by Shelley Cass
“So, yes, we ran away,” Noal surmised then. “But we plan to leave Awyalkna especially to enlist the help of our Jenran neighbours.”
“We would benefit greatly from your skills as a hunter, guide and healer,” Dalin finished solemnly.
I regarded them both dubiously for a moment, processing what they had said, but also remembering my experiences from when I had crept into that isolated, mountain ringed country.
I remembered freezing nights hiding from Griffins and clinging to cliff faces. I traced a finger across a particularly prominent scar across the inside of one hand, where the flesh had been split by a jagged rock hold during a particularly daring climb.
They could have no idea of what that terrain was like. Jenra had been cut off from the world for as long as anyone could remember.
“How do you intend to enter Jenra and inspire the people to enlist to fight in a faraway war?”
“I can try to put my years of diplomatic training in court to use,” Dalin answered naively. “And we have some authority by noble birth to help us approach other leaders.”
The impossibility of this idea was so great that I understood why the Awyalknian leaders had hardly considered such a move. Still, I could see Dalin and Noal had golden intentions, and these were desperate enough times to try anything, no matter how futile.
“Do you know anything of Jenran customs, their mountains or their language? Will you be able to communicate?” I evaluated their expressions carefully.
Noal looked exactly like someone who had never thought of any of these things.
“I have studied antiquated texts about Jenra in the Palace,” Dalin admitted. “But gleaned only a limited, outdated understanding. Jenra has been too closed off for Awyalkna to ever find much out about it.”
Their situation was beginning to look increasingly dire, and I couldn’t help but feel that I had little choice in the matter. That I had been brought to this moment especially to add my skills towards this dismal, fool hardy, glimmering chance to even the odds against Darziates.
Perhaps my aid of these two would also be a personal opportunity for me to do more than just hunting down sporadic beasts, which wasn’t near enough to really make an impact.
They were waiting for me to speak, and I folded my arms.
“I have seen much in my travels, and from what I know of the secluded Jenrans, I can hardly picture them, even as Awyalkna’s nearest, non-hostile neighbour, listening to outsiders without royal authority. The chances of success for this Quest are less than slight. But Awyalkna does need some kind of assistance, and miracle.”
Noal was holding his breath.
“Will you help us?” Dalin asked.
I inclined my head. “You’re going to need it.”
Chapter Twenty Six
Dalin
Kiana realised at once that Noal and I didn’t have much practical knowledge or experience with the lay of the land. The puzzlement we presented her with when she outlined the months it would take us to cross Awyalkna, the Great Forest and the mountains left her incredulous herself.
“How in the Other Realm had you figured on getting out of Awyalkna to find the Jenrans to beg for their help?” she demanded, the dagger she’d been using to point out our trail on a map now stabbing the parchment in her consternation.
“We’re not against stopping for directions,” Noal answered truthfully. “We would’ve managed.”
She stared at him disbelievingly. Then she gave a short bark of a laugh, sheathing her dagger and moving on from the map.
“I’m glad she’s on our side,” Noal whispered as we left for the next room, heading to where we both now slept in bundles of blankets on the floor.
“She’s on your side,” I grumbled, piling the bedding on top of myself.
“Ah!” he grinned gleefully then. “You’re not used to a girl who doesn’t melt at the sight of your face!”
I hurled my pillow at him and went to sleep grumbling into my nest of blankets on the hard floor.
But in my dreams I found no rest. My mind replayed the last day I’d seen my father, when I had quarrelled with him childishly. Wilmont had stoked my growing resentment when he had promised that I would never be sent to help in the war, and I had gone directly to my father to hurl all of my hurt and frustration at him.
In my parents’ quarters, during the confrontation, there had been no trace of my mother, except for her favourite golden ring left on the bedside table. She had been busily preparing the City to withstand a siege, but I had found my father sitting wearily on the bed after hours in council. And I had pushed him relentlessly, arguing that it didn’t matter if I died in the war and left no heir for our family. Because if the war was lost there would be no Awyalkna at all.
When I had given up, and stormed from his room, I’d stayed outside the door hoping he might come after me. Hoping that years of training would be put to honourable use. Instead I had heard him answer a knock that came from the other door on the opposite side of the room.
“Is all well?” I had heard the deep sound of Warlord Chayten Conall’s voice.
“Yes, of course,” my father had said. “Just having some trouble with Dalin.”
“Lads his age are always out to prove themselves. He’ll outgrow his pride to understand the difficult situation of his status,” Conall had answered.
“Yes. I hope so,” my father’s voice had replied. Then after a moment: “Now, what was it that you needed, Conall?” He’d already cleared me from his thoughts.
I woke to Noal shaking my shoulder, it was still dark with the early morning and I moaned into my hands, blinking in the dull candlelight.
“Good morning!” he beamed energetically, and I moved to throw my pillow at him again, but I realised I’d slept without it because he’d kept it from the last time.
“Come on you two,” Kiana’s voice called. “I’m going to close this place up.”
Noal ran out obediently, and when I joined him I found that Noal had already readied his mare. Her coat was gleaming, her gear was fastened and Noal’s packs were tied to the saddle.
“Hurry up,” he grinned at me. “You don’t want to upset a huntress.”
I pulled a face at him, but got to work all the same, so I was ready when Kiana joined us outside.
As soon as she appeared, our mounts crowded her eagerly, butting her with their noses for attention, their ears flicking backward and forward in excitement. She rubbed their foreheads affectionately.
“You seem to have a way with horses,” Noal commented.
“I had a horse named Star once. Roaming with her always brought me peace,” she replied, and then she straightened, back to being stern. “We’d best get started.”
“Wait,” I protested as she swung herself up easily into the saddle of my bay. “That’s my horse.”
“Congratulations,” she shrugged.
“But, I was going to ride my horse!” I blabbered.
“Well, my thanks for the loan then. Until we find one for you to purchase for me.” She smiled a small smile, nudging my horse’s sides gently, before cantering slowly down the field.
Noal was grinning as he pulled himself back into the saddle.
“Don’t,” I pointed a warning finger and glowered at him.
“I didn’t say a word.”
Chapter Twenty Seven
Noal
“I’m expecting we’ll reach Giltrup village by sun down,” Kiana informed us.
“Well thank the Gods,” I said with relief. “So many days on a traveller’s diet does not agree with me.”
“It’s been three days,” Kiana stated dryly.
Dalin was smirking from where he walked beside my mare. “And you’ve made such a great effort with all those apples we packed. You know what they say – an apple a day keeps the healer at bay.”
“I think not, my friend,” I grimaced with distaste. “Apples could be the death of my tastebuds – of me – one day!”
“How tragic,” Dalin mused. “And special. I’ve never heard of anybody else who has felt so threatened by a fruit.”
My nose scrunched in disdain. “They’re poison to me.”
“Whoever heard of a poison apple?” he snorted.
“You never know what a bad apple could do,” I warned. “But if it’s not death by apple, it could be death by tea,” I pondered. “I hate tea too.”
Dalin shrugged. “Well, I’ll make sure to explain all of this at your funeral pyre, if you’re certain.”
“As we get closer to the settlement, watch out for anyone approaching,” Kiana stayed focused across our banter. “We’ll tell them simply that we are travelling entertainers.”
“Because we actually amuse you?” I asked her light heartedly.
“It’s a courtesy between travellers to swap stories. The real point is to swap information about the road ahead,” she answered decisively. “It’s beneficial to both parties, especially in these times.”
“That makes sense,” I reflected. “But why tell them we’re entertainers of all things?”
She turned to glance at my attire. “You are being sought by Darziates’ creatures and by Glaidin’s men, who may have described you in their search. Looking as richly dressed as you do, and carrying as much as we are, can be explained away by being wanderers like entertainers. They have no base, need to carry a great deal, and wear their costumes for a living.”
“That’s a clever plan then,” Dalin commented politely.
Kiana turned back to gaze ahead and nudged her horse into a canter. As had happened every time Kiana had roamed away freely, my mare snorted back at me, glaring with one jealous eye.
“Kiana has already connected better with our transport than she has with us,” Dalin commented, still clearly stumped that Kiana hadn’t warmed to him as others usually did.
“Oh, she connects with me just fine,” I needled him. “But the horses do seem incredibly attached to her,” I grimaced as my mount eyed me judgmentally again.
Kiana had been offended to learn that we hadn’t checked the names of our horses when we’d hurriedly chosen two to send out beyond the Gwynrock walls. She had promptly named them Ila and Amala – and amazingly the horses seemed immediately adoring of and responsive to her names for them.
Kiana sped up and galloped the distance back towards us then, and we watched her easily lean to turn Amala and keep riding beside us.
“There are three travellers approaching. Don’t say anything, try to look a tad less noble and don’t react when they mention you,” she instructed calmly.
“Why would they mention us?” I asked.
“With nothing better to take their minds off the war, talking about the scandals of nobility will be common, I think.”
“Really? That’s nice, I feel important.” I raised my eyebrows with a flattered expression.
“Being egotistical could give your status away,” she jibed dryly.
“Got it,” I affirmed, smoothing my brow.
Sure enough, we soon saw three specks ahead that gradually drew nearer and took the shapes of worn, stooped elderly men. Two shaggy workhorses pulled their full cart, which was brimming so much that none of the weary travellers were able to sit on the cart’s seats.
“Frarshk,” Dalin swore under his breath. “Those men are not fit to be travelling with supplies. They’ll be going all the way to the Palace.”
“They’re the only ones left to deliver their village’s share of the crops to stock the City for war,” Kiana replied gravely as the men neared.
“Well met,” one of the old farmers gave his raspy greetings as our two groups came together. “How fares your journey?”
“Well met, friends,” Kiana inclined her head. “We mean to stop at Giltrup village, so we don’t have a great distance left to cover.”
“We’re bound for the Palace,” a second, toothless man said. “We hail from Giltrup ourselves.”
The third farmer’s balding head and face were sunburned, and he mopped at his brow wearily.
“Giltrup is quite a suspicious and closed place in these times,” the first, raspy farmer warned.
“We understand. But, we’re entertainers, and must brave the lands to make a living,” Kiana explained flawlessly.
The three old men nodded sagely, seeming to accept and be sympathetic to that, as Kiana had thought they would be.
“We’ve not heard much news, apart from those two Palace lads going missing,” the sunburnt one stated then. “We all hope it’s not some kind of kidnap from blasted Krall.”
I saw Dalin slump slightly, as we both felt relief that the search had not elaborated on exactly which nobles we were. I wondered if these old men would have regarded us suspiciously if Kiana hadn’t been with us.
“Apart from that, there’s been a few strange beasts spotted in these parts, so be careful and light fires at night,” Kiana told them in exchange.
“Thank you, friend. The way to Giltrup from here should be easy and the best place to stay would be the Firetree Inn. I’m not sure you’ll find fortune or even welcome there though,” the first farmer informed her apologetically.
“Of course,” Kiana answered reasonably. “Thank you, friends,” she added warmly in return. “Be well, and I hope we shall meet again.”
They waved as they slowly moved off with their rickety cart once more, but we kept their words in mind as we at last made our way into Giltrup and saw the truth of their warning.
Similar to the worn travelling farmers, the other villagers were either aged men, or unsmiling women and children. Most people we passed did not look up from their chores. They continued sweeping the landings outside of homes, brushing down sagging work horses, calling each other to dinner, pulling in worn-out washing from lines and returning home from the fields.
Only some of them glanced at us and away again, and a few watched us with a mixture of suspicion and fear.
“What is your business here?” a man with greyed hair and tanned, lined skin asked. He was approaching from a house to the side of us, guided by the arm of a young girl, and I saw that he was blind.
The people around the village square hushed a little as the grey haired leader approached and Kiana dismounted to stand undaunted under his towering height.
“Friend, I am Kiana. My companions, Dikin and Nop, and I are entertainers.”
He cocked his head as he listened. He was judging our intent with every word.
“We have no need for frivolity or entertainers in this time,” he at last answered gruffly.
Kiana remained composed. “As we can understand. We simply seek shelter and will move on tomorrow to Wanru Valley. We will pay for a night’s stay, buy supplies in the morning and be on our way.”
“Where have you come from?”
“Through Gangroah. We passed three gentlemen headed that way with a cart of food bound for the City. They recommended the Firetree Inn.”
His frown lessened a little. “Yes,” he nodded at the mention of the old men we had met. “Stay then. But you must not push for an audience.”
“I appreciate your position,” Kiana told him respectfully. “But forgive me for believing you to be wrong about entertainment. Sometimes a little light to ease the darkness is all anyone needs to keep persevering.”
His cantankerous disposition didn’t worsen at her words, but the villagers all appeared to be observing us with curiosity.
“Perhaps in better times we will come back and give you that light,” Kiana finished.
“Perhaps,” he answered grudgingly, his forehead crinkled more with thought now. Then as if waking, he turned and allowed himself to be guided back to his dwelling.
Kiana jerked her head in the direction of the Inn, leading her bay, Amala, as we quickly followed with Ila.
“Dikin and Nop?” I asked her as we left the horses in the care of the stable boy and headed to the Inn.
She gave a half smile, only one corner of her mouth curving
upward.
“Pretty names, I thought.”
Chapter Twenty Eight
Noal
After a meal and homemade brew I had been in high spirits when Dalin had hefted me up the stairs to the room the two of us were sharing. I was chuckling merrily when he pulled off my boots and gave up the bed for me.
But when I woke in the dead of night to a strange sound outside our room, it was with a racing heart.
Dalin had been asleep on the floor, and he had heard it too. He was propped up on his elbows, listening.
“What was zat?” I asked groggily.
He frowned. “I thought I heard a cry from Kiana’s room.”
Then we heard her scream.
Dalin sprang to his feet and darted to the door, opening it and running across the hall to Kiana’s room. He tried the handle, but it was locked and he banged on it loudly with his fist.
“Kiana? Kiana, open the door!”
There was no response, despite how the noise he made echoed through the otherwise empty inn.
I started banging on the door and yelling too but, cursing under his breath, he pulled me back.
Angling his shoulder toward the door, he braced himself. Then he rammed the old wood with such force that it gave way and he caught himself with his hands in the doorway.
Both of us fell silent, and I looked over his shoulder uncertainly.
The room was now completely quiet and dark. The only movement came from an open window. The moon floated like a ghostly face in the sky, casting its wraith-like light into the room, and the window’s thin white curtain danced on a slight breeze.
“Kiana?” Dalin could see no danger, and walked in without fear towards a door that had to lead to the bedroom. I followed, despite the dizzying, shaken feeling that usually had the ability to swallow my senses when I became afraid.
The door was ajar, and beyond it there was no sound. Cautiously Dalin angled the bedroom door open, and then paused to stare at the bed.