Her mouth dropped. “How?”
He held the bird higher. “Rohond tole me. So the elders tole me to keep an eye out for you.”
“Row…hond?”
The hawk fluttered its wings and then spoke in a distinct female voice, “I have been watching your progress. It was I who told the centaur you had fallen asleep. Again. The enemy was closing in and I knew you needed to make haste.”
Alyra could only manage, “Whaa…huh?”
She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them to find the boy staring at her with wrinkled brows and the hawk with tilted head. What kind of craziness was all this?
He came down the stone steps with an impatient snort. “I know it’s a lot to take in. Look, my name is Beave, and Rohond here is a messenger and scout for Issah. She comes from Aloblase where this kind of stuff is common.” Beave spoke to the bird. “Thanks for showing her to me.”
Rohond took flight, her speckled wings flapping until an air current swooped her over the treetops.
Alyra continued to stare at him, dumbfounded.
He grabbed her sleeve and gave it a tug. “You’ll see. But we need to get in the Meeting Hall and wait until all this passes.”
“What passes?” She allowed him to pull her toward the building.
“We’re under attack.” Beave pulled harder. “Now come on. We’ll watch from the roof.” He moved forward.
So Issah, also known as The Guardian, was from Aloblase? Her shoulders sank with her heart. He’d probably been put off by her rudeness. She hadn’t seen any more of him since her split from Jerin.
“Are you hungry? I’ll get you something to eat.” Beave glanced over his shoulder to make sure she followed.
“Yeah … No!” She dragged her feet. “Wait, wait! Attack? I need to get out of here! They’re probably after me.”
How could he be so calm about this? Just like Marcel’s warriors and Dean. Didn’t anything faze these people?
They stopped before two heavy, wooden doors with carved intricate vines, intermingled with various animals, human, and beast. Each door had a tree with star shaped leaves engraved into the surface, like the one on her medallion.
Beave pushed one of the doors opened and yanked her inside after him. “You’ll be safe with us.”
They came into an open hall where people darted in all directions. A dwarf, wearing a helmet and breastplate, stood on a chair yelling orders to those who rushed past.
“We’ll make do with what is on hand!’” He bellowed in a growling voice. “These tools will break the earth, and they can break the enemy as well.” His dark eyes caught sight of Beave. “Is this the one we’ve been told to expect?”
The boy gave a quick nod. “Yes, Elder Wain. This is Alyra.”
The dwarf bowed low, his long grizzled beard swept the ground. “Welcome, daughter” His voice now gentler. “You are safe here. Follow young Beave’s instructions, and you will be well cared for.” Then he turned back to the gathering crowd surrounding his chair. “Take your places along both forks of the river. They’ll dare not pass the King’s waters without regret!”
A cheer filled the hall as the throng flowed out the wide doors like a mighty ocean wave.
Beams of sunlight filtered through the open ceiling onto a circular atrium. A young tree grew in the middle, its limbs, white and smooth, reminding her of a dove’s body. The same star-shaped leaves, as those on the doors, covered the branches along with small, plum-sized, blood-red fruit. This had to be the tree from her medallion.
She reached out to touch one of the hard fruits, but the boy swatted her hand away “Don’t pick them. They’re only to be taken when needed.”
“When would they be needed?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure. What I do know is if someone takes one they don’t need, the fruit spoils right after it’s picked. The smell is horrible, and your skin will be stained red for nearly a month.” He wiped his hands on his coveralls. She wondered if this information didn’t come from experience.
“Let’s go.” Beave’s bare feet slapped over the smooth stone floor as he led her toward one of the side wings. He appeared to be around eight or nine years old.
These people must be crazy, the whole lot of them. They acted as if facing Darnel’s army was no more than a game. Didn’t they realize how dangerous he was? She followed the boy, but her insides quaked with fear and she scanned the rooms to check for possible escape routes. If the army came across the river, she’d run, no matter what these people said.
The eastern wing reminded her of a market center she’d once seen in Racah, one of the few times Master had let her go into the city with him. Fruit carts, vegetable and meat stands lined one side. Stalls of shoes and brightly colored garments filled the other. She glanced down at her worn, stained clothes. Maybe there was enough money in Dean’s pack for her to purchase another outfit. She’d also like a bath. Her heart sank when she realized she’d most likely be back on the run if the enemy penetrated the town’s defenses.
The boy grabbed a loaf of bread, a chunk of cheese, and two brown bottles before motioning for her to follow him.
“Shouldn’t you pay for that?”
“Pay?” His nose crinkled as if the word were foreign to him.
“Yeah, you can’t just take people’s goods. That’s stealing.”
“Not stealing. Sharing. Now come on.”
Confused, Alyra followed up a set of spiral stairs. What did he mean by sharing? Normal people didn’t appreciate others helping themselves to their possessions. With a shrug, she planned to blame the boy if anyone mentioned the missing food. As they passed the second floor, she paused to watch a group of children playing a game of tag. Several older adults tended to the infants. An elderly man sat near the balcony with children around his feet as he told a story.
She caught a few words as she passed. “Just when everything looked the bleakest, something spectacular was happening, though none knew what. You see, Shaydon promised to take care of his—”
The trump of a horn blew from outside.
“Hurry!” Beave urged. The bottles clanked in his arms as they rushed to the very top landing. Once on the roof, they picked one of the tables on the wood deck where they had a good view of the town and valley. Below, she spotted another glistening path weaving through the fields, orchards, and pastures like a stitched seam.
“Hey, is that the White Road, too?”
Beave set down his loot. “Yep, there are three branches that meet the main one that you were on.” He broke off a chunk of bread and handed it to her, then took out a pocketknife and sliced a piece of pungent smelling cheese. “Alburnium towns are built along converging paths to help travelers like yourself.” He glanced at her outfit, wrinkling his nose. “Your clothes need to be replaced. Our tailor will provide you some.”
Alyra couldn’t believe her ears. Glancing down at her stained pants, her cheeks burned because of her appearance. “I have a few coins. Maybe I can work on the farms, too.”
“We’re here to help you along on your journey. We’ll give you whatever you need.”
“Why?”
“I know what you are thinking. This is a real shock to outsiders. We share what we have. Then nobody is without.” He popped the corks off the bottles and handed her one. “Apple cider. My family runs the orchard. The best you’ll have ever tasted.”
Sipping the tangy-sweet juice to wash down the bread, she thought about the practicality of the way of life here. How did anyone get ahead in a place where they simply gave away their stuff?
In the valley, Alyra spotted another white road, different from the one she’d traveled. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen a young man named Jerin, have you? He’s tall and big, like a bear. He’s a friend of mine, but we got separated.”
Beave shook his head, then gulped down the bottle’s contents. “You’re the first visitor we’ve had since seed time.” He sat up and leaned over the railing at the front of the building, shielding his wid
e eyes with his free hand.
“Look!” Beave pointed toward the opposite side of the river where a group of trolls gathered. “There’s at least ten.”
Their guttural challenges echoed across the town and hit her like a fist. The cheese sandwich slipped from her grasp.
“Trolls aren’t very smart, are they?” Her voice squeaked with fear.
“Naw. I heard they’re mainly used as brute force.” Beave answered with complete indifference. “They can tear down a tree and throw it like a javelin. But if they touch the white rocks, or the rivers, whoo-wee, they’ll regret it.”
Alyra backed away and started for the stairs. “I have to leave.”
Beave grabbed her arm. “You can’t go.”
“Don’t you see? They’re here because of me! If I go, then they’ll leave you alone.”
“No they won’t. We’re not going to let them take you.”
A shout rose up from below. Beave turned back to the battle brewing at the river. The trolls bellowed at the farmers wielding their pitchforks, mattocks and scythes. The townsfolk were not warriors like Marcel’s army. What hope did they have against trolls? If Bezoar was behind the giant beast, this town was done for.
“Wow, would you look at all them?” He grinned.
A flash caught Alyra’s attention. She peered harder, trying to see into the shady woods. Smaller creatures, maybe dwarfs or something similar gathered around several trees. She heard pounding, then cracking moments before a tall pine tumbled over. One of the trolls caught the tree and tossed it over the river’s banks. As more came down, the large beast began forming a makeshift bridge over the water.
A unit of soldiers used the tree-bridges to cross into the town. Horsemen followed, taking a bit more care, but breaching the obstacle in a short amount of time.
Alyra couldn’t move. She searched around wildly, wondering if she could just leap over the edge and run. The fall would probably break too many bones. She’d not stay in the building and be captured. No, she had to get away and hide. If the people won, then she’d come back out. If not, she’d have to keep going east until she outdistanced the enemy soldiers.
While Beave’s attention was riveted on the advancing army, Alyra slipped away and raced down the stairs. When she reached the landing, an elderly woman stood in her path with hands held up to stop her. “Stay here, honey. Help will come soon.”
We’re they crazy? “They’ve crossed the rivers. Nothing can save your town now.”
The old woman grinned. “We’ll be all right. Don’t fear, child.”
There wasn’t time for this madness. Alyra darted around her.
“Come back,” Beave yelled from above.
Ignoring the boy’s pleas for her to stay, she ran toward the nearest exit. Once outside, she had no idea which direction to take. Fear crowded her mind and shoved reason out, causing her to run without consideration. Away from the attack was the only reasoning her consciousness grasped.
Head turned to watch over her shoulder, she plowed into something. Rough hands grabbed her, clamping down on her mouth. She was dragged behind one of the buildings where a sign hung that said, Leather Crafts.
She kicked at her captor, hoping to connect with a leg.
“Stop.” He shoved her against the wall. “It’s me, Princess. Please, stop fighting.”
Alyra gasped and turned. “Tarek!”
He closed his eyes a moment, breathing deep. “I was so afraid I wouldn’t be the first one to find you.” He peered around the building before pulling her farther behind where they were sheltered from the battle.
“That’s not my name.” She never wanted to hear Princess again. “I know now who I am. My name, Tarek, I know my real name now.”
He slowly shook his head.
“Alyra. My name is Alyra.”
He only stared at her, disbelieving.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “I’ve been so worried about you. Does Darnel know you helped me escape? Were you...”
Tarek held up his hands to stop her. “Yes, he knows. King Darnel said if I brought you back, if you return willingly, all would be forgiven.” He took in a deep breath. “Please, come home. I’ve been worried about you as well. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”
“It’s... I’m alright. I ... I’m not going back there, Tarek. Ever.” She tightened her fist, determined to stand her ground. Would he force her? Her body tensed. Not without a fight, he wouldn’t.
He leaned against the building, as he groaned. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
The harshness in his voice, the familiar tone when he’d mocked her, returned. He stared down at his feet, causing his golden hair to cover his face so she couldn’t read his eyes. He was dressed like one of the Racan soldiers. His hand rested on a sword tied at his waist.
She didn’t want to fight him. No, she’d have to run. She took a step backward.
His chin jutted out stubbornly. “Haven’t had enough, huh? Still think you’ll make it there? On your own? Look at you in those horrid clothes. You’re a mess, Princ—”
“Alyra.”
For a moment, his hardened face relaxed and shoulders sagged. A small smile played across his lips as he finally met her with his softening green eyes. “I like Alyra. It’s a beautiful name.”
“Come with me, Tarek. Then I won’t have to travel alone. Actually, I’ve not really been alone. People, or ... well, I’ve had help. I’m okay.”
He stepped closer her, and she noticed a band of dark blotches covered his cheek.
A loud screech sounded overhead. Alyra spun toward the sound. The hawk swooped low. “Come, Alyra. Flee, the Baykok comes for you.”
Tarek gasped, peering over her shoulder.
“Bezoar?”
He nodded and pushed her further behind the building.
“Hide. He’s looking for me. Sent me ahead to find you. Stay hidden. I’ll go deter him.”
She grabbed his arm before he ran off. “No. Come with me. You can’t possibly want to be with them. You have to see what they are.”
His face hardened. “I don’t have a choice. If I disappear, he will kill my family.” He shoved her away. “I won’t force you to return. I won’t. So go on. Hide. Run. Just don’t let Bezoar catch you. He’s out of patience, and I’m afraid he’ll not take you alive if you put up a fight.”
Giving her shoulders a quick squeeze, he ran to the center of town. A black steed charged toward him, Bezoar upon its saddle, sword in one hand, the whip in the other.
Alyra hid in the shelter of the building, unable to leave him. She couldn’t see the fighting from her position, but she heard the screams, yells, and clanging of sword against pitchfork.
“I haven’t found her,” Tarek lied.
He really was covering for her? Tarek always had been close to his mother, father, and a younger sister. All worked in the kitchen, Tarek learning to hunt from his father who also worked the gardens while his mother and sister prepared pastries and desserts. Alyra always envied him having a family.
Bezoar snapped his whip. “If we lose her, when we are this close, you’ll pay, so help me. Find her. Bring her to me, dead or alive, I care not anymore. I’ve tired of this pointless hunt. It ends today!”
The whip slashed across Tarek’s chest. He hugged himself, falling to his knees.
A dwarf wearing Racah armor ran past carrying two torches. Bezoar ordered Tarek to help set the fires while he searched for her. The bearded creature tossed a fire stick to him. He missed, and it landed in a pile of straw, beside the livery, instantly igniting.
“Run,” Rohand ordered, landing on the roof where Alyra hid. “Follow me. I’ll take you to safety. Come child.” Her massive wings spread as she flew into the woods toward the eastern river.
Alyra hesitated for only a moment, until Bezoar turned his horse in her direction. Ducking out of sight, she raced into the woods as smoke and flames billowed up from behind. More than from Tarek’s miss-catch. The
soldiers must have purposefully set the town and surrounding forest on fire. To draw her out?
Their plan was working. Alyra ran blindly through the rolling haze, hoping she headed east. She used the edge of her cloak to cover her nose and mouth but her lungs still filled with searing smoke. Flames leaped from branch to branch, engulfing the dried, summer trees. She followed the deer and squirrels, figuring they’d know instinctively which way to get out of this inferno. The thickening haze caused her to lose sight of the hawk.
Spotting a group of people running in the same direction, she tried to keep close to them. A loud crack sounded overhead. She covered her head with her arms. A flaming tree crashed directly into her path. She jumped aside, but not quick enough to escape the hot embers landing on her arm. Screaming, she swatted at the flames, tearing away the fabric of her sleeve.
The group disappeared in the black haze. She stumbled on, hoping she ran from the fire and not deeper into it. The heat cooked her throat. Her stomach heaved, and she lost what little bit of sandwich she’d eaten on the rooftop.
She stopped, trying to catch her breath. Her eyes watered from the stinging. She had to find that other river. Water had saved her before, perhaps she’d be able to use the stream again.
From above came a screech. A shadow passed overhead. Rohond!
The hawk swooped low. “This way. Don’t stop.”
Hoof beats pounded over the roaring flames, but she saw nothing.
Alyra forced herself back to her feet, stumbling and half crawling through the burning timbers. Rohond perched on a fence beside a wheat field. A band of sparkling blue wove across the golden grasses. The clang of swords told her the fighting continued nearby. She turned away and began heading to the river when several Racan soldiers burst from the smoky woods a few yards ahead. She ducked, caught in the middle, with nothing more than the tall grasses to hide her.
Shouts rose up from the Racan forces. She’d been seen! With a burst of speed, she ran with everything she had. Arrows shot past. Thundering hooves pounded in her ears. Once she reached the shore, she dove in and was instantly carried away by the strong current. The hawk swooped over the churning waves, her calls barely audible over the rushing water. Alyra kicked her aching legs, trying to swim to the other side.
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