Journey of the Wanderer

by Shawna Thomas

  Something heavy hit her head, and darkness claimed her.

  * * *

  Ilythra blinked, opening her eyes to see foggy light and dim figures. The thunder of hooves caused her heart to quicken. The refugees. The attack.

  “She’s awake.”

  One of the figures approached. Ilythra struggled to clear her vision. A woman.

  “I wanted you to know who did this to you,” the woman said.

  Martina. Ilythra struggled to sit up. No, not even she would betray the entire camp. Martina crouched close enough she could see her dark eyes. How had she ever thought those eyes were beautiful?

  “You think you are so tough, so much better than the rest of us. Do you see who won in the end?”

  “You let the enemy in?” Ilythra croaked. The noblewoman was wearing a sword around her generous hips and had pulled her long, dark hair back into a braid.

  “I slit the sentries’ throats, one by one. It was easy, really. They didn’t suspect me.”

  Ilythra’s stomach churned. “Why?”

  “Because I deserve more than this. I’m not like you.” She reached and pulled the chain around Ilythra’s neck, revealing Ilydearta. “Oh, there it is. All this fuss for that? It’s pretty, but...” She shrugged. “All I have to do is take this to Bredych, and everything I want will be mine.”

  Martina was working for Bredych? How? “He’s lying.”

  “Of course you’re going to say that. Do you think I’m some peasant girl?” She gripped Ilydearta. The chain bit in to the back of Ilythra’s neck. “Oh, wait. We need to fight her. I almost forgot.” She turned to the other figure. “Free her hands.”

  “But it’s only us here. The others—”

  “Are rounding up the stragglers. I know. You can’t kill one wounded woman? Free her hands.”

  The guard did as he was told.

  The blood rushed into Ilythra’s hands. They burned. The man pulled Ilythra to her feet, and Martina slapped her hard. Ilythra fell to her knees. Her cheek stung.

  “Pull her up again. That was kind of fun.”

  The guard mumbled something but brought Ilythra to her feet again.

  Martina smirked and stepped closer. “You’re not good enough for him. He needs someone like me. Someone who has the same background, the same education, believes in the same things. You would only be worth a roll between the sheets. He’d never be satisfied with you.”

  All this because of Ryliann? “You’re an idiot.” Ilythra reared her head back and crashed her forehead into Martina’s nose. The pain in her head exploded, but Martina dropped to the floor. Ilythra spun, reaching for the sword on Martina’s waist and knocking the feet from the guard. His sword went flying. She sliced his throat and turned to Martina.

  The noblewoman cowered on the ground. Blood poured from her broken nose. “Please don’t kill me.”

  Ilythra grit her teeth together. “These people were your friends.”

  “Not my friends. None of them understood me. I was alone.”

  The anger left Ilythra. In the end, Martina was her own worst enemy. She was right about one thing—she would always be alone, and if Bredych ever found her, her short life wouldn’t be worth living. He didn’t abide failure. Dima was proof of that. “Run.”

  Martina glanced once more at the fallen guards and left the tent. Ilythra retrieved her swords and stumbled into the camp. The light drilled into her head in spikes of agony. The dead and dying lay everywhere. Was there anyone still alive? She moved to where she’d last seen Vann. His sightless eyes stared into the blue sky. She kneeled next to him and brushed his eyes closed, then gently kissed both his cheeks. Ryliann would be devastated. How could she tell him?

  She found Cappi and Miri in a similar state. She stared at the bodies. There were too many to bury, but how could she just leave them to the scavengers of the plains? She dragged Miri next to Cappi and covered them both with the blanket that had been Cappi’s doorway.

  Even that movement sent her head pounding. She stared into the golden grasses waving as far as the eye could see and then finally to the empty corral. Melior. Sorrow burned in her chest. Martina had mentioned stragglers. Had some escaped? She closed her eyes, trying to recall the woman’s exact words, but her thoughts were fuzzy. The bandits were rounding them up. How many bandits were there? By the One, let the refugees escape.

  She stumbled to the river and cried until she thought there could be no more emotion left in her. She stood from the waters an empty shell with only one thought: find Bredych and make him pay.

  * * *

  Ewen held up a hand. Behind him, horses came to a standstill. Men sat or stood at attention, waiting for his next order. He glanced over at Dedrick, the Alerran king. Together they led the combined army of Dawn Children and humans onto the Tir Rhos, but Dedrick was young, having just inherited the kingdom from his father, and had asked Ewen to take the lead.

  Arien. He had to forcibly turn his mind away from his son. He’d received the message from Ilythra only the day before, and he’d immediately sent a message to Ryliann. Since then he’d tried and failed to contact Ilythra through Teann. She planned to walk into the enemy camp with Ilydearta to rescue his son. It was foolishness. But in her place, he’d do the same thing. He whispered a prayer of protection for them both. His hands shook. He took a deep breath. It was as the One willed. The only way he could help rescue his son was by defeating Bredych. Ryliann would accept the challenge, but his army would still be needed.

  He surveyed the landscape by the faint light of predawn, examining the narrow route between the rising ground and an impassable rocky decline. The only way for an army to pass was through the gorge. A perfect place for an ambush. A harness jangled, keeping time with the hollow clop of a horse’s hooves on rock.

  “What is it?” Dedrick asked. He scanned the land before them.

  Ewen turned to the young king. The battle for Alerra had been mercifully quick. The forces surrounding the city hadn’t expected an attack from the Dawn Children. They weren’t prepared. Within four days of ending the siege, Ewen, joined by Dedrick, led their combined warriors south to join in the battle on the plains.

  “Any other way through?”

  A grim smile stretched Ewen’s mouth. The human was intelligent. He would be a good ruler. “No.” He motioned with his hand. Moments later, Sheenan rode up beside him. “Send your men up to the south and north. Stay low and silent.”

  Sheenan nodded and backed his horse into the ranks. Soundless, four hundred Dawn Children melted into the darkness.

  “Now what?” Dedrick asked.

  “The enemy is watching us. I sense their presence on the rise. They mean to send us down the slope. They assume we’ll wait for daylight to enter the gully. We’ll let them assume that and at first light, we shall.”

  Dedrick swallowed but didn’t question Ewen.

  Slowly the sun rose behind them, illuminating the grasses growing between jagged rocks and giving them a depth they would not garner from the sun at midday. Ewen signaled, reining his horse forward.

  * * *

  Ilythra moved through a haze of heat and exhaustion. After leaving the river, she’d gathered what supplies she could find, climbed one of the few trees along the shoreline and waited. Before long, two dozen men rode into camp. A few of them were laughing and regaling how they’d run the stragglers down and killed them.

  Before leaving the camp she’d dragged the dead women, children and some of the men into tents to protect them from the elements and predators. What kind of man could strike down a defenseless child? Not a man—worse than an animal. It took everything in her not to kill each and every one of them with a well-placed arrow.

  She’d heard the commotion when they’d discovered the dead guard and that she and Martina were missing. For a moment, she w
ondered what they’d make of that, then discovered she didn’t care. They would return to Bredych empty-handed. That was enough punishment. She heard enough to know they would blame Martina, and in a way it was her fault. If the noblewoman hadn’t wanted to rub her victory in Ilythra’s face, they’d have killed her and the pendant would be on its way to Bredych.

  She counted to a hundred before she dropped to the ground and followed them. They’d lead her right where she wanted to go.

  * * *

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Harlon grabbed Ryliann’s sleeve, his voice a forced whisper.

  Ryliann glanced to the hand, watching as it fell. How could he blame the man? It was suicide. “Send the message. I will not have any more die when I can fight.”

  Ryliann ran a hand through his hair and stared out into the early morning. Had it only been a handful of days since he’d left Ilythra? And still his body shuddered with the memory of her touch. He would find his way back to her. She was right about one thing. He had a war to win.

  No wind stirred the trees, and already the heat pressed against his skin. Forty wheels away, his men sat, leaning against packs or dozing, too tired to make a decent camp. Even the horses grouped together, heads down and noses almost touching as though they found comfort in one another. Farther out, the sentries would be alert for any sign of the enemy. He pictured them walking the double perimeter in pairs, silent like the Dawn Children. Ilythra.

  He’d received a message from Ewen. Arien was captured. Ilythra would be heartbroken. He’d sent a messenger to the camp as soon as he’d heard, but he didn’t want her to read it on a piece of paper. He wanted to go himself so he could comfort her. He fought the urge because she was right—he had a duty he couldn’t and wouldn’t deny and he knew that every time he left her, it would be that much harder to do so.

  He returned his gaze to Harlon, his second since Vann’s injury. Harlon had fought by his side in every battle he’d waged against the Creeians. Ryliann trusted him with his life. “The challenge was made to me. You of all people should know that I must accept.”

  “By the gods! Ryliann, listen. You’ve sent a thousand men, your countrymen, ahead of us toward that valley. Five thousand more gather from the south and the west, including the entire force of the Dawn Children. We follow you. We want you to lead us into battle. Don’t sell your life so cheap.”

  “You are just as—”

  “Don’t you understand?” Harlon cut him off. “From all over this land, they’ve heard of the prince who dares defy Bredych, the human who convinced the Dawn Children to fight with him. These people fight for their homes, their lives, but they gain courage because of you.” Harlon’s dark eyes burned with the passion of his words.

  Ryliann took a deep breath. “You assume I’ll lose.”

  Harlon’s shoulders rose then fell. “He is a wizard.”

  “And it is for those very reasons you name that I must fight him. I am not naïve. I know I probably go to my death, but then those thousands of men will avenge me. You will take up my banner and fight on. If my task is to be a martyr that spurs Anatar to fight together against Bredych, then so be it.” Ryliann felt anger grow, radiating heat from his breast to his extremities. He didn’t want to be a martyr. He wanted to win this war and spend the rest of his life discovering the many layers that made up Ilythra. With a deep breath, he pushed aside the urge to spill his frustration on Harlan. The man was right. He closed his eyes. Ilythra had said the same; he was being foolish. But he had no choice. This was his destiny. He commanded Anatar’s army. He was the champion who would fight Bredych.

  Harlon placed a hand on Ryliann’s shoulder. Sorrow thickened the air as the silence lengthened. “Have you heard from Ewen?”

  “No, not since he sent word that Arien was captured and for me not to alter my plans.” And under no circumstances to allow Ilythra to fight Bredych. But that message had been just for him. He wouldn’t have let her even without the Riege’s council. If need be, he would tie her in a tent and risk her wrath later. Ryliann began to pace the clearing’s narrow confines. He ran his fingers through his hair again and straightened his shoulders. “We need to make Bredych think we’re attacking with more men than we have.”

  Ryliann picked up a stick and began to draw. The moonlight illuminated the faint lines in the dirt. “Even should I win, there is a good chance we will have to fight Bredych’s army. If I lose, it’s a certainty. The enemy is camped at the valley’s southern entrance.” Was his father there? Would he face him in battle? Ryliann swallowed. He had a sinking feeling that his father had been lost to him the moment Bredych had stepped foot in the castle. If the king was alive, he didn’t think Bredych would let him lead any army.

  Ryliann turned back to the crude map. “Position the archers on the hills, but don’t reveal them until the battle is well underway. They can pick off those behind enemy lines. They outnumber us three to one in horsemen, but it will aid them little in the rocky valley where there’s not much room to maneuver. Bredych will know this, so watch for tricks. If they push us back to the forest, don’t take to the trees—Bredych will set them on fire. He’s done it before. Go around these hills and group on the south side of the valley. We have the advantage there, since most of us can move quickly and silently in the forest now and those trees will not easily flame. The Rugians have no skill in the forests, and the Creeians are hopeless on horseback. Do we have any of the kites left?” Ryliann looked up from his drawing. Harlon shook his head. “Damn. And no time to make any. Fill whatever jars we have with alcohol. In fact, we should begin now before it’s gone.”

  The men shared a brief smile.

  “If the tide turns against us, you have the wagons ready?”

  Harlon nodded. Wagons filled with timber sat just outside camp. If necessary, they would hook them up to horses, saturate the wood with alcohol, and then send the terrified animals into enemy ranks.

  Ryliann stared down at the crude map, racking his brain for any more ideas to swing the advantage their way. None came.

  * * *

  A pebble bounced down the rocky slope. Ewen watched as it settled on the canyon floor. The sun was high in the eastern sky, heating rock, horse and man alike. He sensed a sudden shifting in Teann, a rise in hostility. “Prepare yourself,” he said to Dedrick without taking his gaze off the trail before him.

  Ewen’s horse shuddered beneath him. A war cry broke the silent morning air as hundreds of Rugians appeared along the ridgeline, followed immediately by screams of agony. Sheenan’s arrows had found their marks.

  Shield raised, Ewen drew his sword and rode toward the first warrior to reach the canyon floor. His weapon found its mark before the man finished his challenge. Ewen turned to face another opponent.

  The sound of clanging metal reverberated in the narrow space, echoed off the stone and drowned the silence of the morning. Ewen had kept his men spaced out to avoid being herded together but even so, maneuvering the horses on the narrow trail proved difficult and the screams of steeds cut down under their riders added to the chaos. Archers along the canyon wall thinned the enemy ranks until it was impossible to be sure of a clean shot, then, as instructed, joined the fray.

  Ewen’s stallion reared on its back legs, knocking a Rugian to his knees. The horse reared again. Bones cracked.

  A sudden quiet fell. Ewen glanced up. The enemy retreated back up the ravine and into the narrow line of forest. They weren’t prepared for a fight. The Rugians had thought they’d easily massacre the Dawn Children and Alerran forces. Ewen looked to Sheenan, who stood several paces away. The warrior dipped his head in acknowledgement of the silent command and gathered his men to follow and destroy their fleeing enemy. The time for mercy was over.

  * * *

  Ilythra sipped the water, letting the cooling liquid soothe her parched throat. She concentrated on putting on
e foot in front of the other. Thinking about anything else only led to emotions rising, choking her. Her head pounded with each step like a drumbeat.

  Fortunately, Bredych’s men left a clear and easy trail to follow. She estimated they were a half day ahead of her, but even at a steady trot, she couldn’t keep up.

  Beneath her feet, the ground vibrated. Had they doubled back? Ilythra sank beneath the waving grasses. The vibration stilled. Just as she was about to peek over the grain, the thrumming started again. Only one horse? Soon she could hear the thud of hooves against hard soil and a neigh pierced the air.

  Melior. The heaviness in her chest lessened.

  Ilythra shot to her feet. The stallion scented the wind and ran toward her. He skidded to a stop several paces away and approached slowly. Melior nuzzled her neck. The stallion was more than a horse. He was her friend and her companion when she hadn’t had anyone else. He’d protected her more times than she could count. Relief weakened her knees, and she clung to the horse’s neck and cried.

  “Damn you. Where have you been?” She pulled back and wiped the tears from her eyes. The joy of seeing Melior again eased her headache and lifted the weariness from her limbs. She examined the stallion for any wounds. “So, off cavorting with the enemy?”

  Melior shook his head and blew out his nose. His legs appeared sound and despite a few rope burns, he was in good condition.

  “I don’t know how you escaped, but I’m glad you did. Now, care to take me back where you escaped from?”

  Melior lowered his head to the ground and bent one foreleg.

  Ilythra hugged him around the neck again and breathed in the warm scent of horse, then swung up on his back. “Let’s get going. We have to catch up. I have a madman to kill and an entire camp to avenge.”