“Yah, one peasant with a loose tongue is as bad as moving in parade dress,” Vansainté said. “Anyone searching will find us, with a little application of silver. It’s not like the people here have enough to stand on pride.”
“Let’s go.” Anoni kneed her horse into a trot once they had found hard road again. The old man reminded her of her father, as he must have been in the time just before he died. She concentrated on a communion stone in her chain mail and in a moment, felt the connection snap into place.
Priestess Melkina?
Scion, is that you?
Anoni felt her surprise and heard the faint sound of breaking pottery. A danger of a primary link was that it tended to distract and disconcert the users. Anoni couldn’t count the times she’d fallen off her horse, Pelaki, when someone had called to her through the stone. It greatly padded her already spotty horsemanship.
Priestess, would you do me a favor and have one of the traveling clergy check in on the families of Hawk’s Hoop village. I left them a stone and some money, but it looks like the village is already close to dead.
Of course, Scion. May She guide your...
The connection was broken, pushed aside by a stronger impulse rolling down the magical path. It crashed upon Anoni like a riptide, as one of the stones in the shirt superheated and cracked.
Burning. Trapped! WE’RE TRAPPED IN THE WAGONS! FIRE!
CHAPTER 5
West of Hawk’s Hoop
Anoni
Anoni scrambled to get the melted moonpearl off her skin, tilting off Pelaki as she did. She hit on her forearms and rolled, taking up the momentum as best she could. The thoughts were unfamiliar. She didn’t know who it was, only that they had had a communion stone that had ruptured under the heat, and they were close up ahead. The memory of the aroma of burning hair mixed with the real smell of her scorched shirt was rank in her nose. She rolled to her feet, putting the burn on her side out of her mind.
“Ryelis? Are you all right?” Copelia looked concernedly down at her from atop the Delkeran.
“Stung by a hornet,” Anoni managed as she remounted. “I’ll be fine. We need to go.” She kicked Pelaki hard, and sent a pulse through the stones connecting her to the Dragons. Get ready. Someone’s under attack up ahead.
The column went into a full gallop, only the wagon slowing to maintain a safe distance from the fight. The Dragons leaned forward in their saddles to lend their mounts speed and loosened their weapons. Corin noticed the sudden difference in the men and huddled close to his horse, but didn’t slow the mare. Copelia’s head went up like a deer scenting hunters.
“Brother! What the burning hell is going on?” asked Copelia.
“Trouble. Smoke up ahead. Stay back,” he answered, his shout barely heard over the horses.
Anoni didn’t turn to hear the rest of the argument between the siblings; she simply concentrated on getting Pelaki and herself to the raid as soon as possible. They could smell the smoke, see it as a white haze in the trees. There were screams. Pelaki didn’t want to be going toward fire, her ears laid back against her skull. Rounding a bend in the road, they came upon the raid. Five merchant wagons, all full-wood outfits, not like the canvas covering of the Dragon’s wagon. Two wagons in the middle of the row were fully engulfed in flames, the horses having been hacked to pieces by someone with a sword and left still harnessed to the wagons. Anoni could see the tree chopped down as a roadblock. The attackers were struggling to light the last wagon on fire. The two wagons closest to the roadblock were just starting to blaze, and screams were coming from there. Three men, the last of the merchant’s guards, were fighting a losing battle against seven or eight bandits near the middle wagons. It was easy to spot a bandit versus a merchant due to the scarves that covered the bottom half of their faces. Two merchants were fighting a large bandit with a long, curved blade. The bandit laughed, brandishing his sword over his head. One of the merchants tried to fend him off with a branch while the other struggled to open a wagon whose roof was engulfed in smoke.
Anoni yelled back to her men. “Vansainté, stay with the guests. Arjent with the wagon. Yupendra, Wix, with me to the front. The rest of you, mop up.” She kicked Pelaki faster. As the big bandit raised the curved sword to make a final cut down one of the merchant’s heads, she launched herself from the saddle. Sword in hand, Anoni crashed into him using her momentum to push him to the ground. He was strong, throwing her off with a deft twist. She blocked his massive sword swing and kicked his kneecap. The leg buckled but the bastard stayed standing. With a scream of rage, he went for her. She spun under his arm and ran him through. He dropped, and she ran for the wagons.
Yupendra had taken down two bandits with arrows. Anoni helped him with the first wagon as Wix went for the other. She was aware in her periphery of the last four bandits quickly being driven off by Nekobashi’s whirling glaive with Tevix and Giovicci stepping in to engage them. The flames were as high as the windows now, the screams desperate. The handle on the door was jammed shut with a piece of wood. She hacked at it with her sword. It wouldn’t budge. She could hear a baby crying inside. She could hear a baby’s cry over the terrified screams for help and the roaring of the fire. The edge of her shirt was singed, and the metal handles of the door were getting hot. The heat breathed on her face like the Daro wind. Yupendra took his sword and leveraged it against the wedge. She threw her weight against it with him. The wedge snapped. Coughing at the smoke, Anoni backed up to let the scrambling soot-smeared group of merchants out.
“We’re here to help you. You’ll be all right,” Yupendra said, pulling the last woman out of the wagon. The sound of a hunting horn and the pound of horses’ hooves came from behind them, the rumble heralding a feeling of dread.
“Over the roadblock and into the forest. Go ahead!” She waved them away from the wagons and turned to see Wix doing the same for the other wagoners. From behind them came a mass of twelve masked men that closed in from the forest, half on horseback, half charging on foot, swords and axes drawn. The wagon raid had been bait.
***
West of Hawk’s Hoop
Corin
Fear froze Corin, feeling like ice in his veins as he rode near the Dragon’s supply wagon. His mind refused to register the brutality unfolding around him, and instead it came to him in impressions: bright red splashes of blood, the screams of dying men, the stench of shit from a man with a sword in his gut. A blur of motion shot past Corin’s face and the bandit leading the charge went down with an arrow in his throat. Corin jerked back, the spell broken. Copelia ignored him, already fitting another arrow to her bow, wheeling on her stallion for a better shot.
Vansainté, cursing, yelled to the Dragons, “Fall back!”
Arjent abandoned the wagon, jumping on the back of Copelia’s horse. Corin followed them in a daze as they raced to meet the rest of the Dragons. They put the flaming wagons to their backs and turned outward. Arjent jumped down and put himself beside Mizrahi. He gave his commander a crazy smile and with a twitch, his hands were full of throwing knives. Copelia took down two more before the men rushed them. Chaos descended as the Dragons took on the masked men. An assailant stumbled under Corin’s horse, spooking her. She reared and Corin fell back, his skull hitting something hard, black unconsciousness taking him.
Burning pain brought him back a minute later. In a rush, Corin realized he was burning and he’d landed in the burning wreckage of one the wagons. Screaming, he rolled off and out, and kept rolling, trying to put his clothes and hair out. He fetched up against a wagon wheel, terrified. He crouched down and began trying to feel for burns, just as he came to the attention of one of the attackers. The attacker made a dive for him, steely eyes narrowed with intent. With braids flying, Wix smoothly slid between the attacker and Corin, striking with hands and feet. It was fluid movement, twisting the attacker’s joints against him, shunting his momentum, and ramming his head into the wood of the wagon beside Corin’s head with a satisfying crack.
Wix nodded
to Corin, winked, and was off to another unfortunate attacker. Corin tried to calm himself. He found a burn on his hand, stinging and raising a blister. He was shaking badly. I wasn’t trained for this. Why are we stopping to help random commoners? I am a sovereign prince of the Empire. He wanted to scream it. Over and over until they told him they were sorry and he could go home. I am the last descendent of a twenty-generation dynasty. I’m burned and dirty. How can this happen? This isn’t my place. I can’t do this! Oh Goddess.
Corin sat on the ground, arms wrapped around his knees, rocking back and forth with the smell of his own burning skin filling his nose. Coming to himself a little, he looked up in time to see the merchant group of three guards, three other men, and two women running back from the forest, scavenged swords and rocks in their hands. These people were simple folk, burned and tattered. Their three children were in a tree on the edge of the forest, owl-eyed with shock. They watched their parents, screaming and bleeding, fighting against their attackers. Corin watched a woman in a blackened dress take a dagger in the shoulder, but she got up and beat her attacker’s head in with a rock. Over and over until the majority of the blood on her dress was the man’s. Her scream trickled to an end as near silence fell through the clearing and she staggered back.
The last two attackers ran, horses galloping away into the woods. Corin took a count of the survivors. Mizrahi was barely breathing hard, cleaning blood off his sword. Copelia was disheveled, auburn curls straggling out at all angles but all in one piece. Several of the other Dragons had gotten minor cuts. The merchants were less lucky. One guard and one merchant were dead. It left six of the caravan with varyingly serious injuries. Mizrahi nodded as Yupendra gathered the injured and Arjent ran for the healer’s bag from the wagon. Wix and Nekobashi went to see what could be salvaged from the wagons that were still burning. Mizrahi walked to one of the dead attackers near Corin and started going through his pockets. Corin stared at him in disgust.
“What?” Mizrahi didn’t bother to look up.
“You’re pillaging the dead,” Corin said, nauseated.
Mizrahi frowned, checking the bloody shirt for hidden pockets. “We need to know who these people are. I don’t know how they do things in this part of the Empire, but in the Daro, bandits steal the goods, not lock the merchants in the full wagons and burn them. Something’s off here.” Mizrahi moved on to another dead man a few feet off. He rolled the corpse over with a foot, and went through the pockets, working for a long moment in silence.
“What’s wrong with you?” Mizrahi asked, mildly.
Corin jerked up at the Dragon’s words. “What?”
Mizrahi pulled the sleeves of the corpse up and looked at the hands. “You didn’t even draw your sword.”
“It wasn’t my place,” defended Corin, as his face grew hot. I was terrified.
“A little singed, were we?” Mizrahi cocked an eyebrow, face carefully blank.
Corin scrambled up, hands clenched. “I almost died. You put me in danger over a bunch of merchants.”
“You’ll excuse me if I don’t think your life is worth eight.”
“I am...I’m...” The heir of this entire Empire! He grit his teeth to clamp down on the words. “For as long as I can remember, my worst nightmares are of burning to death. Every nightmare. Every time,” he ground out. “You can judge me after you see what it’s like to come within inches of your worst nightmare!”
Mizrahi studied his face, looking for something. He must have found it because he nodded shortly and turned away without another word.
***
West of Hawk’s Hoop
Anoni
The leader of the merchants was a rotund older man with dark skin, white hair, and a respectable beard. He wore a multicolored silk robe, and a wide beaded sash, both looking the worse for wear now. Yupendra finished bandaging a cut over the man’s eye. Nodding to Yupendra, Anoni came over after inspecting the bodies.
“I am Ignazio Trokay. May I know the name of the man who saved us?” asked the man. He had a deep, jolly voice.
Anoni shook hands with him. “Ryelis Mizrahi.”
A wide smile took over the man’s face. “I’m not surprised. Mizrahi sounds Tehanan.”
Anoni froze. “Why would you...”
The man waved a hand and said, “I’ve been up and down this country, trading wares. Even made it up to Teha a couple of times.”
“Ah. I’m from Oruno, originally. But I didn’t save you alone,” explained Anoni.
“Yes, thank your men for me. What brings you all out here?”
“We were contracted to bring a wayward daughter back to Lyceo,” Anoni said, improvising, with a nod toward Copelia. Her movements caused a sharp stinging sensation on her side where the stone had burned her. “I saw a silver moonpearl necklace in the wreckage. It looks like one I had a long time ago. Where did you get it?”
He thought, stroking his beard. “We met a peddler outside of Lyceo who offered it in trade. Probably came from one of the artisans there. We took it, figuring to sell it to the pious in Skevelia. Would you like it? It’s the least I can do...”
“No, no, that’s all right. It was pretty destroyed. I just wondered. Do you have funds to fall back on?” They had been able to save only a fourth of the goods from the wagons. This caravan might have been this group’s only capital.
“Ah, no. Not with us, but if I can get to the goldsmiths in Aquillion, we have money banked there and we’ll be fine.”
“Good. We’ll get your wounded and dead back to Hawk’s Hoop. There should be a priestess there soon who can nurse your wounded until you can make it back to the city.”
Levering himself to his feet the man nodded. “We would be much obliged.”
Uncomfortable with his gratitude and hoping she wouldn’t have to come up with more lies to keep their mission quiet, she searched for a way out of the conversation. Finally she said, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to help drag the bodies off the road.”
He didn’t pause, waving Anoni away. “Of course, we can talk later.”
***
Palace Moon Temple
Priya
The room was singular in the entire palace. It was circular, the walls white marble, and the floor thick with bright, patterned carpets. The room was filled with very small desks, activity tables, and toys. The desks were filled with children working quietly on paper tablets. It was lit by comfortable golden light coming from big sleepy lightfish in big globes on stands in the middle of the room. The three lighfish were named Yohan, Goldy, and Pepper. On the walls were seven large paintings. In each, the same woman with deep brown skin and long black braids was depicted, usually dressed in the flowing folds of a short white tunic. Her eyes were silvery, glowing, and sometimes the artists would add a crescent moon over her heart. She was pictured walking in forests, sailing the sky in her silver three-masted ship, and when she was pictured crying, her tears flowed into rivers and became an ocean.
Priya loved the pictures. She often sat looking at them, like now. She had never had a mother, but she imagined her mother would be like that. This room was where the students of the temple studied. Most were orphans like Priya, but some were children who had decided to go into the temple and become novices. She didn’t know what she wanted to do yet. She was only six, and no one had ever asked her.
Ildiko, the priestess who was teaching today came over to her. Priya liked her. She was short, with skin as dark as the goddess in the pictures. She had lots and lots of short tiny curls and spectacles on her nose. She always smelled like old books and oranges.
“Sister Ildiko, can I take Pepper out into the garden?” asked Priya.
“You know lightfish are cold blooded. They don’t do well in changing temperatures. The outdoor fish are bred special.”
“He’s not made for it?”
“No, my little bug. Now, how is your reading going?” asked Ildiko.
Priya looked around for the forgotten pad of alphabets. It was
lying near her feet. “Boring.”
Ildiko smiled, kneeling down. Priya wondered why she never smiled in front of the grown-ups.
“But you need to learn those, so you can come to the library with me and meet my favorite books.”
Priya rocked a little in her seat. “I want to. I do.”
“Okay. Can I help you?” asked Ildiko.
“Please.” Priya took her hand and pulled her over to a place where a tapestry hung against the wall, and bright pillows were piled up for sitting on. Ildiko climbed onto the pile, settling herself to lean against the tapestried wall. Priya climbed into her lap with the tablet.
“Class, if you want to join us, I’ll read you the story and you can follow along on the tablets.”
Maximo, who was seven, darted from his desk and over to the pillows. He was pale, with short brown hair and blue eyes. Other students trickled over as Ildiko readied herself.
“Where were we class?”
“Book three,” Maximo offered, bobbing his head with excitement.
“Alright, book three.” Ildiko took Priya’s tablet and cleared her throat. “The Goddess came to Earth in her silver ship because she had heard the songs of the Earth God. When she arrived, he sent his creatures to see who had come to his world. There were the nightlions, with their dark fur and golden eyes; the monkey, with his wisdom; and the firefly with her curiosity. They saw she was beautiful, and good, and she had come from the moon to meet him. So he appeared, and gave those animals to her as gifts: the lions to protect her, the monkey to give her council, and the firefly to light her way. Durissa, then what happened?” Ildiko questioned her student.
Durissa, a blonde little girl, studied her tablet. “T-then, they were in love. He had made creatures out of clay, and she touched them with her power, and they were the first p-people. A few of the people returned to their mother’s land, the Moon.”
A Glimmer on the Blade Page 9