by Jeff Wheeler
XXVII
Allavin Devers slouched against a cedar, resting a moment. He squeezed his yew bow, gritting his teeth. Anger and fear wrestled inside him. Only the Rebellion made him this angry. He was angry that a pig-headed knight rebelled all those years ago and caused so much suffering because of his ambition. And very few things in the valley frightened him anymore. Except the Sorian – the Witch of the Vale. He shook his head and steeled himself. The knight wasn’t afraid. Those from Owen Draw had lived too long on the borders of the Kingshadow near the largest nest of Bandit regiments. They had learned to master their fear long ago. But he knew the magic of the Sorian would affect the Shae even more. Distant shouts whispered through the woods. He had come back to see why Thealos and Justin had not followed and discovered the Kiran Thall clotting the forest and following two sets of trails. He muttered an oath. The girl would be worried about Thealos. So would the Drugaen. Allavin had to admit it to himself. He was too.
Leaning away from the tree, Allavin quickly climbed the small rise, careful in every bootstep. Clearing the tracks as he went, he listened to the sounds of pursuit. The Kiran Thall were furious at being eluded, even though it was still the middle of the night. They had the advantage of horses and lanterns, but the Shadows Wood was thick and nearly impenetrable by horse in some points. Allavin knew enough tricks to shake the horsemen loose. But he wasn’t confident either of the Shae did. He hoped Thealos was competent enough to elude the Kiran Thall. The difficult part would be crossing the lowlands to Landmoor without being seen. The edge of the forest was several miles from the city walls. And he had his suspicions that the Kiran Thall would be watching from the trees.
Grabbing a branch, he swung himself up and over a huge juniper bush and landed deftly. He glanced both ways, trying to pick out the path in the near blackness by touching the earth, letting his fingers read the signs instead of his eyes. Not much further to where he had left the others. The earth was mushy in spots, which he tried to avoid. Clearing tracks from mud was very difficult. But unless the Bandits did full circle sweeps every hundred paces, they wouldn’t find his trail.
“It’s Allavin.” Flent’s rough voice was distinctive in the darkness.
Allavin smiled. He’d forgotten about the Drugaen’s sight. Bounding the last few steps up the steep rise, he joined the others in a small clearing surrounded by rock and crooked cedar high up the slope. A thin shaft of blue moonlight invaded the clearing, glinting dully off of the knight’s armor.
“Where’s Quickfellow?” Ticastasy asked.
Allavin settled down in a crouch, laying the bow across his lap.
“Captured?” the knight asked.
Allavin shook his head. “No. Not yet.” He eyed each one of them. “I think she got the Sleepwalker though.”
Stillness fell over the group.
“Are you sure?” Sturnin sounded skeptical.
Allavin shrugged. “I don’t know enough about Sleepwalkers to be sure. But she called up this red fire to surround him and then a flash of lightning from above…”
“We saw it,” Ticastasy said, nodding.
Allavin shook his head. “But he knew that when he faced her. No, what I worry about more is the two Shae.” The girl’s eyes flared with worry. Allavin held up his hand. “I double backed to fetch them but they ran another way. You’ve got to understand something about the Shae. They can smell Forbidden magic at a hundred paces. The kind that she used – this Sorian woman – well, that’s the most Forbidden kind there is. When I got back, the Kiran Thall were everywhere.” He frowned, the memory of Tiryn’s death still bitter in his soul. “When she came, it reminded me of our ambush here in the ‘Wood. Like I was living it all over again. The same sounds, the same looks. I thought none of us would make it out.”
The serving girl nodded and squeezed his arm. “Was that near here?”
Allavin gave her a level look and sighed. “Other side of the Iron Point Road. I came here because some Shae scouts were flying overhead on alerion for a routine visit to Avisahn and saw some sort of magic storm in the Shadows Wood not far from Landmoor.”
“They flew a what?” Ticastasy asked
Sturnin answered. “They are like large birds, but their wings have scales that cut like knives. We call them Dragonshrikes in the Kingshadow, but the Shae named them alerion. They love sheep.”
Allavin nodded in agreement. “You won’t see them in the Shoreland because they hate the heat. They prefer the cliffs and the snows. The watchposts of Citadellian and Jove Stand breed them to serve as mounts. Beautiful creatures. Their plumage is like the fire of a candle.”
Flent and Ticastasy both stared at him in wonder.
“The Shae fly the alerion to keep information traveling to Avisahn,” Allavin continued. “As I was saying, the scouts I knew were going there, but they saw magic being done in the Shadows Wood. They saw a waterfall and wooded glen. The forests were swarming with Bandits. They’d never seen that much activity before and wondered at the source of the magic. That’s when we found Ballinaire digging up the Everoot. That’s when we were attacked. I thought it was a Sleepwalker, because I couldn’t get a good look at it. The reputation – that’s what I’m saying. But the thing that hunted us down killed all four Shae and would have killed me if I hadn’t stumbled into quickmire.”
Sturnin leaned forward. “I’m sorry about your Shae friends, Devers. But right now we’re missing two of ours. Did you see where they went?”
“I saw where the Kiran Thall were hunting them, but if Thealos has any sense, he’ll start cutting crossways to make the trail difficult to follow. My fear is that they might double back and try and find ours, and I don’t think either is good enough to out-track these Bandits. The Kiran Thall will catch them pretty banned fast if they tried.”
Sturnin seemed to agree. “Would they be smart enough to go on to Landmoor?”
Allavin rubbed his chin. He picked a twig out of his beard. “I think so.”
The knight rose. “If the Sleepwalker’s dead, then we only have one option left. You go after the two Shae. You’ve got to catch up with them before the Bandits do.”
“There’s a Bandit regiment in between us, looking for all six of us,” Allavin reminded him, shaking his head.
“I heard about that time when you led a company of Bandits around in circles for three days, giving the knights enough time to get there. We hung the commander when we caught him.” He chuckled gruffly. “If anyone can, Devers, it would be you.”
Allavin grinned, embarrassed. “All right, it’s not that hard. But finding two Shae in the middle of the night without getting caught by the bloody Shoreland regiment is not as easy as you’d think. I’ll need help, Flent.”
“Me?” the Drugaen spluttered.
“You saw me at thirty paces in the dark and I was trying not to be seen. Besides, I can’t handle a company of Kiran Thall on my own.”
“Then why don’t we all go?” Ticastasy said. Her arms folded and her eyes flashed defiantly.
Sturnin shook his head. “No, lass. We need to warn the governor of Landmoor and ready the fortress for a siege. Jaerod thinks she will fall in a day. But I think we can hold her longer and maybe even muster a sally against these craven rooks. You saw that army. They’ve got tide fever and dysentery. Hardly half would be fit to march.” He looked at Ticastasy. “You’re coming with me.”
She shook her head. “You warn the city, then. I’ll go with Flent.”
Sturnin gave her a rock-hard expression. He wasn’t about to be countermanded by a serving girl. “You do not want to be caught by a Bandit army in the middle of a war. You’d be serving more than Spider ale.”
Her face went ashen. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Good, lass. We’ll have our own troubles. But leaving you out here in the woods isn’t a good idea either.”
She shook her head. “No, I’d rather be in a city.”
Sturnin smiled wryly. “A city under siege isn’t much better,
but we’ll make it through this.” He looked at Allavin. “If you find them, bring him to us in Landmoor.”
Allavin rose. “There’s a good inn on the north side of town. The Wee Kirke. Owner is Blain Kirke – he’ll know me.”
“Hopefully you paid him last time you were there,” Sturnin said and rose, gripping Allavin’s hand and giving him a hearty shake. “Good hunting, tracker.”
“You be careful, Flent Shago,” Ticastasy said, her eyes burning. She gave him a tight hug.
“I will,” the Drugaen promised in a whisper. She squeezed him even harder.
“You’ll always be my best friend,” she said, giving him a light kiss on his bearded cheek.
He smiled and gave her a squeeze around the waist. Nodding to the knight, he hefted his Sheven-Ingen axe. “Meet you in Landmoor, Sturnin.”
“Before you go,” the knight said, pausing him. He held out his hand and motioned for the axe. Flent handed it to him, confused. “I saw you in the Bandit camp. You swing this like you’re cutting down a tree, which is good if you’re fighting trees. Leaves you vulnerable when it’s too wide, see? Swing it down like this, high to low and low to high. That’s how you kill a man with it.” He smiled and gave the axe back to Flent.
“You sure about that?” Flent asked, turning the double-bladed axe over in his hands. He looked back up at the knight and winked.
* * *
Ticastasy tugged the cloak tighter for warmth. Her ankles throbbed from all the walking, but she kept up with the knight without complaining. He wasn’t a talker, not the kind that she enjoyed at the Foxtale. No, he was the kind who sat in the corner, quietly ate his supper and drank his ale, and then went for a bed with nothing more than a grunt or two of acknowledgment. Dawn had greeted them several hours ago, yet they still could not see the sun past the steel-gray clouds overhead. Fog swirled at the top of the trees, settling down over the Shadows Wood like a quilt.
Sturnin Goff reached the edge of the small embankment and stopped, peering through a thick curtain of scrub and pine. She walked up behind him, barely as tall as his shoulder.
“What is it?” she asked.
“The banned Valairus fog,” he cursed. “Can’t see Landmoor. But she’s out there.”
Ticastasy looked at the deep banks of thick clouds that had settled over the Shoreland moors. She heard bullfrogs croaking, the steady buzz of jupeflies, and even the whistle of swallows. There was definitely a creek or stream nearby, but the lapping waters were lost in the haze.
“And you were wondering how we would cross without being seen,” she said. “The fog roams up here every night. Should have counted on that, Inlander.”
“It’s a blessing and a curse,” the knight said. “If the Commander of the Shoreland regiment is half as clever as a grub, he’ll march the army down in the early morning. He can get pretty close to the walls without anyone noticing. Come on, lass. Let’s go.”
Ticastasy followed him down the rugged slope, leaving the thick forest behind them. The marsh grass was soft and squishy beneath her boots and soon cakes of mud clumped on the heels. She paused to shake them off, but Sturnin kept marching. Walking in the mist was like getting little wet kisses on her face. They had to stay close to each other, for the fog swirled so thick in parts that neither could see past a few paces. She watched the dew collect on the tips of her hair and soon felt as if she had just emerged from a dripping bath. She wiped her face, surprised at how much moisture was there. Sturnin’s armor looked absolutely frigid. Little streaks of watery blood trickled down the breastplate, making her shudder with disgust.
She thought about Quickfellow as she walked. She knew she shouldn’t, that it would only make her worry more. Knowing that Flent was with the best woodsman in the entire realm helped lessen her anxiety for her friend. Allavin would keep him alive. But she couldn’t help wondering where Thealos was. Were he and Justin crossing the mists at the same moment? Walking two hundred paces from each other and not knowing it? Wouldn’t she be surprised if he emerged from the fog ahead of them. She wanted to laugh. Would he even care if she did…?
A thrush fluttered from the tall reeds ahead, flapping its wings and cooing after being startled. Ticastasy’s heart thundered in her chest, but she calmed down, watching Sturnin Goff shake his head and mutter something. It had startled him too.
Suddenly, he stopped and planted his fists on his hips. She joined him and stared down the edge of a small rut into the icy waters of a creek. The waters were at least knee deep, and probably deeper in the middle.
“Wait,” Sturnin advised and stepped down into the cold creek. He sank a little in the mud and then held out his hands. “Let me carry you across.”
She stared down at the frigid waters and shivered in spite of herself. She didn’t want to appear weak, though. “I can…I can make it,” she said, nodding.
Sturnin gave her an amused smile. “The cold can hurt you faster than you’d think. I’ve seen men die of the cold after crossing rivers. Big men. Now come here.”
Hesitantly, she lowered herself down and let the knight carry her. His armor was hard and biting, but she didn’t fuss as he waded through the wide creek. On the other side, he boosted her up the embankment. Reaching down, she tried to help pull him up, but he was far too big and heavy to be much help. If she had been with Quickfellow instead, they probably would have crossed it and then shivered together. He certainly wasn’t big enough to carry her across the creek. She smiled at the thought. Why was she thinking about him? He was too pale, too rich, and a stubborn Shae to boot. But he had a charming smile – that was certainly in his favor. He was generous in a world that did not nurture generosity, especially among a people noted for their bartering and deceit. Yet he fit neither description very well. That intrigued her. It always had. Quickfellow was...unique. So different than Tsyrke.
The memories sparked to life again and she shivered with anguish. That was why she was thinking about Quickfellow so much. She had been trying to forget Tsyrke Phollen. Lies, all along. She had fallen in love with Tsyrke months ago – or who she thought he was. A rich sea merchant from Ilvaren who wanted to take her away. She was blinded by the gold coins, his roguish smile, and the possibilities of what it would be like to be called his wife. But then he had left and never returned, leaving her with a small pendant to whisper those promises in the dark. But they were lies! He was a Bandit commander. It was his army she had just crossed. She couldn’t help but wonder if he had been there. She would never forgive a betrayal. Not one. She’d warned him of that. She was one man’s woman – wouldn’t share him with anyone else. Well, he’d had his chance. Now all she had left was Flent. And Quickfellow.
It felt like she had been walking for days when they finally reached the base of the hill leading to the city-fortress. The fog had receded a little, but the moisture clung to their skin and clothes. Ticastasy was exhausted. The traveling pack dug into her shoulders, and she was tempted to leave it behind in the rushes.
“We’re almost there,” Sturnin said, following the base of the hill until they joined the Iron Point Road that wound its way up to the summit. Her legs groaned in protest, but she plodded forward, shaking the mud from her boots as they climbed the stone road up the side of the hill. Her breath came in quick gasps and the muscles in her calves knotted up.
“Are…are they going…to listen…to us?” she panted.
Sturnin nodded, his face drawn with fatigue. His pace never wavered. “When the Accords of Dos-Aralon were passed, the knights were given authority to command any garrison to defend the kingdom. We’ve had more training against the Bandits than most, so the Governor may just turn over command to me. He probably has a retired battle commander in the city for token duties,” he added. “But we’re facing a full regiment out there. He’ll need experience.”
Ticastasy nodded, wondering how Sturnin kept his breath after marching all night and all morning. She couldn’t wait to reach the Wee Kirke and a hot, steaming bath.
The city rose out of the mist like a forest made of stone. The watchtowers loomed overhead, breaking up the even blue of the sky with stark gray lines and ridges. It was enormous, and she gasped in awe. Noises rose from the city proper, along with smells from a hundred places. Dumplings frying in tallow, smoke and cinders, stews and cheese vats, curing oils and dross. They were all welcoming smells to a girl who had spent her whole life in Sol.
The main gate lay open, but the portcullis was down, its huge timber frame blocking the way. Sturnin Goff advanced and greeted the gate captain on the other side.
“Well, sweet bleeding Achrolese,” the man said in a thick Shoreland accent. His hair was trimmed down to the roots in the fashion of the south. “It’s a bloody knight of Owen Draw. Take a look here, would you. By the Druids, I can’t believe my eyes.”
“You’re using the porter doors?” Sturnin asked. The captain nodded, and the knight nodded with relief. “Good. I need to speak to the garrison commander. Send for him.”
“Will do, sir,” the gate captain said cheerfully. “Hey Hollom, open the porter door. Got a knight here. Hurry up, now! I don’t have the banned key, I gave it to you this morning.” He gave Ticastasy a low bow. “Sorry, your queenship. We’ll have it open in a moment.”
The porter door lock clicked open and they were met by some of the garrison wearing the colors of Dos-Aralon.
“You’re the first word we’ve had from the north in a long spell,” the gate captain stammered, shaking Sturnin’s hand. “I’ve sent for the garrison commander. You want to speak with the governor, too? Do you need to stay at the barracks?” The gate captain’s men crowded around to get a good look at Sturnin and the huge sword strapped across his back.
“No, I’ll stay in town. But send a man with her to the Wee Kirke if you would,” the knight replied, nodding towards Ticastasy. “She hasn’t slept all night. Go on, lass, I’ll join you later.” Then ignoring her completely, he turned to the gate captain and started hammering out his requests. “I’d like to see your stockyard and armory. Then you can show me the battlements and the cisterns. We need to start carrying in water right away.”