by Isabo Kelly
“You’re going to let me go,” she said, looking into his face with a cocky, hopeful grin, finally able to meet his gaze.
“I’m not happy with this,” he said sternly. His frown turned to a crooked smile. “But you go.”
Two hours after sunrise, the company gathered in the castle’s main courtyard, ready to leave. Fifty of the king’s best guards were lined to accompany Jacob, Vic, Tiya, Kevin and Garath. The group was small but able to move faster than an army.
Vic hesitated at the head of the horse Garath held.
“Have you ever been on horseback?” the lieutenant asked.
“Once. When I was eight. But that was sort of an accident.”
Garath chuckled. “Victoria, this is Night’s Gale,” he introduced the horse. “She’s one of the Queen’s Mares. They’re specially trained warhorses. Originally, they were bred and trained to carry the Karasnian queens into battle. That tradition has continued for eight centuries, with or without a warrior queen on the throne. They’re extremely gentle with their riders, but are trained to react unguided in battle situations. If something happens, all you need to worry about is staying on her back.” Patting the mare’s chest, he said, “Now, blow gently into her nostrils.”
“What?” Vic looked from Garath to the mare and back again.
“Blow into her nostrils. Let her get your scent. Remember to be gentle. When she blows back in your face, make a show of sniffing. That way she knows you’ve gotten her scent.”
She nibbled her bottom lip, sure this was some weird joke, but followed Garath’s instructions. When she blew in the mare’s nostrils, Night’s Gale threw her head in the air and wrinkled her upper lip until her nostrils were almost closed.
At Vic’s gasp, Garath grinned and said, “Don’t worry. She’s supposed to do that. She’s smelling your scent.”
In the next moment, the mare lowered her head and snorted softly in Vic’s face. She did as instructed, sniffing at the mare’s nose. The only scent she received was a standard horse smell, though she had to admit it wasn’t unpleasant. The subtle scent of clean hay beneath the natural musk of the horse was actually quite nice. Then, to her surprise, Night’s Gale touched her face gently with her velvety soft nose. After that, the mare stood placidly, waiting for her rider.
“Hmm,” she muttered as she moved around to the horse’s left side.
“Now mount by placing your left foot in the stirrup first,” Garath instructed.
Despite her lurching scrabble to get into the saddle, Night’s Gale continued to stand quietly. “Thanks, lady,” she whispered to the horse, awkwardly patting her neck while Garath handed her the reins.
“You’re a natural, Vic Flash. Now, just be gentle on the reins. She needs little guidance. When you want her to stop, simply say ‘halt’. She’s trained to obey even when frightened, but then she’s also trained not to be frightened by very many things.” Garath patted the mare’s shoulder again before going to his own horse.
Jacob stood to one side, talking to Kevin, King John and Queen Sara. Lady Tiya was already mounted, looking perfectly comfortable on horseback, Vic noted with a little annoyance. Bet she can’t pull a Devil’s High out of thin air. Except the lady was also an extremely powerful magician so she probably could. Her shoulders slumped.
“Don’t let me embarrass myself, okay?” she whispered to the mare. Night’s Gale snorted her response.
Jacob was poised to mount his own horse when a newcomer rode in through the open castle gates. His white hair and crystal blue eyes were a strange but attractive contrast to his tawny skin. Henry? Vic had only seen the magician a few times before and, then, always with Kritta on his arm. She hardly recognized him now in dark breeches and tunic, wrapped in a short black cloak, sitting atop his mount as if part of the animal.
“Henry.” Queen Sara approached the new rider. “What are you doing here?”
He looked first at the queen, then Jacob, and finally settled his gaze on Tiya. “I thought you might need a second magician. There are three of the blooded ones.”
Tiya stared at the sorcerer for a long, charged moment then approved his company in a short nod.
“Very well,” Jacob said, mounting up. “You go.”
Henry fell in with the group as they rode from the castle.
King John and Queen Sara quietly watched them go.
Chapter Seventeen
Bserea scowled at the infant in her lap. At least it was quiet now. And sort of smiling. She didn’t really want to know why the infant looked happy.
What did she know about caring for something this small? She was as powerful as the other two, if not more. She’d spent her life building that power, developing it. And now she was reduced to the role of nursemaid. How dare they!
A sharp flick of her hand pushed a stray lock of her short hair behind her ear. The infant found the gesture amusing, which only irritated Bserea further. When Ptaun approached, she turned her scowl on him.
“Why must I always care for this thing?” she hissed.
“You are the woman,” Ptaun said simply. His white skin shimmered in the dark, glowing like a misshapen moon.
“You fool,” she spat, rising from the log she’d been resting on, the infant held precariously in her hands. “You think I’ll take this insult happily? I’m not some lackey, Ptaun. And I’m not afraid of your paltry powers.”
“Paltry!” Ptaun snarled. “You dare insult me, woman?”
Bserea threw her head back and cackled. “I’ll do more than insult you if you don’t start helping me with this.” She extended her hands, shoving the baby close to his face.
Pseer chose that moment to step into the conversation, and Bserea turned her rancor on him.
“The only reason you are here, woman,” the copper-skinned sorcerer said, “is to care for the child.” Pseer towered above Bserea’s head, smiling at her seductively. The man looked more like a warrior than a sorcerer and enjoyed the effects his physical appearance had on Bserea. At that moment, however, she was too angry to be turned on.
“You, Pseer, should be very careful of your words. I could squash you beneath my little finger without a second thought. Or perhaps,” she sneered, “I’ll simply make you my slave. You must have some useful qualities.”
Ptaun chuckled, a sound like the grinding of rock. Pseer snarled. “You find that funny, old man,” he whispered, the threat just at the edge of his voice.
“Mind your manners, boy,” Ptaun growled. “Or I’ll make you that infant’s wet nurse.”
Bserea let loose a howl at the insult, her grip on the infant relaxing further.
“The child is becoming upset,” a quiet voice that rolled like distant thunder through the glade said into their argument.
Bserea swallowed another biting comment and hitched up the baby, cradling it more securely in her arms. All three magicians fell silent and turned to face the GeMorin clan chief, their eyes downcast. She risked a glance at the goblin, to gauge his mood.
GeRon was taller than the rest of his clan and as broad as two human men, his green-tinted skin lean over a muscular frame. Dark, short hair covered his broad head and heavy brow ridges. The blue tattoo circling his biceps was the only thing that distinguished his rank from the rest of his male warriors. His lipless mouth was set in a grim line. When his dark-eyed gaze swung in her direction, she lowered her lashes.
“She must be treated well,” GeRon said.
Bserea risked a brief glance up. The clan chief was staring at the babe, his expression the goblin equivalent of reverence.
“She is to be His daughter,” he said. “His wife.” GeRon turned his gaze to her. “You will ensure her wellbeing.” He then looked to Pseer, and finally rested his gaze on Ptaun. “All of you.”
“Yes, my lord,” the three magicians said in unison. GeRon looked once more at the baby then strode across the camp.
Bserea snarled up at Ptaun, but her irritation had cooled under the goblin chief’s command. “Bring m
e her milk skin,” she ordered the white sorcerer. “And make sure the milk isn’t too warm or you’ll have to deal with GeRon’s displeasure.”
Ptaun stared hostilely at her for a heartbeat before turning to fetch the milk.
***
The King’s Guard entered Karasnian Forest the day after leaving Dareelia. Vic stared in awe. The oak and elms had turned, their oranges, yellows and reds threading through the backdrop of evergreen. Leaves crunched beneath the horse’s hooves and covered the forest floor. Bird calls overhead and the sounds of the group’s passage were the only noise. Sunlight from a thankfully clear sky filtered across the ground and set the upturned leaves alight. The warm scent of damp soil and pine needles was sharp and clean in her city-hardened nostrils.
“First time in a forest?” Jacob asked, grinning.
“I’ve never seen this before,” she breathed, afraid speaking too loudly would disturb the forest in some way. “The gardens and parks in the city can’t even hint that the rest of the world could look like this.”
“Wait until we get to Georna,” he teased.
They rode along a narrow forester’s trail, staying away from the main road for fear of ambush. Kevin and Tiya lead the group. Just behind them, Jacob rode alongside Vic, smiling at her amazement.
The first day of travel had passed in a blur. They’d ridden hard across the open ground between Dareelia and Karasnian Forest. That night, she’d fallen into an exhausted sleep beside the campfire, her entire body a mass of aching muscles. Before drifting to sleep, she’d mumbled something about never being able to move again. When she woke the next morning, she was positive that she’d been right in her assessment the night before. Though Garath had seen to it that she had her own tent and trail blankets, she woke that morning nestled in Jacob’s arms in the middle of his tent completely unaware of how she’d gotten there. She couldn’t have been more pleased with the arrangement.
The second day of riding, until they’d reached the forest, had been just as quick. They’d set a pace that was fast enough to cover ground without damaging the animals. Vic found she was more comfortable on Night’s Gale’s back, but her protesting muscles didn’t make the ride enjoyable.
Then they entered the forest. She spent the rest of the day gawking at the trees. In a strange way, the forest reminded her of Upper Market—on a somber day. The myriad hues decorating the dark trees and covering the ground were like the jewels and rich fabrics of Upper Market’s noble clients. Rich, sparkling and awe-inspiring.
That night, they camped near a stream in a clearing back away from the trail. Sentries were immediately posted. Guards were set to stand watch throughout the night.
Despite her pleasure in her surroundings, Vic couldn’t forget the reason for this trip or ignore the tension in the group. All eyes watched Lady Tiya. Though the sorceress was more sedate now that they were following her daughter, not a single person in the camp doubted that, if frustrated or upset, the lady could shake the very Earth beneath their feet.
Their evening meal was a rough but tasty mix of fresh fowl and travel biscuits. The urgency of their trip prevented them from bringing a supply wagon, so the scouts sent ahead to look for ambush and signs of the GeMorin were also instructed to hunt when the opportunity arose. Vic had never considered herself a particularly choosy eater, but after the leathery jerky of their midday meal, she was grateful to the scouts who’d brought back fresh meat.
As night deepened, filling the spaces between the trees, she suddenly became aware of the absolute darkness in the forest. Their small cooking fire gave some light, but just beyond that pool, she couldn’t see a thing. She stared into the dark, her ears straining to hear anything out of the ordinary. Unfortunately, everything in the forest was out of the ordinary for her.
“What was that?” she asked, turning to Jacob.
“An owl.” He sat with his back resting against a tree, watching her with an expression somewhere between bemused and amazed.
“Owl? Don’t they live in barns where there’s mice?” She strained her eyes, still searching the inky blackness just beyond the firelight. Her ears rang with the oppressive silence that was broken only by the sounds of their group and those noises she couldn’t identify.
“Barns aren’t the owl’s natural habitat, little thief. Some do live in the forest.”
“Well, they’re noisy. What was that?” She turned in a half circle to face a different part of the forest.
“Sounds like a small animal. Probably a raccoon. Or raccoons, since they’re usually in groups.”
“Raccoons? Are they dangerous?”
He chuckled. “No. Just curious. They’re probably more afraid of us. We’re a lot bigger than they are.”
“Yeah, well, you’re a lot bigger than I am, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t take you if I wanted to.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Sounds interesting. Maybe we should try that.”
She scowled, but her gaze continued moving. When a loud screech exploded into the clearing, she jumped and half rose. “What in the name of the Goddess was that?”
“That was the owl again. Sounds like she caught dinner.” He studied her a moment before adding, “Would you feel better sitting closer to me?”
“No,” she said then crawled over and sat between his legs, leaning against his chest. When she felt the rumble of his laughter against her back, she slapped his knee. “How do you know so much about forests, General?”
“I grew up in the forest.”
“You did?”
“Um hmm. Georna Reaches, as a matter of fact. You sound surprised.”
“Well, I assumed you’d grown up in Dareelia. You know the city pretty well. For a rich man,” she teased. “Not as well as I know it, but…”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes.” She scooted closer, wrapping her arms over his where they circled her waist. “Well…”
“Well what?”
“Let’s have your story. You know mine—”
“With holes,” he interrupted.
She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Jacob Marin’s early years.”
“There’s not much to my early years.”
“Yeah. Sure. Come on, Jacob. Tell me a bedtime story.”
“It’s not a good story to sleep on.”
“Better than mine.”
“Hmm. Okay, but remember you asked. Most of my early life was quiet. I lived with my parents in a small, isolated house in Georna. The nearest town is a two-day ride. My father was a hunter. My mother raised mountain goats and grew vegetables.”
“Sounds nice,” she sighed.
“It was. They were good people. My da taught me to hunt and fish. He taught me about the forest and how to move through it. My mom taught me to fletch arrows and cook.”
“You cook?”
“Um hmm. I’ll cook you dinner when we get back to Dareelia.”
“I’ll hold you to that. Where are your parents now?”
“My mom died when I was eleven. We’d had a harsh winter. Avalanches had sealed off the pass to the town, so we were basically snowbound. She caught a cold. My da knew a bit about healing, but he couldn’t seem to help her cough. One day, she started coughing up blood. A few days later, she was gone.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Victoria. She had a chance to say goodbye, to tell us she loved us. That’s more than a lot of people get to do before they die.”
“Yeah,” she murmured, “I know.”
He hugged her a little tighter.
With a deep breath, he said, “It was probably better that she died then anyway.”
“Why?”
“A little over a year later, during the last few weeks of the short mountain summer, four men came to our house. They were a real scruffy lot and smelled worse than our goats. My father was wary, but not an overly suspicious type. There were a lot of mountainmen in Georna. When they asked if we could spare a meal, my da invited them in. They ate our
food, drank our coffee, then slit my father’s throat before he knew what hit him.”
“You saw?” Her question was rhetorical, but he answered anyway.
“Yeah. I’m still not sure why they didn’t kill me. I heard something later about getting a good price for me from a slaver, but I never was certain that was their intent. I started screaming when they killed my da, making an awful lot of noise. They beat me, but kept me alive. After looting the house for anything useful, they torched it, tied my hands and headed north.
“I stayed in a numbed daze for the next three days. They had to force food into me. I don’t think I had a single thought that whole time. At least none that I can remember. Just sort of shut off. That’s probably why they stopped watching me. On the fourth day, three of them went out to hunt, leaving me with a single guard. He proceeded to drink himself unconscious.
“Sometime during his drinking, I came out of my daze and the numbness was replaced by rage. I already knew how to move silently over the forest floor, but he was too drunk to notice me anyway. I pulled his knife, cut my bonds, slit his throat, and he never even grunted.
“I waited for the others in a tree. The first never noticed that his companion was dead. The last two came back shortly after. They noticed the one, flat on the ground with an arrow through his throat, but by that time, I’d already loosed two more.”
“Good.”
He kissed the top of her head and his fingers caressed her side as he continued with his story. “After that, I existed. I built a shack that was good enough to get me through winter. I hunted and scavenged enough to live. That first winter was hard. I hadn’t had time to build a store and the animals I did find were lean. But I survived.”
He sounded so calm, so resigned. As if it had been part of another life that no longer affected him. But a hint of melancholy and anger colored his deep voice. Vic could identify with the feeling. “How long did you live like that?” she murmured.
“About three years.”
“Three years? Why didn’t you go to a town?”
“At that time, I didn’t know anything about town living, little thief. I knew the forest.”