When he didn’t continue, Gabrion prompted for more.
“Very well,” Terrsian grumbled. “Mira’s parents went to Hathreneir to petition for Mira’s release. However, something went wrong and, from what I could tell, they became prisoners themselves. Their letters were genuine enough. I recognize the writing. And there wasn’t strain to the wording or the penmanship, so they were writing on their own. But I’ve had only two letters from them. One was to say that they and Mira were safe. The other was to demand I stop trying to reach them.”
Gabrion was aghast. “Demand?”
“Yes.” Terrsian shrugged. “I can only imagine it was for my own good, so that the Hathrens wouldn’t come hunting me down to stop me from asking too many questions.”
“Do you know where they are?”
Terrsian squinted. “You may have ventured out across the land, son, but seeking your way through enemy territory is a completely different matter. I advise against it.”
“Father…”
There was hesitation as Terrsian regarded his son. Kitalla looked between the two, glad of the distraction, for the mention of Mira had made her stomach flip over. After all, she had promised Gabrion she would help him rescue her. And then what, lose him to her?
Shaking his head, Terrsian acquiesced. “The messages came from the Hathren court. I believe they are in the castle itself.”
Kitalla couldn’t help herself. “For a ramshackle little town, you sure seem to know a bit about royal processes.”
Terrsian was not offended. “Ramshackle little town, perhaps. But we’re close to the border so we receive some messengers through here en route to either king. It helps to know the real messengers from the scouts and spies.”
“Then what news of the war can you impart to us?” she asked. “You’ve said so little in that regard.”
He stared at her for a moment before answering. “I have little interest in the actual war, just how it directly impacts us. And it isn’t as if the messengers clear the details with us before traveling on. There isn’t much I can tell you.”
“But you’re under siege,” she insisted. “Or at least, you’ve been hit a few times.”
“Father, is this true?” Gabrion gasped.
Reluctantly, Terrsian nodded. “The Hathrens have attacked numerous times since your departure. Roughly twice a month, but we’ve held them off each time and haven’t had… many casualties. It feels as if they’re just making a show of the attacks.”
“Not many casualties,” Gabrion echoed. “But some. Who?”
“Son, don’t trouble yourself with this now. You have more important things to worry about, such as recovering. No, I won’t speak further on the matter.” He stood abruptly and then turned a sharp eye at Kitalla. “Escort him back to his room and then assist me with cleaning this up.”
Kitalla wasn’t used to such directives and she wanted to rebel against the command, but she was still healing, herself, and she didn’t have the fight in her. She pulled Gabrion’s dejected form from his seat and guided him back to bed, where he laid himself down and fell promptly asleep.
It took some time for Terrsian to speak to Kitalla after she joined him in the kitchen area with the leftover dishes from breakfast. He did stare, though, which she found unnerving, but she knew several times when Gabrion had struggled to find the words he wanted to say, and so she scraped the food away, then placed them in the basin until Terrsian figured out what he was trying to say to her.
She wasn’t disappointed. “What are your intentions, Kitalla?”
“Just scrubbing these clean,” she said offhandedly.
Terrsian’s voice tightened as he continued. “With my son. Will you lead him to Hathreneir? Will you bring him to his doom?”
She turned and bore deeply into the man’s brown eyes. “You underestimate him if you think such a journey would bring about his doom. He’s grown much since this adventure started. Believe in him, and you’ll see he has greater potential than you could imagine.”
Terrsian regarded these words carefully before speaking again. “You should know that his heart is set on another.”
“Mira.” She nodded, turning back to wash the cutlery.
“I fear he will be devastated if he meets up with her again.” Kitalla listened intently to the man’s voice, and realized that it pained him to admit this to her. “He always idolized her, but we always thought he would outgrow it. Yet, still he quests for her after all this time.”
“It has kept him strong, believing in her,” Kitalla said.
“If she is within the king’s company in Hathreneir, then I don’t see how their union can ever be met with joy. Some letters came,” he confessed, “but…”
“What are you saying?”
Terrsian shook his head. “No parent wants to see their child hurt. He has clearly been through much already. I couldn’t bear it if his heart shatters over a woman. Especially one who never confessed herself to him, as far as I knew.”
Kitalla almost dropped the fork she was scrubbing absently. “You mean to tell me that she didn’t share his sentiment?”
“They were great friends. Always were. Maybe she did. But I don’t think they had the same connection my wife and I had.”
“‘Had,’” Kitalla echoed. “She is one of the casualties you mentioned earlier.”
Terrsian’s silence was all the affirmation she needed.
“I won’t tell him. It’s your place to do so when you feel the time is right. But won’t he notice her absence?”
“Not if he continues to sleep like this, no. But once he is able, I must ask you to escort him from here. Take him to safety, I beg of you. Do not bring him into harm’s way by guiding him across the border.” Here, he grabbed her shoulders and spun her around, then locked her in place so he could drill his gaze into her. “You may be a very skilled thief, but don’t steal my son from me. He is all the family I have left.”
She staggered for a moment, her jaw opening and closing at random. “How—?”
“I may only be a farmer to you, but I keep my eyes and ears open. Your antics have affected others of this village, not just my son.” He wouldn’t release her, not yet. “But he has clearly found something in you to trust. And I trust my son. I will not turn you in or seek retribution from you. I only ask that if there is any morality left in you, you will use it to keep him safe.”
Kitalla looked away from the piercing eyes and thought about her revelation that very morning. Gabrion meant more to her than she cared to admit. She pulled herself out of Terrsian’s grip so she could stand on her own before she answered. “Morality or not, I will protect him.”
Terrsian closed his eyes and nodded in relief. He then awkwardly patted her shoulder and strode from the room, heading toward Gabrion’s chamber to change the dressing on his wound.
Chapter 10
Savvron
Two days went by quickly for Kitalla and Gabrion. She spent as much time as possible avoiding the warrior, hoping some distance would help her restore her personal sense of composure. This prompted her to walk about town and familiarize herself with its layout, which felt much more like reconnaissance than hiding, anyway. She spoke with the villagers who would open up to her and she focused the conversations on the previous skirmishes they had defended against, hoping in turn to provide them with some insight to further their efforts.
Gabrion, meanwhile, spent a majority of the time eating and sleeping. His body had shut itself down in order to recuperate from his recent trials. Terrsian withheld the loss of Gabrion’s mother from him, regretting he would someday soon have to break his silence.
Kitalla stayed with the old woman, Klerra, sometimes helping her with her sewing. The thief was impressed to learn that Klerra also knew a fair bit of healing skills and had been the one to stitch up the wound in Gabrion’s side after their arrival. “The least I could do,” she had said after telling Kitalla about it, “was to try to keep him from scarring too much.”
Gesturing to the fine needlework she was exacting on the clothes, Kitalla had replied, “No one will ever know he was hurt, you’re that good.”
She had to admit that the old woman was growing on her, even in such a short amount of time. Klerra had no love for the king, especially after accusing Gabrion of treachery and leaving their town without royal soldiers to aid in their defense against Hathren attacks. But her loathing extended back to her childhood and the previous king, who had later died in the War of the Colossus. The great and powerful leader of their kingdom had come to their village, stolen a handful of maidens, and all but one had been lost forever.
“And when Merla returned, she was just broken, she was,” Klerra recalled. “Nothing sensible came out of her again.” She leaned in toward Kitalla, as she seemed to enjoy doing, as if the thief was a close daughter of her own or some wild conspirator. “She had a bit about her of being bewitched, I say. Beating and physical terrors don’t put a ghost in the eyes quite like the one she had. Poor thing.”
“That’s why this village despises magic, then?”
“It’s a fair reason, indeed. Not the only, of course. It is, for all intents and purposes, forbidden, you know. The king may claim mages are free to roam about and do minor incantations, but—woe!—if a mage is seen in his craft! Never heard of one to survive being discovered, I can tell you.”
Kitalla had, of course, heard of such a mage. These past couple of days, she had all but pushed Dariak and Randler out of her thoughts, knowing she couldn’t do anything about them until Gabrion was feeling stronger. If the town was away from the battling, then maybe… But here they were and the villagers were growing tense, as if a fight was scheduled to occur any day.
As she finished her evening stroll through the village, Kitalla stopped by Gabrion’s house to spend a little time with him. Terrsian welcomed her with a plate of food seasoned with his own herbs and vegetables. “It’s a wonder Gabrion isn’t better at cooking,” she teased.
Terrsian smiled sadly. “He was better keeping the field in line. Gallina challenged me to learn early on, insisting she wouldn’t marry a man who couldn’t surprise her with a delicious meal.” He abruptly cleared his throat and took Kitalla’s empty plate to the kitchen, clearly finished with her for the time being.
Kitalla went in to Gabrion’s room and he was sleeping once again. The flickering candlelight danced over his body and made her feel as if she were watching his dreams. If so, he was running wild and free in a desert sun, laughing merrily and enjoying every moment of it.
The dream ended abruptly with a loud crash outside. Kitalla turned and was nearly bowled over by Terrsian as he raced for the door. Shouts echoed in the early night air, and it was easy to see that torches were guiding a Hathren troop in to town.
She shoved past Terrsian and bolted through the streets, raising an alarm of her own. The few villagers who had taken her seriously during her stay grabbed their weapons and makeshift armor, then followed in her wake as she gauged the arrival of the invaders. The herbalist’s hut was the easiest for her to scale, after which she leaped over to the tanner’s store and then crouched down low to assess the situation better. As she did so, her escort gathered below in the defensive formation she had described, awaiting her orders.
“Six archers, and I wouldn’t put it past them to send lit arrows on a night like this.” She continued counting and calling out the tally. “Eighteen fighters, swords mostly, but a couple of lances, too. I don’t see any mages with this set, but they could be waiting until we’re fully engaged with the others. Rogues, also. Four of them. Those four will be the best trained in taking down a foe, so be wary and leave them to me.”
Her nose and face felt no pain as she prepared herself for the battle. She ignored the demands of the village’s fighters and issued orders of her own. “You will obey me or you will die,” she warned them. The light of experience in her eyes was compelling and most fell in with her strategy right away. The rest needed some mild convincing, but once she laid the groundwork, they could tell she knew what she was doing.
They hadn’t had time or real inclinations to build any elaborate traps, but the villagers already had a few lined up. Covered pits and projectiles swinging from trees were about the extent of them, but in the darkening sky, they could still prove effective.
Kitalla guided her forces to key areas, sending three off to rouse the rest of the town and to prepare barrels of water for dousing fires. It was the one precaution that saved the village from total destruction, for no sooner had the archers come into range than their fiery arrows rained from the sky.
Cries went up from the townspeople, but Kitalla sharply reminded her fighters to stay in line. “If they ignored the warnings, let the fire teach them to listen better next time. I assure you, if we do not put an end to this here and now, these attacks will continue! Let’s free this place from tyranny!”
The echoing cheers gave the opponents pause, for they were unaccustomed to such a unified front from these people. Indeed, the soldiers sent to attack the town were of lower caliber than Kitalla had originally expected; not that they weren’t skilled, but they were no elite force.
As the arrows dwindled, the fighters and rogues ran into Savvron, weapons drawn and fury in their eyes. Kitalla’s daggers were ready, and with a quick toss, the first two casualties were scored. Enraged, the next line turned right for her, but she welcomed them eagerly. She had felt too helpless for far too long, from being injured in Pindington, finding herself useless against Randler’s mother, nearly dying at Heria’s hand, and spending the past days here in reclusive recovery. With each flash of memory, her actions sharpened and she became a veritable death-wielding blur.
She didn’t realize it, but she was channeling energy through her body and her dance skills kicked into gear as she raced into the fray. Her arms swept from side to side as her legs propelled her forward. She dipped below sword thrusts and kicked out at sweeping legs. The energy whisked about her as she went, obscuring her from view, and turning her almost to shadow.
Four, five, six bodies fell at her feet and she kept rushing onward, reveling in the beauty of each dodge, parry, and strike. Every movement connected to the next, not like a brawl at all, but a carefully scripted ballet. Seven, eight went down. Nine turned to run, but she didn’t let him get away. Ten tripped on his own foot and impaled himself on his sword.
Then the foes scattered and the weaving shadow lost its way. Kitalla slowed down to find the next target, seeing now that she was alone with her carnage. The sounds of fighting echoed and she turned to notice that she had sprinted away from the town in her bloodlust, leaving it in the hands of its own defenders. She raced back to help them.
The fighters of Savvron held true to the tactics Kitalla had imparted to them. They remained close together, refusing to be separated, and moving as a group toward their foes. They worked in solid sets of two and three, pressing their advantage against the invaders and driving them off. Soon, the troops became demoralized and the remaining six Hathrens called a retreat and vanished into the night. Kitalla debated going after them, to complete this task, but with the sudden thrill gone, her body reminded her that she wasn’t at her optimal strength. She needed to rest.
The villagers thanked her for her efforts and took care of their wounded. No one had died on their side. It was the first time no one had felt death’s bite in these skirmishes. Kitalla made her way back to Klerra’s, hoping to clean up and then find a way to sleep, for she knew that the next day would be a busy one. Not only would they need to bolster their defenses against the next attack, which would undoubtedly include a stronger force, but they would turn to her for help.
With a single fight, she had proven her worth to them and had ensured they all survived. She thought back to Gabrion’s words at Randler’s cave when he was shouting at her, telling her how important she was to them all. Yet, she didn’t want to be important. She didn’t want anyone to rely on her. She was mean
t to be free.
She approached Klerra’s, but then veered and went to Gabrion. The tumult outside didn’t seem to have fazed him. Standing beside his bed, she struggled to keep in her tears.
“I can’t do the part of the hero. That’s your role in this. I’m no hero. You wouldn’t be hurt if I were. No, Gabrion, this isn’t a life I can lead here. I can’t stay.” She crouched down to the floor, her back pressed against the wall. “But how can I leave you here? I can’t let you abandon your quest. I can’t leave you here unprotected.
“I joined the mage’s little quest to gain power. I never expected to be changed by someone else, least of all a naïve villager, trying to protect his home. But I don’t want to change. I can’t go back to being the protector. It wasn’t ever what I was meant to be.” Her face sank into her hands and she cursed herself for feeling so confused.
But Gabrion wasn’t asleep. “You don’t want to be the protector, but you won’t leave me unprotected? That doesn’t make much sense.”
“I—” She drew in a deep breath and tried to steady herself. It had been too long since she had allowed herself to dwell on her feelings. She didn’t like it.
“Kitalla, you’ve been the protector all along on this journey.”
“No,” she breathed. “The protector was always you. I’m just a tool. A means to an end. A way through the fight so we can get to the next fight. So I can learn offensive skills. So I can—” She stopped herself.
“Go on.”
“No,” she whispered. “I won’t do this.” She cleared her throat and battled against her emotions. “We each have our roles to fulfill. You’re the protector,” she repeated. “I am not capable of such a thing.”
He turned his head so he could try to look at her, but she was covered in shadow. “We have different ideas of what it means to be a protector.”
Her voice took an icy edge. “Enough. I won’t have it. Your town needs to finds its own protector. It won’t be me.” She pushed herself up.
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