“That’s blasphemous!” Egill looked away. Murid calmed herself. “Aren’t we prepared now? We’ve known this fight was coming for some time. We already won our first battle.”
“We lost our king at Samburg. If it wasn’t for Two Dogs, we likely would have lost more. That victory was costly, and the Corlains didn’t know to expect the fight. The division heading this way isn’t as ignorant. They outnumber us three to one. We must abandon the ring fortress.”
“Egill, I respect your opinion, but my hold on this crown is tenuous at best. If I run away without honoring our most sacred god, I’ll lose more support.”
“If you lose our army to a Corlain attack, support won’t matter anymore.”
“We have a week; we only need three days. We’ll finish the festivities, then leave. It must be in that order.”
Egill pressed his palms together in front of his mouth. He looked like he was praying to Murid, but she knew he was keeping himself from saying anything he’d later regret.
“I can’t guarantee we have a week. It could be much less.”
“I trust you, Egill. I doubt your estimate could be that far off. In two days, we’ll be done with Celestial. Jorosolman will be sufficiently honored, and we can leave the ring fortress with our army intact. Unless there’s something else you haven’t told me.”
Egill looked away.
“There is, isn’t there?”
Egill slowly looked her in the eyes. He offered a single head bob. “A week is the estimate based on the last report.”
“But?”
“But we haven’t received any new reports for over two days.”
“Is that unusual?”
“Yes. The Corlains are attacking our people. I’ve asked for constant updates, but my usual scouts are no longer sending back messages.”
“What could that mean?”
Egill shrugged. “It could mean any number of things. They could be dead, they could be captured, or they could simply be lazy in their duty as they celebrate Celestial.”
“Which of those sounds the most like Vikisotes? I’m sure your reports will come in today after the effects of ferm have diminished.”
“I hope you’re right, Queen Murid.”
“If not, this place isn’t called a fortress for nothing. We can fight the Corlains here. Mother Turklyo’s children will help us. We have the mountains to help channel their movements or mask our escape. If your scouts report seeing the Corlains nearby, we’ll change our plans, but until that point we need to show our people we don’t fear Corlains more than Jorosolman.”
Egill stood from the bench. “I understand. I’ll inform the warriors to moderate their drinking. I’ll also send out more scouts to search the roads. A Corlain division can’t travel off them. If anyone’s coming, we’ll see them first.”
“Good. Let me know if anything changes.”
Egill nodded and left the longhouse.
Murid grabbed her bow. A pang of guilt hit her as she considered the poor state of Hafoca’s bow. Regardless, her bow was just as ornate and deadly. She slung her quiver across her shoulders and left too. Outside was quiet. Normally, the ring fortress would bustle, but during Celestial, it was understood that work wouldn’t typically start until noon.
One person stood outside the longhouse with a radiant smile.
“Queen Murid, you wouldn’t know what happened to my friend last night, would you?” Swift Shot asked.
Swift Shot’s grin spread far enough that it looked painful. Murid couldn’t understand how the Lacreechee woman could drink so much ferm and still be this alert the next morning. Murid noticed Swift Shot had her own bow and arrow. Murid thought for a moment. She couldn’t remember a time when the woman didn’t have her weapons with her.
“I’ll leave that topic for him to explain,” Murid said.
“No need. You’re walking a little funny. That tells me enough.”
Murid covered her face in embarrassment. Swift Shot laughed.
“Where are you off to?” Swift Shot asked.
“Why do I have to be going anywhere?” Murid responded.
“If I was a gambling woman, I’d say you were going hunting.”
“Very astute. Tonight is the second night of Celestial. It’s common to serve roast squealer. I want to ensure everyone gets at least a bite.”
“Are you running low?”
“I don’t think so, but a squealer from the queen will mean more.”
“Really?”
Murid shrugged. “It sounded good.”
“Your subjects let you hunt alone?”
“Two Dogs said something similar about my crick hunt. I convinced him that one of Mother Turklyo’s children was all the protection I needed,” Murid said with a mischievous grin.
Swift Shot clapped her hands. “I’m in.”
“Good. I could use a companion.”
Murid and Swift Shot walked to the east gate and left the ring fortress. They rode their horses for several kilometers. Murid knew it would take time to get to her favorite spot. She took the opportunity to learn more about Swift Shot.
“Thank you for coming with me,” Murid said.
Swift Shot snapped a dry twig from a nearby tree and broke it into tiny pieces, then threw them alongside the road as she answered.
“No problem. I love hunting. It’s a lot better than war.”
Murid nodded solemnly. “I’m sure you’re much better than I am. I stand out, looking like this.”
Murid gestured at her red hair and pale skin.
“I wish I could stand out like that,” Swift Shot responded.
Murid did a double take. “Really? Why? I wish I had dark skin like yours. It’s so beautiful.”
“Maybe, but your hair reminds me of igsidian. It’s so bright and beautiful. Your skin looks kissed by Mother Turklyo. It’s as if she placed igsidian in your flesh.”
Murid rubbed the freckles on her arms. She tried to cover them, but Swift Shot moved her hands away.
“Trust me. They make you special,” Swift Shot said, more forcefully this time.
Murid smiled. She could be at ease with the Lacreechee. They weren’t the savages she’d heard others joke about.
“So, what’s it like?” Murid asked.
“What’s what like?” Swift Shot said.
“Magic.”
Swift Shot’s smile spread. “It’s hard to describe. It feels good. It tingles throughout your body. It starts in your soul, but spreads to the tips of your fingers. The more you channel the power, the more it tingles. After you cast a spell, it’s a little tiring, but it depends on how much and how often you use your power.”
“That’s fascinating. I don’t know how the Corlains can win with you on our side.”
“I wish it was that easy. We can’t keep up our magic indefinitely. Doing so can lead to disaster; we could lose our power. The thought of being without magic, without my connection with Mother Turklyo, is terrifying. Even Two Dogs fears it.”
“Why?”
Swift Shot gave a half smile, then looked away. “We aren’t accepted into the afterlife if we die unable to cast our spells. It would mean Mother Turklyo no longer favors us. That we had done something horrible in life for her to abandon us.”
“Can’t you earn your place back into . . . er, where do you go?”
Swift Shot looked at her again. “We go home, and we get to stay in eternal bliss. To answer your first question, some do earn their gifts back through sacrifice, but it’s rare. Better to die than to go lame.”
“I see.” Murid sucked her teeth, then forced a smile. “I hope the three of you properly manage your reserves.”
“I always do, though Two Dogs can be a bit reckless. Thankfully, he seems to have an infinite supply of power.”
“It seemed that way in Samburg.”
“He has an unlimited supply of stamina in other areas too.” Swift Shot cackled laughter as she nudged Murid’s elbow with her own. Murid covered her face as
she giggled.
“That I already know.”
The two women laughed again.
“So, what exactly is this Celestial celebration?” Swift Shot asked.
“It’s the biggest holiday of the year. Jorosolman is the king of the Vikisote gods. He divided himself into three parts: the sun, moon, and planet. Through his personal sacrifice, all life was created. The other gods are his children. The animals and resources are his gifts to us.”
Murid considered Swift Shot’s curious expression. She belatedly remembered Swift Shot had her own beliefs.
“Those are the Vikisote stories. I’m sure Mother Turklyo had her own hand in the lands her children hail from.”
“Don’t worry about me. I can’t be insulted that easily.”
Murid sighed. “Good. My parents, before they died, wanted me to convert the Vikisotes to their religion. I tried, but you can imagine how that goes over when a seven-year-old is preaching to adults.”
“Not so good, I expect.”
“Exactly. The funny thing is, Faida told me stories and actually converted me. I barely remember what my parents had taught me. It was the same religion the Corlains have. That’s part of why Faida got me to come around to the truth. Did you know the Corlain leader is a minister?”
“What’s a minister?” Swift Shot asked.
“A man who speaks to God. I believe that’s why they try to control everyone. Their Minister Ekundayo wants everyone to behave how his god decrees. He can’t accept that people like us can believe differently and still cooperate.”
“Religious zealots are always a problem, no matter the culture.”
The two women rode in silence for several minutes. They moved off the road and traveled up the side of a gently sloping mountain. Eventually, Murid held up her hand and stopped moving. Swift Shot was the perfect partner. She nocked an arrow and waited for Murid to point out their targets.
Below them was a gaggle of squealers. They were small, flightless birds. Each only weighed approximately five hundred grams. The black and white birds were only thirty centimeters long. There wasn’t much meat coming from an individual bird, but the meat she got was the sweetest, juiciest delicacy Murid had ever had. Roasted properly with black pepper and honey was a recipe that Jorosolman himself must have created.
“Those are what we’re hunting?” Swift Shot asked incredulously. “This is a lot of effort for a single bite.”
“Trust me,” Murid said.
The two women dismounted. Murid nocked her bow and aimed. Squealers may not fly, but they were surprisingly swift on their webbed feet. She wouldn’t have time for a second shot. She waited for Swift Shot to line up her arrow on a target. Murid nodded at her hunting partner. Swift Shot flashed a cocky smile.
Murid went back to controlling her breathing. She pointed the tip of her arrow just behind the orange beak of the closest squealer. She let out her breath and fired before refilling her lungs. The arrow sailed through the air and hit the squealer perfectly in the neck. The animal demonstrated how it got its name. It screeched a siren-like sound a second before dying. It was enough; the other squealers soon echoed the alarm.
Murid held her fingers in her ears. The birds screamed and ran away. They tried to, at least. There were fourteen birds left, but Swift Shot’s arrow found the center one. Unlike Murid’s regular arrow, Swift Shot’s was charged with magic. Forks of enchanted lightning branched off and connected each bird. They sizzled and fell. The aroma of singed feathers and seared meat wafted over to Murid.
“How many more do we need? I don’t have Two Dogs to make trips for us,” Swift Shot said.
Murid broke out in laughter. “I think we’re good. Let’s see if we can stuff them into our bags and head back to the ring fortress.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’m suddenly hungry. Are you sure I can’t roast just one?”
Murid’s own mouth watered. “Considering I only expected to get eight at most, I think we’ve earned a special brunch.”
Swift Shot slapped Murid on the shoulder. “I like the way you think, Murid.”
The two women descended the mountain to the squealer aerie. With luck, they’d have eggs to complement their roast squealer.
chapter 15
Githinji sat upon his horse and overlooked the grand ring fortress that served as the capital of Vikisoteland. His ruse appeared to have worked. The first southern towns, farms, and scattered hamlets in Vikisoteland were attacked, but after three, he’d skipped the rest and had his full division press hard for the ring fortress. Hafoca’s death had sped up his plan but only slightly. He’d always intended to imply his desire to destroy every farm. The Vikisotes were a careless people. They wouldn’t be willing to suffer discomfort any longer than they needed to. As he suspected, they waited too long to run away. He needed his prey to be in one place. He wanted a spectacular battle, and for word of it to reach Zonwalgoo. Judging by the fires lighting up the ring fortress, the Vikisotes took their time to evacuate. Perhaps they never intended to leave. Selfless sacrifice inspired some people. Githinji didn’t care. He’d set the stage for the battle he wanted; now was the moment.
Githinji glanced at Zoya. She had her second brigade lined up and awaiting his signal to advance. The full division had over ten thousand men and women. He had a hundred cannons, plus a dozen trebuchets that would soon fire barrels filled with black powder and jagged metal. Queen Murid wouldn’t be able to defend with the few warriors she had. Word had reached him about a handful of Namerians helping the Vikisotes. Namerians didn’t concern him. They died just as easily as all his other foes.
“Zoya, are the other brigades in position?” Githinji asked.
She nodded. “Yes, sir. We await your command.”
Her armor had begun to transition from black to silver. Githinji’s spies had reported the previous evening had a large party for one heathen god’s birthday or some fallacious victory. Githinji never bothered to learn the purpose of the celebration. He just ordered his people to prepare to attack at dawn when the men and women of Vikisoteland were hungover and tired. He had his scouts kill anyone they saw on the road. It was highly unlikely that word reached the Vikisotes about how close his Black Cloud Division was. The alarm bells and shouts indicated they knew now, but it was too late. His division had already enveloped the ring fortress. Some might escape, but only with what they could carry. Their equipment and their crick venom would be his.
The first rays of the morning sun finally peeked over the top of the mountains that surrounded the valley with the Vikisote ring fortress. Some Corlains shifted in their saddles or on their feet. Githinji understood the apprehension. He’d survived many battles, but even he felt doubt try to creep into his mind. He willed it away and slammed the door on the thought. He raised his hand to signal the attack when a messenger screamed for his attention.
“Sir, General Githinji, sir! I have an urgent message from Zonwalgoo!”
The woman placed a hand on her knee for a moment before standing at attention and giving the most pathetic excuse for a salute he’d ever seen. Her cloth uniform indicated she was from a sustainment unit, but he didn’t recognize her beyond her rank of captain.
“What is it?” Githinji snapped. “We have a battle to win.”
He didn’t return her salute, but the woman clearly had no problem abandoning military protocol. She now had both hands on her knees as she gasped for air. It disgusted Githinji. A real soldier was tough and willing to lie down his or her life. These support personnel were soft. He couldn’t trust them to hold a sword, let alone swing one or fire a musket.
The captain finally seemed to realize her lack of endurance was holding up thousands of soldiers. She stood erect once more and offered the message to Githinji.
“Just read the blasted thing!” Githinji shouted.
It was unprofessional and beneath him to berate such a junior soldier, but today was his moment of triumph. He would further ascend the ladder with this victory. His exci
tement to begin had allowed him to behave less than an officer should.
The captain glanced at Zoya. Perhaps she thought the female colonel would be more sympathetic. Githinji smirked. This captain apparently hadn’t worked with second brigade before. Whatever the reason, the woman clearly didn’t want to read the message aloud. Githinji shook his head with clenched teeth. Begrudgingly, he dismounted his horse and stomped up to the captain. His disgust grew as he watched her hand tremble before him. This woman had no business in his army!
Githinji snatched the paper from the captain’s hand. He took off his helmet and held it out. The captain hesitantly grabbed the helmet, now fully transitioned to silver. Githinji shielded his eyes as he read the typed message. It was from the capital, and it was not good news. Githinji’s enemies must have spoken ill of him. Ekundayo himself wanted to speak with Githinji. Githinji enjoyed as much face-to-face time with the Corlain leader as possible, but Ekundayo’s tone in the letter indicated he was displeased. Githinji balled up the telegram and threw it onto the ground.
“Sir?” Zoya asked.
“It’s nothing,” Githinji lied.
The captain apparently chose this moment to find her courage. “Sir, I’m to escort you to our rear lines and wait for General Tosaca to arrive. He’ll take you back to Corla.”
Tosaca. So, that was who to blame. He and Tosaca had never seen eye-to-eye. The man was a coward. He cared more about preserving life than completing his objectives. Githinji was actually surprised. He thought the man had too little ambition to try to curry favor when Githinji wasn’t present to call him on his actions. Perhaps his absence was precisely why Tosaca had chosen this moment to make his move.
“You’re dismissed, Captain,” Githinji said.
“Sir? I was ordered—”
“I said you’re dismissed! Get your ass off my battlefield. I have an enemy to defeat!” Githinji bellowed.
The timid captain quickly spun on her heels. She dropped Githinji’s helmet in her haste to depart. Normally Githinji would have chastised her further, but her comical departure made him decide against it. She must have found her stamina in addition to her courage, because she ran faster than her wheezing had indicated possible.
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