she dead? Were all the women he cared about dead?
Seneth lumbered to his feet. Legs shaking from exhaustion, Otec followed him into the massive great hall. It was packed with adults, mostly women and a scattering of elder men. All of them stared at him, but he didn’t get the familiar sick lump in his stomach. Being intimidated by crowds suddenly seemed a small thing after all he had been through.
Wasting no time, Seneth announced, “The women and children will flee to Tyron.”
“Isn’t that closer to the armada bearing down on our shores?” asked an older woman.
Seneth eyed her. “There’s nothing but a few leagues between a company of five hundred Raiders and our village. Any boy over the age of thirteen will be staying, as will any man strong enough to use a bow or axe. The rest of you have two hours to pack what you need.”
An immediate outcry rose up. “No!”
“My boys aren’t old enough to go to war!”
“They’ll be cut down like wheat before a sickle!”
Seneth held out his hands. “Every single one of them can use a bow and arrow. And they’re all we have.”
A middle-aged woman stepped forward. “I’ll fight in my son’s place.”
Seneth squeezed his fists tight, the only sign he was frustrated. “And who will raise your other children if your husband dies, Getta? You’re needed elsewhere. The boys are faster and stronger.”
She opened her mouth to argue.
“A clanwoman does not ask for things she shouldn’t,” Seneth roared. “You will be leaving in two hours, regardless of how long you stand here arguing with me!”
The younger women were already filing out—they probably didn’t have sons old enough to stay. Some of the older women followed them.
Seneth motioned for a couple of women to come forward. “Getta, Allis, I’m going to need your boys to ride for the canyon on the fastest horses we have left. If they see the Raiders coming, they’re to light a signal fire and come back at once.”
“No,” Getta said in a trembling voice. Allis dropped her head as if it weighed too much to hold up.
“Get them both ready,” Seneth commanded. “I want them gone within the hour. But send them here first.”
Getta clamped her jaw shut.
Allis cast Narium a helpless look. “Please—”
Narium looked into the woman’s eyes. “They’re the best chance we have, and right now the clan needs them.”
The fight seemed to leak out of both women.
Otec marveled at Seneth’s resolve. The way he expected his people to follow him—to trust him—to the point where he demanded it. Otec didn’t think he could ever do that.
Seneth nodded to Narium. “Help the boys get ready.”
Without hesitation she marched out of the room, Allis right behind her. Getta paused before turning to leave, but not before she shot one last glare at Seneth.
As soon as they were gone, Seneth broke into a coughing fit. He stumbled back into the kitchen, where he tried to pour himself another cup of tea with shaky hands. Otec took the pot from him and poured. Seneth took a swallow, wincing when the hot liquid went down. He sank into the chair, out of breath.
“How do you know the women will obey you? You can’t really enforce it,” Otec said.
Seneth closed his eyes. “I won’t have to. The boys are too proud to stay behind now that they’re being treated like men.”
“Are you in any state to lead?” Otec asked.
Seneth opened his eyes. “Are you?”
“I was never meant to lead. I’m a throw-away son.”
Seneth poured more beer into Otec’s cup. “Not anymore.”
Chapter 10
Three boys stepped into the clan house. “The twins are Ake and Arvid, Allis’s boys,” Seneth said. “Getta’s boy is Ivar.” They stood straight and tall, but one of the twins was obviously terrified. The other had sweat on his brow. Ivar simply seemed excited.
Seneth looked them over. “There are Raiders in the pass. And there’s nothing between them and us but a few leagues.
“Mother said we’re to watch and light a signal fire if we see any of them,” Ivar said with enthusiasm.
“There’s a bit more to it than that,” Seneth explained. “Even if our clanmen push through a forced march from the coast, it’ll take at least four days for them to get here. The
Raiders will attack before then. They’d be stupid not to.”
One of the twins—Otec couldn’t remember which—shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then asked, “What do you want us to do?”
Seneth started coughing again, so it was half a minute before he could answer. “I want you to light the forest on fire. Gather up clusters of dried brush and make a long line. Just be sure the wind is driving the fire up the pass instead of down on us before you start it.”
“And if the wind changes direction?” Otec said.
“Then the plan fails.” Seneth pointed to the pouch of open luminash on the table. “You’re going to use this to do it.”
Otec felt the blood drain from his face. Using fire as a weapon was like trying to catch a wild badger—at some point it would turn around and bite. “Seneth—”
“Do you see another way, Otec? Because if you do, I’ll gladly take it. As it is, this is as likely to fail as not.”
Otec chewed on his lower lip, trying to come up with something else, but what else was there? They had to delay the Raiders while they waited for the clanmen to come, or everything was lost.
“I’m going with them,” he said, surprising himself. He couldn’t let these children face this alone, and he was done being left behind.
Seneth shot him a look. “Just standing makes you shake.”
“Then give me a horse,” Otec said, his voice quiet but determined.
Seneth started to grin and then seemed to think better of it. “I’d be no good to you—not with this sickness.”
Otec nodded. “Run things here. We’ll be back.”
Narium appeared at the door. “We’re ready.”
“Bring out another horse,” Seneth said. “Otec is going.”
Narium’s mouth tightened, but she whirled around and called for another horse by name, then ordered women to gather more food and do it now.
Feeling weak, Otec forced himself to stand. He took the boys outside, where a fourth horse was being brought out.
Seneth stood at the doorway. “Otec, I’m sending a pigeon with you. If . . .” His gaze darted to the mothers, who were wringing their hands and whimpering. He lowered his voice. “I’ll set up more watchers, but you have to send the birds back or we won’t have enough warning.”