Fire Walker

by Trudie Skies

Garr held the raider’s bow in his hands. He fired another shot as the Duslander charged him—and missed.

  The Duslander’s horse moved fast and was upon Garr in an instant, sword raised to cut him down. She was too far behind to stop it.

  But Garr held his nerve. His third and final arrow skimmed Emir’s horse. The beast panicked and reared, throwing Emir back. He leaped from the saddle and landed with practiced finesse.

  Mina didn’t give him a chance to recover his breath.

  Luna barreled into him and drove Emir down into the dust.

  The other horseman charged, but she was ready. She allowed his blade to swing through empty air as she sliced Hawk clean across his chest. It wasn’t close enough to draw blood, but it cut through his leather armor. She raised Hawk for another pass. The raider pulled back on his reins, took one look at his companions in the dirt, and galloped from the scene.

  Mina scanned the ground and found the fallen bowman lying face down, unmoving. Dead.

  She sheathed Hawk and dropped from her horse. Emir shuffled away from her in the dirt. Still alive.

  Good.

  Garr stomped his boot down by Emir’s head. “You seemed so eager for our company. Why leave now?”

  Emir reached for his belt.

  She drew Hawk once more and brought the tip of her blade to his throat. “Don’t move.”

  Emir’s arms fell to his side and his chest rose and fell in stolen breaths.

  She prodded his chin. “Who sent you and why?”

  He grimaced, but said nothing.

  “You might as well talk. Your friend abandoned you. That’s low, even for your kind.”

  Garr yanked Emir’s headscarf down, exposing his face.

  A familiar symbol had been burned into the center of his forehead—a three-forked flame. She’d seen that symbol before.

  This was the Duslander who'd handed her a purple bottle just before she died in a torrent of light and fire. The Duslander whose hands were around her neck, holding her down as she drowned in the turquoise waters of the Neu Inlet.

  “You’re—”

  His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Flames engulfed both of their hands and singed her sleeve. She yelled and tried to yank her arm free, but his grip tightened.

  A cruel smirk lit his face.

  Her inner embers reacted on instinct, mingling their fire together so it didn’t burn her. Is this how shields worked? By making the fire her own? Emir’s flames pulsed as if with his heartbeat, and she could feel her blood drain from her veins. That’s what Jonan had once described in their training—that maintaining a shield was to absorb another’s fire and allow it to burn through your own blood.

  Painful pins and needles raced from her fingers to her shoulder. Emir’s fire was overpowering hers.

  Garr grabbed her arm and pulled her back, breaking them apart.

  Emir leaped up and spun his fire in a dancer’s circle. His flame snapped like a whip, forcing Mina and Garr to dive apart and leaving a black trail across the dirt between them.

  “Now would be a good time to make your shield, Sword Dancer.”

  “Why can’t you do it?”

  “And burn him to a crisp? We need him alive.”

  She muttered a curse and shoved Hawk into its scabbard. Emir cast another line of fire. This time she knew what to do. She thrust her fists out and flame burst around her in a cocoon. Emir’s power collided with hers, forcing her back a step. She grunted and held her shield firm.

  Through the flames, she saw Garr raise his dagger and slowly creep toward Emir.

  Raw heat swelled against her shield and exploded outward, forcing Garr to retreat behind her. Pain splintered her head and sent waves of agony through her arms. She chewed her lip until it bled. Every nerve was screeching in protest.

  Emir was draining her blood at the cost of his own.

  Who was this man? A trained Fire Walker, obviously. Experienced in battle with sword and flame. Whenever she tried to press forward, his torrent of flame pulsed harder against her defenses and pinned her in place. He had her trapped; if she dropped her shield now, he’d burn her and Garr to cinders. But if she didn’t, she’d collapse from blood loss.

  Steel cut through her shield and sent a violent shudder through her chest.

  Her shield vanished in a puff of smoke, but so did Emir’s; Garr’s dagger was a molten lump at their enemy’s feet.

  Emir’s dark eyes blinked at her, as though trying to convey some message or threat, and then he ran for his horse. She stumbled after him, but it was too late. He swooped into his saddle and galloped away.

  “Gods damn it!” She dropped to her knees and gasped for breath. Her muscles cramped and she stretched to relieve them. Another few heartbeats of holding a shield would have ended her, but she’d done it—she’d finally managed to summon one.

  She glanced over to Garr, who was crouched over his unmoving horse. “Are you hurt?”

  His face was a mixture of annoyance and disgust. “Those bastards killed Dancer.” He rubbed a palm over his horse’s mane. “She deserved a better fate.”

  Mina scanned the horizon. The raiders—murderers—were long gone. And the body of their dead companion had crumpled to a pile of ash, thanks to Emir’s flames, which meant they’d left no Shadow for her to question.

  They were her rogue Fire Walkers, but why target her now? With his skill and power, Emir could have destroyed them both with a snap of his fingers, but he’d tried to weaken her instead, whittle her down and render her useless.

  Why did they want her alive?

  Part of her wanted to ride back to Myryn and demand answers from Hiram, but she’d wasted enough time. This could well be a distraction, a way of delaying her from returning to Solus. That’s where she needed to be. They’d attacked her twice. Would they risk it again?

  If it wasn’t for them, Alistar wouldn’t be laying up in Grenai. And her sore muscles wouldn’t be aching as though she’d wrestled a mountain lion. She unleashed her temper on Garr. “You could have helped! Are you so lacking in control you can’t even summon a shield? And you are completely worthless with a bow!”

  Garr simply shrugged. “Are you any better?”

  She leveled her harshest glare at him. She could count the number of times she’d fired an arrow on one hand.

  “I saved us, didn’t I?” he said. “In any case, we should leave before our attackers bring back friends. I’ll fit into your saddle if you squeeze onto my lap.”

  She recoiled. “You want to share my horse?”

  He smirked in that cocky way of his. “You expect me to walk? I know we’re called Fire Walkers, but I didn’t think the temple took that literally.”

  Now the gods were truly testing her. “Luna can’t carry two people.”

  “Good thing one of us is small enough to count as half.” He laughed at her glare, then started digging out supplies from his saddlebags.

  They gathered what they could, including the raider’s bow and leftover arrows should they face another attack upon the plains. She mounted Luna and shuffled as far forward as she dared without pinning the poor beast’s ears with her knees.

  Garr climbed behind and his groin pressed into her back.

  His arms reached around her sides and gripped Luna’s saddle. Mina was wedged in by solid muscle and heat.

  Gods.

  “Ready when you are, Sword Dancer.”

  “I’m only agreeing to this because of the circumstance.”

  “Of course. The circumstance.”

  The amusement in his voice made her teeth grind. “If you fall off, I’m leaving you behind.”

  “I wouldn’t expect any less.”

  Mina snapped Luna’s reins and silently cursed the gods—Sandarian, Hartnord, and Neu Bosan gods alike—for bringing fools into her life.

  40

  AN UNWELCOME RETURN

  Many eyes blinked in the dark. Sandarian eyes. The
ir heads were shaved bare, but where their skin should have been inked with red markings, there were only scars. Lashings. And a single brand had been burned into each forehead in the shape of a three-forked flame. I knew that symbol. Every Lunei did.

  The sigil of House Rhaesbond.

  No shackles bound them, yet they hadn’t summoned their flame to escape their wooden cage. Each was destined to spend their blood in servitude of a Bosan master. They were broken.

  I ducked out of the wagon and turned to my Bosan companion. “What did they do to them?”

  Her emerald eyes glossed over. “Whatever they wanted. They’re slaves, Tira.”

  No. They were slaves no longer. My companion had explained how they were used: in homes to cook, clean, and warm baths; in factories and ships to power their odd steam contraptions; as weapons to destroy their enemies; and some were even bred, so she said. I believed every word. It was worse than what Housemen did to them. Much worse.

  “We take them to Arlent.” Talin would understand the necessity to protect them. Jonan certainly would. And Iman would help clothe and feed them. If not, then what was the point of building a House?

  “If the Three-Pointed Star learns we’re hiding their slaves—”

  “They’ll have to explain to King Khaled why they have slaves in the first place. Do you think our alliance would survive if the Housemen knew your people were stealing Sandarians with blood fire?”

  My Bosan friend shuddered and rubbed the three silver stars above her left eyebrow. “They’re not my people. Not anymore.”

  “We’re here, Sword Dancer.”

  Mina awoke to the rhythmic sway of Luna’s trot beneath her. She sat up in her saddle and wiped drool from her mouth. “How long was I asleep?”

  “Not sure. You purred like a fox.” Garr leaned close and his warm breath tickled her neck. “I see where your pet learned it.”

  Heat burned under her skin. She’d never before suffered the indignity of falling asleep in her own gods-damn saddle, but her battle with Emir had left her drained. In the nine days since, they’d driven Luna with all possible haste across roadless fields until deep in the night, sleeping only minimally and one at a time, while the other kept watch for an ambush. Truly resting and restoring her body had been an impossibility.

  Emir. He’d been branded with the same mark as the slaves in Tira’s memory—Neu Bosan slaves, which meant Garr had been right all along about how her kingdom’s supposed ally treated her people. And Emir served as one of those slaves. But why attack other Fire Walkers? For revenge? She needed to return to Jonan and ask him about the brand—and what connection Neu Bosa held to House Rhaesbond.

  She twisted in her saddle and scowled up at Garr. “You should have woken me.”

  “Worried I’d dump you in the river and steal your horse?”

  “Yes. How did you even know which direction to go?”

  “Easy. I headed for that thing.” He pointed ahead.

  Bright fire burned far off on the horizon, but it wasn’t Rahn—rather the stone depiction of him atop Bloodstone Keep. The real Rahn burned behind her, as though he watched over Alistar and Raj where she could not.

  The muddied path was trampled by boots and hooves and wagon wheels. They rode past a whole legion of Darasi soldiers heading west from Solus to the Ruby Coast, along with groups bearing the black banner of House Fellbond, the yellow of House Nasbond, and more. The march had begun without her. The whole of Sandair moved into position for war.

  Lune’s Shadow was less than twelve weeks away. Barely enough time to begin a war, much less end one.

  Night had fallen by the time Mina and Garr crossed the bridge into Solus. They fought against lines of men and wagons pouring out of the city. Guardsmen checked every visitor entering. Those the guards couldn’t verify were turned away.

  They blocked her before she could pass. “Only men with a House seal are permitted entry.”

  “You’re only letting Housemen inside?”

  “Housemen or those with a valid seal.”

  “So, they close their gates on any street rats who need sanctuary,” Garr whispered in her ear.

  “This is the largest city in Sandair. Surely you have room?”

  “Our orders come from the Sword of Solus,” the guard grunted. “Turn back and return from where you came. There’s no beds for the likes of you.”

  She yanked at her dirtied sahn. “I’m Lady Tamina of House Arlbond, you fool.”

  The guard snorted. “And I’m Prince Wulfhart.”

  “You look like a street rat,” Garr whispered. “Take off your shirt and show them your colors, Sword Dancer.”

  She pinched his thigh and he hissed a laugh behind her. “I’m sure the Sword of Solus would be pleased to know his men prevented the High Priestess of Rahn from entering the city.”

  A hush rippled through the crowd. The men parted and a figure dressed in the golden scale armor of the royal guard approached.

  Prince Rais.

  He patted the arm of the guardsman. “It’s quite all right. I’ll escort Lady Arlbond.”

  The Prince was the last person she’d expected to see. She wanted to race up the hill to Talin, but duty came first, she supposed. She dropped from her horse and her knees buckled. Prince Rais caught her arm before she could fall.

  She forced an awkward smile and gestured for Garr to dismount. He followed, but the guards blocked his entrance.

  “He’s a Fire Walker. He’s with me.”

  Prince Rais gave her an annoyed look but nodded, and the guards allowed Garr through. Once away from the tangled knot of travelers at the gate, Prince Rais guided her into the doorway of a closed trading post out of earshot from any wandering street rats. Garr included.

  “My Prince, it’s good to see—”

  “Who is he?” The Prince shot a scathing look at Garr. “Why were you sharing a saddle?”

  “He’s a Fire Walker, my Prince. We were attacked by raiders, his horse was killed—”

  “Why were you travelling alone with a man?” Prince Rais towered over her with fire in his amber eye. When had he grown so tall?

  “Lord Salasar insisted I travel with a guard. I took my sorran and Raj—”

  “You travelled with three men?”

  She chewed her tongue. Why couldn’t the raiders have murdered her in Gaisland?

  Garr swaggered over with a smirk that meant trouble. “It was a tight squeeze fitting into the one tiny tent, but we managed.”

  “You shared a tent?” Prince Rais spluttered.

  What was that fool thinking? Offending the Bright Solara would only result in losing his head. “Forgive my acolyte. He has trouble leashing his tongue, but I’ll recommend the Sword of Solus cut it out.”

  Her words jarred a memory from her encounter with the Shadow in Gaisland.

  Emir had been in that vision. And the smuggler had mentioned something about him not having a tongue… That was why Emir didn’t speak to her. He couldn’t.

  She shoved Luna’s reins into Garr’s hands. “Take her to the stables and return to the temple.”

  He flourished a bow. “Your will is mine, High Priestess.”

  Prince Rais’s hardened stare followed Garr every step. She almost expected the Ash Maker to burst into flames.

  “You, uh, look different, my Prince.” Indeed, he stood out in his golden armor.

  “Lord Talin suggested I join the guard and help prepare Solus’s defense. He also informed me of your return, which is why I saw fit to welcome you.” The anger slipped from his face, though there was a restrained tightness in his voice. “I’ll speak with Lord Salasar myself on what company he allows you to keep. Such men as that are beneath you.”

  She kept her polite smile neutral. She didn’t need some prince, the Sword of Solus, or anyone else to dictate what company she kept. Garr was many things: Ash Maker, street rat, utter fool, terrible singer, but he was also—

&
nbsp; “Have I offended you, Lady Arlbond?”

  “My Prince?”

  “We’ve not spoken since my mother’s lurrite, and then you rode all the way to Gaisland without saying goodbye. Are you avoiding me?”

  In truth, she hadn’t thought about Prince Rais once since she left for Gaisland. “Not avoiding you, my Prince. But serving the temple has taken my time.”

  “You couldn’t spare a moment to tell me? I thought we were friends.”

  “War is coming, my Prince. The time for frivolities is past.” She moved to join the crowd.

  He took her hand without asking, forcing her to a stop. “No. The time for frivolities is now, before the Hartnords kill us all. I’ve missed you.” He squeezed her hand. “Do you still wear the ruby I gave you? It belonged to my mother.”

  His mother? Oh gods. She’d given the Queen’s necklace to Samira to sell. “I, uh, I left it in the temple for safe keeping. It would have been dangerous travelling with such a precious item.”

  “It would mean much to me if you wore it. I want the whole of Solus to see the High Priestess has my favor.”

  His favor, and what else? “I will. But I must return back to the temple, my Prince. The Fire Walkers need me.”

  “Will you come see me before you ride for your next adventure?”

  This was more the Prince Rais she knew. “I swear it.”

  He lifted her hand to his lips and planted a soft kiss on her knuckles. “Then I await your tales eagerly.”

  She slid from his grasp and strode awkwardly for the temple.

  Her heart thumped in her chest and she leaned against a wall to stop the dizzying flutter in her stomach.

  The Prince had kissed her, albeit in the awkward way that noble boys courted noble girls—though if Iman were here, she’d waggle her finger and lecture Mina on what it meant.

  Gods.

  Garr stood waiting at the foot of the hill.

  She jabbed a finger into his ribs. “That was Prince Rais, you fool.”

  Garr rubbed his chest. “Oh, he’s a prince? I would never have guessed by the way he spoke of you like you’re his property. Is he aware of your vows?”