by Zaya Feli
“Do you understand the meaning of what you're about to do?” Kelad asked, speaking to Anik for the first time.
Anik took a steeling breath and nodded. “I do.” He rolled up his sleeve, presenting his arm to Kelad.
Kelad grabbed his wrist and positioned Anik's arm against his own thigh, wiping a damp cloth against Anik's unmarked skin near his elbow with his free hand. “The earth, rivers, and skies gaze upon you as you accept the marks that reflect the person you've become. Do you accept their gaze?”
“I do,” Anik said again. He looked up. Cainon stood on the other side of the fire, arms crossed, leaning against a tree.
“I hope you know what you're doing, kid,” Cainon said.
Anik understood Cainon's concerns. It was a risky move to make in a time like this, but it had to be done. It couldn't be hidden, and he couldn't continue doing what he had to do before this was done.
“I do.”
The thorn bit.
CHAPTER THREE
Waking up alone was unnerving. Ren stretched on the narrow, uneven cot and turned his head to the side. Instead of the sleeping form of a person next to him, there was only the uniform colour of the tent canvas. The last time he had slept alone had been in Stag's Run, but even then, Anik had been within reach in the cells below the fort. This time, Ren had no idea where Anik was or whether he'd return.
Closing his eyes, he thought about the moment they had shared in Fort Llyne. Anik had held his hand, had closed his eyes when Ren leaned in to kiss him. Surely, that counted for more than Ren's origin.
Ren rubbed a hand over his brow and pushed himself upright. He dragged on his jacket slowly and his boots even more so, retrieving the left one from across the tent where he had kicked it the previous night. Things weren't all bad, he told himself. He had an army and a plan. If Anik didn't want to stick around, that was fine. He didn't need Anik’s help anymore.
The sounds of the camp getting ready for the day's march filtered through the canvas. The soldiers were louder than usual, perhaps growing tired of long days on the move. Ren, on the other hand, was starting to get used to the routine. It had been a tough few weeks, but after sleeping on the cold stone floor of a stinking prison cell with twenty other people, having a cot and a tent was pure luxury. He stood, slipping on his new Skarlan riding jacket and strapping his sword to his hip. He still wasn't used to the grey and silver. A part of him hoped he'd never be. He lingered with a hand on the sword hilt. Not his brother's sword; he might never see that again. This was Anik's weapon.
Ren flinched as a Skarlan guard stumbled into the tent, pushing the flap aside. “My lord-”
“Yes, yes, I'm coming,” Ren said. “I just need to-”
“M-my lord!”
“What?” Ren looked up.
“Your men and the Lowlanders are fighting. Someone drew blood.”
Ren's heart skipped a beat and he abandoned all thoughts of breakfast, pushing past the Skarlan soldier. “Where's Valkon?”
“Valkon?” the man asked.
“The Lowlanders' leader. Long hair, braids,” Ren said impatiently.
“Out on morning patrol, my lord,” the guard said, keeping up with Ren's longer strides.
Ren had been wrong. The soldiers weren't louder than usual. Most of the men and women were eating breakfast or brushing their horses. The noise came from the edge of the camp. Ren followed it. Around him, Skarlan soldiers moved to eat their breakfast elsewhere, further from the potential line of fire. Ren strode forward, but had to duck when a lump of dirt and grass came flying towards his head.
The entire group of Lowlanders was facing off against the Fraynean soldiers, who were backed by around twenty Skarlans standing in a half-circle. In the middle of the group, a Lowlander had his hand clamped around the throat of a Fraynean man who struggled, red-faced, in the Lowlander's grip. At the edge of the group, a Skarlan soldier sat on the grass, bleeding profusely from a split lip and a cut through his eyebrow.
Ren spun around. There was no sign of Evalyne. “Stop this,” he barked, pushing past Skarlans and Frayneans towards the Lowlander in the middle. The man's lip curled with anger, tendons in his neck standing out. The Fraynean in his grip pulled weakly at his fingers, but the Lowlander made no move to let go.
“I said, enough,” Ren repeated, and this time he drew his sword. Anik's sword.
Countless Lowlanders reached for their weapons, drawing them but holding them at their sides. Ren clenched his jaw. From behind him, he heard his own men draw as well, ready to defend him if need be. The thought flickered through Ren's mind that they might not succeed if they tried.
Slowly, the Lowlander released his grip. The Fraynean soldier stumbled back, bending in half as he coughed.
Ren reached out to steady the man without taking his eyes off the Lowlander. “What happened?”
A young Fraynean soldier with a face covered in freckles stepped forward from the crowd. “That Lowlander attacked the Skarlan,” he said, and pointed to the bleeding soldier on the ground. “Just walked right up to him from behind and started beating him.” He glanced nervously towards the group. “Henrick tried to get in between and ended up getting the life choked out of him.”
The crowd of Skarlans and Franyeans parted. Evalyne stepped between them and looked from Ren to the Lowlanders, but said nothing.
Ren hesitated. Few as they were, the Lowlanders were invaluable in a fight. He was hesitant to send them away, and a punishment might only serve to alienate them further. Besides, he knew Anik wouldn't want them to be cast out to fend for themselves, surrounded by enemies. Neither did Ren. He couldn't punish them all with the risk of capture and death for one man's mistake. Still, they had attacked members of the camp and drawn weapons against a superior. He wanted to talk to Valkon, but Valkon wouldn't be back for another three quarters. “Take his food away. No breakfast, lunch, or dinner,” Ren said. It was only a symbolic punishment; the Lowlanders wouldn't have trouble finding their own food, but there wasn't much he could do to punish the man without Valkon's consent. It'd have to be enough.
“Tell Halvard's whore daughter to teach her men to hold their tongues, or they might lose them next time,” the Lowlander said, low enough for only Ren to hear. His eyes were like ice.
Ren didn't answer. Turning on his heel, he nodded at Evalyne. She didn't seem eager to interfere in any conflict that included the Lowlanders, which was probably a smart move. There was so much tension between them and her family that Ren was surprised nothing worse had happened yet.
The events had also taught Ren something else: the Lowlanders weren't under his command. They might not be his enemies, but they certainly weren't his friends, either. He should have talked to Valkon the moment they left Llyne behind. At least it didn't seem like Anik had shared the secret of his heritage with any of them before he'd left. If he had, Ren might already have had a Lowlander's sword buried in his throat.
Ren paused at the edge of the group where Jayce sat, carefully examining the neck and throat of the Fraynean soldier who had been caught in the Lowlander's grip. The Skarlan soldier with the split lip was gone, likely taken to one of Evalyne's own physicians.
“Is he all right?” Ren asked and approached.
The soldier made to stand and salute, but Jayce tugged him firmly back down with a hand on his shoulder.
“I'm sorry, my lord.” The soldier's voice was hoarse and Ren gestured for him to relax.
“No damage. He'll be fine,” Jayce said, patting the man on the shoulder before standing.
Ren motioned towards the trail between the tents and Jayce followed him.
“It's strange seeing you in grey,” Jayce said, nodding to Ren's jacket.
“It's strange wearing it,” Ren admitted. “And it might not be gaining me any favours with the Lowlanders.”
“One of ours might have a jacket you can wear, but it'll be a soldier's jacket.”
“I still think that would be preferable. I almost got my head chop
ped off back there,” Ren said, rubbing his brow with a groan. It struck him that Jayce still didn't know what Evalyne had revealed to him in Llyne. The confession was on the tip of his tongue – he knew that Jayce would listen and not condemn him for his blood – but he swallowed the words. A bigger part of him wanted to keep the image of himself intact in Jayce's mind just a little longer. There, he was still the son of a queen and a slave, only half-highborn but with no dark stain of the Skarlan king in his blood. It was a nice thought.
“Do you know why they're still here?” Jayce asked, angling his head towards the Lowlanders.
Ren shook his head. “I was going to ask them, but I'm thinking it might not be the best idea for me to stroll back into their camp now. It'll have to wait until things have settled, if the Lowlanders are even around that long. Tell our men to be on guard. Just in case.”
“What if Ilias spoke to them?”
“Ilias?”
Jayce nodded. “He's a Lowlander and possibly also the least intimidating person here. He might be able to get them to settle down.”
Ren frowned. “I don't know. Ilias left the Lowlands when he was just a kid. I don't know if they would listen to him. The last thing I want is to put the boy in danger.”
Jayce hummed in assent.
Ren led him to the opposite edge of the camp, where horses stood tied to poles in the ground, munching on hay. Sitting down on a hay bale, Ren folded his hands in his lap. He was quiet for a long time, and Jayce seemed to sense his need to clear his head, because he sat down beside him silently.
“Now that Anik's gone, I'll need a new second in command,” Ren said finally, looking up at Jayce.
Jayce's eyebrows raised and he leaned back. “I don't know if I'm particularly competent to command anyone.”
Ren smiled a little. “I'm not asking you to take up Anik's mantle. That wouldn't be fair to you. But you're kind, understanding, intelligent, and the men are fond of you. Not that our group of Frayneans is particularly large, but I could really use you by my side. Besides, there's no one else here I trust more than you.”
Jayce stared at him. Ren could see his Adam's apple move as he swallowed and ran a hand over the scarred side of his face, rubbing his blind eye. “I...I'm just a physician.”
“You don't give yourself enough credit.”
“I could say the same about you,” Jayce said, smirking.
“So are you saying yes?”
“I suppose I am,” Jayce said, smiling wider.
Ren mirrored his smile, then gazed over the hills. Far out, a family of deer grazed. A stag raised its head and looked left and right for signs of danger before bowing it again to eat.
“I talked to Berin in Llyne,” Ren said. “I promised him I would find a way to free the hostages.”
“Do you have a plan?” Jayce asked.
Ren sighed. “No.”
“We're really going into Skarlan?”
Ren nodded. “We are. Seems crazy.”
Jayce chuckled. “It's strange to be going back. It wouldn't surprise me if Halvard has spread the word of Berin's treason – and mine – in Iskaal in the years since we left.”
“I'm not going to let anything happen to you,” Ren said. It was one of the only things he felt confident about. “We've had a lot of bad luck, but that might be turning now. We have an army, and Evalyne is confident that we can expand it. We'll take back Aleria, free your brother's family, and regain the throne.”
“That's a lot more optimistic than I think I've ever heard you,” Jayce noted, studying Ren's face.
Ren let out a short laugh. “It's more optimistic than I feel, but maybe if I keep saying it, it'll come true.”
“Come on,” Jayce said, standing. “We better get something to eat before all the food's gone. Looks like the Skarlans are preparing to move.”
Ren ate breakfast with Jayce, Ilias, and the rest of the Fraynean soldiers from Stag's Run. It was pleasant company. The camaraderie was clear between the men and despite their initial stiff greetings and salutes, they accepted Ren into their midst, not as their prince, but as one of their own. Maybe it was the experiences they had shared in the prison and on the road that had bound them together. Whatever it was, Ren appreciated it. It lessened the feeling that something was missing, something crucial. Or rather, someone.
After breakfast, while the last of the soldiers prepared to break up and continue the day's march, Ren wandered to the edge of the camp, stopping behind a few tall trees and bushes that hid him from view. He stripped off his jacket, his shirt, and then his shoes.
A first, getting back into the strange, flowing movements felt awkward, even a little ridiculous, but the more he tried to focus, even out his breathing, and control his muscles, the easier it became. He extended his arms above his head and felt the muscles along his spine stretch, then exhaled and moved into a defensive stance with his knees slightly bent. He didn't remember everything Anik had taught him, but enough that he still felt the burn in his body and a light sheen of sweat on his brow when he picked his boots back up and buttoned his jacket.
He rolled his shoulders, sliding a hand down his upper arm as he returned to the men, near the front where his horse stood tacked and ready. He felt a fine curve of muscle, nothing particularly impressive, but distinctly present. If they were going to launch an attack on the capital of Frayne before the end of the month, he'd need to be as prepared as he could get. He tried not to think about the fact that he might not live long enough to take part in it.
* * *
Despite the cool autumn wind dragging clouds in from the west, not a drop of rain fell. The further west they came, the more apparent the effects of the drought. In the east, rivers and lakes kept the forests and meadows green, but closer to the border of Skarlan, the long grasses were yellow and their horses kicked up clouds of dust.
“We're closing in on seven weeks without rain,” Rafya said. He rode on Evalyne's right, along with her commander, Kana.
Ren rode on her left, wearing a white and gold Fraynean soldier's jacket. “What's the status of our water supply?”
Evalyne frowned. “We should have enough for three days, if we ration.”
“Shouldn't be a problem,” Ren said. “We can stock up on water in Fort Feywic. Not sure about food, though.”
Fort Feywic was the last Fraynean stronghold in their path before they reached the border. Ren had been hesitant to lay siege to another fort and put the inhabitants through the same ordeal as Fort Llyne, but was comforted by the thought that they didn't have an army hot on their tail this time. Hopefully, they could take Feywic, rest and restock, and ride out after a day with minimal strain on its inhabitants. Even if Feywic sent out riders after their departure, their army would be long gone before outriders could alert anyone to their location. That was the reason they had chosen Fort Feywic. It was strong, but far from its neighbours. The plan wasn't without its problems, however.
“If the prince's descriptions are correct, we should arrive at Fort Feywic this evening,” Rafya said, tilting his head back to judge the sun's position in the sky.
“Commander,” Evalyne said. “We'll take on ready formation two miles before we reach the fort. Feywic will not be as easy to take as Llyne.” She looked to Ren. “Any idea how heavily armed it will be?”
Ren shook his head. It was times like these when skipping military geography lessons came back to bite him in the ass. “It's impossible to say. With the number of Skarlan attacks on the border these past few years, there's a chance Feywic could be armed to the teeth.”
“Perhaps we could use the same tactic as in Llyne,” Rafya suggested. “Send the prince forward to appease the fort ruler and get them to simply let us in.”
“Remember,” Ren said, tapping the pommel of Anik's sword at his hip. “This time, I have no proof of my identity. My sword, my jacket, and my earrings are all gone. I could be any fool claiming to be the prince.” He swallowed. If they wanted to sleep in beds in Fort Feywic a
nd draw water from its wells, they might have to fight.
“Feywic is starting to sound less and less appealing,” Rafya said.
“Problem is,” Evalyne jerked her thumb over her shoulder, “we have a thousand men and two hundred horses who'll drop dead if they don't get water. I was counting on that stream a mile back to carry us over.”
“What about Fenn?” Ren asked.
“Fenn is at least five days away.”
“And we only have water for three,” Ren said with a sigh. “Looks like there's no way around Feywic.”
* * *
Fort Feywic was a dark titan in the distance. Crows circled overhead like a slow, living vortex. Their screams could be heard from miles away.
Soldiers gathered tight around them, Evalyne and Ren riding behind the first line of men on horseback with their shields raised in front of their chests. The scouts had been called back into formation.
Feywic seemed to grow darker the closer they got. There were no scouts patrolling the hills and no alarm horns blared from the tops of the fort towers.
“Eerie,” Commander Kana noted, hand tightening around her sword hilt.
Evalyne hummed in agreement. “Something's wrong.”
Ren drew in a breath, about to suggest that the fort inhabitants might have abandoned the fort when Skarlan forces drew closer.
Then the wind turned.
Ren choked on his breath, clasping a hand over his mouth. Next to him, Evalyne let out a sound of disgust. Somewhere in the ranks behind them, a soldier gagged.
The smell of rotting flesh was overbearing, sweet and cloying. It filled Ren's nose and mouth, seeming to cling to his clothes and his skin in a way that made him want to turn around and ride for the hills.
This close, the cries of the crows were louder. A few of them dove behind the fort walls. To feast, Ren realized. His imagination conjured images he couldn't control, images that filled him with fear of what they might find when they passed through the fort gates. The gates were open, hanging on their hinges.