No, that’s the name that was given to the bow in your hand. You’ve seen the images traced on it, the eagle in flight. That’s me.
That’s very logical of you, Eaglewing. In fact, I’m sure I’ve seen all those tracings. And perhaps with this bow being all I have left in the world I’ve seen them far too much lately, which is why I’ve associated the voice in my head to my bow. Yes, that makes sense.
Now you’re the one talking crazy.
I’m pretty sure we’re both crazy, actually.
Wyllea, please!
Shhh! Did you hear that?
What? Oh, yes. Sorry, you were distracting me. It sounds like… a hammer… hitting an anvil.
How would you know?
I’ve been around.
I’m not quite sure what that means. Now shut up, Eaglewing, and let me see what’s going on.
Fine, but I’ll be back. I’m not giving up on this.
I’m sure. Now, now shut up!
Wyllea was in a barren land and hadn’t seen a village in weeks. The Blacklord’s men had pillaged and plundered these lands over a year ago. Crops reaped early to feed tens of thousands of men had had no one to replant them as the people here had also been taken. All that remained were fallow fields, black earth, and scavengers. Wyllea had kept herself close to water, knowing that much of survival, following a small river north and west toward Maalkin’s Rise. She’d heard there were still those resisting The Blacklord in Hallania, north of the mountains, and hoped to join with them if she could slip past the front lines. On a clear day, she could see the mountains jutting up, gray and stark, to the north and west. She was fairly certain she was now in the land which had once been Vohria, but that still meant hundreds of miles to go to reach Hallania.
She was unsure she’d make it that far. She knew little of hunting. True, her aim with a bow was second to none; there simply wasn’t any game to shoot. Three weeks ago she’d found a small refugee camp that had shared some food, but those were the last people she’d seen. With no easy food and no people to help her, she was going to die out here, alone. If there was a forge ahead, as the noise she’d heard suggested, that meant people and possibly help.
She’d been in a hillier land these last few days and there was a hill in front of her blocking her from seeing the true source of the noise. She crept up the hillside to peer over the top.
In the next valley was a small village. It sat on an east-west road, well paved and wide, which cut through the hills. There was a bridge over the river as well. She could see why The Blacklord’s armies might keep this little village intact as a rest stop for messengers heading back to The Blacklord’s realm or new recruits being sent to the front.
The sound she’d heard emanated from a squat building on the south side of the road with thick black smoke billowing from its chimney. A smithy would be another reason to keep the town intact. Not only was it a rest stop, but a place to fix weapons and armor, shoe horses, or make whatever other metalwork the army might need.
This brought up a very simple question for Wyllea, yet one very hard to answer: Should she go down to the village or avoid it?
Every fiber of her being said to avoid it. Every fiber that is, except her stomach.
“Maybe if I have a decent meal the voice will go away.”
Don’t count on it.
Shut up!
Eaglewing didn’t reply, though strangely Wyllea got the vague impression of a sigh and a slow shake of the head.
This was really going too far. She needed a meal. She could risk the village… she hoped.
Chapter 2
Tirol nursed his ale. It wasn’t great ale by any means. In fact, it wasn’t even passable. It was swill, but when it was the only ale available, it was good enough.
Nothing was the same since The Blacklord’s armies had taken these lands. Crops were stolen, food and drink confiscated, men of fighting age taken, women and girls also taken to keep the men happy. Only the old, infirm, and young remained and since they had little to eat — and most of what they did have was of poor quality — they tended to die rather quickly.
Prospects were not bright under The Blacklord’s rule.
As a fit young man of fighting age, he’d managed to escape The Blacklord’s press-gangs through a combination of luck, skill, and a large helping of cowardice. He was quite at home in the wild, so he’d run and hid. It was something he was good at. He wasn’t proud of it, but he was alive and free, even if he was stuck behind enemy lines.
This was the first time in months he’d dared show his face in any town or village, and this one, despite being on the Trade Road, was so small he was sure no one would care about him. As long as he kept his head low and didn’t cause trouble, he’d be fine.
So he nursed his ale in a dark corner of the small, dingy public house. There were four trestle tables in the center of the room and a couple of smaller square tables around the sides. He’d taken one in a corner away from the bar. He was tempted to order a second serving of what they called ‘stew’, but didn’t want undue attention and that might seem out of place. Not that there was anyone else here to draw attention from. The room was empty save for the barkeep. Besides, he still wasn’t sure exactly what the meat in the stew had been. His stomach was churning as it was. Though whether that was from the quality of the stew or because he hadn’t eaten for days prior to this, he wasn’t sure.
Someone entered the common room.
The light of day, stark and white against the darkness of the room, stung his eyes, and he couldn’t make out who this newcomer was at first. He hoped it wasn’t a Blacklord agent. When the door closed and the room was once again dark the newcomer became a deeper shadow in the dimness. He tried to make out what he could. They were draped in a great cloak which hid much, but… yes, he could make out the curve of full hips underneath the fabric. Yet this woman moved more like a man with strong, straight steps. She carried a bow. In these parts a weapon generally meant one thing: a warrior for The Blacklord.
The woman moved slowly, almost tentatively to the bar, which was really a long slab of wood sitting atop several casks. The hood of her cloak swayed from side to side. She was being cautious, assessing this place. That was certainly odd for a Blacklord agent. They weren’t tentative at all. They took what they wanted.
“Food,” the woman called out, her voice the final confirmation she was a she.
The barkeep, a fat man with a gimp leg and missing one eye, limped over to her. His reply was as verbose as her request had been.
“Money.”
She produced some coins from within the cloak and slapped them onto the bar. He inspected them.
“These ain’t Blacklord silver. Who are you, lassie?”
She slapped more coins down, and Tirol was sure he caught a glimpse of gold.
The barkeep looked at the gold and back at the woman. He licked his lips, then snatched up the small fortune and deposited it in his apron. “What will you have?”
“Bread, stew, whatever you have. Two servings and a stout ale.”
The barkeep bobbed his head and went about gathering the requested items.
The woman turned, leaning against the bar, and used her time waiting to further inspect the room.
Tirol didn’t look away fast enough when she turned to him. He hoped the darkness of his corner hid his features, yet she seemed to peer at him for some time, seemingly seeing him quite well.
She whispered something, then shook her head and looked around the rest of the room, which was empty. She turned back to him.
Great. Attention, the last thing he wanted.
Unless she was pretty.
No! He reigned in that wild thought immediately. It didn’t matter what she looked like if she was a Blacklord agent. Sure, she had used some foreign coins to pay for her meal, but that didn’t say much. That could be loot taken from those she’d helped conquer. Better to stay away from her, no matter what she looked like.
Once the barkee
p had provided her serving, she walked to his table, her steps slow, deliberate.
He couldn’t catch a break.
She set her food down and sat across from him.
He’d picked this corner as it gave him a good view of the room, but now he found himself trapped. And so his life as a free man would come to an end. He shook his head slowly.
She pushed her hood back off her head, the motion catching his eyes. The look in her clear, green eyes was hard. Dark hair, matted and limp, framed a face with a slightly upturned nose and full lips. Despite the dirt on her, she was still the most attractive woman he’d seen in ages, even if she was here to take him in.
She said nothing, simply looked at him. After a moment, she brought a hunk of bread to her mouth and took a large bite. She chewed for a moment before stopping to inspect the bread and seeing the beginning of mold on it. She shrugged and continued to eat it.
Tirol had done the same thing, which instantly rang a bell in his head. This woman was hungry, really hungry. As hungry as he had been. That meant she wasn’t getting regular meals, which she would be if she were a regular in The Blacklord’s army. Looking closer in the gloom of the dark corner he caught sight of the leather armor she wore. Blacklord armor had a much higher neck-guard. Perhaps she wasn’t with the enemy after all.
“You’re no soldier,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
He was about to ask how she’d figured that out when she spoke again. “And since you’re here instead of at the front, that makes you either a deserter or cunning.”
Cunning. He liked the sound of that.
Here was the test. Was she trying to trap him and take him to the front or was she looking for a friend and ally against The Blacklord? He took a leap of faith.
“Cunning, yes,” he whispered. He didn’t wish the barkeep to overhear this conversation.
“Good.” Now she too had lowered her voice, the soft sibilance teasing his ears. “Do you know these lands well?”
“I may.” He still wasn’t sure what he thought of her. Trust was not something that came easily to him.
Her next words were lower still, harsh, hissed, which seemed more for herself than for him. “How do you know—? Don’t. Stop! I’m trying to talk to—” Her eyes caught his and she silenced herself. “Do you know a way over Maalkin’s rise to Hallania?”
Not really, no. The mountains, despite not being overly high or treacherous, were simply not well explored. The range was not that large and there were many routes around them. Well, there had been many routes in the days before The Blacklord. But if she was looking for what he thought she was looking for, it wouldn’t matter anyway.
“If you’re hoping to sneak past the front lines, the mountains are no good. The front has already moved beyond them. The Blacklord has taken most of Hallania save the far west.”
She cursed, and wasn’t polite about it either. This was not a woman who’d had a gentle upbringing. She’d been around men, hard men, for some time to pick up language like that. The cursing told him what he needed to know, however. She was no Blacklord agent. She wanted away from this blasted place as much as he did.
That relaxed him a little. If she wasn’t here to take him in then… well that led to a whole new set of possibilities.
Suddenly he couldn’t help but notice her slender neck, her soft cheeks, and long fingers. She was a warrior, the bow and prolific cursing confirmed that, but she was a woman too. One unlike any he’d ever met before. She didn’t simper, didn’t cast moon eyes at him, certainly wasn’t using any ‘wiles’ on him. She was addressing him straight, almost ‘man-to-man’, with confidence and grit.
And he liked it. You never knew where you stood with those simpering women, but with this one…
Perhaps…
“I may be able to get you past the front though.” The words shocked him even though they were his own.
“Can you? How?”
Yes, that was an excellent question, one he was currently asking himself. He didn’t know any such thing, yet apparently there was some idiotic part of him that wanted to help this woman, impress her. He had no idea why. Nor did he know exactly how that part had managed to overpower the usually much larger part of him concerned with safety and self-preservation.
Tirol was no idiot. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake his father had made. He wasn’t loyal, he wasn’t self-sacrificing, and he didn’t serve a cause. He served himself.
Yet somehow, he still didn’t manage to stop himself from going on. “I’ve been hunting these lands since I was a boy. I’ve ranged all over Vohria, even into Aestria and Hallania. There are many hidden nooks or passes in these lands where a small group might pass unnoticed. Depending on how far west the front line has reached, I may just be able to find a good place for us to sneak through one of these secret places.”
Her eyes studied him for some time. They were quite green, clear and bright. That much was evident even in the darkness of the corner they shared. Large verdant pools, like a forest pond on a sunny day.
When she spoke, it was slowly, crafting each word with those lush lips. “If you can get me past the front safely, I’ll reward you… greatly.”
He could already think of how he would take his reward. His self-preservation side, however, clamped down on those thoughts before he got too far. What was he doing mooning over some woman he’d just met and making promises he couldn’t keep!
“My name is Tirol,” he said extending a hand.
She took his in a strong grip. “Wyllea.”
Wyllea… what a perfect name.
No, no it wasn’t. It was a regular name! His self-preservation side kept trying to slap some sense into the rest of him, but to no avail. The rest of him was lost. Lost in the depths of brilliant green eyes.
Chapter 3
Two days had passed, and the gnawing hunger was starting to seep back into Wyllea. Tirol had proven an adequate hunter, but he had no weapon to bring down larger prey, no bow — and she wasn’t about to lend him hers or one of her last few arrows. So he’d hunted with a sling and they’d shared a rabbit the night before. But that meager fare was all they’d seen, and it hadn’t been a fat rabbit.
He’s trustworthy. You could lend me to him for hunting if you wish. You do need to eat.
How do you know we can trust him?
If you’d let me in fully, I’d share that with you. As it is, can’t you sense it, even a little?
The sad part was that Wyllea could sense it. She didn’t know where the notion was coming from, but it was like she could read this man’s every gesture and glance and knew what he was thinking. She’d always had a bit of a special perception around people. At times in the past, she’d found she could tell what others were going to do before they did it, but this was a whole new level. She didn’t know how or why, but she felt she could trust this man. That had been part of what had led her to him in that tavern. Then it had been but a notion, now it was a near surety. She could trust him.
See, I told you. Now if you’d bond with me, I could show you to do so much more! You’d understand everything I’m trying to do for you.
There you go about bonding again. I’m not going to bond with some voice in my head.
I’m the bow, remember. My name is Eaglewing!
I’m not going to bond with some bow!
I’m so very far from being “some bow,” and besides, you’d be amazing as my Guardian!
“I said no.” This came as a harsh whisper.
“What was that?” Tirol asked, walking beside her over the hilly countryside.
“Nothing.” Gods! She was really going to have to watch her craziness around him. If he found out she was losing it, he might stop helping her. Sure, she was fine on her own. She’d been on her own for weeks before this, but she found herself reassured by the company. She’d always been around others, mostly men, and it felt good to have a companion again.
He won’t stop helping you, at least not right away.
He’s too infatuated with you.
What, really?
Oh, yes. You have dazzled him with your ‘beautiful green eyes’.
Wyllea blinked. The last time she’d gotten a good look at herself had been in the still waters of a brook before she drank. She really didn’t think there was much to see — desperate and dirty. And that had been a while ago, so things couldn’t have gotten better since then.
She took stock. Her… everything… was filthy: cloak, clothes, skin. Her hair was matted and limp. She’d never thought of herself as an attractive woman and truthfully had never cared much. She was a warrior, had been trained as such since she was old enough to hold a bow. Her father had had no sons, only her, and so she’d received the full force of his will to train her into the warrior he was. She had, in many ways, thought of herself more a man than a woman in most things. She’d been around men, and fighting men at that, for most of her life. They might have commented on her womanhood, until they saw her shoot or fight. Then they would shut up and she’d become one of them. What was there about her to be infatuated with?
Then it struck her… she was trying to refute an argument made by the crazy voice in her head. It was making stuff up. That’s what crazy voices did.
I’m not making this up. Bond with me, and you’ll see.
I’m not going to listen to you anymore.
Something caught her eye. On the next hill over she saw movement in black.
She caught Tirol’s shoulder, hissing the word, “Down,” and knelt, crouching low. Tirol had enough sense to do the same.
“What is it?” he whispered.
“I saw something up ahead. I think it’s a Blacklord soldier. I’m going to check.” She pressed her body to the earth and shimmied forward to the hilltop, peering out over the long grasses.
She’d been right. There was a sentry leaning on a spear atop the next hill. She wriggled back down to Tirol.
“I thought you said the front line was far to the west?”
“It is,” he said evenly. “Why?”
Scion Rising (The Guardians of Light Book 2) Page 2