“But still—”
Khara held up her palm. “No, you’re right. It’s not enough to face the Murdano, let alone the Kazar. And certainly not both. But if I can get through to the Corplis, I’ll speak with other . . . groups.”
It wasn’t a lie, but Khara wasn’t being entirely open, either. I suspected that she didn’t mean other humans, but rather, other species.
“You said you had a three-part plan. What is part three?”
Khara turned to face me. “Part three is about the future, Byx. The future of all Nedarra, and Dreyland as well. Stopping the war won’t be enough. We must change the way we are governed.”
“Will you be Queen, then?” I asked, thinking I was teasing. But her expression remained solemn.
“A mere title alone won’t matter. For too long, our leaders have ruled with lies and deceptions. The people—the common folk who farm and fish and make things with their hands—are never consulted, merely controlled. I would change that, Byx. But nothing is possible without truth. Truth is everything.”
I felt a cold chill wrap around my heart. I knew before she said them what her next words would be, and the knowledge filled me with dread and sadness.
“This world needs dairnes,” Khara said. “But I can’t look for the Pellago River colony, not now, Byx. If this dairne colony exists, then they have survived against very long odds. They will be wary and afraid, and they would never trust a human interloper, with good reason.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “But they would trust a fellow dairne.”
I swallowed past a lump in my throat. “But what are you asking, Khara?”
“I am asking, Byx, whether you will journey to find these lost ones. And, if possible, bring them to understand their importance in the world.”
“I—it’s a very long way, and I don’t know . . .” I petered out, hearing the cowardice in my voice.
But in truth, fear was only part of what I was feeling. The rest was loss.
I did not know how to be, how to live, without the support of this strange new family of mine: Tobble, Gambler, Renzo, and especially Khara herself. They—and Maxyn, though I still did not know him well—were all the pack I had now.
I wanted to beg Khara to change her mind.
I wanted to remind her that I was merely Byx, the smallest and least important of my pack.
I wanted to tell her I was not a leader and never could be.
I tried out the words in my frantic mind. I can’t, Khara. I won’t.
Khara was waiting, gazing at me with her dark, wise, penetrating eyes.
I couldn’t say those words to her.
Never.
“I will do my best,” I said miserably.
“Of course you will,” Khara said. “And Byx, dear friend, you will not be alone.”
42
Sabito Seventalon
Khara’s words sent a wave of relief through me. I wouldn’t be alone on my journey! I would at least have a chance of success, with Gambler and Renzo and—
“I plan to send Tobble and Maxyn with you,” Khara said, interrupting my plans. “I wish I could add Gambler and Renzo as well, but I may yet need their help. I could send a handful of Donati warriors with you as well—”
“Yes,” I said urgently, “please do.”
“—but whatever number I send, it will not be enough in the event of a battle,” Khara finished. “I think you would fare better as three—forgive me—small, unthreatening creatures.”
I considered for a moment. Yes, she was no doubt right.
With effort, I managed a smile. “True. The three of us will have less reluctance to run away from danger.”
Khara smiled back, but her gaze was serious. “You’ll be given fast horses, food, weapons, and one other companion.”
I frowned. “Another companion?”
“Do you remember Rorid Headcrusher?”
“How could I possibly forget him?”
We had encountered Rorid, a wise and enormous raptidon with a thirty-foot wingspan, as we were fleeing the Knight of the Fire. Rorid had provided us with much-needed information and had allowed us to pass through his lands. Later, at a dangerous moment when all seemed lost, a flock of crows had appeared and saved us. We’d never been certain that Rorid had sent the birds to help us, but we all believed it to be true.
“Well, after our encounter, old Rorid sent a representative to see what was happening with my family.”
“Clever old bird. He sensed that you were important.”
“Perhaps. What is important is that a young hawk has been in the area for some weeks. He has orders to observe and, if called upon, to aid me in any way that seems useful.”
“So this bird,” I said, “is to accompany us?”
“If you allow it.”
The odd phrase echoed in my head. If I allow it? Me? The youngest in my family, the one called “runt” and “whelp” by her siblings?
Not until that moment did it truly dawn on me that I was to be the leader of this expedition. It would be my task to make split-second decisions the way Khara did, weighing life and death in the process.
“Of course,” I said. My voice sounded small and silly to my ears. “I’m told hawks have excellent sight. Flying high, one could—”
I heard a faint whoosh of air as a feathered blur shot past my face. A riverhawk flared his wings, pivoted like an acrobat, and landed on Khara’s outstretched arm. He had a white underbelly, blue and brown feathers trimmed in black, and an indigo tail.
“Our hearing is rather good as well,” said the hawk.
“Byx,” Khara said, “meet Sabito Seventalon.”
I did what I’m sure everyone who’d ever heard the nickname “Seventalon” had done: I peered at the hawk’s talons. Normally, all types of raptidons have four talons on each foot—three in front and one behind—all strong enough to crush the head of a small mammal in an instant. Sure enough, he was missing one talon on his right side.
Sabito held up his right leg to show me. His stare was intimidating, a black dot within a brown iris on either side of a yellow, hooked beak.
“I am pleased to meet you, Byx of the dairnes,” Sabito said with a more mellifluous voice than is common in raptidons.
“I as well,” I answered.
I was surprised at how easy it was to understand Sabito. Raptidons have their own language and dialects, but when speaking the Common Tongue, they tend to struggle with the sounds of w, b, d, f, and m. I’d had to work to understand Rorid Headcrusher, but Sabito’s accent was excellent.
We sized each other up—he with those intense, unforgiving eyes, and I with . . . well, I don’t really know how I look to other people. Although I suppose my eyes look rather like those of any dog. (Only smarter, of course.)
“You will have concerns,” Sabito said easily. “You have suffered betrayal and will be suspicious, with good cause. You will wonder if I have a secret agenda. And you will wonder whether I, a raptidon, a species renowned for its arrogance, will submit to being led by a dairne.”
I couldn’t help but smile at the self-aware remark about his own kind. “Well then,” I asked, “what are your answers to those questions?”
“One: my agenda is no secret. I serve Rorid Headcrusher, but my wise chief has instructed me to obey Kharassande. You may trust me to obey Rorid, and thus Kharassande, and thus you. However—”
“Yes?”
“However, if I think you’re making a foolish decision, I will challenge you relentlessly, until you tell me to shut up and do what I am told.”
“And then?”
“And then I will shut up and do what I am told.” Sabito swiveled his head back and forth in what seemed to be an avian shrug. “However—”
I smiled. “However?”
“However, if your decision turns out to be wrong, I will tell you so, and do it in an arrogant and even obnoxious way. However—”
“However?” I asked again.
“However, if your decision
is the correct one, I will praise you.”
“And admit that you were wrong?”
“Wrong? We raptidons are never wrong.”
“Of course not.” Despite my desire to remain suspicious and vigilant, I found I liked the self-mocking hawk. “Well then, Sabito, I welcome you to our”—I glanced at Khara, remembering our earlier words—“doomed and pointless enterprise.”
“Doomed and pointless?” Sabito repeated. “If it’s not doomed and pointless, what fun would it be?”
Part Four
Choosing Courage
43
In Truth Lies Strength
We planned to set out early the next morning. It was chilly, and the forest was smothered in a thick shroud of fog that muted the whole world, muffling bird chirps, dulling footfalls, and gentling words to whispers. I hoped, somehow, that the mist would also mask my fear and sorrow.
I didn’t want my companions to see how unready I felt.
How unready I was.
While I double-checked my pack, Gambler approached me. His forehead was furrowed, his eyes downcast. It was a look of concern I’d never before seen on the felivet’s face. Most of the time his expression was unreadable, although every now and then he looked vaguely bemused, especially when it involved Renzo’s antics.
“It was my intention to accompany you on your search for the colony,” Gambler said. “I regret deeply that I may have given you false hope.”
“Khara needs you, Gambler,” I said. “She wouldn’t ask you to stay unless it was absolutely necessary.”
It was the right thing to say. And the true thing. But I desperately wished Gambler could come with me. Not just for his incredible speed and strength, but also for his cunning, his calm, and his wisdom. He knew the world in a way I simply did not.
Gambler leaned back on his haunches and raised his right paw, placing it gently on my shoulder. His claws, even sheathed, were terrifying to behold, the paw itself huge and heavy.
“Trust your instincts, friend dairne. You are wiser than you know.”
I tried to speak, but found tears instead of words.
The Donatis gave us four small horses. They were an improvement over our previous steeds—still large for dairnes, but manageable. Maxyn rode a sturdy lilac roan, while mine was dappled silver with a flowing white mane and long, feathered hair on his fetlocks. Tobble sat behind me, as no horse is docile enough to be handled by a wobbyk, at least not well. The other two horses carried food and weapons, along with gifts from Khara to present to any dairnes we might find.
As we prepared to leave, Renzo ambled over to Tobble and me, already astride our horse.
“So. What’s your horse’s name?” Renzo asked with a forced grin.
“He’s called Havoc,” I said.
“I like him already.” Renzo gave a laugh, then went silent. “You’re going to be fine, you know,” he said at last. “The way Tobble took down Mountain Morgoono . . . well, trust me: you have nothing to worry about.”
I glanced over my shoulder to see Tobble’s ears fluttering at Renzo’s compliment.
“Just don’t annoy that little wobbyk, Byx,” Renzo added, “if you know what’s good for you.”
“There’s a reason his family called him Tobble the Terrible,” I replied.
Again Renzo fell uncharacteristically quiet.
“We will miss you, Renzo,” I said to fill the emptiness. “Who will steal for us when the need arises?”
I expected a joke in response, but Renzo looked at me with complete seriousness. He glanced furtively to his right, where Khara was adjusting Maxyn’s stirrups, then returned his gaze to me.
“You know I would go,” he said under his breath, “if I could. But she”—another quick look at Khara—“she needs me.”
I nodded. “It’s true.”
“We’ll be fine,” Tobble said. “You take care of Khara, Renzo.”
“With my life,” he whispered.
Were his eyes damp with tears? Renzo, of all people? He stepped away before I could be sure, and Khara took his place.
She looked from me to Tobble and back again, then gave a terse nod, as if assuring herself she’d made the right decision.
“The journey you undertake could change the future of Nedarra,” Khara said.
“Khara, I . . .” I trailed off. I was a leader now. Wasn’t it my job to say something profound? “I don’t exactly know what to say.”
“I do,” Tobble said, with all the certainty I lacked. “When wobbyks head off to sea on a long voyage, we always say, ‘I wish you fair winds and following seas.’ It means ‘Have a safe journey.’”
“I wish you the same,” said Khara, a catch in her voice.
It was time to go, but I couldn’t seem to bring myself to urge Havoc into a walk. Instead I reached into my belly pouch, where I kept my small array of treasures.
Most of them were things Tobble had rescued from the spot where my pack had been destroyed. Shards of a world I’d lost forever.
A bit of seashell, pink as summer sunrise.
A frayed playa leaf, the map I’d drawn as a student that had led us to Tarok.
A well-loved toy, a replica of a dairne pup made of tightly woven zania reeds.
A small leather-bound notebook, the one Luca had given me, and a feather, shed by a blue grouse, that I used as a pen. (I made my own ink from berries and leaves when time allowed.)
A small, flat rock with words carved into it.
I passed Khara the black stone. “I want you to have this.”
She examined the tiny letters, then looked up at me, frowning.
“It says ‘Xial renarriss,’” I explained. “Our pack motto in Old Dairnish: In truth lies strength. I think it belonged to our pathfinder, Myxo.”
Khara rubbed her eyes. “I can’t take this, Byx. You’re the one who’s pathfinding now.”
She held out the rock cradled in her palm, and I realized that her hand was trembling.
It should have terrified me, seeing the obvious evidence of her fear. But somehow it gave me the surge of confidence I required at that moment. Perhaps Khara needed me as much as I needed her. I owed it to her to be strong.
Or at least to pretend to be strong.
“It appears we’re both pathfinders now. Keep the stone until we meet again,” I said. “Think of the stories we’ll have to share with each other!”
Khara tightened her fist around the stone and nodded tersely. Before I could say anything more, she gave Havoc a nudge, and off he took. I allowed myself only one backward glance, as Khara, Renzo, Gambler, and Dog faded into the fog like a waking dream.
We hadn’t gone far before the heavy mist quickly demonstrated Sabito’s value. Again and again, he flew well above the fog, then dropped down through it, zooming close to yell directions and warnings.
“Veer north to get around a bramble patch!” he’d cry. Or: “There’s a stream just two hundred yards away where you can water the horses.”
By late morning, the fog had burned off and we began to emerge from the forest onto the great plain of Nedarra, thousands of square leagues of cultivated land. From this wide expanse came most of Nedarra’s food crops: wheat, maize, sagrash, oats, and irridin.
This, Khara had explained to me, was part of the ongoing struggle between the exiled families and the Murdano in the east. Armies need food, and the Murdano (and his father before him) had always insisted on keeping the exiled families in line in order to ensure that his soldiers were well-fed.
But all this food traveled to the east by way of the Cruacan Pass, and we had noticed surprisingly little traffic there. Either the Nedarran plain had already been stripped of crops, or families were keeping food from reaching the pass to begin with.
If the latter was the case, then the exiled families were already acting against the Murdano. If the Murdano wanted Nedarra’s bounty, he would have to send troops to enforce his will—something that greatly concerned Khara, but not me, not right now. I had o
ther worries, starting with the crushing realization that I was solely in charge.
Me. Responsible for a dairne, a wobbyk, a raptidon, and four horses. It wasn’t an impressive army, perhaps, but it was more authority than I had ever carried, and it was intimidating, to say the least.
At first I found myself getting short-tempered with my companions, who seemed far too sanguine about the task that lay before us. I felt paranoid and anxious, constantly scanning the horizon for signs of trouble. My sleep was fretful, filled with terrifying dreams I could not control, despite my best attempts to savrielle.
But as the days wore on and we rode through endless tilled fields awaiting their next planting, I began to relax. We saw no signs of pursuit, and Sabito was always a thousand yards up in the sky, floating nonchalantly on updrafts of warm air. It seemed unlikely that we would be attacked by surprise.
Still, I had my responsibilities.
“Tobble,” I chided, as we settled for the night in a deep gully cut by a swift stream, “remember, just one ration! We have to make this food last.”
“Plenty of water, though,” Tobble said cheerfully.
“For now,” I grumbled. “We should all keep our waterskins topped up, in case we have to move quickly. And Maxyn, make sure to give your horse a thorough brushing and check his shoes.”
I said a lot of that sort of thing.
Tobble was remarkably tolerant. Maxyn less so.
“Listen, Queen Byx,” he said at one point, “I follow you. I obey you. But I have to tell you that you are growing a bit annoying.”
“This isn’t easy, you know!” I shot back. “It’s my first time as a leader. And I’m responsible for all of us.”
Tobble and Maxyn responded with weary sighs and a bit of eye rolling.
I resolved not to be a bully, and to try to project Khara’s calm assurance. But I wasn’t the scion of a great family. I didn’t wield a fabled sword. Authority didn’t come easily to me. My entire puphood had been nothing but me doing what others told me to do.
Most of the time, anyway.
With each passing day, I admired Khara more. She had far greater responsibilities. How had she maintained discipline?
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