The golorak roared again, nearly startling her off the ledge. She looked back to see the beast snap at Larris’s heels. With its flat face and virtual absence of neck, the golorak had no hope of reaching the young man. A wave of relief passed through Shanis as the creature turned back into the tunnel. The feeling was short lived, as the golorak thrust its hindquarters out of the tunnel, and whipped its thick, muscular tail at Larris.

It struck the rock with a violent slap, spraying shards of rock over Shanis and Larris. Slivers of rock cut her face and hands. The golorak bellowed, and struck again, and Shanis screamed and turned her head as another wave of sharp stone sliced into the back of her neck.

She tore forward across the ledge, thinking of nothing except getting away. She took reckless chances, actually lifting her feet off the ledge to take longer strides, and letting go of the handholds so she could reach farther forward. But no matter how fast she moved, she felt as if she were standing still. She imagined the ledge tilting upward, sliding her back into the golorak’s gaping maw.

Praise for The Silver Serpent

“As an author who has a clear prediliction for strong female protagonists I found myself very much taken with David Debord’s Shanis and her story. He has eminently succeeded in achieving that all-too-rare accomplishment: a believable heroine–and a believable fantasy heroine, at that–by a male author. Shanis can be–and probably will be–placed on the same plane as such classic heroines of heroic fantasy as Robert Howard’s Belit and Red Sonja, C.L. Moore’s Jirel of Joiry or Leigh Brackett’s Ciaran. “The Silver Serpent” is a superb story told believably and unpretensiously by a superb new fantasy author.”

Ron Miller - Nebula Award-Winning Author and Illustrator The Grand Tour, Bradamant

”David Debord is the bold, new voice in epic fantasy.”

Sherry Thompson- Author of Seabird

The Absent Gods

by David Debord

The Silver Serpent

Keeper of the Mists*

*forthcoming

The Silver Serpent

By David Wood

Book One of The Absent Gods

Gryphonwood Press

545 Rosewood Trail, Grayson, GA 30017-1261

THE SILVER SERPENT. Copyright 2007 by David Debord

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American copyright conventions.

Published by Gryphonwood Press

www.gryphonwoodpress.com

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons is entirely coincidental.

ISBN 13:

978-0-97957381-1

ISBN 10:

09795738-1-5

Library of Congress Control Number:

2007940192

Printed in the United States of America

First printing: November, 2007

For my daughters,

Kyla Renee and Erin Elizabeth,

with pride and love.

Chapter 1| Stuck

The branch spun as it rode the river. It shot through a stretch of white water, bouncing in the froth. How far would it go? To the sea? No. It lodged against a rock. Held fast by the current, the stick seemed to strain against the immovable object, trying to break free, but to no avail. Likely, it would remain there until it became waterlogged, then sink to the bottom, forever mired beneath the crystalline depths, in plain view of the world around it, but stuck.

“Just like life. You dream about what lies ahead, and then something grabs you. For the rest of your life you’re stuck.” Shanis swatted at an insect hovering at her brow, and cursed when she succeeded only in slapping herself in the face.

“Are you all right?”

The voice took her by surprise. She whipped her head around, annoyed that she had not heard anyone approaching.

“I’ve been looking for you,” the young man said. “Aren’t you coming to the ceremony?”

“Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” She hefted a stone and hurled it into the river. “Stand by smiling like a good girl while you boys are told you are now men. What possible reason could I have to watch that?”

“Because you’re my best friend?” he asked, laying a hand on her shoulder and turning her to the path that led back to town. “Because you’re happy for me? Because you cannot bear to be away from me for more than a few moment’s time? Because you admire my unsurpassed swordsmanship?”

“Nice try, Hierm.” She gave him a shove that sent him stumbling into the thick bole of a chanbor tree. “You can’t handle me. You need someone shorter and weaker than you.”

“You are not taller than me,” he said. “And you’re not stronger than me, either.” He saw the expression on her face and raised his hands in a defensive pose. “We are of even height and strength. Fair enough?”

“If that is what you need to believe, so be it.” She had inherited her father’s height, and at least some of his breadth. She was taller than most of the men in Galsbur, and as strong as many of the young men, making her the subject of stares and whispers among the other girls in town. “Just don’t try to claim you’re better with the sword.”

“So that’s what’s bothering you,” he said, grinning. “You think you are bigger, stronger and better than everyone else, yet we are the ones who are going to be recognized as men, while you are still a girl. Is that what you want? A sixteenth nameday ceremony, so you don’t have to wait for your wedding before you’re considered a woman?”

“You are truly a stone head sometimes,” she said. She could not believe that he didn’t understand.

“I’m not saying I’m better than everyone else. What bothers me is that some of you young men will be chosen as apprentices. One of you in particular.” Stopping in the middle of the path, she folded her arms across her chest and turned to face him, tapping her foot on the hard-packed earth.

Shafts of slanting morning sunlight filtered through the trees and shone in his pale blond hair, making him appear to glow as realization dawned on his face.

“Master Yurg has never chosen an apprentice,” he said. “No one knows why Galsbur even has a swordmaster. Ham Lurel might choose Oskar, but only because Oskar is strong enough to heft a hammer. I shudder to think what kind of damage the oaf would do at a forge.”

Shanis could not help but smile at the thought of the big, bookish Oskar trying to shape iron.

“Truly, I think you need not worry. Most likely, I will end up working for my father. Laman is already learning to run the business, so I suppose I will guard the wagons or something equally unimportant. At least it will be a good use of my sword.” His sheepish smile and the twinkle in his blue-gray eyes belied his sincerity.

“You know Yurg is going to choose you,” she said, resuming their trek through the cool, shady forest. “He works with you almost every day.” She omitted the fact that the swordmaster also included her in these lessons. Her father had raised her like a boy, and arranged at an early age for Master Yurg to instruct her in weaponry. But now that she was approaching marriageable age, it felt like everyone expected her to suddenly become something she was not.

“Shanis, I know how you feel…”

“No, you don’t. You are a man, so you could not possibly know how I feel. What’s more, you are going to be the swordmaster’s apprentice. Your father could afford to send you to the academy if he wanted. In the meantime, I’m stuck here waiting for some farmer to make me his bride. And you want me to stand by and pretend to be happy while you take what should be mine?” There, she had said it, and it sounded every bit as selfish as she feared it would, but it was true nonetheless.

“Why shouldn’t he choose me?” Hierm’s voice was tinged with hurt and a touch of defensiveness. “It has nothing to do with my father being firstman. He disapproves of my learning the sword, and only tolerates it because I’m the younger son. But as far as the other youth my age, I am the best swordsman in Galsbur, and if Master Yurg wants to choose me as his apprentice, then that is precisely what he should do.

“You are the best of the young men in Galsbur,” she said, her implied meaning clear.

“Is that a challenge?” Hierm asked, neither looking at her nor breaking stride. “Because if it is, there is still time before the ceremony for me to correct your misconception.”

“I’ll make you a wager,” Shanis replied, glancing down at the man’s tunic and hose she wore in part for comfort and in part because it offended most of the townspeople. “The loser wears a dress to the ceremony.”

“Are you mad?” Hierm’s eyes were wide with surprise, and he missed a step. “My father would…”

“So you admit that I’ll win?” She was taking a reckless chance here. Master Yurg seldom let them practice against one another, but they had squared off with makeshift wooden swords enough to know that they were almost evenly matched, though Shanis believed herself to be the more skilled, if only by an eyelash.

“Fine,” Hierm said through gritted teeth. “My mother says you need to learn a touch of humility.” He clammed up, apparently having said more than he intended.

“Your mother,” Shanis said, envisioning Mistress Faun Van Derin’s pinched features and severe expression, “would have me in skirts, learning to dance. Maybe she’ll teach you once she sees how lovely you look in a dress.”

Shanis swept the weighted wooden practice sword in a vicious arc, all the time scowling at Hierm, who pointedly ignored her while shrugging on his padded leather vest. It was a good thing that no one was home at Master Yurg’s house. He would not approve, but Shanis had a need to release the frustration boiling within her. Hierm was, perhaps unfairly, the focal point, but he was taking what should rightly be hers. Being born female was not something that should be punished.

“You know how this is done,” she said. “Three points or a killing blow. And you may not leave the circle.

Are you ready?”

“Let’s get on with it,” Hierm said, glancing at the sun with narrowed eyes. “My father will have my hide if I am late.”

They faced one another in the center of the circle she had scratched on the ground. Hierm held his practice sword motionless before him in a two-handed grip. Shanis’ hold on her weapon was relaxed, her anger held barely in check beneath an icy calm.

“Begin!” she said.

Hierm leapt forward with an overhead blow. She parried his stroke, the loud clack of solid wood ringing in her ears. She felt the vibration all the way down to her elbow, and relished it. She never felt more complete than when she held a sword. It brought back distant memories of her father teaching her the basics of swordplay with branches almost too heavy for her little arms. She had always felt she was meant to wield a sword.

She countered Hierm’s attack with a waist-high slash. There would be no surprises. Years of training together had revealed their strengths and weaknesses. Hierm continued his furious offensive, seeking to keep her off balance. Shanis took a different tack, utilizing forms which made use of her agility. She warded off Hierm’s blows with relative ease, waiting for him to make a mistake.

The error came quickly. Hierm reeled off a series of blows that she immediately recognized would culminate with a powerful upward slash to her midsection. She risked a quick thrust at his throat. A bob of the head was all that he needed to avoid the half-hearted attack, but his footwork was now off. Something, most likely stubbornness knowing Hierm, led him to complete the attack. Or, rather, to try and complete it, because when he spun to deliver the final blow, Shanis scored with a deft thrust to the midsection.

“Point,” she shouted, stepping back and waiting for Hierm to acknowledge the blow.

A chorus of cheers drew their attention to a cluster of children who had stumbled across their makeshift dueling ground in the woods behind Yurg’s house. The little girls were taking great pleasure in Shanis’ success, while the boys urged Hierm on.

They returned to their places and resumed their match. This time Shanis took the offensive with quick, short strokes that Hierm was hard-pressed to ward off. She forced him to give ground, knowing that if she drove him from the circle, she would be the winner. She took a nasty swipe at his head. He ducked underneath the stroke and circled to his right, trying to gain maneuvering room.

Shanis’ concentration slipped for a moment as she savored the way Hierm’s face reddened at the taunts from the girls who watched them. Was he thinking about what his father would say, or was he just angry at the thought of being whipped by a girl?

Hierm gritted his teeth, growled and barreled forward. He reeled off three vicious swings, lowered his head and threw his shoulder into her chest, knocking her backward. She pretended to stumble. Thinking he had the advantage, Hierm pressed the attack. Shanis dove forward, rolling under his down stroke and inside his guard.

She sprang to her feet with the point of her sword at his throat.

“Yield.” All trace of anger was gone from her voice. Hierm had no choice. He let his wooden sword clatter to the ground and stared at her, his eyes dull and his face without expression. “Say it,” she urged.

“The ice take you if I’ll ever yield to you,” he muttered. “I have to go.” He stalked away, ignoring the children who whispered and laughed as he passed by. He stripped off his leather vest and tossed it on the ground.

She immediately felt remorse. What had changed, save the fact that her best friend was now angry with her?

No one would care that she had beaten him with wooden swords. She was still a young woman, and in Galsbur that counted for very little. Small hands tugged at her tunic, and she looked down at the beaming faces looking up at her in adoration.

“Will you teach me to do that?” A little girl with brown eyes and a freckled face asked.

“Perhaps another time,” Shanis said. “I really have to go. Detaching herself from the children as gently as she could, she gathered the swords and Hierm’s vest and hastened away.

She returned the items to Master Yurg’s barn and caught up with Hierm at the edge of the town green. A crowd had gathered around the ancient oak in the center of the grassy oval. Before she could apologize, Mistress Faun emerged from the throng, followed by Lord Hiram.

“What have you been at?” Faun scolded her son. “You are a mess. Your clothes are dirty and you are all sweaty.” She smoothed his hair and tried to straighten his clothing, but soon surrendered with an exasperated sigh. She glared at Shanis with cold eyes, making it clear she knew to whom she should affix blame.

“Everyone has been waiting for you,” Lord Hiram said. Hierm lacked his father’s angular body, long chin and hooked nose, but Hiram’s blue-gray eyes, so like a stormy sky, were the twin of his son’s. “Let us go before you embarrass me further.” Hierm shot her an unreadable glance as he followed his parents.

Shanis let them get well ahead of her before making her way over to the crowd ringing the tree. She spotted Mistress Anna, Master Yurg’s wife, and shouldered through the throng to stand beside her. The white-haired woman greeted her with a kind smile. She wore a simple blue dress, and her snowy hair pulled up in a bun.

Despite her age, the beauty she had once been was evident in her high forehead and delicate cheekbones. She was Shanis’ image of nobility; not Mistress Faun with her expensive clothes and jewels.

“They are starting, child,” Anna whispered, laying her hand on Shanis’ shoulder. Shanis’ mother had died when Shanis was only a baby, and Mistress Anna had been, if not a mother to her, a grandmother. She adored the kindly woman, though Master Yurg remained a stolid, distant figure.

A hush drew over the crowd like a thick blanket. Lord Hiram had donned his sign of office: seven cords of different colors braided into a rope worn draped around the back of his neck and down his chest like a stole. Each color symbolized one of the gods of Gameryah. Unlike most nations, Galdora did not adhere to a single god, but worshiped all seven. He stood in front of a fabric-draped table in the shade of the ancient tree.

The items needed for the ceremony lined the edge.

Shanis’ eyes flitted to the carvings in the oak. They had fascinated her for as long as she could remember.

Some of the primitive images were obvious: The sun symbol for Rantor, the whirlwind for Vesala. All the gods were represented, but some of the icons defied interpretation. No one talked much about it, but Shanis wondered how this tree could be old enough to be adorned with symbols older than memory.

At Hiram’s signal, the young men came forward to kneel before him. Four youths from the town and surrounding area had reached their sixteenth summer: Hierm, Oskar Clehn, Natin Marwel and one she did not recognize. The annual ceremony drew families from remote parts of the countryside; families whom the townspeople would not otherwise see, save at harvest time and the occasional Seventhday market.

“We gather to recognize and honor the passage from boy to man,” Lord Hiram said. “May the gods look with favor upon us gathered here, and those who submit themselves this day.” He turned his attention to those who knelt before him. “Recite with me the Vow of Manhood.”

Despite her frustrations, Shanis could not help but feel a tremor of excitement as the young men recited the ritual vow in unison.

“Upon my honor and in the sight of the gods, I pledge to uphold the obligations of manhood. I will protect and provide for myself and mine through the strength of my hand and the fruits of my labor. My words and deeds will be worthy of honor and respect. This is my vow.”

Lord Hiram took a stone disc and one-by-one touched it to each young man’s forehead, and said the ritual words. “May Kordlak grant you strength, wisdom and courage.” He repeated the ritual with two more objects; a golden disc inscribed with a stylized sun image for Rantor and an alabaster stone carved in the shape of the moon for Lunmar. He used an eagle feather to fan each young man’s forehead in honor of Vesala the wind goddess, and anointed them with earth and water for Dagdar and Boana respectively. For the fire god Arscla he lit a bowl of lamp oil and carried it down the line, with each youth passing his hand through the flame. Each time, Hiram repeated the ritual words, changing only the name of the god or goddess.

When the ritual was finished, Hiram ordered the group to stand and face the crowd. One by one, he introduced them. He saved Hierm for last, placing a hand on his younger son’s shoulder and saying, “I present to you Hierm Van Derin, this day a man.” His smile looked odd on his usually stolid face.

The ceremony was not over, though. The town council, comprised primarily of tradesmen, formed a line behind the table. There was little suspense in this part of the ceremony. Most of the townspeople’s needs were supplied through Lord Hiram. The town mercer, he bought and hauled produce to market, and brought in and sold most of the items people needed. Thus, there was little call for many of the craftsmen and tradesmen a larger town would have. Consequently, there was little need for apprentices, but it was a part of the annual rite nonetheless.

“Master Ralman,” he addressed the town thatcher, “do you take an apprentice?”

“I do not,” the small, wiry man replied. The question was posed to each man. Oskar, notoriously lazy, relaxed visibly when Ham Lurel declined to take an apprentice. Master Yurg was last.

“Master Yurg,” Hiram’s voice had an odd tone, “do you take an apprentice?”

Shanis bit her lip. A part of her, albeit a very small part, wanted to be happy for Hierm, but she could not.

Now she was determined not to let her disappointment show. That was the best she could offer him today.

She looked at Hierm, who was making a point not to meet her eye, and then to Master Yurg, who was slow to answer.

“I do not,” he finally said, twisting his lips into a tight frown beneath his thick, white moustache. He folded his arms across his chest and stared at Lord Hiram with a defiant expression on his face.

Shanis sucked in her breath. Mistress Anna made a puzzled sound and squeezed Shanis’ shoulder as Yurg made his announcement.

Hiram, for his part, was unfazed. He returned his attention to the assembled. “Let us share words of congratulations with these, the newest men of our community.” He stepped back as well-wishers converged on the young men.

Shanis lost sight of Hierm in the crowd. She was uncertain as to whether or not he would want to see her, so she held back. Mistress Anna excused herself and left Shanis standing alone among the milling throng. Her head was abuzz with possibilities. What did it mean that Master Yurg was not taking Hierm as an apprentice?

Had Lord Hiram put a stop to it? She could easily imagine Hierm’s father doing that very thing.

She felt a strong hand take her by the shoulder and turn her about. Master Yurg’s cold stare withered her.

Though he was a hair shorter than her, he always seemed to be looking down at her.

“Are you pleased with yourself?” His deep, raspy voice resonated with anger. His moustache and bushy eyebrows seemed even whiter against his reddened face.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, painfully aware of the timidity in her voice. It galled her the way Yurg could still make her feel like a small child. She had no reservations about shouting, stamping her feet and even breaking things to get what she wanted from her father. Yurg was, for some reason, a different story.

“You and my other pupil,” his lips twisted as if the word was souring in his mouth, “held a duel.” He pointed a scarred finger at her. “Without my consent and without my supervision. I would know why.”

She hung her head and scuffed the toe of her boot against the soft turf, kicking up a clump of grass. The conversations around them quieted as people took notice of the exchange.

“Hierm and I were talking. Well, we were arguing,” the right words would not come. “I couldn’t abide the things he said to me. He thinks himself the better swordsman. I wanted to show him he was wrong. I was so angry…”

Her words hung in silence between them. She looked up at Yurg, who was staring daggers at her. The creases at the corners of his eyes deepened. When he finally answered, his voice was as cold as a midwinter gale.

“He made you angry? If an opponent can make you angry, he can kill you just as easily. For all the gifts you have with the blade, you can not grasp that most simple concept.”

She caught sight of Mistress Faun approaching. “Must we talk about this right here? Right now?”

“We are not talking about anything. You are the student and I am the teacher. I am pointing out a mistake that you made.” Yurg’s glare challenged her to defy him. “I will not have a pupil who chooses not to meet my expectations.”

“Is that why you did not take Hierm as an apprentice?” Shanis was horrorstruck by the sudden thought, but she had to ask. “Master Yurg, please don’t hold him responsible for what I goaded him into doing.”

“Hierm is a man now, and responsible for the choices he makes. As are you. In any case, it is not the place of the student to question the master. Is that clear?”

“What is unclear to me,” Shanis said in a harsh whisper, “is why you ever took me as a student in the first place.” The familiar anger enveloped her like a mother’s arms, and her courage rose. “You will not take me as an apprentice because I am a girl. For as long as I can remember, I have wanted nothing more than to be a swordsman.” She forced a cynical laugh. “Do you hear me? A swords man! None of it has been to any purpose!”

“It has been of more purpose than you know,” Yurg whispered, taking her by the shoulders and pulling her close. “You will keep a civil tongue, do you hear?”

“Is this how you train your pupils, Master Yurg?” Mistress Faun’s words dripped with contempt as she glided up next to Yurg. “I always said that such a long-legged girl should be taught to dance. Truly a shame.”

“Dance?” Her temper had finally gotten the better of her. She rounded on Mistress Faun, her fists clenched. “Lady, I’ll teach you to dance!”

White light flashed across Shanis’ vision. Her cheek stung where Yurg struck her. She shook her head to clear the ringing in her ears, and looked at Yurg through teary eyes.

“I told you to keep a civil tongue,” he said, still in that infuriatingly calm, cold voice. “You go to my house right now. Anna and I will be along soon, and we will talk about respect for your elders.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said, tears streaming down her face. Yurg had slapped her once before, years ago, for taking a similar tone with him. But to do it here, today, in front of everyone. To treat her like a child while her friends were named as men… It was too much. “I’m leaving this town forever.” She turned on her heel and dashed away, Yurg’s calls ringing in her ears.

Chapter 2|Breaking

“Boy! Where have you gone?” Mistress Faun’s footfalls echoed in the narrow stairwell. “Answer me, Boy!”

“So much for the manhood ceremony,” Oskar mumbled, stashing the book under a pile of rags and looking about for something to help him appear industrious. The morning ritual now felt like a distant memory, and he was back to ordinary life. “I’m up here, Missus!”

“What are you doing up here, young oaf? Oh, never mind. I have something for you.” Faun proffered a small cloth bundle. “Scraps of meat,” she said. “I was going to give them to the dogs, but I though your family might like to have them instead.”

A tall, slender woman, one needn’t look twice at Faun Van Derin to know where Hierm had gotten his golden locks, and most of his other features. Only her face kept Mistress Faun from being considered beautiful. Not that hers was an ugly face. Rather, it was severe. Her features appeared to have been carved in granite. Her eyes were not the deep blue of Hierm’s, but the pale, icy blue of a harsh winter morning. At any rate, she was striking.

He forced a grin and accepted the greasy bundle. Faun knew very well that his family was not poor, yet she took great pleasure in lording over him, even going so far as to refer to him as “the poor boy,” with emphasis on “poor.” Once she had even walked him outside to show him to a visitor from Archstone, and boast of her generosity in providing a job for him.

He ignored her as always. It was not for the meager wages that he worked in the Van Derin’s warehouse. It was the books. Lord Hiram owned three books, which was, as far as Oskar knew, three more than anyone else in Galsbur. They were ancient, musty-smelling tomes with delicate brown pages and cracked leather covers. He loved the feel of them in his hands, and the odor of the old pages. The fading text, painstakingly copied by some nameless scholar, held stories that set his imagination awhirl. Hiram’s interest in books was limited strictly to possessing them. Oskar had never seen the man so much as look at one. Consequently, he had not yet noticed when Oskar slipped one of the battered tomes from the office and secreted himself in this upstairs room, poring over the stories and histories, copying maps and interesting passages on whatever scraps of paper he could scavenge.

“Thank you, Missus. Most kind of you.” Clutching the bag to his chest like it was the greased pig at Arskhain, he aped a foolish grin, hoping she would go away. His hope was in vain.

“Why are you up here?” Faun scanned the room through narrow eyes, delicate hands on rounded hips. “You should be down in the warehouse unloading wagons.”

“No wagons as yet,” he replied. “I was just looking to see if there was something up here I could clean or organize. Don’t want the Master to send me home, you know.”

“Well aren’t we the industrious one?” Her voice had a patronizing tone that would have been lost on Oskar had he been half as slow-minded as she thought him. Her gaze fell on the pile of rags. “Hand me those old bits of cloth. I’ll have them washed and your mother can make herself a dress from them.”

“No thank you, Missus,” he said, desperately trying to think of a reason not to pick up the bundle. “Mother has dresses.”

“For your sisters then,” she said. Her eyes locked with his, and for a moment he thought she was angry. But then she laughed, or at least he thought it was a laugh. It sounded more like dead corn husks rattling in the breeze.

“You need not worry that it will be taken from your pay,” she said. “No, you poor boy. This is a gift from someone fortunate,” she touched her chest, “to someone unfortunate.” A long fingernail pointed between his eyes. “Do you understand?” She asked the question in a loud, flat voice, as if he were hard of hearing.

His face reddened. “Yes Missus,” he said, his voice low. What was he going to do? “I’ll bring them along in just a moment.”

“Oh, just stop,” she said, her voice exasperated. “I’ll get them myself.” Before he could protest, she glided past him and retrieved the bundle. Her eyes widened when she found the book.

“This is one of the Master’s books. What are you doing with it?” Her icy tone froze his marrow. He could do nothing but stare at the floor. At the very least, this would be the end of his employment with Van Derin and Sons. He held his breath, waiting for the explosion. Strangely, Faun’s face registered surprise, then comprehension.

“You wanted to learn to read, you poor fool.” She threw her head back and laughed. “Even if you could learn to read, you could never read this.” Again she laughed. “Do you know what this is? Of course you do not. This is Patrin’s Conquest! It’s all maps and military history.”

One by one, Oskar tensed and relaxed each muscle of his body: first his shoulders, then his back, his hips.

Anything to hold his emotions in check. The laughter continued unabated. He knew what was in the book: the tales of kingdoms conquered and riches plundered, and the quest for the lost city of Murantha. He had spent most of the morning copying the maps onto scraps of paper using a bit of charcoal. He was no idiot.

Mistress Van Derin had regained some degree of composure.

“You poor young fool,” she crooned, reaching up to stroke his cheek as if he were a favorite pet. “You just didn’t know any better, but not to worry. We shan’t tell the Master. Just you keep yourself out of his office.

Am I understood?”

Even if he had wanted to answer, he could not. Hot anger clamped the muscles of his jaws closed. He simply nodded.

“Very well. Don’t worry too much, Boy. Someone of your station has no need of reading.” She whisked away, leaving him to watch her graceful retreat.

His anger dissolved when he realized how close he had come to being head down in the manure pile, as his gran was fond of saying. Twisting his mouth into a self-deprecating smile, he contented himself with admiring Faun’s backside as she descended the stairs. She certainly was not shaped like a woman of nearly forty summers. Cursing himself, he followed her down the stairs.

Faun left him in the warehouse with an admonition to stay out of further mischief until a wagon arrived.

When he was certain she was gone, he headed to the back corner where he had rearranged some old crates to make a hiding place. His breadth of shoulder and ample waist made it a tight squeeze, but it was a comfortable spot to while away his time, and he could be on his feet at the first sound of someone entering the building.

Cracks in the wall filtered in adequate light for reading. He reached into his cloak and fished out the crude map he had copied the day before. He held it in a dusty, golden beam and whispered the names that conjured up fantastic images in his mind.

“Halvala, Riza, Cardith, the Claws…” He longed to see these places that existed for him only in faded ink and weathered paper. Sometimes he thought himself the only one in Galsbur who knew there was a world beyond their quiet village.

A slamming door snatched him from his daydream.

“ How could you do it?” He was seated against the wall of Lord Hiram’s office, and Hierm’s voice came through clearly. “You know how much I want…”

“ Settle yourself.” Lord Hiram sounded agitated. “I have my very good reasons. You are a boy no longer.”

“Then let me make my own choice, Father! Stop controlling me. Have you forgotten that this very morning you declared me a man?”

Oskar smiled. It seemed that neither Van Derin put much stock in the manhood ceremony. He felt only a slight tinge of guilt at eavesdropping. Life in Galsbur was too boring to pass up something as interesting as a quarrel within its leading family.

“A ceremony does not make you a man any more than that fool sword makes you a blademaster. You will be a man when you begin acting like one. And while we are on the subject, I have spoken to…”

“No, Father! I won’t hear it. No betrothal. No job in the warehouse. I want to learn the sword. Just because I do not choose your life does not make me less of a man.”

The bang he heard was most likely Hiram’s fist on his desk.

“What makes you believe you can apprentice the swordmaster when you cannot even best a girl? Oh yes, I have heard about your little duel, as has most everyone else in town. A fine show indeed. When I went to see your precious Master Yurg yesterday, I believed I would have to persuade him with gold, but it turns out he had already decided not to take you on. What say you to that?”

Oskar winced. If Hiram was telling the truth, that bit of news would cut Hierm to the quick. He did not hear the young man’s reply because a wagoneer, a paunchy fellow with a sour face and gray-streaked brown hair, chose that very moment to pull his wagon into the warehouse. With a sigh, he hauled himself to his feet.

Some day he would escape from all of this.

Shanis sat alone. A single candle cast long shadows across her sparsely furnished room. She stared at nothing, her lips mouthing curses at unseen recipients. A deep growl in the pit of her stomach interrupted the silence.

The aroma of roast venison still hung in the air, but she was not about to eat. Perhaps after Papa went to bed.

Rising from her chair, she moved the three steps across the room to her bed, where her belongings lay in a heap. Twice already, she had packed everything, once even going so far as to don her travel cloak, and twice she had changed her mind. Now the urge rose anew.

Her sword hung in its scabbard on a post at the foot of the bed. She drew the blade with loving care and held it aloft, watching the candlelight waver on its shiny surface.

“Do you ever put that thing down?”

She leapt to her feet and thrust the sword in front of her as if preparing to ward off an attack. So much of Master Yurg’s training was ingrained her that she felt she scarcely needed to think with a sword in her hand.

Chin cupped in his hands, Hierm leaned on the windowsill, beaming like a fool. “Careful, or you’re going to hurt me one of these days.” He heaved his lanky form over the sill and fell hard on the dirt floor.

“What do you want, hairy mule?” She turned her back so he would not see her smile, and sheathed her sword.

It slid home with a wicked whisper.

“Not much.” He shifted into a sitting position, his back against the log wall beneath the window. “I just thought I’d give you the chance to apologize.”

“Apologize to you? I’d sooner…” She clenched her fist as the anger shot through her. Then she saw his impudent grin and relaxed. “You’re right. I apologize.”

Hierm looked as though he had been run over by one of his father’s wagons. He clutched his chest, crumpled to the floor and began twitching. His foot struck the wall with a loud thump.

“Sorry,” he whispered, sitting back up and brushing his cloak.

“Don’t worry. I’ve been hitting and throwing things for most of the evening. Papa started ignoring me after a while.” As if to emphasize her point, she aimed a fierce kick at the wall between her room and Papa’s. The thud resounded through the modest cabin, but predictably, her father ignored her.

“Your father builds a solid house.” Hierm whispered, still seated on the floor.

“I don’t give him much choice,” Shanis laughed. “I’ve kicked a few walls and doors in my lifetime.”

“Remember when he made you sleep in the barn for a week?” Hierm rolled onto his back and laced his fingers behind his neck. “It was wintertime, as I recall.”

“Don’t remind me. I nearly froze.” She shivered at the memory, still feeling the cold seeping into her bones.

She had thought she would never be warm again.

“Considering the condition of your room, I dare say you were better off in the barn.” Hierm’s eyes danced with mischief.

“It wasn’t my fault. Thatch just makes for a weak roof.” Shanis shielded her face from her friend’s incredulous stare.

“Shanis, you climbed onto the roof and hacked a hole in it with your sword.”

“Not a large hole. I fell through before I could do much damage.” She paused. “Of course that made me so mad I threw a chair and broke it.” Papa was so angry.

“He laughed about it when he told my father.” Hierm smiled and stared at his boots. “Did you know that you’re the reason you don’t have glass in your windows? He told my father that he had set aside…”

“Wait! Papa laughed?” Stunned, Shanis dropped to the floor alongside Hierm. “But he made me sleep in the barn…with bugs.”

“He thought it was what you deserved. My father suggested that you be put out with the pigs.” Hierm grimaced as he spoke of his father. “You do sometimes get a bit out of control.”

“Tonight was another of those times,” she said, forcing a smile as she sank to the floor next to him. “I asked him why he made me spend my life learning the sword when he knew I could be anything more than someone’s wife. He said he could not talk about it, and that I should trust him. I started screaming, and he told me that my mother would not approve of my behavior. That’s when I started throwing things.” Hierm chuckled, but she could not share his mirth. “I don’t even remember my mother, and he never talks about her.

Why now? None of it makes any sense.”

A warm tear slid down her cheek. She tasted salt in the corner of her mouth. Before she could wipe her face, she felt Hierm’s arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to him. She lay her head on his shoulder and tried to imagine they were children again, exploring the forests, battling imaginary monsters with swords of reed plucked from the banks of the Vulltu. She could be anything she wanted back then, but now she was a young woman and everything had changed. Rather, nothing at all had changed. Galsburans would always be the same. One of them in particular.

“How is your loving father?” she asked, straightening and pulling away from Hierm. “Still pretending I’m invisible?”

“He took notice of you today,” Hierm said. “I got the rough edge of his tongue for losing to you.” He was silent after that. For so long, in fact, that she wondered if he had fallen asleep. Finally, he took a deep breath.

“My father asked Master Yurg not to make me his apprentice. He wants me to join the family business. He thinks the sword was just childish folly.”

A sudden determination filled her, and she sprang to her feet. Taking him by the hand, she hauled him up to stand in front of her. “Hierm, I will never be anything if I don’t get out of here. Perhaps you should do the same.” She placed a finger across his lips before he could reply. “You need to be home. We’ll talk soon.”

With that, she gave him a rough shove toward the window. He climbed out and headed down the path toward the road, with only a single glance back. She leaned out the window to watch him go. Diamond stars scattered across a velvet sky colored the world a faint gray. Elbows propped on the sill, she watched until his tall, lean form faded into the darkness.

Chapter 3|News

Oskar hurried through the crush of the Seventhday market. People filled the green at the town’s center.

Wagons laden with produce jutted out above the throng. The sounds of laughter, calls of greeting, and good-natured dickering sang a happy tune in his ear. Seventhday was his favorite day. People from the countryside gathered to exchange goods, news, and gossip, not necessarily in that order.

He dodged a woman carrying a basket of tomatoes, only to careen into a cart loaded with apples.

“Watch yourself, boy.” Lars Harim shot a tobacco-stained grin in his direction before turning back to haggle with a potential customer.

“Sorry, Master Harim.” How long would it be until people thought of him as a man? Obviously longer than one day.

Certain that Master Harim’s attention was diverted, Oskar filched an early summer apple, small and deep red, almost purple, from the cart and hurried away. Reaching a safe distance, he paused to take a bite. Sweet juice ran from the corners of his mouth and down his chin. He located a comfortable fencepost and contentedly munched his prize. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, and he looked around for the source of the delicious aroma.

He dropped the remains of his snack to the ground, scrubbed his face with the back of a sweaty hand, and set off along the hard beaten dirt path that encircled the green. His nose guided him to the front porch of the Dry Birch, Galsbur’s only inn, in front of which a local youth stood holding a basket of bread.

“Natin,” Oskar hailed the young man. “What do you have for me?”

The slender, brown-haired youth greeted Oskar with a gap-toothed smile. “First, I want to know what you have for me. You still owe me for a loaf.”

“May we consider it a manhood gift?” At Natin’s answering smirk, Oskar dug into the pocket inside his cloak.

His fingertips found a bit of string, a smooth stone he had found on the riverbank, and finally a single copper.

“What will this buy?” he asked, handing it to his friend.

Natin accepted the coin and motioned for Oskar to join him on the front porch. They sat down together on the top step. Natin took a loaf from his basket and broke it in half. Oskar gratefully accepted his half, savoring the rich, yeasty smell. He tore off a warm crust and stuffed it in his mouth. Natin’s mother was quite the baker.

“Ordinarily I wouldn’t accept the coin, but things are hard.” Natin did not meet Oskar’s eye.

The bread was doughy, and Oskar could only answer with a sympathetic “Mmhmm!” Natin’s family farmed a plot owned by the Van Derins. Each year Lord Hiram took most of their crop for rent, leaving Natin’s family to make do the best they could. Natin sold or traded his mother’s bread each Seventhday. Otherwise, when he wasn’t working on their small farm, he was fishing for the fat speckled trout that made the Vulltu their home. Oskar could think of nothing to say, so he took another large bite of bread, and looked out over the town.

Galsbur was centered around an oval-shaped green. The dirt road that encircled the green was ringed on its outer edge by various shops, homes, and buildings. The Dry Birch lay on the west side of the green, directly opposite the main road that led toward civilization. On either side of the main road stood the Van Derin and Sons warehouse and the Van Derin home. Its whitewashed exterior and wooden shingles made it stand out like a pearl in a pigsty among the log and thatch buildings. He regarded the town with a disheartened stare. It was so small, so insignificant.

“Oskar,” Natin whispered. “Look over there. Have you ever seen that man before?”

He immediately located the person of whom Natin spoke. Even with farmers from outlying villages in attendance, a stranger was a rare site on Seventhday, or any other for that matter. The man was tall; fully a head taller than Hierm. His auburn hair was pulled to the left side of his head and was plaited in a thick braid that hung down past his shoulder. His travel-stained cloak was dark brown stitched with intertwining vines of green and gray. His face and clothes looked as worn as his cloak. A sword hilt, its grip worn smooth, with a plain, round pommel was just visible inside the cloak. The stranger strode directly toward them, his wide-set hazel eyes fell upon them with a disinterested gaze.

“Pardon,” the man said in a voice that was like rough stones grinding together. “There a common room in there?”

“There is,” Oskar said. His voice sounded boyish compared to the stranger’s deep baritone.

Nodding, the man took the steps in two strides and seemed to melt through the door.

“Did you see that? He had a sword.” Natin said. “Who wears a sword in Galsbur, save Master Yurg?”

Master Yurg! All thoughts of the stranger were forgotten as Oskar recalled the reason for slipping out of the Van Derin’s warehouse in the first place. He mumbled an apology around another mouthful of bread and ran for the swordmaster’s house.

He reached his destination out of breath. Sparing a few moments to lean against the split rail fence and let the stitch in his side release, he scanned the enclosed yard behind Master Yurg’s home.

Hierm and Master Yurg were working forms. The youngest Van Derin would not be giving up the sword after all. Shanis, however, was nowhere to be seen. A cluster of girls hovered nearby, feigning disinterest while watching every move Hierm made. He was the most popular and eligible young man in the area, thus all the older girls strove to catch his eye.

For a moment Oskar tried to imagine Shanis wearing a dress and giggling at the first glance from a young man. The image made him laugh. Who would marry her? If you could see past her height and muscles, she was pretty enough, with her soft red hair and gray-green eyes, but could anyone handle her temper and stubbornness? Her father was the most physically imposing man Oskar had ever seen, yet he scarcely managed to keep her in check.

“Do you find something funny?” Khalyndryn Serrill eyed him over her tiny, upturned nose. Oskar shook his head. Her golden hair and emerald eyes always put him ill at ease. He fancied her, but so did every other young man in town, and he was no prize catch. No one in Galsbur seemed to share his desire to learn what lay beyond the horizon. He was an outcast in his own way, but it did not matter. He was not going to stay in this town forever. He would visit those places in Lord Hiram’s books and have his own adventures. And then someday he would write them all down in a book of his own.

“Oskar, shouldn’t you be off pilfering books?” Hierm and Master Yurg halted their lesson and came over to where Oskar leaned against the fence.

“Have you seen Shanis?” Oskar asked. “I need to talk to her. And you too.”

“I haven’t seen her since last… um, yesterday.” Hierm blushed and turned his head. He pushed back his sweaty mop of blond hair. “I thought I would see her today. Why do you need to talk to us?”

Oskar had to force himself not to go ahead and tell Hierm what he had heard while listening at the wall of Lord Hiram’s office. The news seemed to be trying to claw its way out of him. But he wanted to tell Hierm and Shanis together. They were his best friends and both would be thrilled by his news. That, and he was not going to admit in Master Yurg’s presence that he had been eavesdropping on the firstman of Galsbur.

“I have the most amazing news,” he said. You won’t believe it. But I want to tell the two of you together.”

Nearby, Khalyndryn and her friends had ceased their conversation and were actively pretending not to listen.

“Are you certain that she’s not around market somewhere?” Hierm asked.

“I haven’t seen her anywhere. Strange, she never misses market. What is it?” Hierm’s eyes were suddenly wide, as if something had frightened him..

“She wouldn’t,” Hierm mumbled. “Yes she would. Swordmaster,” he said to Yurg, “may I be excused from my lesson?”

Yurg arched an eyebrow at his pupil, looking like a hawk who had spotted a wounded rabbit. “Would either of you young men care to tell me what this is about?”

“It’s Shanis,” Hierm said. “She isn’t here.”

Yurg pretended to scrutinize the empty sword yard. “Truly? I had not noticed.” He smirked. “She is not very pleased with me right now, but she’ll come around once she’s had time to clear that fool head of hers. Why is it of concern to you?”

“She told me last night that she wanted to go away. I didn’t believe her then, but now…” The implication was clear.

Yurg ran his fingers through his closely cropped silver beard before venturing to speak. “Van Derin, one day you’ll learn that women say a lot of things they don’t mean, simply to get a reaction.” This comment elicited angry whispers from the group of girls nearby. Oskar smirked. He had never heard Yurg talk about anything but swords and tales of his battles. “I do feel a bit guilty about the way I treated her yesterday. You are dismissed.”

Hierm wasted no time. Ignoring the nearby gate, he vaulted the fence.

“Van Derin,” Yurg said. “Let me know what you find out.” He sounded unconcerned, but there was an intensity in his eyes that belied his tone.

Hierm nodded and set of at a trot. Oskar groaned and stuffed the last bite of bread in his mouth. He was a firm believer that running should be reserved strictly for those moments when a vicious predator was snapping at your heels.

“Do you really think Shanis has left?” Oskar gasped, trying to keep pace.

Hierm grimaced. “I certainly hope not.”

The Malan’s home was just far enough from town to make the run exhausting. When the tidy cabin and small log barn were in sight, Hierm stopped running. Oskar trotted forward until he had caught up with his friend.

“Why…why are you…” he gasped, resting his hands on his knees. His face felt like it was on fire and salty sweat burned his lips. “Why are you stopping…now? We’re almost…” A rasping cough cut the question short.

“Look,” Hierm pointed to a white horse that stood cropping a tuft of thick grass in the corral that adjoined the barn. “She wouldn’t go anywhere without Shine.”

Oskar dropped onto his backside, panting. A rock dug painfully into his bottom, but he ignored it. “Then we’re in no hurry. Van Derin, one of these days you’re going to kill me. I really mean it. You’re going to kill me.” He lay back on the hard-packed trail. The sky was a rich blue. He wondered if this was the color of the sea of which he had read in one of Lord Hiram’s books. A cotton cloud drifted slowly past, and for a moment he imagined it was a sailing ship come to carry him away to adventure.

“Come on,” Hierm said, his voice earnest. “I’m worried about her. She’s never been like this. Something isn’t right.”

“I’ll help if I can,” Oskar said. His cheeks heated. How could he help? In his mind, his words flowed from his lips like prose from the pages of Lord Hiram’s books, but in reality, everything he said sounded wrong. He stared at the ground, feeling foolish.

Hierm seemed to understand what he was saying. “I’m not sure we can help. Shanis wants to learn the sword, to be a soldier. People around here are not going to let that happen. Of course, I don’t know where she could go.”

“Hallind,” Oskar stated. “It’s an island, actually an island nation. They have male and female soldiers. Some of their elite troops are made up entirely of women. I was just reading about it. It’s fascinating.” He stopped when he saw the look on Hierm’s face.

Hierm pressed his hands to his temples. “Women soldiers? Elite troops? Is this some fairy tale you read somewhere?”

“You’ve never heard of it? Haven’t you read any of your father’s books?”

Hierm shook his head.

“Seriously? How could anyone not… Oh.” Compassion welled up inside of him. He tried to make his voice sympathetic as he placed a hand on Hierm’s arm. “I’m sorry. I just assumed that all you rich people learned to read.”

Hierm slapped the hand away. “Of course I can read, you dolt. I just don’t like to.”

Oskar stared for a moment. He didn’t understand. “Well, in that case, you’re just dense.” He pushed past Hierm and began walking toward the Malan house. Hierm followed. Oskar could feel his friend’s scowl burning into his back. “Don’t you think Shanis might feel a little better if she knew about Hallind?”

“Oskar, don’t you say a word to her. Not…one…word. The way Shanis has been acting, the last thing she needs to hear about is this…Hallind. No telling what she might do.”

Oskar felt a cold tightness in his chest. He could sense a big fight just around the corner. How to avoid it? He stopped and turned around.

“What do you say we just go back to town? I mean, now that we know Shanis is all right.” He was talking very fast. “We don’t want to upset her or anything.”

Just then, Shanis emerged from the house. “Aren’t the two of you missing Seventhday?” She walked past without meeting either boy’s eye. “I’ve a stall to clean, so if you two insist on gawking at me, do it in the barn.” Hierm fell in step beside her. Oskar lagged a few paces behind, debating whether or not he would be able to slip away quietly. His eyes drifted to the wagon track that led back to town. After a moment’s debate, he uttered a resigned sigh and followed his friends into the barn.

The cool, dusty air assailed him immediately. He brushed a sleeve across his nose and suppressed a sneeze.

“We were worried about you,” Hierm was saying. “I was afraid you had gone…oh, I don’t know.” Hierm threw up his arms.

“Where would I go Hierm?” Shanis’ tone was mocking. “Who has any use for a girl with a sword?” She took a pitchfork down from the wall and headed to one of the stalls. It was a small barn, with only two stalls, which Shanis kept clean. She loved horses.

Oskar leaned against a post and watched as Hierm took up a shovel and helped Shanis pick the stall.

“I’m actually quite satisfied with my lot in life,” Shanis continued. “I mean, who wouldn’t enjoy this?” A flick of her wrist sent a clump of manure hurtling at Oskar’s head. Almost too late, he ducked out of the way. The dung projectile struck the post against which he was leaning, spattering dirty clumps on his tunic. “Nice reflexes for such a stout lad. As I was saying, I can spend the rest of my years cleaning stalls, washing clothes and pulling weeds. Quite an exciting life, full of adventure. If I am truly fortunate, I might even have the opportunity to face down some evil foe. Perhaps a garden spider, or a rat.

“Ho there, little field mouse,” she said in a deep voice, thrusting her pitchfork at an imaginary opponent.

“Surrender, or I shall skewer thee in the foulest of ways!” Dancing around the stall, she thrust the tines at Hierm’s face. He raised his shovel in a half-hearted defense. Oskar stepped back a few paces just to be safe.

Laughing, Shanis feinted high twice before sweeping Hierm’s feet out from under him with the end of the pitchfork handle. “For shame, young rodent. Next time I shall seek combat with a worthy adversary. A groundhog, perhaps.”

Hierm fanned at the cloud of dust that engulfed him. From his seat on the barn floor, he pointed an accusing finger at Shanis. “What is going on? The last time we talked, you were ready to challenge the world to a duel, to run away. Now you’re acting like nothing happened.”

Shanis smiled. “I’m sorry. It was good of the two of you to worry about me.”

“We couldn’t help but worry. Even Master Yurg is wondering where you are.” Hierm picked himself up and brushed at the straw that clung to his backside. “Will you be coming back to sword?”

“Of course. I just felt like making Yurg sweat a bit. I might not be an apprentice, but I won’t stop with the sword until I choose.” Shanis returned to her work in the stall. “I’m still angry, mind you, but I was a bit in the wrong myself. I know Yurg. He will probably stop in tonight to apologize, and that will be that.” She dismissed the thought with a shrug.

“You don’t think you owe him an apology?” Hierm placed his hands on his hips, a posture which reminded Oskar just how much his friend resembled Mistress Faun. “Either way, that doesn’t solve your real problem.

You can’t be his informal student forever. What do you plan to do?”

Oskar could have kicked Hierm for blurting the question out so hastily. He didn’t want Shanis to lose her good humor.

Shanis stopped her work in the stall. “Didn’t you tell him, Oskar?” Oskar waved his hands to silence her, but the gesture was futile. “Hallind. It’s a country where…”

Hierm’s face contorted in a scowl. “I know about Hallind, and it’s crazy.” He rounded on Oskar, grabbing his tunic. “What were you thinking? You had no business telling her about that blasted place.”

Oskar ripped Hierm’s hands away, and gave the boy a shove that sent him careening into a stall door.

“Enough! My business is just that, Van Derin. Mine. Who are you to tell us what to do anyway? You’re more like your father than you think.” Shanis’ sharp intake of breath indicated that Oskar had gone too far. Hierm hung his head, unable to speak. A pang of guilt swept through Oskar. From where had that anger arisen?

“Hierm I… well… You just get too bossy sometimes. And you know me, I never say anything right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You were right.” Hierm raised his head to meet Oskar’s gaze. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I don’t want to be like my father.” He turned to Shanis. “You are leaving?”

It seemed to Oskar that something passed between Hierm and Shanis. It was not a question but a benediction.

An affirmation of something that those closest to Shanis had always known. Galsbur was not for her, nor she for it. She had never fit in.

“You know I have to go. There’s no other way,” Shanis replied firmly. “I’ll keep working with Yurg while I make preparations. Don’t think I haven’t thought this through.”

“How can you have thought this through?” Hierm waved his arms in frustration. “How long ago did Oskar tell you about this place? A few days ago?”

“The place is not important. I’ve been thinking about leaving for a long time.” Her face grew serious. “This is my home. I don’t take leaving lightly. If there were any way at all…”

“May I interrupt here?” In the midst of all the concern over Shanis, Oskar had forgotten the reason he had been searching for her in the first place. Hierm and Shanis looked at him with mild surprise, as if they had forgotten his presence. “I was looking for the two of you this morning because I have something to tell you.

It might be the solution to your problem.”

“My, aren’t we full of useful information?” Shanis mocked.

“Useless is more like it,” Hierm scoffed. “What is this wonderful solution you’ve come up with?”

Oskar ignored their sarcasm. “A man came into town today. He was wearing the livery of the prince’s guard.

He came to talk to Lord Hiram. I was listening…” He paused for a moment, blushing. “Anyway, there’s going to be a tournament.”

“The Prince’s Tournament? That’s not held again for months, and even then a town sends only its most talented apprentice.” Hierm argued. “Even if Shanis could somehow become an apprentice, my father would never stand for her to represent Galsbur. Not at the capital.”

“Hierm is right,” Shanis said. “That tournament is for the very best. In the best of circumstances I wouldn’t be ready to try for a spot in the academy for another two years or more. I don’t think I’ll ever have the opportunity. Some day Hierm will, but not me.”

Oskar stood silent until he again had their attention. “Are the two of you finished arguing with me yet? I know what the Prince’s Tournament is. It’s an annual event at which apprentice swordsmen who are ready to become journeymen compete for places in the prince’s elite units. Those who don’t make it join the army, or become free swords.”

“All right, Oskar, you’re very smart,” Hierm jibed. “Now tell us what you learned while you were eavesdropping on my father.”

Oskar ignored that. “There’s going to be a tournament here.” He hurried on despite the suddenly stunned looks on their faces. “It won’t be just swords, either. Archery, wrestling, you name it. Prince Lerryn himself will be here.”

“But why hold a tournament here?” Hierm asked. Shanis remained silent, her face an unreadable mask of thought. “Why Galsbur?”

“There’s a rumor that we might go to war with Kyrin. There will be tournaments like these in many of the larger towns. The best will go to the academy. Others can sign on as foot soldiers. Lerryn hopes to double the size of the standing army in the next year. They need good soldiers. If they see Shanis fight, maybe they’ll give her a chance. They’d have to, wouldn’t they? She’s the best.” Feeling quite proud of himself, Oskar folded his arms across his chest and nodded, waiting for their reactions.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Hierm protested. “You said the larger towns would have tournaments. We’re not a larger town. We’re a nothing town three leagues from nowhere.”

Shanis grabbed Hierm’s shoulders and gave him a firm shake. “Who cares about that? Oskar may have something here. This could be my chance.” If the prospect of her nation going to war fazed her at all, she didn’t show it. “If I can put on a good enough showing, they won’t care that I’m a girl. If we go to war with Kyrin, they’ll need all the fighters they can get.”

“I’m not so sure,” Hierm replied. “Do you truly think they’ll let a girl compete? If Oskar has it right, this will be the most important thing that has ever happened in Galsbur. Mother will be in rare form, and Father will not be much better. They won’t take a chance on embarrassing themselves.”

“You’re right about one thing,” Oskar said. “They won’t want to embarrass themselves. That’s why they have to let her compete. Shanis is the best. And you, of course,” he added, noticing Hierm’s frown. “All of the small towns and most of the villages in this part of the kingdom will send people to compete. Master Yurg isn’t going to let them beat us if he can help it. I wouldn’t be surprised if your father felt the same way.

Besides, won’t it take the vinegar out of them to be beaten by a girl?”

Shanis squeezed Oskar in a bear hug and planted a noisy kiss on his cheek. Her lips were softer than he expected, and the sensation was uncomfortably pleasant.

“That settles it,” she said. “I don’t need to be an apprentice. All I need is the chance to compete. Once they see me fight, all they’ll see is my skill.” She dashed out of the stall. “Besides,” she called over her shoulder, “Yurg owes me!”

Chapter 4|Karst

Excitement, tempered with a heavy dose of skepticism, greeted word of the tournament. Sensible Galsburans were not quick to believe the crown had suddenly taken notice of their remote corner of the kingdom. Mistress Faun, eager to be the first to spread the news, had hurried to the Dry Birch’s common room only to be treated with flat disbelief. Her vehement insistence won her only a small battle, bringing a touch of condescending acceptance, the way one would indulge a small child’s fancy. She finally stormed out with her skirts clutched in white-knuckled fists, raucous laughter nipping at her heels. But when word come from both Lord Hiram and Master Yurg, that gave the townspeople something to think about. And when a squadron of soldiers arrived in town, tacked up a notice to the same effect, and proceeded to drink Master Serrill dry in an impressive display, the like of which none could remember seeing in these parts, the remaining holdouts were finally persuaded.

Once reality set in, Lord Hiram and the town leaders set to work. They chose a nearby pasture ringed on three sided by gently sloping hills, forming a natural amphitheatre. On the open end they built a viewing platform for Prince Lerryn and any dignitaries who might accompany him. Word was, Mistress Faun had arranged the seating to place herself next to the prince.

“I scarcely recognize this place anymore,” Shanis said as she and Hierm jostled through the crowd.

The flow of visitors had begun as a trickle as soon as word of the tournament spread. In these last days before the event, they poured in, turning the countryside into a bustling anthill of activity. Some planned to enter the tournament, while others simply had come to witness the spectacle. So much had changed in the span of ten days. The common room was packed; Music and laughter rolled forth in steady waves at all hours. Seventhday market was now an everyday market, and had grown with the influx of “outlanders” as the locals called anyone who lived more than a day’s ride from Galsbur. Familiar faces mixed with those of strangers in a whirl of festivity. Shanis drank in the sights, the sounds, everything.

The practice yard brimmed with swordsmen. Master Yurg was watching as young men practiced. Shanis felt a touch of resentment that their swordmaster was providing any assistance at all to outsiders, but that was Yurg.

From what she could see it was evident that few of the young men had the skill to go far in the competition, but the opportunity to be a part of such an important event was too much for any youth with imagination to pass upon. The usual crowd of girls milled about, but they were not watching the drills. They focused instead on a young man standing in their midst. He was slightly taller and broader of chest than Hierm. His glossy black hair fell almost to his shoulders and his hawkish brown eyes seemed to glow against his pale skin. His clothing was fine by Galsbur standards. He was working forms, all the while carrying on in a voice loud enough to be heard beyond the throng of young ladies.

“Of course I shall make it good sport. I’ll permit my opponents to stand with me a few moments. The spectacle would be ruined for the onlookers of course, should I make quick work of the entire field.”

Shanis leaned close to Hierm’s ear. “Fascinating,” she whispered, “how he can work his forms and his tongue at the same time.”

“Perhaps he means to talk his opponents into submission,” Hierm mumbled.

She clamped a hand over her mouth, trying without success to stifle a giggle. She caught the attention of one of the girls, Madelaine Halton, a chubby, brown-haired farmer’s daughter with one green eye slightly bigger than the other, who turned and glared at the pair.

The young man also noticed, and broke off his form. “What have we here?” The look in his eyes belied his forced smile. “Admiring my forms, are you?”

Shanis felt an immediate aversion to this pompous stranger. “Amusing ourselves with them might be more accurate.”

The youth was unfazed. “And what makes a girl such an expert at swordsmanship?” He flourished his sword in emphasis. To Shanis’ practiced eye, it was nothing more than a silly affectation, but given the burst of hushed whispers among the onlookers, it must have appeared quite impressive.

“Didn’t you know?” A voice piped up from the crowd. “She’s fighting in the tournament.”

Shanis did not try to stifle her impudent grin, but she remained silent. It was not altogether certain that she would be fighting in the tournament. Master Yurg planned to enter her name. Whether or not the prince would allow it was still in question.

The lad sheathed his sword. His eyes appraised Shanis for a moment before he replied. “That’s not what I hear. I hear that Prince Lerryn will not allow any woman,” he spat the word with disgust, “to disgrace his tournament with her ineptitude. The very idea is an affront to the gods and to good sense.”

“Shanis is good.” Natin had wandered up to the gathered crowd. “She’s the best among us.”

The dark-haired young man took a long, level look at the bread basket hooked over Natin’s arm, smirked, and made a mocking face that elicited giggles from the girls. “I do not doubt that one bit.” He looked around at the crowd that encircled him, seeming to challenge each person individually. “Of course, that is only a reflection of the sad state of the local manhood.” The rumblings that arose from the onlookers only encouraged him. “My dear ladies,” he shouted, “I am very sorry! Sorry that your birth has condemned you to live in a hamlet where masculinity is so obviously in short supply. Sorry that you have to live in a town full of large… boys.” Nervous laughter tittered from the girls not bright enough to realize he was insulting their home, their fathers and their brothers. “I do so hope you ladies will not hold it against me when I thrash your local lads.”

Shanis rolled her eyes. She had heard more than enough from this flatulent sheep’s bladder. She grabbed Hierm by the arm and turned to leave, but he shook his head and pointed to Natin, who had dropped his basket of bread and was shouting at the stranger.

“Who are you to come here and mock us?” Natin’s face was scarlet, and his hands trembled. He had been humiliated, but what could he do? He was no swordsman. “You are not so great!”

Smiling wickedly, the stranger turned on Natin. “Perhaps you are right. Mayhap I have not nearly the skill of your local, ah, swordsmen.” The face he made for the benefit of the onlookers said that the very idea was absurd to him. Another smattering of laughter arose. “What I am certain of is that you are not man enough to prove it.” His predatory gaze locked on Natin.

“I guess we will find out at the tournament, won’t we?” Shanis said in a raised voice, pushing her way past the cluster of girls. She gave Madelaine an elbow to the ribs on the way past, eliciting a satisfying grunt.

“Why wait until then? Surely this gentleman would not object to making a few passes with me. He seems the brave sort.”

Natin did not meet the stranger’s eye. He was staring at the ground, probably trying to think of a way to extricate himself from the situation without losing more face.

“Go ahead Natin,” Khalyndryn piped up from behind Shanis. “Show us what you can do. You aren’t afraid, are you?”

It was time to put a stop to this foolishness. She was about to say just that when she felt a hand clamp down on her shoulder. “Don’t interfere” Hierm hissed. “You can’t.”

Did Hierm not realize what was happening? “He’s just trying to pick a fight. To show off,” she whispered back, turning to face her friend. “Natin can’t handle a sword. He’d stand a better chance fighting with one of his loaves of bread.”

Hierm’s gaze was stern. “Shanis, if you stop this, you will shame him. You must not do it.” The look in his eyes one of sadness, but resolution.

Shanis sniffed. Men and their ridiculous sense of pride! Hierm was right, of course. But if it did become necessary, she would put a stop to it. And she and Khalyndryn were going to have a long talk.

Khalyndryn’s coaxing was all that Natin required. By the time Shanis turned back around, he had borrowed a sword from one of the bystanders. The crowd drew back from the combatants. With a cruel smile, his opponent prepared himself. Natin, his face ashen, raised his blade, and nodded.

The dark-haired stranger leapt to the attack. His first strokes were clumsy. Natin easily warded off the blows, and took the offensive. A murmur arose from the observers as Natin’s assault was barely deflected. Shanis was not fooled. The stranger was toying with Natin. She needed only to see his footwork to know that he was, at the very least, experienced.

The crowd around the two combatants grew. A few of those drilling in the practice yard had taken notice, and now perched precariously on the fence, trying to gain a better vantage point. Master Yurg was busy on the far end of the yard, unaware of what transpired.

Shanis was struck by a sudden thought.

“Get Master Yurg! If he puts a stop to it, Natin won’t be shamed. Hurry!”

Hierm nodded and pushed his way back out of the crowd.

Natin’s advantage was short-lived. His adversary returned to the offensive with strokes that were increasingly precise. The rain of blows became a torrent. Natin backpedaled, all attention to form forsaken in a desperate attempt to defend himself. Shanis watched as the attack pressed on, and the concern in Natin’s eyes became outright fear as it became apparent to all that the outsider had no intention of stopping.

A distant voice rang out. Shanis breathed a sigh of relief as she saw Master Yurg running toward them. The dueling boys neither heard nor saw the swordmaster’s approach. Natin was tiring visibly. Stumbling and falling to one knee, he raised his blade in a gesture that was part defensive and part supplication.

“Hold! Hold!” Shanis shouted. The dark-haired outlander ignored her cry. He struck down hard in a sweeping slash. Natin screamed as the blade sliced through his wrist, spraying a hot, bloody froth across his face. His sword fell useless to the ground.

Then all was bedlam. People pushed and shouted. Shanis tried to fight through the throng that milled about Natin. She stumbled over Khalyndryn, who was bent over at the waist, retching. The dark-haired boy’s head bobbed above the crowd, and she took off after him in mindless fury. Before could reach her quarry, two men in white cloaks grabbed her by the arms and lifted her off the ground. She was too surprised to cry out.

She looked about her and saw that several similarly garbed men were in dispersing the crowd.

The men wore polished chain mail under their cloaks. All were armed. These were the prince’s guard! Things began to quiet as the soldiers chased people away with sharp commands and more than a few threats of flogging.

Natin still lay on the ground. Master Yurg knelt over him along with two of the soldiers. His sword lay a few feet away in the blood-soaked grass. Another of them held Hierm by the upper arm. Natin’s assailant stood with his arm pinned behind his back by an angular man in a flamboyant red and yellow checked cloak. The strange man seemed to wear a permanent smile along with the harp that was strapped to his back.

A stout soldier, his yellow beard streaked with gray, stalked up to them and inspected the three with a look not much short of contempt. “Come with me.” He led them down the crowded dirt path that ringed the green in Galsbur’s center. The soldiers half-dragged them up the steps of the Dry Birch, through the common room, where everyone paused to stare and shout japes, and into the small, private room in the back of the inn.

Lord Hiram sat at a small table in the corner with two men in merchant dress and a young man who could only be Prince Lerryn

The Prince was a tall man; even seated, that much was evident. His curly brown hair was cut short, just above his high, red collar. His skin was deeply tanned, unusual for royalty, but Lerryn’s reputation was that of a soldier, and a good one. He spent little time at the palace in Archstone, preferring instead to remain in the field with his guard. He took in the scene with an amused expression.

“New recruits, Captain Tabars?” His laugh, deep and rich, cascaded over the three youths. Shanis hated him instantly.

Captain Tabars’ face reddened. “Dueling, Highness. This one here,” Tabars gestured at the young stranger, “near killed a local boy. Cut his hand ‘most clean off!”

The Prince was no longer smiling. His brown eyes bored into the three young people. “And the other two?”

“Had to grab them too.” Tabars shook his head and directed a scowl at Shanis and Hierm. “Were going to dispense a little local justice, they were.”

The Prince cupped his hand in his chin and gazed at Shanis with an intensity that took her breath. “The girl too?”

Shanis’ heart sank. She had been deluding herself. The Prince was as bad as the rest of the men. He’d never let her fight in the tournament.

“Yes, Highness,” Tabars said. His bearded chin twitched. “Oh yes, indeed.”

“Master Van Derin,” Lerryn inquired, turning his attention to Lord Hiram, who was staring daggers at his son.

“Do you know these young people?”

The question hung in the silence as they awaited his reply. Shanis wondered if he was going to deny them, but he finally spoke, his voice a tired drone. “Your Highness, the boy to your right is my wayward son Hierm.

The girl is Shanis Malan, the daughter of a man in my employ.”

Hierm bowed as his father introduced him. Shanis knew that she should probably curtsy, or something ridiculously ladylike. After an awkward moment, she nodded and bent her knee slightly. Smiling, the Prince inclined his head in return.

“The other I do not know,” Hiram continued. “He is not from these parts.”

The jet-haired young man piped up right away. “Pedric Karst, Highness.” He bowed deeply. “My father is the Duke of Kurnsbur, to the east and south.”

If this name meant anything to the Lerryn, it did not register on his face. He turned to the man who had brought Karst in. “And who might you be?”

“Sandrin Skedane at your service, Highness.” The man made a graceful bow. “I am a loremaster,” Skedane continued, “and a man of songs. I have come to see your tournament, and perhaps memorialize it in story and verse.”

Shanis took a long look at him. His flamboyant red and yellow cloak was not all that was odd about him. His puffy, black hair was sprinkled with silver, and his chin whiskers, the only hair on his face, was twisted into a hands-length braid, with red and yellow ribbon woven in. His weathered face suggested that he had seen as many summers as Lord Hiram, but he seemed as spry and agile as a youth. He had easily taken Karst in hand.

“I see.” Lerryn’s tone said that he did not care one whit why Skedane was here. “Would you care to tell me what you witnessed?”

“I am sorry, Highness,” Skedane said, holding out his hands in supplication. “I happened upon the scene just as the boy was injured. I took this one in hand,” he said, nodding toward Karst, “before things grew even more heated.”

“I thank you for your assistance. I assume you can find your way out?”

Skedane’s face fell for a moment, but he caught himself and smiled at the prince. “Of course, Highness.

Happy to be of service.” He backed out of the room, his smile fading to a grin.

Lerryn waited until the man was well away and Tabars had closed the door before he spoke.

“Master Karst,” he said, leaning forward and placing his hands on the table, fingers interlaced, “can you tell me how you came to cross blades with this other young man?”

“We were only making a few passes, Highness,” Karst replied smoothly. “Practicing for the tournament. At least I was practicing.”

Shanis clenched her fists and glared at the boy. Captain Tabars saw the expression on her face, and shook his head. The message was clear; do no interrupt.

“I have to admit I had teased him a bit,” the boy continued, “all in good fun, mind. I guess he was angry.

Things got out of hand, and I just…”

“You just cut off his hand.” Lerryn’s voice was without emotion.

“No Highness,” Karst shook his head. “I mean, yes, but… I didn’t intend to! He fell and I was going to knock the blade from his hands to finish it…impressively. But at the last moment, he flung his hands in the air. I didn’t expect that. There was no time to stop.”

Lerryn now turned his attention to Hierm and Shanis. “I suppose the two of you do not believe that this was an accident?”

“This was no accident. Natin was giving up. This ox brain didn’t have to do what he did.” Lord Hiram sat up straight and cleared his throat, but she ignored him. “Natin was no match for him to begin with. This boy knew what he was doing the entire time.” Silence and expectant stares answered her. She looked quizzically at Lerryn before realizing what everyone was waiting for. “Um… Your Highness,” she added. Tabars snorted, but the slight crinkle around Lerryn’s eyes told Shanis that he, at least, found her lack of formality amusing.

Lerryn turned to Hierm. “And you, young van Derin? Do you concur with the opinion of this girl?”

“Yes Highness,” Hierm replied instantly. “He could have stopped himself.” He did not meet the eye of his scowling father. “There is no doubt in my mind.”

“And did this young man… Natin I believe it was,” Lerryn propped his feet on the table. He rocked back on his chair, hands folded behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. “Did this Natin raise his hands just before Master Karst delivered his blow?”

“He did, Highness, but with all due respect, I maintain that the blow could have been stopped.”

“He raised his hands,” Lerryn said, frowning at the ceiling. “Perhaps the girl is correct, and this Natin was trying to yield. Be that as it may, it would be totally unexpected to one practiced at swordplay.” He removed his feet from the table, and turned back to Lord Hiram. “Is your son an adept bladesman?”

Hiram nodded. “Fair, Your Highness. Better than some, not as good as others.”

Shanis did not miss the man’s meaningful glance in her direction.

“Very well.” Lerryn clapped his hands together. “Young van Derin, in your opinion, had this Natin attempted to block Master Karst’s blow, would his sword have been knocked from his grasp?”

Hierm paused for a moment before answering quietly. “I can not say for certain, Highness. I think it likely, though.” He let his head hang.

Shanis was incensed. Had it not occurred to the Prince that she might have an opinion herself? She was about to voice that opinion when someone entered the room.

“And what say you, Swordmaster?” Lerryn looked to the door, where Yurg had just walked in. The prince seemed unfazed by the blood covering Yurg’s tunic.

Yurg made a hasty bow. “The boy will live, Highness.” He paused a moment, glowering at Karst. “We had to take his hand.”

Lerryn shook his head. “Did you happen to witness this incident?” He stressed the word “incident”.

“I saw that a duel was taking place. I hurried to put a stop to it. But I regret to say I did not see the blow that cost the boy his hand.”

“Did the injured boy have anything to say about what happened?” Lerryn gestured to a servant standing against the wall, who hastily refilled the prince’s wine glass.

“He is scarcely coherent. He said that he did not know the intent of his opponent.” Yurg’s voice was flat, but Shanis could tell that he was having a difficult time keeping his temper in check. “Natin was not a student of the sword, but he is a fine young man.”

Lerryn sipped his wine and seemed to contemplate those words. When he finally spoke, his voice carried a tone that said he would brook no nonsense. “I cannot judge whether or not Master Karst intended the injury that he inflicted on Master Natin. It is, however, my judgment that Master Karst, as a young man of allegedly noble birth, has no business starting duels with farm boys.

“Tabars! What sort of coin is Master Karst carrying?”

After a brief search, the soldier relieved Karst of a small purse. He sorted through the contents. “Two golds.

A few silvers…coppers.” The soldier shrugged.

Lerryn nodded. “The gold shall be given to the boy’s parents. A poor repayment for his hand.”

“Give them the entire purse. I have another.” Karst smirked.

Shanis clenched a fist and took a step in Karst’s direction. Lerryn waved her back to her place without taking his eyes from Karst.

“Master Karst, do you wish to participate in my tournament?”

“I do, Highness.” The boy’s face paled as he realized he had said too much.

“You will control your words and your actions. My tournament is two days hence. I want neither to see your face nor hear your name until that time. Am I understood?”

“Yes. I swear it.”

Lerryn nodded, and gestured toward the door. Karst bowed, and scurried out of the room. The Prince now turned his attention to Hierm and Shanis, who stood shoulder to shoulder in front of him.

“I expect that all thoughts of retribution will be forgotten immediately.”

“Yes, Highness.” Hierm’s voice was a rough whisper.

Shanis stood, arms folded across her chest, staring back at Lerryn, who seemed content to wait her out. A few coins? That was all? Karst should be whipped. She controlled her tongue; no use in arguing with the second-most powerful man in Galdora. At long last she nodded in agreement.

Lerryn smiled and turned to Yurg. “Swordmaster, I understand this young woman is one of your students. Is that usual for Galsbur?”

“It is most unusual, Highness, but she is of unusual talent. She and master van Derin are the bests students I have ever trained.”

The prince seemed to look at her with new eyes, taking stock of her: her face, chest, arms and legs. He looked at her not as a man might leer at a young girl, but as a man might inspect a horse.

“The two of you may go,” he said at long last, nodding toward the door.

Relieved, Shanis turned to leave when Lerryn called to her.

“Miss Malan.”

“Your Highness?” She turned to face the Prince.

“I look forward to witnessing your skills firsthand in my tournament!”

His words were like a shock of cold water. She gasped, but realization dawned within her, warming her very soul.

“Thank you, Highness,” she whispered, as if a loud voice might wake her from what must be a dream.

“Thank you.” She made another failed attempt at a curtsy, then made a quick bow instead before darting from the room, fearful he might change his mind or say he had only been kidding.

She had to contain herself to keep from skipping through the common room. When they emerged into the street, she caught Hierm in a bear hug. “I’m going to do it, Hierm. I’m really going to do it.” She couldn’t take revenge on Karts, but perhaps she could beat him in the tournament. She could do no more for Natin than that.

Hierm merely smiled and squeezed her tightly.

She thought that nothing could spoil her mood, but then she noticed the figure standing a few paces from them. Karst waited on the edge of the green, across the dirt track from the inn. Pushing away from Hierm, she stared into Karst’s eyes. He had regained his cruel glare, and any semblance of humility had vanished once he left Lerryn’s presence.

“I am Pedric Karst,” he hissed. “Remember my name.” Without further word, he turned and stalked away.

Chapter 5|Tournament

Lerryn’s procession snaked through the crush of onlookers. Most were rural folk who might never again have the chance to witness royalty firsthand. The royal family of Galdora had not condescended to visit Galsbur or the surrounding area in remembered history. The guards, seven squadrons of seven soldiers, were the elite of Lerryn’s corps. Called the White Fang, the unit garbed each warrior in a cloak of pure white over black tunic and hose, and a mail shirt of highly polished silver. The only visible marking was on the back, where a serpent’s fang was outlined in black. A crimson drop of venom kissed the needle tip. Many in the crowd found their enthusiasm replaced with awe as these legendary fighters passed by. Nearby, Lars Harim stood dumbstruck, mouth agape, arms hanging loosely at his sides. Oskar chuckled at the farmer’s reaction.

Oskar regarded the leader of one of the squadrons. His uniform devoid of any signs of rank, his standing was denoted by the silver armlet worn just above his wrist. Oskar had overheard someone explain the meaning of the armlets. One band signified a squad leader. More bands denoted higher rank. The soldier kept his gaze fixed immediately in front of him, but his countenance was enough to shake even the stoutest Galsburan. This was a man to be feared. Only a brief look at the other soldiers was needed to include them all in that category.

“Glad they’re on our side,” Oskar muttered, his stomach fluttering at the awesome site. A man standing nearby bobbed a bald head in agreement. Oskar’s cheeks reddened. He had not intended to speak aloud.

Prince Lerryn rode in the middle of the procession. Unlike his soldiers, Lerryn wore no armor. His tunic and hose were crimson, with matching fringe trimming his snow-white cape. A black viper adorned his cape.

Lerryn smiled, a stark contrast to his guard. The easy air about the prince seemed to soften the mood of the crowd. Cheers erupted. Fathers hoisted children onto their shoulders. A few young women wept openly. The Prince acknowledged the assemblage with an occasional wave, or nod of his head. A girl somewhere in the back of the throng squealed, “He looked at me! He looked at me!” The ensuing thud told Oskar that she had likely fainted.

When the last rider had passed, the cheers abated, but only for a moment. Shouts, whistles, and peals of laughter rang in Oskar’s ears. Oskar looked around for the source of the crowd’s reaction. He did not have to look far. Another procession made its way toward the tournament grounds, led by a group of what appeared, at first glance, to be soldiers escorting a shiny black carriage. The top was down, revealing several people seated within. One passenger was standing and waving to the crowd. As the carriage drew near, Oskar recognized Mistress Faun. She wore a black dress, which exposed a generous amount of cleavage. Her golden tresses were piled high atop her head, encircled by a sparkling tiara.

Oskar noticed that the carriage was escorted not by soldiers, but by various local farmers and craftsmen who had apparently allowed Faun to talk them into serving as an ill-assorted honor guard. Faun had garbed them all in black cloaks to match her dress. Nothing else about them was uniform. Their clothing was a motley assortment of brown, dark green, and dark blue tunics and hose. Black dye was rare and expensive, thus few common folk actually owned black clothing. A few of the men had belted on ancient swords, likely family heirlooms. The remainder carried a variety of weapons or farm implements. Unlike the men of the White Fang, it was easy to read the expressions on the faces of these men. Most were deeply embarrassed, probably regretting what had seemed like a good idea a few days earlier. Oskar hoped that Faun had at least paid them.

Mistaking the laughter for cries of approval, Faun continued to wave daintily. Hiram sat next to her, his face a mask of serenity. He stared at the sky, not acknowledging Faun or the host of mocking faces. Oskar almost felt sorry for him. Hierm’s older brother Laman sat alongside his father. Where Hierm favored their mother, Laman was the spitting image of Hiram. Tall, angular, almost handsome, but not quite. The only feature that he and Hierm shared was their mother’s golden hair. Ever the dutiful son, Laman kept a smile on his face, and stared straight ahead, never letting his embarrassment show. Joining the Van Derins in the coach was Master and Mistress Serrill, along with Khalyndryn. The three of them were decked out in their finest clothing.

Though her parents appeared mortified by the jeers of the throng, Khalyndryn seemed not to notice. Her gaze was locked on the knot of white riders in the distance. After the Van Derin’s coach passed, the crowd closed in behind and followed it down the road.

The hills surrounding the tournament ground were nearly filled. Some people had staked out spots two days before, and camped until the day of the event. He found an open space near the top of the hill, directly opposite the viewing platform.

Lerryn mounted the dais, recognized the crowd with an imperious wave, and spoke. Despite the distance and the roar of the massed throng, Oskar could clearly make out every word. Sorcery? A chill crawled up his spine, and he shivered. Galsburans were a practical sort. They knew that such things were supposed to exist but did not really believe. Given the response that Lerryn was receiving, most of those in attendance either did not realize that sorcery was being employed, or did not care.

“People of Galsbur… my friends!” A roar of adoration answered Lerryn’s greeting. He paused momentarily to acknowledge the praise with a smile and nod. “It is truly an honor to be with you this day.” Another cheer, another pause. “Our nation has need of good men! Of strong men!” Oskar wondered how Shanis was reacting to that particular choice of words. “I am pleased to see many such young men standing here before me.” His gesture swept across the entirety of the tournament entrants, who stood arrayed before the dais.

“Today we shall honor the most promising of your swordsmen, your archers…” He paused and extended his arms outward, fingers spread, as if to embrace the entire throng of people at once. “Today, the eyes of the realm are on Galsbur.” A wave of joy and pride crashed into the dais, rolling across the platform with visible effect. In her seat, Mistress Faun flinched. Several members of the prince’s entourage sat up straighter. Lerryn simply smiled, soaking it up. Normally a cynic, Oskar was startled to hear his own voice joining the din.

When the cheers died down, a member of Lerryn’s entourage, whose rich, green robes and blue stole marked him an ecclesiast, offered a prayer to the seven gods. The invocation went largely ignored by the Galsburans and other locals, who were impatient for the tournament to commence. Oskar noted that Faun raised her hands in prayer in imitation of the dignitaries seated around her. He was pleased to see that Lord Hiram, at least, kept his hands in his lap and retained his usual, implacable stare. If the ecclesiast thought any of them impious, he did not show it. When he finished his prayer, he merely bowed to Lerryn, and returned to his seat.

Anticipation rose anew, the tension taut like a bowstring stretched to its limt. To Oskar’s mind, everyone seemed to be leaning forward slightly, tensed as if they were about to sprint onto the field. He could almost feel the collective energy of the crowd dancing in the air.

On the platform, Lerryn nodded to a guardsman, who raised his war horn. The rumble of the crowd ascended to a roar. While seven lengthy blasts issued from the horn, the flag of Galdora was raised atop a pole just behind the Prince’s stand. The tournament had begun!

The day began with footraces. After several heats, Hanos Herran, a local boy, bested the field. Two members of the White Fang led him to the dais, and Lerryn himself placed a crown of what looked like ivy upon his head. Hanos, quivering nervously, bowed so deeply that the crown fell off his head. Many in the crowd laughed, but Lerryn merely returned the bow. A soldier then led Hanos into to a tent next to the viewing platform. Oskar’s gaze returned to the field, where the wrestling competition had begun.

Oskar did not completely understand the rules of formal wrestling. Neither did many of the entrants. After a great deal of eye gouging and hair pulling in the first few matches, one of the soldiers called a halt, and launched into an animated explanation, accompanied by demonstrations on an unwilling-looking young man who had been the worst of the hair-pullers. While the demonstration continued, Oskar scanned the perimeter of the field looking for Shanis and Hierm. He located Shanis quickly enough. Her red hair stood out in any crowd.

She sat at the far end of the field, far to Oskar’s right. Nearby was a large wall made of bales of straw, which would serve as the backdrop for the archery competition. Several of the more antsy swordsmen were stabbing the straw. Shanis was not looking at them. Rather, she was staring off to her left, where a tall boy with jet-black hair stood with his arms folded across his chest. The boy’s smug countenance said that he thought himself superior to these country folk. Oskar knew from Shanis and Hierm’s descriptions that this was Pedric Karst, the young man who had taken Natin’s hand. Oskar’s fists clenched. A primordial part of him that rarely surfaced wanted to force his way down through the crowd and strangle the youth with his bare hands. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes until the urge subsided.

“I hope Shanis gets a chance at him,” he whispered. “I hope, I hope, I hope.”

“You all right, boy?” Lars Harim, apparently recovered from his shock at seeing the White Fang at close range, cocked his head and stared at Oskar.

“Yes sir,” Oskar replied, a bit abashed. He pointedly fixed his gaze on the wrestlers, so as to cut off any further embarrassing conversation.

The wrestling competition resumed with several spirited matches taking place simultaneously. As the less-experienced wrestlers were eliminated, the matches began to look less like melees and more like sport.

Each contest took place inside a small square, with boundaries marked off by ropes only a hand’s length above the ground. Oskar deduced most of the rules by watching. The rest he learned by listening to conversations going on around him. A wrestler earned a point for throwing his opponent to the ground, or by forcing him out of the designated area. A soldier oversaw each match, and awarded points. Kicking and punching were not allowed. Tripping was legal, but one did not receive a point for taking down an opponent in this manner. In the absence of a “throw down” or an “out”, the overseer could award a point for “controlling the action.”

It quickly became evident that the class of the tournament was a veritable giant of a boy from one of the outlying communities. Towering head and shoulder above the rest of the combatants, the young man combined incredible strength with surprising speed for one of his size. He quickly became the crowd favorite as he plowed through the tournament field. Not knowing his name, someone on the hill to Oskar’s left began shouting “Bull! Bull!” The rest of the spectators picked up the chant. Oskar thought that the boy’s matted black curls and lack of a neck made him look more like a troll than a bull.

In the finals, the Bull faced off against a lean fellow of above-average height. The boy had some muscle on him, but next to the Bull, he appeared woefully thin. He also seemed overly preoccupied with his hair, which he combed thoroughly between matches before knotting it atop his head in some strange sort of bun. In his mind, Oskar had already nicknamed this boy “Hair”. The hairstyle, coupled with his perpetual grin made him appear almost effeminate.

“This fellow’s going to be killed.” Oskar voiced the thought that must have been in everyone’s mind.

To everyone’s surprise and pleasure, the match was competitive. Bull, though quick for his size, was not as fast as Hair, who managed to trip Bull a few times, all the while avoiding his clutches. When Hair managed to send Bull stumbling out of the ring, earning his first point, the chants of “Bull! Bull!” subsided for a moment.

Oskar filled the gap by shouting, “Hair! Hair! Hair!” Most of the people looked at him as if he were deranged, but a few laughed, and joined in. Within moments, chants of “Bull!” met shouts of “Hair!” as the two boys went at one another. Oskar did not think it possible, but the smile on the blond boy’s face actually seemed to grow broader.

The match ended when Bull finally got a solid grip on his opponent, and crushed him in a bear hug. When he finally dropped Hair onto the ground, the boy lay motionless on the thick grass. The soldier overseeing the match knelt over the boy, examining him at length before pronouncing him “out”.

Concern for the fallen wrestler tempered the crowd’s enthusiasm. Oskar was impressed to see Bull drop to his knees and speak to the young man who lay on the ground. Apparently satisfied with whatever response he received, Bull stood and allowed himself to be led to Lerryn’s dais. By the time the prince had crowned the wrestling champion, the runner-up was on his feet to the sound of applause and a few shouts of “Hair”. He was still smiling. Oskar noted that this time, both young men were taken into the tent.

The archery competition opened with a nervous contestant sending his first shot over the protective backdrop and into the crowd. The arrow struck a man in the leg, but the victim was so drunk that he ripped the arrow from his thigh and held it aloft. Laughing, he staggered several steps through the crowd before his legs melted and he fell in an incoherent heap. A few of the spectators, overcoming their surprise, hurried over to tend to the man. The shaken young archer recovered his composure enough that he was able to hit the target with his remaining shots, but did not come near the bullseye.

As the contest progressed, Oskar determined that archery was not a great spectator sport. The better archers came close to the center of the target with nearly every shot. Only the observers who sat near the front could tell who had made the best shots. Thankfully, the competition moved along at a brisk pace until Edrin Kalloh, a local boy, emerged the winner. As he received his crown, the crowd roared with excitement. Not so much, Oskar thought, in support of the archer, but instead because it was time for the swords!

A chill ran up Shanis’ spine as she listened to the roar of the crowd, rising to a tumult as the swordsmen were called onto the field. She had never been nervous about using the sword, it having always come easily to her.

Besting the boys had been fun, the pressure always being on them not to lose to a girl. But today it was Shanis who felt the pressure. For the first time, something important was dependant on her performance. This was the chance to live her dream. The chance to attend the Prince’s Academy. But she had to win.

The winner of the tournament would gain a place in the Prince’s Academy, but others might also be invited if they were deemed worthy. Gossip among the contestants held that two wrestlers and three archers had been invited. The young men needed only to acquit themselves well in order to be considered. Shanis knew that that would not be enough in her case.

She did not know why Prince Lerryn had been so agreeable to her competing. Likely, he was amused by the novelty of it all. A girl with a sword! Doubtless, he did not expect her to win. He probably expected her to make a fool of herself. She would show him. If she won the tournament, he would be bound to admit her into the academy. She would have earned that right in front of thousands of witnesses. Anything less than a victory might give Lerryn an excuse to exclude her.

She scanned the crowd in search of her father. She did not expect to see him. He had left early that morning, hauling goods for Lord Hiram. He had not wished her luck. In fact, they had not spoken of the tournament since the day she had learned that she could compete. Arriving home, she had leapt into her father’s arms like a young girl. For a moment he was his old self, laughing a deep, hearty laugh as he clutched her tight to his barrel chest.

Upon hearing the news, though, her father hung his head, shrugged his bearlike shoulders and whispered, “If it must be.” He then retired to his room, and did not come out until morning.

Shanis’ mother had died during childbirth, but this tragedy had not stopped Colin from filling his daughter’s life with happiness and love. Her earliest memories were of walks in the woods with him. He taught her scout craft, how to track, hunt and survive in the wilderness. He taught her hand-to-hand fighting and trained her in the use of the knife and the bow.

He presented her with her first sword in her seventh summer: a blunt-edged tournament sword that was just right for her size and strength. Colin taught her the basics and then turned her over to Master Yurg for training.

Colin Malan had also taught her to read and to do sums. He was truly a remarkable man. How many simple teamsters had the breadth of knowledge and experience that Shanis’ father had? Moreover, how many men would commit the time to raising a daughter alone?

The thing she most remembered was that he had taught her that being a girl should never hold her back.

“You can do anything, Shanis. Anything. Always believe.” How many times had he said those words to her?

Shanis felt that she no longer knew this sad, strange man. His ill temper had grown worse over the past few months. The closer she came to her sixteenth birthday, the less supportive Colin became. All of the things he had taught her no longer seemed to matter. Suddenly he wanted her to be another one of the girls. Which made the note he had left for her all the more puzzling.

She had risen early to find that her father had already left. A piece of parchment lay beneath her sword.

Shanis,

The sword is your destiny. I thought I could keep you from it, but I was wrong. I cannot be with you today because I would try to stop you. A man does not always know when he is beaten. Trust Yurg. Know that I will always be your father.

Papa

The note was strange in many ways. Apparently, her father was resigned to her pursuit of the sword.

What did he mean, “Trust Yurg”? She had always trusted Yurg. He was like a second father to her. And why tell her that he would always be her father? It was strange.

The bark of a soldier giving instructions jolted her back to awareness. She recognized Captain Tabars from the encounter between Natin and Pedric Karst. She ground her teeth at the thought of Karst. She hoped that she would have the chance to make him pay for what he had done to Natin. She had only a moment to think before Tabars began moving people around. The contestants were divided into rows, each person several paces away from the others. Tabars explained that they would begin by working through some basic forms.

Shanis drew her sword, and ran through the mental exercises that Yurg had taught her. One with the blade.

In her mind’s eye, the blade became an extension of her body. She shed her emotions, her random thoughts, whittled away by the sword’s razor edge. Her blood flowed through the sword. The sword breathed with her. She was the sword. The sword was her.

She flowed through the forms with a practiced ease. Calm… focus. Her mind regarded the activity about her with a detached curiosity. Next to her, an awkward young man with a bulbous nose barely averted hacking off his own foot as he feebly attempted to follow along with the group. One of the Prince’s guards intervened, and removed the boy from the group. Some part of Shanis heard the boy’s sobs as he was led away. Another part of her wondered who had signed for the boy to enter. Probably he was the son of some nobleman who thought himself worthy because of his station.

The forms came to an end. Shanis noted that several hopefuls had been weeded from the field during the working of the forms. All the better. Even using a tournament sword, a novice could be seriously injured.

Three dueling circles were marked off in a triangle in front of the dais. Almost immediately, a soldier called Shanis to the one nearest Lerryn and the other guests.

A tall, grim-looking soldier with a pockmarked face approached her. “Get a jerkin and a sword. Give your own sword to me.” He waited while Shanis unbelted her sword and handed it over. He carelessly tossed it to the side, and then addressed her opponent in the same way. If he had treated her sword casually, nothing else about him was casual. His every move spoke of barely contained danger, like a snake poised to strike.

Shanis chose a jerkin from a nearby pile. The tournament armor was a thick leather vest padded with wool.

Shanis chose the lightest one she could find. She took more time choosing from the stack of blunted tournament swords. The weight was not of great concern to her, but proper balance was paramount. After testing several blades, she finally found one to her liking, and moved into the circle. Her opponent was waiting for her, as was the swarthy soldier. She wondered if he would be annoyed at the delay, but instead he gave her an appraising look, and a nod. Obviously, he understood what she had been doing.

Her adversary was a tall, broad-shouldered boy who looked to be of an age with her. The fine cut of his clothing marked him as someone of affluence, if not nobility. He had unruly auburn hair and a freckled face.

He made no effort to hide his contempt for her, chuckling as she took her place in the circle. He must have misinterpreted the delay as hesitation on her part.

Out of the corner of her eye, Shanis spied Lerryn smirking. Mistress Faun, face twisted in revulsion, was whispering in Hiram’s ear. Hot rage surged inside of her, and she had to fight to control her temper. Focus.

“I am Squadron Leader Khattre,” the soldier said. “You will obey my instructions at all times. I will call all points. No points for strikes to the head and neck. Three points wins.” With that, he handed each of them a light helm. “Ready positions!”

Hastily, Shanis donned her helm and moved to the center of the circle. She stood sideways to her opponent, looking at him across her right shoulder. She held her sword point-down in front of her. Her grip was tighter than it should have been. She was too tense. Calm… One with the blade! Her mind raced.

A few cheers arose from the crowd, but only a few. Taunts and jeers drowned them out. One man made an extremely profane proposition to her, which was received with much laughter. This was not at all how it was supposed to be! Her calm evaporated. Faun and her superior airs. Lerryn making sport of her. The smirking boy facing her in the circle. She wanted to destroy them all. When Khattre called “Begin!” she leapt into her opponent, hacking through him with unbound fury.

Taken by surprise, the boy backpedaled momentarily, then moved to the side, sliding past her. “Point!”

That was too fast. How did I…

More catcalls from the crowd. Shanis looked down. The point was not hers. Her opponent had stabbed her in the very center of the abdomen. With a real sword it would have been a killing blow. A painful one. She felt her face flush. She had lost control. The rage she had felt only moments ago drained away, replaced by humiliation. Khattre looked disappointed. She glanced up at the dais, where Faun veritably glowed with satisfaction. Lerryn maintained his amused grin. Hiram stared through her, as if he wished she were invisible.

Everything was amplified. The laughter rang in her ears. She stepped back and shook her head vigorously, as if she could make it all go away.

Glancing up she noticed Yurg seated to Lerryn’s left. Why hadn’t she noticed him before? Her gaze locked with his. A brief narrowing of the eyes was the only response he gave, but it was enough. She remembered an argument not so long ago. ‘If an opponent can make you angry, he can kill you just as easily.

For all the gifts you have with the blade, you can’t grasp that simple concept!’ His voice echoed in her mind.

Now she understood his anger, his frustration. Calm. Like the forms. Calm.

“One with the blade.” she whispered. “One with the blade”. She moved back to the center of the circle, as if in a trance. She sliced away her feelings, and discarded them one-by-one. Frustration, confusion, embarrassment, anger, all gone. She was one with the blade. She was the blade.

No longer did animosity of any sort show on her opponent’s face. In fact, he no longer seemed to regard her in any way at all. She was no longer worthy of his concern. It showed in his posture, in the lazy way he held the sword. His eyes darted toward Khattre, impatiently waiting to dispatch this foolish girl. This time, Shanis did not care what he thought of her. She did not care what anyone thought. She was the blade.

“Begin!” Shanis easily deflected a broad, sweeping stroke that had been aimed at her head. She flowed smoothly into an attack. She pressed forward, this time under control. Her adversary cocked an eyebrow.

Once again she had surprised him. This time it cost him.

“Point!” Khattre shouted.

The boy stared at her for a moment. He suppressed a chuckle, then returned to the center of the circle. When the duel resumed, he leapt to the attack.

Shanis glided into a defensive posture. The blows rained down. She deflected them with ease. She danced around the circle with a grace borne of years of training. Her attacker redoubled his efforts to no avail. His blade never came close. Shanis remained on the defensive. She now knew the extent of the young man’s abilities.

Around the circle they spun, the boy now hacking away in frustration. He had tired visibly. His footwork was sloppy, his strokes long and looping. Shanis decided to give him a rest. She neatly deflected his blade and stabbed for the heart.

“Point!” If Khattre was surprised at this turn of events, his serious demeanor gave no hint.

This time, a few people in the crowd cheered. Most still taunted her. Those who did not understand swordplay believed that they had seen a superior swordsman drive his opponent around the circle, only to fall victim to a lucky stab. Khattre met her eye with a lengthy stare, as if taking stock of her. Her opponent received only a sympathetic shake of the head before they were recalled to action. This time Shanis would leave no doubt in anyone’s mind.

A tight, measured attack drew the boy’s blade in close to his body. He mounted a feeble defense, Shanis blade coming ever closer. Four strokes to the abdomen in quick succession. A forehand slash across the bridge of the nose came just short of blinding the young man. Shanis had intended to miss. In a panic, the boy threw his blade up to protect his face. With a loud smack, Shanis’ backhand stroke cracked across his stomach, driving the wind from him and buckling his knees.

“Match!” Khattre thrust his left fist into the air and pointed his right hand at Shanis.

This time the cheers almost equaled the whistles and insults that were hurled her way. Shanis turned toward the dais, removed her helm, and knelt in an exaggerated bow. More applause, and many more jeers. Lerryn stood, and returned her bow along with a flourish of his cape.

Mistress Faun looked scandalized. Shanis treated her to a mock-curtsy, difficult to do while wearing leather armor and holding a sword. Lerryn clapped his hands, and nudged Faun with an elbow to the ribs. It took Faun only a moment to decide this was all Lord Hiram’s fault. She ignored both Shanis and the Prince, and laid into her husband with a vengeance. As usual, Hiram took it all with a stony detachment. Lerryn shook his head at Faun and continued to applaud.

“Girl! On guard!”

At the sound of Khattre’s voice, Shanis spun around. Her vanquished opponent, now on his feet, charged at her. Reflexively, Shanis ducked under a stroke that would have caved in her skull. She somersaulted on her left shoulder, and came up underneath her assailant. With a deft thrust, she drove the pommel of her sword up into his groin. He made surprisingly little sound as he toppled and fell. The crowed roared its approval.

Somewhere beneath the calm of the sword, Shanis smiled. This might be fun, after all.

Chapter 6|Blind

Hierm swept the sodden mass of hair from his forehead. He mopped has brow, then retied the cloth around his temple. Taking a moment to rest, he leaned against a nearby wagon, and tried to catch a glimpse of Shanis. He had seen little of her, but he was able to follow her progress by the roaring of the crowd. He had watched the beginning of Shanis’ first match. It was not a pretty sight. He had agonized as he watched her struggle. He knew that she was better than what she displayed. But somehow, almost magically, the old Shanis had emerged. Even knowing her capabilities as he did, Hierm was amazed at the progressive ease with which she dispatched her opponents. As her performance improved, so did the crowd’s reaction to her. She quickly became the favorite. From then on, every eruption told Hierm that Shanis had again emerged the victor.

Things had not been as easy for Hierm. His first opponent had been a young man obviously of moderate experience, and Hierm had make quick work of him. Since then, each match had grown increasingly difficult, each opponent more skilled. In fact, he had scarcely managed to win his last match. Only a foolish slip by his opponent had allowed him to claim the victory.

He stole a glance at the dais. No one was looking at Hierm. They were all waiting for Shanis’ next match. His mother noticed him, and waved. Alongside her, Hiram looked at him and nodded. Strange, that simple gesture from his father meant more to Hierm than all of his mother’s smiles and waves. His reverie was broken by the sound of his name being called.

“Van Derin! To the circle.”

He made his way back toward the circle. As he walked, a soldier clapped a meaty hand on his shoulder.

Hierm looked down at him.

The man looked like a walking tree stump. His arms were as thick as Hierm’s thighs, and his legs were so muscular that the man seemed to step to-and-fro in order to keep his thighs from touching. A broad scar, puckered and faded with age, ran across the back of his thick neck. Despite his intimidating physical appearance, the soldier wore a relaxed smile, and his clear, brown eyes matched his pleasant demeanor.

“This is it, boy. Win this and you fight for the championship!” Hierm could not stifle a grin. Surely that would make his father proud. The soldier noticed his smile, but misunderstood the thought behind it. “Want a crack at that redhead, do you? She’s a good one.”

Hierm missed a step. In all of the excitement leading up to this day, it had not occurred to him that he might face Shanis. He should have considered the possibility, he supposed, but he had not truly expected to make it this far. Shanis was the crowd favorite. If he fought her and won, he would be reviled. And if he lost, his father… What was he thinking? If he won? The way Shanis was fighting today the whole of the White Fang could not beat her.

“I don’t want to fight Shanis,” he muttered. “This is not good. Not good at all.”

“Not good, you say?” the soldier laughed. “Win this one before you worry about the next.” They arrived at the circle. The soldier removed his hand from Hierm’s shoulder, and gestured across the ring. “Watch this one.

He’s as bad as she is good.” With that, he turned and walked away.

Hierm watched his bulky form recede into the crowd. Odd that the fellow had taken an interest in him.

Hierm didn’t recall having ever seen him before. Too bad he had not gotten the man’s name. Regardless, it was now time for the business at hand. He stepped into the ring, and looked across at his opponent. He stifled a curse when he saw whom he was to face. Beady black eyes stared at him from a frame of ink black hair. Karst! Hierm had completely forgotten the ill-disposed young noble. His surprise must have showed.

Karst’s lips curved back in a wicked smile. The whiteness of his teeth and the pallor of his skin made his lips appear to be the color of blood.

The two contestants were called to the center of the circle. Hierm stared dispassionately into Karst’s eyes as they were given the same instructions they had received before each match. The surprise at seeing Karst had faded quickly. Hierm forced himself to regain his focus. This was simply another opponent. Hierm sized him up. Slightly taller than himself. Perhaps a slightly longer reach. Lanky, probably strong and quick. He tried to remember what he had seen when Karst had fought Natin. It had all happened so fast. The only things he could glean from the memory were that Karst was skilled and wicked.

Everything seemed to accelerate as Hierm analyzed his opponent. His heart pounded, and his senses seemed heightened. He felt the warmth of the sun on his scalp, the track of a single bead of sweat as it traced a path through the dust on his cheek. The roar of the crowd thundered in his ears, yet it seemed that he could pick out each individual voice. A fly buzzed past his face. Somewhere nearby, someone was roasting meat. The green expanse of the field, the deep blue sky, and the white cloaks of the Prince’s guard took on a striking clarity. Objects seemed to rush toward him, then instantly recede. All of these things flashed through his consciousness in an instant. He took a deep breath, and fought to regain control of himself.

The instructions were nearly finished. Think! Think! Hierm told himself. Everyone has a weakness! Shanis’

weakness was anger. Hierm had his weaknesses. What was Karst’s weakness?

The instructions were completed. Hierm and Karst were ordered to step back and make ready. As they moved apart, Karst spoke to him softly enough that no one else heard. “I can’t wait to see what passes for nobility in this cow pasture of a town.” Hierm looked at Karst’s sneering face and laughed. How had he not seen it before?

Shanis wondered what Hierm’s laugh could mean. Her last match had been as easy as the rest. Not that her opponents weren’t good. Today, she was better than she’d ever been in her life. Now, only one match remained. Her opponent would either be Karst or Hierm. She felt torn. She didn’t want Hierm to lose to Karst. On the other hand, she would relish beating Karst. And she would beat him. He was good, but she believed that today, no one could beat her. Everything was flowing perfectly. This was the day that she would finally show everyone that they had been wrong to have discouraged her from pursuing the sword. She would hate to have to beat Hierm, but if that were what it took to win, she would do it. She was a swordsman.

Swordsperson, Khalyndryn used to say, half-teasingly. Swordsman sounded just fine to Shanis. Anything else cheapened it, made it sound second-best. She was the best swordsman on the field today, and soon she would prove it.

She watched as Hierm and Karst made ready. At the signal, the two leapt together, swords meeting in midair with a resounding ring. They parted as quickly as they had come together. They circled one another nimbly, thrusting and parrying. Karst twisted his upper lip in a dismissive sneer as he crossed blades with his opponent. His footwork was smooth and his reflexes quick. He did not miss a step when Hierm stepped up the attack. He was better than Shanis had thought.

Hierm, for his part, wore a look of intense concentration. Shanis thought that was strange. Hierm normally kept his face blank, regardless of what he might be feeling on the inside. He was fighting well, but seemed to need every mental faculty to match Karst. Shanis watched as Hierm slowed his attack, and slid to his right, drawing Karst to him. Karst continued to smile as he pursued Hierm around the circle. Gradually, the dark-haired young man began to increase the pace of his attack. Stroke by stroke, Hierm’s defenses began to fail.

Hierm parried awkwardly. Each stroke from Karst came increasingly closer to striking home. Shanis clenched her fists. His form was all wrong. Everything was slightly off. The angle of his elbow, his grip, and his footwork were those of a beginner; an experienced one, perhaps, but still a beginner. He was better than this.

Karst noticed too, and pressed his attack with a reckless ferocity. Hierm wavered under the attack. He stumbled, ducked under a vicious two-handed strike that would have parted his head from his body, tournament sword or no, then thrust desperately.

“Point!”

A cheer went up from the crowd. It seemed that Karst had not endeared himself to the onlookers. Shanis smiled. It had appeared to be a lucky blow, but she now realized exactly what her friend was up to. Hierm looked winded, confused. A glance at Karst revealed that a mixture of rage and contempt had replaced his knowing grin. Right then, rage appeared to be winning. His black eyes glistened with intensity. His entire body quivered.

As they were again called to start, Karst leapt to the attack. Hierm fell back quickly. Desperately he fended off blows. Shanis bit her lip as she watched Hierm stumble as he retreated. Seeing his opponent off-balance, Karst prepared to deliver a crushing blow. Shanis wanted to cry out in glee when a sudden transformation took place in her friend. Hierm, who had been stumbling awkwardly, regained his feet. Nimbly he ducked under Karst’s strike. He spun to the side, bringing his sword around as he pivoted. The blade landed solidly across the dark haired boy’s stomach with a sickening thud. Karst’s sharp exhale of breath could be heard over the hushed onlookers, who appeared to be shocked at this turn of events. Karst crumpled to his knees, the wind knocked from him. Lucky for him this was a tournament, Shanis mused. With a real sword, and without the protective padding, he’d have been dead. As it stood, the boy would have a nasty bruise by this evening.

The surprise began to wear off, and a smattering of applause arose, accompanied by a few hurrahs from the local boys. Karst stared up at Hierm, his face a mask of shock and disbelief. Spittle ran down his chin. His breath was returning to him in deep rasps. He no longer wore his haughty expression. Instead his eyes bore mute testimony to more unadulterated hate than Shanis had ever seen. Hierm’s face was serene. His poise had returned. He glanced in her direction, and their eyes met briefly.

“Finish it,” she whispered.

Hierm had fed Karst’s illusion by pretending to be exactly what Karst expected him to be; an awkward country boy who couldn’t handle a blade. Karst had foolishly left himself open for the first point. Even after surrendering a point, it had not registered with Karst that he faced a capable opponent. He had waded in recklessly and had been made to pay. Hierm knew that he could no longer fool his adversary. Now would come the test. Who was the better swordsman?

When the match resumed, Karst was no longer the overconfident opponent Hierm had faced. He circled Hierm, trading blows not cautiously, but carefully. Around they went. Hierm called upon all of his skill, whirling feinting, slashing. Karst faltered, but before Hierm could take advantage, he leapt at Hierm, driving his shoulder into the shorter boys face. Hierm fell flat on his back.

“Halt!” the soldier called. “That’s a warning Karst!” Karst did not respond. The soldier offered his hand, but Hierm leapt quickly to his feet. His cheekbone stung from the blow, and his left eye felt puffy. He might have a blackened eye when this was over.

Karst seemed to have regained his self-assuredness, and came at Hierm with a determined assault. Hierm parried, but could not return the attack. He could only defend himself. His head rung a bit from the collision, and his eye seemed to be swelling already. Karst whirled, struck low, then high.

“Point!”

Hierm cursed under his breath. He hadn’t been focused, and Karst had taken advantage. Sweat dripped into his eye, making it sting. He swiped at it with his sleeve, and sucked in his breath sharply. Fire seemed to scorch the left side of his face. He reeled from the pain. What was wrong? He felt a firm hand clamp his shoulder.

“Come on boy!” the soldier barked at him. “He barely touched you. Make ready!”

Hierm gritted his teeth and tried to regain his calm. Things happened too fast. He had scarcely taken up his position when the match resumed. Karst attacked quickly, thrusting and dodging to his right. He kept Hierm pivoting toward what was fast becoming his blind side. The eye was swelling closed. This can’t be happening! Hierm thought to himself. He didn’t hit me that hard! It quickly became a losing battle. Karst kept up the pressure, dancing to Hierm’s left before Hierm could strike. If this keeps up much longer he’ll have me. Hierm had to try something.

Deflecting a slash, Hierm spun hard to his right, bringing his blade around in a vicious backhand swipe.

From the corner of his good eye, he saw Pedric circling directly into the blade’s path. A whirl. A heavy thud.

“Point!”

Hierm looked down to see the tip of Karst’s sword pressed into the center of his stomach. Karst was balanced on the balls of his feet and the fingertips of his left hand. He had rolled under Hierm’s swipe, and struck before Hierm could recover. Two points apiece. The next point would decide the match.

A stinging heat rose up along the side of Hierm’s face. His eye was nearly swollen shut now, and the burning sensation had not subsided. He raised his hand to rub at it again, but thought the better of it. The memory of the last time he had tried that was still fresh in his mind. He shook his head vigorously, as if that would somehow solve the problem. He made ready.

At the signal, Karst again attacked quickly. He struck fast and bounced away, always staying to Hierm’s left.

Karst did not try any looping strokes that might open his defenses. He stabbed quickly, then pulled away.

Hierm feinted a thrust of his own. The attempt was so feeble that Karst did not even react, but drove another lightning quick attack into Hierm’s defenses. Hierm barely deflected it. Another. Then another. Karst was now a shadow just out of the sight of Hierm’s good eye.

Hierm was now so blind that he was fighting mostly on instinct, anticipating where each next stroke would fall. A sense of desperation welled up inside of him. He felt an icy cold in the pit of his stomach. I can’t last much longer, he thought. A moment’s panic flashed through his mind as, in his mind’s eye, he saw Karst’s sword slicing off Natin’s hand. These were only tournament swords, but they could still do some damage. He threw his blade up, and felt the force of Karst’s stroke all the way up to his elbow. He struck back awkwardly, and danced away, his sword raised to fend off the next attack. So far he had guessed correctly. But how much longer?

Chapter 7|Departure

Shanis observed the match with an increasing sense of despair. She couldn’t believe Hierm’s misfortune. The collision with Karst must have been worse than it looked. Hierm’s face was swelling up like an angry bullfrog.

Worse, Hierm was losing. Badly. He had managed to fight off his opponent’s attack, but just barely. Hierm appeared desperate, almost frantic. Karst’s smirk had returned. Shanis knew that it was only a matter of moments before he pointed Hierm. Hierm had obviously reached the same conclusion. He ducked his head, and plowed into Karst. It was the same trick he had used against Shanis with occasional success. This time it did not work.

Unlike Shanis, Karst outweighed Hierm by at least a stone. Rather than knocking his opponent off balance, Hierm merely bounced off the bigger boy and stumbled to his left. As Hierm tried to regain his balance, Karst’s blade drove home.

“Point!” A collective groan arose from the audience, none of whom seemed to like Karst. The dark-haired youth did not seem to notice. Still smirking, he turned and genuflected deeply toward Prince Lerryn. Shanis kicked the ground. Even Karst’s bows were arrogant. She had to beat him. She wanted it with every fiber of her being.

She watched as Hierm clambered to his feet, tossed the tournament sword to the ground, and pushed his way through the throng of onlookers. Finding his own sword, he slammed it into its scabbard, and stormed off. Shanis watched him go. He would probably want some time to himself. She noticed Khalyndryn following Hierm. Not good. Khalyndryn would be the last person Hierm would want to talk to right now, except his father, of course. Shanis quickly followed behind the retreating blonde heads of Hierm and Khalyndryn.

Squad Leader Khattre seized her arm in a strong hand. “It will be a while yet, girl. The Prince likes to make a speech before the final match. Listen for us to call you!”

Shanis nodded, then made her way in the direction Hierm had gone. She quickly lost sight of him in the crowd, but she easily followed Khalyndryn’s golden hair and red bow bobbing through the throng. Several times, she was forced to hastily shake off well-wishers. Not too rudely, she hoped. Gradually, Khalyndryn moved farther ahead of her. Shanis lost sight of the girl once. Climbing atop a nearby cart, she finally spotted Khalyndryn disappearing into the woods that bordered Galsbur to the west. Hierm must be going to the river. She’d grab Khalyndryn, and get back to the field in plenty of time for the match. She hopped down from the cart, and made her way hastily into the forest.

She dodged between trees and skipped across roots. Khalyndryn had disappeared quickly. Behind her, she heard a distant roar. Stopping, she inclined her ear and listened. Even at this distance, she could easily recognize Lerryn’s voice. Strange. Oskar would have called it sorcery, but likely it was some sort of trick. At any rate, if Lerryn was just starting his speech, she had time to spare. Where had Khalyndryn gone?

“Khalyndryn!” Shanis called out. “I need to talk to you!” A muffled sound came from somewhere ahead of her. It sounded almost like a cry. She trotted off in the general direction from which the sound had come.

“Khalyndryn?” Again the sound, it was definitely a cry, but muffled. She hurried ahead. “Hierm?

Khalyndryn?” Now she heard it clearly. A whimpering sound coming from a thicket of fir trees to her right.

She leapt through.

Khalyndryn was flat on her back. Her skirt was pushed up to her chin. A bulky soldier in a wine-stained uniform of the White Fang knelt atop her. One meaty hand was clamped down over her mouth. The other worked at his belt. The look in Khalyndryn’s eyes was a mixture of terror and disbelief. Shanis did not hesitate.

“Get off of her!” Shanis sprinted across the gap separating them. She delivered a solid kick to the man’s chin just as he turned to look in her direction. The blow knocked his head back a bit, but he did not release his grip on Khalyndryn. Shanis aimed another kick at his head. This time, he reached out and caught her by the ankle.

A swift yank, and Shanis was on her back alongside her friend. The man was quicker than he looked. Before she could get up, his hand was at her throat. His breath reeked of sour wine. His oily black hair brushed her cheeks as he leaned down toward her.

“Well now. I’ve found me a little spitfire here.” She struggled. She tried to pull his hand away from her throat, but his muscles were like iron. “This one’s a fighter. I like that much better.” She fought harder, driving a punch into his kidneys. He grunted, but his face registered no response.

Out of the corner of her eye Shanis watched her assailant release his grip on Khalyndryn, but only long enough to hit the blonde girl hard in the temple. Khalyndryn crumpled to the ground. The man then turned his full attention to Shanis. Keeping his grip on her throat, he began to remove his hose. Stark realization froze Shanis’

heart. She struggled desperately, first punching at him, then trying to heave him off of her. As the soldier tried to force his hose below his knees, he shifted awkwardly. Shanis felt something cold and hard against her palm.

Something in the back of her mind knew that it was his belt knife. A vicious yank and it was free in her hand.

She thrust upward with all of her might.

A jolt ran up her arm as the blade met with resistance. Another stab. Nothing. His mail shirt! The inebriated soldier fumbled with his smallclothes, still oblivious to the fact that she was now armed. Somewhere in the far reaches of Shanis’ mind, a voice told her that it was time to scream.

Hierm winced at the sounds of crashing brush and snapping twigs that grew ever closer. He had no desire to talk with anyone, especially Khalyndryn. He had been so close. So close! What had gone wrong? A stray lock of hair dangled over his swollen eye. He brushed it away reflexively and was jolted by the sharp pain. He cursed.

“Watch your language, Van Derin. Your mother might hear you.” Oskar emerged from a thicket in front of Hierm. He walked directly over to his friend and inspected Hierm’s eye. “This is bad,” he declared flatly.

“It’s not that bad,” Hierm replied. “He only hit me with his shoulder. It hurts, but the swelling has already gone down.” He tried to turn away, but Oskar seized his shoulders, and spun him back around so that the two faced one another.

“That’s not what I mean. Karst put something in your eye.” Hierm could tell by the look on Oskar’s face that his skepticism must have been evident. “That’s why I followed you. He cheated. We have to tell someone.”

“He didn’t put anything in my eye. You saw the match. He hit me in the eye, that’s all. I lost.” He brushed Oskar’s hands away. “Who would cheat right in front of the prince? It’s unthinkable.”

Oskar shook his head. “That’s no blackened eye I’m looking at. Your eye is bright red. He put something in it, something that made your eye swell shut.”

Hierm was surprised at Oskar’s intensity. He thought for a moment. The burning, the searing pain, the way his eye had swelled so quickly. It made sense. “He must have put something on his clothing. When he hit me…”

Realization tumbled fully upon him.

Oskar picked up where he left off. “I saw him rubbing his shoulder in between points. I thought he was hurt.

Once I saw the way your eye was swelling, I knew what must have happened.”

“Why didn’t someone realize what he was doing? Why didn’t I see it?”

Oskar stared off into the distance for a few moments, his palms upraised. “I guess it’s like you said. No one would ever dream of cheating going on right in front of Lerryn. You see what you expect to see, I suppose, and nothing more.” Oskar’s dark eyes stared at the ground. Regret was painted across his face. “I tried to get to you, to get to the ring, but the crowd was too much. It was over before I got there. I’m sorry.”

Hierm was touched by his friend’s earnest apology. “It’s all right, Oskar. You tried. I couldn’t ask for a better friend.” He placed a hand on his friend’s beefy arm and gave him a quick squeeze. “Let’s go watch Shanis whip Karst.”

“What do you mean?” Oskar shook his fists in frustration. “We have got to tell someone. I’ll support you.”

“Who would we tell?”

“I don’t know. The prince? Your mother could tell him.” Even as he said the words, Oskar scratched his head and looked quizzically at the sky. “That won’t work, will it?”

Hierm chuckled despite himself. “No, it won’t work. Even if we’re right, we can’t prove anything. Doubtless he’s washed off whatever it was. I’d just look like a poor loser. My father’s going to be disappointed enough without me acting the fool in front of royalty.” Hierm winced. He had been so disappointed at losing that he hadn’t even thought about his father.

Oskar seemed to read his thoughts. “Well, Van Derin, there’s one good thing that’s come of all this.” He didn’t wait for Hierm to ask. “Your father would be much more upset if you’d lost to Shanis than to Karst.”

Hierm had to admit that his friend was right, though it did little to improve his mood. A loud cry startled him from his reverie. “Did you hear that?” Oskar shook his head. Hierm began walking in the direction from which the sound had come. Silence. “I heard something!” He quickened his pace. He didn’t know who had shouted, but his instincts told him that all was not right.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Oskar said, following along behind him. “What did you hear? Slow down!”

Hierm kept moving. Toward what, he did not know.

She ought to be frightened, should have kept crying out for help. But instinct took over. One with the blade! A voice seemed to whisper inside of her. One with the blade. There was no more thought. The blade slashed her captor across the wrist. That got his attention! But before he could make a sound, Shanis struck again. Hot blood splashed over her face as she opened his throat. She clamped her lips together against the sickly salty taste. The man’s hands went to his throat, as if he could keep the life in. When he raised his arms, Shanis plunged the knife deep into his armpit, where his mail did not cover. The man convulsed, then fell slowly to the side. Shanis shoved him away and sprang to her feet.

Molten rage burned inside of her as she watched the man’s final moments. Frothy blood bubbled from his lips as he futilely fought for breath. With a cry of bestial rage, she lashed out. She kicked the dying man. She fell to her knees and pummeled him. She fought to drive the rage out of her body. She screamed at him, willing her anger out of her, but nothing helped. The anger, the hurt, the fear roiled inside, raging in a furious storm. She had to get it out, or it would rip her apart. She clutched her head in her hands and screamed in anguish.

Her scream seemed to last forever. She felt someone’s arms around her, lifting her to her feet. She opened her eyes and was met with Hierm’s gaze. His blue eyes were aglow with feelings too deep and too many for her to read. His hair had fallen in front of his eyes again, partially covering his swollen face. His chest was covered with blood. If he was that bloody simply from helping her up, what must she look like? She tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Hierm also seemed to be having trouble finding words. A voice spoke from behind her.

“Shanis? What…?” Oskar couldn’t finish the question. Shanis shrugged out of Hierm’s embrace and turned to see the husky boy cradling Khalyndryn against his chest. Her fair skin had gone stark white. The slender girl seemed little more than a child, trembling against Oskar’s broad chest. Shanis shook her head. She was still angry, but it was no longer the fiery rage that had shaken her so badly. Even Khalyndryn, spoiled, manipulative Khalyndryn, didn’t deserve this.

Shanis found her strength had returned, and with it her resolve. “You know what happened! I killed him.” She was surprised at how easy it was to say. “I killed him.” The second time was easier than the first. She felt the anger slowly draining away. Hierm still had not found his voice. “I’ve got to get away from here. I’ve got to get away fast!”

“Are you sure?” Oskar asked in little more than a whisper. “If you tell the truth, maybe you can see your way clear of this.” His words held more obligation than conviction.

“I’m certain, Oskar. I killed one of the Prince’s guard. The blood is on my hands…literally.” She held out her hands to show them. “You two don’t have to let anyone know that you saw me. Take Khalyndryn home.

I’ll…”

“I’m not going back!” Khalyndryn cried. She wriggled from Oskar’s grasp. “You’re taking me with you. I can’t go back.” She looked at Shanis with pleading eyes.

“No one is going anywhere.” Hierm finally spoke up. “We all know what happened. You were defending Khalyndryn. She can be your witness. She’ll tell what happened…”

“Nothing happened to me!” Khalyndryn’s shriek bordered on hysteria. “I’m not telling anything to anyone because nothing happened to me!” She turned back to Oskar and buried her face in his chest. Her body heaved with her sobbing. Hierm opened his mouth to speak, but Shanis gently placed a hand on his lips.

“The truth doesn’t matter, Hierm.” She was surprised at how calm she felt. “Khalyndryn can’t tell what happened. Everyone will consider her soiled no matter what the truth is. They’ll assume the worst. People always do. She’ll be ruined.”

Khalyndryn’s weeping grew louder and more aggrieved. Hierm shook his head, but Shanis continued. “Even if both of us told the truth, it wouldn’t make a difference. This is one of the Prince’s guard. One of his own.

This wouldn’t be a trial before your father and the city leaders. The Prince can do anything he wants. What do you think he would do to me?” She let the question hang there in the silence. After a moment, she took Khalyndryn by the hand. She couldn’t believe what she was about to do.

“You can come with me if you want.” The look of gratitude in Khalyndryn’s face was almost enough to make her forget her dislike of the wispy blonde. Almost. “We should go now.” Where would they go? They’d have to get to her house quickly, and get her horse, and what money she had. That wouldn’t do. They’d be searching the roads for her. Through the forest? They’d make little headway. And how would Khalyndryn manage days in the wilderness, being the soft, spoiled girl that she was? Her head began to ache. What was she going to do?

“I want to go with you,” Oskar blurted. “I have a plan. I have money, too. A lot of money.”

Shanis knew that she should refuse. Two lives had already been ruined today. Oskar should stay with his family. He didn’t have to be a part of this. But the truth was, she wanted Oskar to come. She had never felt so alone or so uncertain. She smiled. Oskar seemed to take heart. “I’ve been planning for years. I can help.”

Shanis clutched him in a tight embrace.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I know it’s selfish, but I want you to come.” She gave him another hug. “I’m sorry to do this to you.”

Oskar smiled. “Don’t be!” Before he could say more, Hierm stepped between them.

“You’re not, I mean, I’m…” He struggled for the words. “If you’re going, I’m going!”

“Hierm!” Shanis was shocked. “You can’t.” As much as she wanted Oskar to go, she wanted Hierm with her even more. He was her best friend. She couldn’t imagine leaving him. And yet, he had the most to lose.

“I’m going with you.” Hierm insisted. He cupped her face in his hands. His gaze locked with hers. “I have no choice.”

Shanis was startled at the look of longing in his eyes. He had never looked at her like that. No one had. What could she say? She wanted to protest, but her words were cut off by the sound of someone rustling through the underbrush.

“Borram!” A deep voice boomed. “Borram, we’re due to be on watch.” Through the trees, Shanis caught a glimpse of white cloth and silver mail. A soldier was coming right at them.

“Run,” she whispered. No one moved. She raised her voice. “Run!” She gave Oskar a shove, and followed on his heels, Khalyndryn in tow. Hierm brought up the rear.

Behind them, the voice called out again. “Who’s there? Come back here.”

They ran harder. Branches slapped Shanis in the face, and gnarled roots seemed to reach up to ensnare her.

Their pursuer must have found the body by now. His footsteps no longer rustled behind them. She heard a shout of surprise, then a mournful cry.

“Borram!” A string of curses ensued.

They continued to run. It soon became apparent that the man was not going to follow them. Still their pace did not slow. He would notify the guard, and time would be short. She hoped that Oskar’s “plan” was a good one.

It took only a short while to reach the Clehn farm. The small house was kept in good repair. A barn and a few outbuildings separated the main house from the broad expanse of farmland that stretched northward for leagues, hugging the west bank of the Vulltu. The local farmers thought Master Clehn a bit foolish to plant so close to the river. In Shanis’ memory, she could not recall the Clehns ever losing a crop to the rains. Master Clehn claimed to be “lucky that way.”

Oskar took command immediately. “Hierm, you and Khalyndryn get a sack from the barn. The kitchen garden is around the back of the house. Get as much food as you can carry.” Hierm responded to this new, confident Oskar without question. Khalyndryn, who still seemed to be stunned by her experience, stumbled along behind Hierm. Oskar turned to Shanis.

“Find some clothes for you girls. You know where my sister’s room is.” Shanis smirked. Oskar blushed.

“Sorry. You can wear something of my brother’s.” Oskar did not wait for a response. He ran into the house ahead of Shanis, and disappeared into the room shared by him and his younger brother.

Shanis felt badly about taking anything that was not hers, so she took only one set of clothing for Khalyndryn.

In Oskar’s room, she selected something for herself from among his brother’s things. Oskar stuffed the clothes into an oilcloth bag he had been filling. Her friend assuaged some of her guilt by leaving coins on both his brother’s bed and that of his sister. They rushed out the back door to find Hierm and Khalyndryn waiting for them. Oskar continued to bark orders.

“Shanis, look in the rafters of the old smokehouse.” His arms were full, so he gestured with his chin in the general vicinity of the barn. “There’s a bundle up there that we’ll need. Meet us at the river.” Again he was off without waiting for a response.

Shanis hurried to the old smokehouse. Inside, she fought her way through a mass of dust-encased farm implements and other items she did not recognize. In the far corner, tucked high in the rafters, was a large bundle of what appeared to be canvas. The smokehouse ceiling was low and it took her only a few jumps to grab hold of the bundle, which promptly came crashing down on top of her. With a curse, she fell heavily onto a pile of old crates. Thankfully, they were empty, and cushioned her fall somewhat. She heaved the bundle onto her shoulder, wondering what it might be.

Outside, in the light, she stopped to examine her burden. She was surprised at what she found. “A tent! Why does Oskar have this?” She knew that she had little time to waste. Hefting the bundle, she trotted to the river, where a bigger surprise greeted her.

Hierm and Khalyndryn stood at the river’s edge alongside a strange-looking boat. It was long and narrow, and appeared to have been hollowed out of a log. Each end came to a point. Shanis could not tell the front from the back. “What is that thing?” Hierm looked down at it and shrugged.

“Oskar called it a canoe. He read about it in one of his books.” Hierm shook his head. “He says the Baghma, or something like that, use it. It’s supposed to be good for river travel.” Shanis could not believe it.

Oskar expected her to get into that thing?

“This is his plan? This? Float away on a log?” She kicked the odd craft, and found it to be solid. “We can’t take a boat downriver. Boats never travel the Vulltu. Papa says it’s too narrow, rocky, and shallow!” She held one palm slightly above the other to illustrate her point.

“That’s why we need the canoe.” She had not heard Oskar walk up behind her during her ranting. “It sits high in the water, so it will clear most of the shallows. It’s narrow, so we can guide it between rocks, and it’s light enough that we can carry it if we have to.” The burly youth fondly caressed the edge of the craft. “I read about it in one of Lord Hiram’s books. It took me more than a year to carve it.” Shanis was impressed.

“You did this yourself?” She wasn’t impressed with the craftsmanship, so much as she was surprised that Oskar had kept his head out of the clouds long enough to see a task through to completion. Then another thought struck her. “Oskar, are you certain that it floats?” Oskar started to reply, then seemed to realize that he was being mocked.

“We’d better hurry. No one should have any idea that we’ve come here, but we should waste no time.” He heaved the tent into the center of the canoe. He had drilled a small hole in each side of the canoe’s center, near the top edges. Through these holes, he strung a rope, with which he secured the tent, the bag of food, and the oilcloth sack which held their spare clothing and whatever other items he had squirreled away. He pushed the canoe out into the water until only one end of the canoe was on land.

“Shanis, you’ll be in front. Get in and try and stay in the very center. Lean too far and you’ll tip it over!” Shanis paused, looking first at the canoe, then at Oskar, then back at the canoe. “What are you waiting for?” Shanis hoped that she was not blushing.

“Which end is the front? They both look alike.” Hierm chuckled, but nodded his agreement. Oskar’s shoulders slumped in seeming disbelief.

“That end.” He nodded to the end that extended into the water. “And take a paddle with you.”

Shanis assumed that a paddle was one of the giant wooden spoons that lay on the bank nearby. Not willing to add to her embarrassment by asking another question, she took a chance and grabbed one. Oskar did not contradict her, so she assumed that her guess was correct. Following Oskar’s gestures, she climbed into the canoe, and clambered out to the far end. She sat down, facing back toward shore. Oskar shook his head.

With a curse, she realized that she was facing the wrong way.

“Don’t say a word,”

she cautioned the young man. She whirled around, nearly upsetting the craft, and dropped cautiously to her knees, making certain not to overbalance.

“Good,” Oskar called out. “Hierm, you and Khalyndryn get in. Take a paddle.” Hierm half-dragged Khalyndryn into the canoe. He helped her climb across the pile of supplies secured in the center of the tent.

She sat down limply, leaning back against the bulk of the bundled tent. She stared blankly at Shanis’ back. She did not speak. Hierm positioned himself just behind the supplies, kneeling as Shanis had.

Shanis felt a sudden jolt as the canoe shot forward into the water. The front end heaved up, and then wobbled. Stealing a glance behind her, she saw that Oskar had pushed the craft into deeper water, and was awkwardly trying to climb in. She laughed. She had been feeling a little inept, but seeing Oskar struggle so valiantly somehow put everything back where it should be.

Instinctively she leaned away from the side to which Oskar clung. Hierm followed her lead, and soon Oskar was able to haul himself in.

“All right, big fellow, Shanis called back to him, “what do we do now?”

Oskar demonstrated how the paddle was used, and explained how best to propel the wobbly boat. Being strong, and having a good sense of balance, Shanis quickly had the hang of it. Hierm was also a quick study.

The three of them soon had the canoe skimming down the river.

Home was soon left behind. As they slipped quietly along the bank, Shanis’ paddle struck a small limb that lay lodged against a stone. Spinning loose, the stick tumbled down the river, and disappeared from sight.

Chapter 8|The Six

It was all wrong. The thought tickled at the back of Lerryn’s consciousness like an itch he could not reach.

Plans that had been years in the making had unraveled. Or had they? He shook his head, seeking to brush away the web of questions that clung to his thoughts. He just didn’t know.

He sat in one of the inn’s two rooms. The floors were of rough-hewn boards, worn smooth by the passage of time. The wood plank walls were unpainted and without ornamentation. His furnishings included a bed with a goose-down mattress, doubtless borrowed from Mistress Van Derin, a small wooden table, and two chairs. His own tent would have afforded more luxurious accommodations, but he had no desire to offend these kind, if provincial, people.

He swirled his cup of wine, trying to decide if his need for a drink outweighed his distaste for this provincial vintage. He held it up to the light, and noted with disappointment the murky lack of clarity. The bouquet was not much better, cloyingly sweet, almost oppressively heavy. He sighed. He had exhausted his personal store, and bad wine was better than none at all. Two gulps and the cup was almost drained. He shuddered at the taste, but the warmth that spread through his middle was comforting. If nothing else, the wine was strong.

“Highness?” Xaver, his vizier, poked his head through the door. “All is ready.”

“Is it?” Lerryn posed the question to no one in particular. “It doesn’t feel ready, Xaver. It feels…off.” The word hung there as he searched for something more to say. Finding nothing, he remained silent.

With a deep sigh, Xaver bustled past him. Reaching the table in the room’s center, the gaunt, graying man replaced the stopper in Lerryn’s wine decanter. He picked up the nearly empty cup, and strode to the open window. He threw a challenging stare at the prince and pitched the dregs out the window. If the vizier heard the angry cry from below, his face did not show it.

“Truly Highness,” he intoned, absently dragging his palms across the folds of his purple cloak, “this conversation has become most tedious. And this,” he pointed to the decanter, “helps you not at all. I have told you that all is in readiness, and I meant all!”

“I don’t think so.”

“Don’t think so?” Xaver’s condescending tone would have sent any other man to the headsman. “I shall explain it once more. Do you agree that we have chosen the correct place and time?” Lerryn nodded grudgingly as Xaver continued. “Do you agree that we are six?”

“I number them five.”

“Five?” Xaver began to count on long, claw-like fingers. “You and I, the victor…”

“We do not have a victor!” Lerryn shouted, no longer able to hold his tongue. “There was no final match. There can be no victor.” He pulled a chair away from the table, spun it around, and straddled the seat.

He folded his arms across the chair’s back, and rested his chin on the back of a hand. Freeze it all!

The Malan girl had vanished prior to the final match, along with the Van Derin boy and two other locals.

The body of one of his Guard, a drunkard named Borram, had been found in the forest. It had taken very little investigation to get to the bottom of the matter.

According to Squad Leader Khattre, Borram had had wandered away from his post during the latter rounds of the previous day’s tournament, declaring his intent to ‘have a bit of fun with one of the farm girls’. One of Borram’s friends, a guard named Arric, had found him dead in the forest, reeking of ale, hose around his knees, his own knife buried in his side. Arric had spotted a red-haired girl running away, along with several others. Probably scared out of their wits, Lerryn mused.

Scouts were turned out in search of the four, with no success. Their tracks led to a farm some distance from the village, and disappeared. Both sides of the river were scoured, but to no avail. The owners of the farm, parents of one of the missing boys, had been at the tournament all day, and were of no help. Mistress Van Derin had followed them, and had seemed oddly put out over the condition of the farm. Strange, he thought, it seemed to be quite a nice place as farms go.

“Highness?” Xaver’s voice snatched him from his reverie.

“Do you truly believe that Karst is the one?” Lerryn had lain awake half the night trying to accept that Pedric Karst could be the one. It did not fit.

Xaver’s face did not change. “It matters not what I believe. He is the one.”

“He is arrogant, deceitful. I don’t care for the boy one bit.” Karst was entirely not what he had envisioned when he began this search. How could this boy be the one?

“I did not realize that was a requirement.” Xaver sat down opposite Lerryn. “We have a task before us. A task too sacred to be held back by your reservations.”

“If conditions are not met, your sacred task cannot succeed.” Why did Xaver not see what was wrong?

“Your Highness, I have dedicated my life to this quest. You know the sacrifices I have made. And you may believe me when I say that conditions have been met.”

Lerryn gazed into Xaver’s eyes. They were a dark violet, almost black. “You are not the only one who has sacrificed, Xaver. You’re just the only one to whom it came easily.”

“Need I remind you that it was you who came to me, Your Highness?” When Lerryn did not answer, Xaver chuckled, a dry, raspy sound that reminded Lerryn of the closing of a crypt door. “It is of no importance. We have a victor. Perhaps not one of your liking, but a victor none the less. Pedric Karst is your tournament champion. No one defeated him.”

“No one defeated the Malan girl either,” Lerryn stubbornly insisted. “Did we ever find her father?”

“He is gone.” Xaver shook his head. “Hauling something or other for his Lord Hiram.”

“Don’t be so hard on Van Derin. You’ve met his wife.” Lerryn forced a smile. “Wonder how long it took our friend Hiram to realize the mistake he’d made in marrying her?”

Xaver actually smiled in return. “I believe he got exactly what he deserved.” The wizened man stood and returned to the window. He looked out and shook his head.

Lerryn could see past Xaver’s rail-thin body and out the window. Across the green, Faun Van Derin stood on the porch of her home, gesticulating wildly to a group of workers who were attempting to erect a statue of some sort. While the Prince and his advisor watched, the statue teetered, and fell to the ground with a resounding crash. Despite the distance, he heard Faun’s shrill cries quite clearly.

“She plays a dangerous game, that one.” Xaver stroked his chin whiskers and smiled, a predatory baring of teeth.

“Pretending to be nobility, you mean?”

Xaver did not answer. He strode to the door. “Your party is waiting, Highness. Your destiny is waiting.”

“Destiny has waited a long time. It can wait while I have another drink.”

“We all have our priorities, Highness,” Xaver sighed. “If you will be so kind as to join us once you have finished your bottle of courage.” The gaunt man slipped from the room with wraithlike silence.

With a shrug, Lerryn put the bottle of wine to his lips, and downed it in a series of loud gulps. Finished, he slammed the bottle to the table, belched loudly, and threw a look of comic defiance at the empty doorway.

Standing, he belted on his sword and proceeded down the stairs and out onto the front steps of the inn.

The innkeeper and his wife waited on the porch. Lerryn couldn’t remember their names. “You have honored our home with your presence, Highness,” the stocky man said with a bow. Lerryn inclined his head in return.

“You will find our daughter, won’t you, your Highness?” The innkeeper’s wife, an attractive woman, wrung her hands. Lerryn paused to think.

“We are certain that your daughter will return home soon,” Xaver interrupted. “But we, as well as Captain Tabars and his men, will continue the search.”

Of course! Their daughter was one of the three who had run away with the Malan girl. Perhaps Xaver was right about Lerryn’s drinking.

“Thank you, your Highness. Thank you.” Though it had been Xaver who answered, the woman knelt before Lerryn. “We are so worried.”

Lerryn placed a hand on her shoulder. “Worry no more. She will be returned to you. I am certain of it.”

Lerryn groaned inside at the look of complete trust in the woman’s eyes. He was only a man, yet a word from him, and she believed that all would be made right. He just didn’t understand.

He turned away from his hosts, and stepped out onto the steps of the broad porch. The bright morning sun stung his eyes. Squinting against the glare, he made his way down to the street.

Captain Tabars stood at the foot of the steps. “I don’t like leaving you, your Highness.” The burly soldier stood with his arms folded across his chest, his face twisted in a disapproving scowl.

“You have your instructions, Tabars. Take the new recruits to Archstone, and then place yourself at my father’s disposal.”

“Khattre can take the recruits back. You need me and the men with you.”

“Tabars,” Lerryn’s voice held a note of warning. “You have been given your orders.”

“Highness, you didn’t give me these,” Tabars raised a muscular arm to Lerryn’s face. His three silver bands of command reflected the sunlight in Lerryn’s eyes, making him flinch, “because I meekly follow orders. You have always relied on me. Now you are leaving, the Gods only know to where, and your only escort is these…boys. Of course I question your orders.”

“You are a good man and a good officer.” Lerryn clapped a hand on Tabars’ mailed shoulder. “I know that what I do is a poor repayment for the loyalty you have shown me. But I can tell you only that we must be six, or we will fail. When our task is complete, I will send for you and the men. Until that time, I must insist on your obedience.” He met his underling with a level gaze.

Tabars stared intently at Lerryn for a long moment before nodding his acquiescence. “We’ll be waiting for you, Highness. May the Gods smile on you.” The two men clasped hands.

“And on you as well, my friend,” Lerryn replied.

Tabars rejoined the rest of the White Fang, now numbering forty-eight. The veteran soldier mounted his horse with ease, and shouted a terse command to the Guard. With a clatter of hoofs, the white-cloaked soldiers set off, Lerryn’s new recruits following behind. “Keep up, or be left behind,” Tabars called to the bewildered-looking farm boys. Lerryn watched until his men had circled the green and disappeared down the east road.

Sighing, he turned to the five men who waited for him. He used the term “men” rather loosely. Xaver sat upon his gray gelding, holding the reins of Kreege, Lerryn’s warhorse. Behind him, the archery champion, Edrin something-or-other, sat astride the plainest-looking brown horse Lerryn had ever seen. Next to him, riding equally nondescript mounts of varying shades of brown, were the wrestlers. Lerryn had not bothered to learn their names. ‘Bull’ and ‘Hair’ suited him fine. Hair! Lerryn chuckled. What a wonder it had been finding him!

“Why aren’t we going with the others?” Several paces away from the others, Pedric Karst sat upon a skittish black stallion. He looked down at Lerryn with ill-concealed impatience.

Lerryn took a deep breath and held it. Must everyone be so impertinent today? “You’ll have your answer very soon, Master Karst.” Accepting Kreege’s reins from Xaver, he nimbly mounted the white horse. “And if you ever address me in that tone again, you will find yourself looking up at me from the flat of your back.”

He touched his heels to the horses’ flanks, and the powerful creature set off at a trot. The others followed behind.

“Gentlemen,” Lerryn began, “I have a long story to tell you.”

Chapter 9|Cold

Shanis stared into the flames of the campfire, watching as the wood was consumed, reduced to ashes. She was stiff and suffering. Days of paddling had taken their toll. Her back ached, her hands were blistered, and her legs were stiff from lack of use. Gingerly she touched the bruises on her face, sustained when the canoe had capsized the previous day. The river had finally proven too much for the sturdy little craft. A jagged rock had smashed a hole in its bottom, sending its four occupants into the angry current. She thought her body had found every rock in the river on her way downstream.

They had finally come to a stretch of shallows where they were able to recover most of their belongings and make their way to shore. Thankfully, no one had been seriously injured, and they had spent the night and the next day sleeping in a thicket of pine near the river.

She had killed a man. How should she feel? Strangely, she didn’t feel anything. Shouldn’t she be upset? Feel guilty? Then again, didn’t he deserve to die for what he tried to do to her? For what he tried to do to Khalyndryn? She looked across the campfire to where the girl lay.

Khalyndryn was wrapped in a blanket, staring blankly at the fire while Oskar hovered over her like a grandmother. He was making a fool of himself, Shanis mused. Khalyndryn’s condition had not improved. Still in a stupor, she had been no help during the trip down the river. In fact, she had not even tried to save herself when they capsized. Shanis had been forced to drag the girl from the river to save her from drowning.

Hierm sat down beside her. He stared at the fire for a time without speaking. Finally he looked at Shanis.

“How are you doing?” he asked tentatively.

Shanis shrugged. “All right, I guess.” She didn’t know what to say, but she appreciated Hierm’s concern.

“How should I be doing?”

“Shanis, you shouldn’t feel bad,” Hierm consoled. “I mean, well, I don’t know how you should feel. But you did the right thing.” He fell silent again.

“I think what bothers me is that I don’t feel anything. Shouldn’t I feel something? Am I some kind of monster?” She felt Hierm’s hand gently touch her shoulder.

“I’m no expert, but it seems to me that a monster wouldn’t care enough to ask the question.” He didn’t say anything else.

“Thanks,” Shanis said dryly, “you’ve been a big help.” He had made his point, though. From the corner of her eye, she saw him grin ruefully. “No, really,” she reached up and grasped his hand in both of hers. Her voice softened. “You’re a good friend. Better than I deserve.” They sat that way for a long time, listening to the crackle of the flames.

Oskar appeared from the direction of the river. As the bulky youth dropped down next to them, Hierm yanked his hand out of Shanis’ grasp and hopped to his feet. Shanis looked up at him, failing to stifle a giggle.

Men! Or boys, rather. Hierm looked embarrassed. He strode away quickly, and found a seat on the opposite side of the fire. He evidently found something interesting to study in the dirt, because he didn’t look up.

Oskar’s gaze flitted from one to the other.

“Did I miss something?” The moon-faced boy frowned at Shanis and shook his head. “Never mind.” He looked up at the branches over their head, his eyes taking on a faraway cast, and he smiled.

“Can you believe it? We’re on an adventure. We rode a river and crashed and nearly died. Now we’re in a mysterious forest far from home. It’s all so…. I don’t know.” His gaze snapped back to Shanis, his eyes clear.

“Did you see the Sai-kur?”

“Did I see what?” Shanis sat upright, suddenly nervous. What was a… whatever that word was?

“A Sai-kur. Some people call them Seekers. I saw one of them watching us from the forest just before we hit the rapids.”

“So he could be nearby?” Alarm rang in Hierm’s voice.

“I suppose,” Oskar said. “He was on the other side of the river though, and quite a ways back. Why? Do you think we should try and find him?”

“No,” Hierm said with a tone of finality. He did not elaborate.

“What’s wrong?” Shanis asked. “Are these… Seekers dangerous? If so, we should move on quickly.”

“Probably not,” Hierm said, shaking his head. “My mother always told me not to trust them, but she never gave a reason.” He shrugged. “Not that we would ever see one in Galsbur.”

“I was wondering something,” Oskar said, redirecting the conversation. “Where do you want to go?”

The question gave Shanis pause. She had not thought about anything other than getting away as quickly as possible.

“I don’t really know,” she mused. “I definitely want to get as far away from Galsbur as possible. How about that country with women soldiers? Hallind, isn’t it?” She had no idea how far away Hallind might be. “What about the two of you?”

Oskar shrugged. “I don’t care where we go,” he said with a bounce in his voice. “I want to see everything. I suppose Hallind is as good a place as any to get started. I’ll get my maps.” He sprang to his feet with surprising agility and strode purposefully to where their belongings lay. He returned with a bulky package wrapped in oilcloth. Unwrapping the bundle, he produced a sheaf of papers bound with string.

“These are all the things I’ve copied down from Lord Hiram’s books. Maps, stories, sketches…” He studiously bent to the pile and began furiously shuffling papers. “Where is it? Ha!” He flourished a folded sheet.

Smoothing a place on the ground, he spread the paper in front of them. “This is a map of most of the known world,” he announced with pride.

Shanis frowned at the mass of lines, dots, and squiggles. She shook her head, and squinted, leaning closer to the paper, as if proximity were the key to understanding. “You’ll have to tell me what this all means. I can’t make sense of it.” She turned to Hierm. “Want to have a look?” The blonde youth thrust his palms toward the map, as if to keep it at bay. Oskar laughed. Shanis knew that Oskar could not comprehend Hierm’s lack of interest in all things scholarly.

Oskar pressed the tip of a thick finger into the center of the map. “This is home,” he stated firmly.

Shanis felt an aching in her chest at the thought of home. Was her father home yet? If so, had he heard about what happened? What did he think of her now? She forced down the memories, and returned her attention to Oskar.

“Here,” his finger traced a wavy line down the page, “is the Vulltu. I’d guess we’ve come about this far.” He pointed to a spot not far below Galsbur on the map. Shanis winced. “Don’t worry,” he assured her, “It’s farther than it looks.” He waited for her to nod, then proceeded. “Hallind is over here.” He pointed to an oblong shape on the far edge of the map. “We should move south to get out of Galdora as quickly as possible. Then, we’ll cut east across land. Hallind is an island nation, so we’ll have to book passage on a ship once we get to the coast!”

Hierm perked up. “A ship? You mean a big, wooden boat out in deep water? Not a chance. The canoe was one thing, but not a ship. I don’t like water so deep that I can’t see the bottom.”

“Come on Van Derin,” Oskar chided, “where’s your spirit of adventure? We’re going to see the world!” He swept his arms apart. “Think of all the things we’re going to see.” His round face shone in the semi-darkness.

“He’s right,” Shanis said, finding herself caught up in Oskar’s infectious enthusiasm. “Imagine the places we’ll see. We can go anywhere.” Something tickled the back of her neck. Absentmindedly she scratched at it and came away with the biggest bug she’d ever seen. With a shout, she furiously shook her hand. The insect fell into the fire, where it burned with a satisfying crackle. “Anywhere without bugs,” she added with a shiver.

Someone giggled. She spun about, ready to confront the culprit but was stopped short.

Khalyndryn was sitting up. Her eyes were bright, and her laughter was carefree. “I thought you weren’t afraid of anything. I was sure of it.” The blonde girl stood and walked to the fireside where she sat down alongside Oskar. The husky lad scooted aside to make room in front of his map. With a hint of self-satisfaction in his voice, he began going over the particulars with Khalyndryn.

Shanis cleared her throat. “I’m not afraid of bugs,” she said to no one in particular. “I just don’t like them.”

She turned to Hierm, daring him to say anything. Her friend smirked, but held his silence. Wanting to change the subject, she sat down alongside Khalyndryn. “What are all these other places on the map?”

Oskar’s face split into a broad grin. He launched into a lengthy description of their part of the world. He shared his knowledge with such enthusiasm that even Hierm seemed to take interest.

The continent on which they lived was bisected by The Walls of Stone, a mountain range that ran from north to south in almost a straight line. Little was known of the lands to the west of the mountains. That side of the continent was sketched out in a rough semi-circle, with the words “The Lands West” written in the center. To the east of the mountains lay the lands that were more familiar.

To the extreme north was the kingdom of Halvala. Immediately to the south of Halvala lay Kyrin, and south of Kyrin lay Galdora. Both nations were landlocked, bordered by the mountains to the west, and the coastal nations of Cardith and Diyonus to the east. Galdora was bounded on the south by Lothan. Lothan, according to Oskar, was a “geographic nightmare of a nation,” comprised of hilly country in the west and swamps in the east.

The river Jorran ran south from central Kyrin through Galdora, and into Lothan, where it forked. The western branch cut through the hills of Lothan before emptying into the Great South Sea. The Minor Jorran, the eastern branch, fed the swampy lands that divided Lothan and Diyonus. Lying at the center of the fork lay Karkwall, the capital city of Lothan.

“Galdora is shaped funny” Khalyndryn exclaimed. Shanis frowned. “Look,” the fair haired girl pointed to Galdora. “It’s a rectangle. Why?” She turned an inquisitive eye toward Oskar, who beamed like a proud father.

“You’re right. Galdora isn’t like other countries. Other borders were determined over time, either by war or by the lay of the land. Galdora was formed by a committee.” Oskar bathed them in an expectant smile, and waited.

“All right, I’ll bite. What do you mean, formed by a committee?” Shanis rolled her eyes.

Oskar ignored her sarcasm. “For years, Kyrin and Lothan were at war with one another. Most of the time, they fought over the fertile land where the border between their countries lay. Although they would fight for any reason, sometimes no reason at all.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” Hierm kidded, elbowing Shanis. Shanis punched him hard on the shoulder.

“Finally, the Kings of Cardith and Halvala, and the Council of Diyonus, had enough. They decided to create a country that would serve as a buffer between Kyrin and Lothan. They left each country a bit of the farmland.

The rest of it became Galdora.” Oskar traced the outline of their homeland.

“What about the people who lived there?” Khalyndryn asked. “Did anybody ask them if they wanted to be part of this new country?”

“They were just happy to finally have peace. A nation’s flag doesn’t mean much when your stomach is empty and you’ve seen nothing but death all your life.”

“I hate soldiers. All they do is hurt people.” Khalyndryn pulled her knees up to her chin, wrapped her arms tightly around her legs, and rocked in silent contemplation.

“Is that why Kyrinians hate Galdorans so much?’ Hierm queried.

Oskar nodded. “For years, the combined armies had to protect Galdora from invasion. Meanwhile, they put a Cardithian on the throne, and married him off to a Halvalan girl. They put a Diyonusan in charge of raising an army. In time, Galdora became strong enough to stand on its own.”

Something didn’t make sense to Shanis. “But why don’t we ever hear about war with Lothan? Shouldn’t they hate us just as much?”

“They’re too busy hating each other. Lothan has two distinct groups of people: the Malgog and the Monaghan. The Malgog live in the highlands. The Monaghan live in the swamps and wetlands. They’ve always feuded. Fighting with Kyrin kept them distracted, but once that wasn’t an option, they went back to fighting each other. There’s been civil war there ever since.

“Kyrin is a different story. It’s a landlocked country, like Galdora, and that’s always made relations with other nations touchy. Kyrinians hate Lothans because of their historical enmity, hate Galdorans because we took their land, and they hate the other nations for giving us their land.”

“What can they really do about it?” Hierm asked. They’re only one country against five.

“Four,” Oskar corrected. “Lothan isn’t going to fight anyone in its present state. But don’t underestimate Kyrin. Every boy grows up training to be a soldier. They are always ready for war.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Some even say that they’ve had dealings beyond the mountains.”

Suddenly, Shanis’ skin prickled and a shiver ran down her spine. “Did you feel that?” she whispered.

“What?” Hierm regarded her with a frown.

“I heard…no… I felt something.” She could not explain what it was, but it was very real. She was certain of it.

“What do you mean, felt something?” Hierm rose to his feet and looked around.

“Something is out there.” Shanis scanned the clearing, eyes straining to see beyond the perimeter of the firelight. The feeling was stronger now. Gooseflesh covered her arms. She cautiously climbed to her feet and drew her sword, which slid free of its scabbard with a metallic hiss.

“What is it?” Khalyndryn’s voice quavered. She clambered to her feet, and edged closer to the fire. “Where do you see it? I don’t see anything.”

Oskar and Hierm moved to either side of Khalyndryn. Firelight danced along the edge of Hierm’s blade.

Oskar wielded a chunk of firewood, holding it aloft like a club.

Shanis senses screamed. Her body quaked and her breath was coming in gasps. What was wrong with her?

“Don’t be afraid.” The pleading tone of Khalyndryn’s voice belied her words of reassurance. “I’m sure it’s all right.”

“I’m not afraid. I’m cold.” Shanis had to clench her jaws to keep her teeth from chattering. She felt like she was back in the icy river. Had she taken ill?

“How can you be cold? The fire’s plenty warm enough.” Oskar kept his eyes on the dark forest around them.

“I don’t know, I just…”

The attack came from two sides at once. Large gray shapes hurtled out of the darkness with dizzying speed.

Their bodies were vaguely human in form. Long, gangly arms hung from thick, powerful shoulders. Their barrel-like torsos ended in short, heavily muscled legs. They had feet and hands, but their fingers and toes ended in wicked looking claws. Their heads were roughly catlike, shaped like that of a mountain lion. Their eyes, however, were startlingly human. Sleek, gray fur covered their entire bodies. Shanis took all of this in during the moment that it took for one of the creatures to cross the space between them and hurl itself at her.

Shanis ducked beneath the leaping creature, thrusting upward with her sword. A high pitched snarl pierced her ears, and something cold and wet splashed over her face. The sudden weight on her sword dragged her over backward as the monster flew past her. The snarl ascended to an ethereal scream as the creature fell into the fire. Shanis face and hair were singed by the cloud of sparks swirling about her. She yanked her sword free, scarcely avoiding the claws that flailed madly in the beast’s death throes.

Before she could turn around, something slammed into her side. Her sword flew from her grip, and she tumbled to the ground, falling heavily onto her face. She felt an oppressive weight on her back. Black claws shredded the loam on either side of her head. The creature hissed, its breath icy on the back of her neck. As suddenly as the creature had pounced on her, it was gone.

Spitting out a mouthful of dirt, Shanis forced herself up to her knees and looked around for her assailant.

What she saw made her gasp.

Oskar had forsaken his club and sat astride the beast’s chest, gripping its wrists, and struggling vainly to pin it to the ground. The monster’s rear legs kicked wildly, rending the back of Oskar’s cloak. It fought to break free, contorting like a snake pinned under a stick. Veins bulged in Oskar’s neck with the effort of holding it back.

Shanis quickly found her sword, and turned back to the fight. The beast had pushed Oskar back off of its chest, closer to the deadly talons that tipped its feet. Its powerful legs were flexed, poised to rip into the boy’s back. Shanis shouted in fear and anger and sprinted to her friend’s aid, all the while fearing she would be too late.

With unexpected suddenness, Hierm leapt from the shadows behind Oskar. His fair skin and hair gave him a wraithlike appearance in the dim light. With all the precision of a lumberjack, he struck with his sword across the back of the monster’s upraised legs, hamstringing the beast. It threw its head back and screamed.

Shanis quickly closed the gap, reversed her sword, and struck downward with all her might, plunging her blade through the beast’s throat and burying the point of the weapon in the soft soil below. The creature’s thrashing slowed until it finally went limp as its life drained away.

Oskar rolled off the beast, and crawled a few paces before crumbling to the ground in a heap. Shanis hurried to his side. The boy’s breath came in sobbing gasps. Gingerly, she drew back the tattered remains of his cloak.

To her relief, he had somehow avoided injury. The beast’s claws had cut his clothing, but had not penetrated his skin.

Hierm appeared at her side. “Is he all right?” Hierm asked.

“I think so.” Shanis laid a gentle hand on Oskar’s shoulder. “Oskar?”

With a groan, Oskar rolled over onto his back. “Am I dead?” He spread his arms out, and lay gazing up at the canopy of branches that enveloped them. “I definitely feel dead.”

Shanis felt a surge of affection for her this big, clumsy boy who had risked his life to save her. Grasping his shoulders, she hauled him up into a sitting position, and clenched him in a crushing embrace. “You’re not dead, you big oaf. You should be, but you’re not.” She felt Oskar’s arms tentatively encircle her. “You have got to be the biggest fool in the world.”

“Van Derin,” Oskar groaned, “next time I decide to save her life, remind me of the thanks I got for it.”

Shanis drew away from her friend and punched him in the shoulder, eliciting a satisfying grunt.

Khalyndryn appeared at Hierm’s side. “Are you hurt?” she whispered.

“I don’t think he’s injured at all,” Shanis replied. “He’s just…” She suddenly realized that Khalyndryn was not asking about Oskar. The blonde girl was running her fingers through Hierm’s hair, cooing softly to him like a mother bird.

“I’m fine,” Hierm pushed her away, not gently. “You should be worried about Oskar.”

Khalyndryn’s face puckered. Her lower lip thrust forth. “I was concerned about you, that’s all. Shanis was already seeing to Oskar.”

“Khalyndryn, you’d better pull that lip in before a bird lands on it,” Shanis jibed. With a loud sob, Khalyndryn whirled and ran away.

“Now you’ve done it,” Hierm reproved. His grin contradicted the words. “I’ll go and see to her.” He turned and paced off into the darkness.

Shanis turned her attention to the creature she had slain. A chill ran down her spine as she knelt down alongside it. She reached out tentatively to touch its silvery gray fur. With an audible hiss she drew her hand back. The creature was ice cold!

“What is it?” Oskar’s head appeared over her shoulder. “Is it still alive?”

“It’s cold,” Shanis replied, rubbing her hand. “I’ve never felt anything like it. Just being close to it gives me the chills. And the smell… it’s like winter air. So icy it almost hurts.

Oskar squatted down next to her. He reached out a tentative hand to touch the beast. He tapped it, instantly drawing back as if it were a hot stove. A frown creased his brow. He again touched the creature, prodding it.

He turned back to Shanis.

“Why do you say it’s cold? The body is still warm.”

“Not funny, Oskar. The thing nearly gave me frostbite.” She hopped to her feet and moved closer to the fire, leaning precariously close to the flames as if its meager warmth could seep into her frozen bones. “What is that thing, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Oskar replied. “But I’m not fooling. It’s warm. You can feel it yourself if you don’t believe me.”

Shanis turned back toward Oskar. His deep brown eyes stared directly into her own. His broad face was a firm mask of sincerity. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” He nodded. Baffled, Shanis returned to her friend’s side.

She gingerly extended her hand toward the lifeless corpse. Again an icy cold gripped her and she yanked her hand back.

“You didn’t even touch it.”

“Look,” she thrust her hand in front of Oskar’s face. She drew back the sleeve of her tunic to reveal a forearm covered in chill bumps. “It’s freezing. It’s so cold I can’t even put my hand to it. I don’t know what you’re…” Her voice trailed off as she looked down to see Oskar stroking the fur of the catlike monster.

“I believe you,” he said. “But I’m telling you, it isn’t cold.” He did not say it, but the thought was evident in his eyes. Creatures of ice… The possibility, however remote, was unthinkable. Did he truly think the creatures were warm-blooded, or did he only want them to be?

The sound of approaching footsteps drew her away from frightening thoughts. Hierm appeared with Khalyndryn in tow. He nodded to the blonde girl, who looked down at the ground for a moment before speaking.

“I’m sorry,” she began. “Oskar, is there anything I can do for you?” The stout boy shook his head. “I’m glad none of you are hurt. I’ve had a difficult few days…” Her delicate fists scrubbed at the tears that spilled down her cheeks.

Something inside Shanis ached for this pitiful girl. She stood and wrapped her in a tight embrace.

Khalyndryn lay her head on Shanis’ shoulder. “I wish I were strong like you,” she sobbed.

“It’s going to be all right,” Shanis whispered. “You are much stronger than you know.” Shanis was surprised to realize that she really meant it. Her heart held a tender spot for this spoiled, silly girl, who had endured so much in such a short time. They clung to one another for a moment longer. Shanis gave the blonde girl a firm pat on the back, and drew back a step, clasping her shoulders. “Can you see to the tent and our supplies?

Make certain everything is all right?”

Khalyndryn nodded, and slipped away quietly.

Hierm and Oskar were inspecting the corpses of the slain beasts. Shanis joined them.

“Do you think we should stay here tonight?” Hierm’s eyes searched the waves of inky blackness that strained against the flickering light of the campfire. “There could be more of them.”

“I think we should stay,” Shanis replied after a moment’s thought. “If there are more of them, I’d sooner be here by the fire than out there.” She pointed into the darkness of the forest. The boys nodded their agreement.

“We’ll build up the fire and take turns keeping watch.”

“What about these?” Oskar nodded at the dead animals. Alive in his eyes was a duel between his evident fear and unquenchable curiosity.

“Let’s drag them away from the camp. Perhaps their friends will think twice about coming after us.” Shanis hoped she sounded more positive than she felt. Whatever their attackers were, they didn’t look like beings who thought about much beyond killing.

Shanis took the first watch. She added fuel to the fire, and sat down cross-legged with her back to the cheery blaze. The light ruined her night vision, she knew, but she needed its warmth. The chilled feeling had not left her body. She shuddered at the memory of cold breath on her neck. A shuffling sound caught her attention, and she leapt to her feet, hand on the hilt of her sword.

“May I sit with you for a while?” Khalyndryn asked. Without waiting for an answer, the girl sat down near the fire. Shanis stared blankly for a moment, then joined her by the fire. Khalyndryn smiled at her, a thin, tight grin.

“I’m not brave yet,” she whispered, “but I want to be.” She reached out her hand to Shanis, who clasped it tightly in hers. Silently, the girls turned to face the darkness of the night together.

Chapter 10|Companions

Shanis grimaced as she waved in futility at the swarm of bugs hovering just in front of her face. Bugs. Why not snakes? Or some more of those gray monsters? Anything but bugs. She spat a curse under her breath.

“I know,” Oskar commiserated. His eyes firmly fixed on the trail ahead, he obviously misunderstood the reason for her oath. “I’m tired of walking too.” Shanis didn’t bother to correct him.

It had been three days since the strange creatures attacked their camp. They waited through the night for another assault, but none came. The next morning they had determined to head east until they found a road, since they did not know exactly where they were. Oskar expressed his hope that the time spent on the river had brought them far enough south that they were beyond the bounds of Galdora and into Lothan. When they found a road they would make their way south to Karkwall, Lothan’s capitol. From there, well, Oskar said they would figure that out later.

Shanis ran her fingers through her raven tresses, newly colored by a concoction of berries Khalyndryn had cooked up the previous night. The girl reasoned that, on the chance that they were not yet clear of the prince’s writ, Shanis should be as inconspicuous as possible.

She protested at first, unaccustomed to admitting that Khalyndryn could be right about anything, but soon relented. She was not certain how black hair looked on her. She had tried to catch a glimpse of her reflection in a stream when no one was looking, but couldn’t see much. Khalyndryn had assured her that it looked “positively lovely”, but hers was not an opinion Shanis valued.

“Oskar, will you carry me on your shoulders?” Khalyndryn’s voice had taken on a whiny tone that was even more annoying than usual.

Shanis whirled about to see Khalyndryn leaning against Oskar’s shoulder, making calf eyes at the stout boy.

“Oskar, if you carry her one step, so help me, I’ll…” The threat in her voice was enough to squelch any words of protest from Khalyndryn, though the flaxen-haired girl glared at her with eyes afire. The two girls stared at one another for a long moment before Khalyndryn broke off her gaze with a “humph”, and fell back alongside Hierm, nose upturned. Nonplussed, Shanis turned back to Oskar. The lad shrugged, flashing a guilty smile.

“Where is this road of yours?” Shanis knew that she need not be so short with her friend, but the days of walking, the bugs, and Khalyndryn’s incessant complaining had her nerves on edge. At least there had been no more sign of the strange beasts.

“I truly think we’ll find one soon,” Oskar replied. “The forest has thinned out, so we’re obviously on our way out.”

The boy was right. The first day had been slow going as they fought their way through dense underbrush and hungry, barbed creepers that seemed to reach up to ensnare them at every step. In truth, only three of them fought their way through while Khalyndryn waited for them to clear a path. Gradually, the way had grown easier. At first there was only the occasional shaft of sunlight peeking through the dense canopy of greenery to offer them hope. Eventually the dense cluster of trees and tangled roots gave way to larger, more widely-spaced hardwoods. A thick mulch of leaves replaced the snarls of briars and vines that had hindered their steps.

Though their way had grown easier, Shanis’ tension remained firmly entrenched. The memory of the creatures still made her shiver. What were they? Such beasts existed only in campfire tales, stories told to frighten young children. Yet they were real, flesh and blood.

She shook her head. Not so long ago, she had been a village girl who wanted to apprentice the sword.

Now what could she call herself? An almost-tournament champion? A heroine who had saved her friend from the clutches of a foul suitor? A killer fleeing the wrath of her prince? A slayer of mysterious monsters of the night? She chuckled in spite of herself. She still felt like the same person. All around her, however, the world had suddenly become a complicated place.

Loud cries and the ring of steel upon steel up ahead of them interrupted her thoughts. She exchanged a quick glance with Hierm. Drawing their swords, they moved forward as one, trotting toward the commotion. As they drew closer, Shanis could see movement, flashes of color, and the sunlight glinting on metal. They broke through the thin barrier of shrubbery and tree limbs, and the whirling colors coalesced into several men locked in combat.

Two of the combatants could not properly be called men. They were young, not much older than Hierm or Oskar. They were dressed in plain woolen clothes, but of a fine cut, and they sat astride mounts that might have appeared nondescript to the untrained eye. Shanis noted immediately the deep, wide chests, well-sprung ribs, and strong, powerful hindquarters, well-muscled and nicely rounded. These were solid horses, well-equipped for traversing rough terrain. Each of the youths led a packhorse that was equally fine. These were not common travelers; nobility, or perhaps the sons of a merchant.

The two were desperately fighting off a half-dozen rough-looking characters in filthy garments. Despite their inferior numbers, the young men were acquitting themselves well. Two of the ruffians were already down.

The others struggled in vain to penetrate the young men’s defenses. One of their number cried out in pain and defiance as one of his potential victims, a lean youth with dark brown hair, penetrated his defenses with a deft thrust. The man staggered back momentarily, but returned to the attack. While he and another bandit pressed the attack, another of their partners slipped behind the defender, trying to liberate the packhorse. Their three comrades were attempting a similar ploy on the other lad.

Shanis wasted no time. She dashed forward, with Hierm on her heels. The body of a fallen brigand lay in her path. Leaping over him, she noted absently the feathered shaft that emerged from his throat. Something in the recesses of her mind told her that she ought to cringe at the sight of the dead man and the coppery smell of blood that wafted through the air. Strangely, she felt nothing except the surge of adrenaline and the strong conviction that she must help these two boys. Teeth gritted, she hurled herself into the fray.

The combatants did not hear the sound of their footfalls over the cacophony of hoofbeats and ringing of swords. Rushing in from behind, Shanis took the first bandit unaware, clouting him across the base of the skull with the pommel of her sword. He crumpled noiselessly to the ground. The youth astride the horse spared only a surprised glance at his unexpected reinforcements before furiously redoubling his efforts in a ferocious blur of steel.

Shanis lashed out at the man closest to her, an ugly fellow in a greasy tunic and patched hose. She drove him across the clearing with short, crisp strokes. Her adversary gave way quickly, backpedaling awkwardly as he struggled to fend off her assault. Bleary eyes peeked out from an unkempt shock of black hair and overgrown beard. His surprise at facing a woman was quickly replaced by alarm as he found himself badly outmatched.

With a shout and an awkward swing, he leapt back, hurling his blade at her. She fell hard to the ground, dodging the missile. She saw her opponent turn and run. Regaining her feet quickly, she spun about, looking for a new opponent.

The attackers were in full retreat. The man she had struck down had come to, and was reeling down the roadway. The blond youth on the horse calmly nocked an arrow and drew a bead on the fleeing figure.

“Allyn,” called the dark-haired rider. “Let him go. They won’t try us again.” The blond lad nodded his acquiescence, and returned the arrow to its quiver with a half-smile. The speaker turned to them and nodded.

“It seems that our thanks are due you.” He glanced past Shanis for a moment as Oskar and Khalyndryn emerged from the forest. “My name is Larris. My companion is Allyn.” He paused, waiting for them to return the introductions.

Shanis stared at Larris. He was tall, with wavy brown hair and eyes nearly as dark. They had never met before, of that she was certain, yet he seemed familiar somehow.

Khalyndryn spoke up first. “I am Khalyndryn. My friends are Hierm, Oskar, and Shanis.”

Shanis swallowed an oath. They had agreed to give false names should they meet anyone along the way. She glanced at Khalyndryn. The deep blush on her cheeks indicated that she had realized her error too late.

“We are traveling south,” Hierm interrupted, launching into the story they had concocted. “Is this the road to Apelmond?”

“It is,” Larris replied, “but you are still well north of there.” Shanis groaned. “A long way to go with no horses.”

“Stolen,” Hierm lied smoothly, “from our campsite. I fear that I fell asleep on sentry duty.”

“A shame,” Larris intoned. A slight furrowing of his brow indicated that he perhaps did not entirely believe their story. “As you can see, we have extra mounts, and we happen to be traveling in the same direction.

Perhaps you would care to join us? The ladies, at least, can ride.”

He seemed a friendly sort, but Shanis feared her party attaching themselves to any stranger. She was about to object, but in the moment she took trying to decide whether to do so on the grounds that she did not need to ride, or that she was no lady, Khalyndryn interjected.

“That is very kind of you. We accept your generous offer.” Despite her soiled face and travel-stained dress, she managed to look every bit the lady as she curtsied deeply.

Shanis wanted to kick her.

“You are most welcome,” Allyn replied smoothly, if not with the warmth that his friend Larris exuded. “Give me a moment to move some of our gear to my horse, and my spare mount is yours.” He dismounted, and began rearranging their supplies. Larris did the same, and soon the group was on their way.

As they rode, Larris explained that he was the son of a merchant from Archstone. He was headed to Karkwall, in Lothan, to make inquiries of the local merchants regarding trade. Allyn had come along for companionship and security.

“We will pass through Apelmond along the way,” he said. “I confess I am comforted by your presence. There is strength in numbers, and the prince’s writ holds little weight this far from Galdora.”

Prince’s writ! She tensed at the words. How dearly she hoped that the young man was correct.

They walked their horses, maintaining a pace that Hierm and Oskar could keep afoot. Oskar looked up at her wistfully. Shanis flashed him her most innocent smile. She would let him suffer a while longer. She had forgotten how good it felt to ride. She thought of her own horse, and had to force down wistful memories of long rides in the countryside outside Galsbur. She hoped her father was treating her horse well. The two had never gotten along. Shine was as spirited as she.

Larris proved to be the more talkative of their new companions. “You handle the blade very well,” he praised her. “Most impressive for a woman. No offense intended,” he added quickly.

“None taken,” she lied again. Mendacity was coming quite easily to her. “You are not the first to notice I’m not a man.” That part was true.

“How did you develop such skill?” Larris was looking straight ahead, but the sharp tone of the question indicated his attention was firmly fixed on her.

Shanis did not wish to answer questions about herself. She tried to turn the conversation back toward Larris.

“You are obviously no stranger to the sword yourself,” she complimented the young noble. “I’m not certain that the two of you needed our help.”

“Oh, that we did indeed,” Larris chuckled, “That we did indeed. But I thank you for the compliment. Allyn is a fair bladesman himself, and an even better archer. Had I given him leave to loose his arrow on that last brigand, you would have seen for yourself.”

“I have no doubt of that,” Shanis replied. This time she spoke the truth. Larris was nice enough, she supposed, but there was something about Allyn. The way he sat his horse, the unhurried way in which he went about everything he did, spoke volumes about his self-assuredness. The detached half-grin he had worn as he calmly lined up his sights on the fleeing man made him seem removed from his surroundings. He was above fear, above distraction He was a young man who knew what he was about. Shanis could believe him capable of almost anything.

“How is it that you are friends, yet you give the orders?”

“His father is my father’s man,” Larris replied, as if that explained everything. Her own father was Lord Hiram’s man, but you would never catch her taking orders from Hierm. She was about to tell Larris that very thing when he cut her short with another question.

“You never told me why the four of you were headed to Apelmond.”

“Oh, that,” Shanis replied. “Hierm’s father is a merchant as well.” Oskar had told them that the best lie contains as much truth as possible, so they had concocted what they hoped was a plausible story. “Oskar works for him, as does my father.” Here came the lie. “Hierm and Khalyndryn are betrothed. Her uncle in Apelmond is old and infirm. Hierm is going to take over his business.”

“So you and Hierm are not…” Larris let the question hang unspoken between them.

“No!” she replied, perhaps a bit too vehemently. “No, we are friends. Oskar and I came along mostly for the adventure. Neither of us has ever traveled anywhere before.”

“You are his betrothed?” Allyn asked Khalyndryn. Both she and Hierm nodded. “Perhaps I can change your mind before we get to Apelmond,” he laughed, winking at Khalyndryn.

Shanis scowled at the back of Khalyndryn’s head. The girl had gotten all the attention at home. Why should things be any different here? Didn’t men think about anything more than a pretty face? She gritted her teeth, determined not to say anything.

“Only joking, of course,” Allyn said, glancing down to where Hierm and Oskar walked alongside the four riders.

“It’s not a problem,” Hierm replied with a smile. The boy had been chafing at Khalyndryn’s unsolicited attentions. Likely, he would be grateful for her to fix her sights on someone else for a while.

Strange, Shanis mused, Khalyndryn’s fawning over Hierm had not made her jealous. Annoyed, even amused in an unkind way, perhaps, but not envious in the least. Why should the girl’s behavior toward Allyn affect her so?

“I’m sorry,” Larris interjected. “I saw the two of you together when you came to our aid, and I just assumed you were…together.” He shrugged.

“It’s all right,” she assured him. “Many people think the same thing. We’ve been friends for a long time.” She thought for a moment. How did she feel about Hierm? She had always taken for granted that he would be there for her, but he was just Hierm. Was there any more than that?

“If not you and Hierm, perhaps you and Oskar?” Larris’ broad smile indicated that the question was not sincere.

Shanis laughed and shook her head.

“I’m not such a bad catch,” Oskar objected, half-joking and half-defensive.

“Of course you aren’t,” Hierm retorted. “My mother says you sweep a floor better than any woman she’s ever known.”

Oskar gave Hierm a hard shove, and walked on in silence.

“Anyone special back home?” Larris probed.

“That’s none of your…”

“No!” Oskar interrupted. “She’s quite available. That is, if you can get between her and her sword.”

The burning sensation on her cheeks told Shanis that she was in the midst of one of her famous blushes.

Everyone laughed.

“I notice you don’t wear a sword,” Larris said to Oskar. “What is your weapon of choice?”

“Books,” Oskar responded. Larris cocked his head and looked quizzically at the stout youth. “Books are my weapons of choice. Knowledge is power, or so I read somewhere.”

“I enjoy books as well,” Larris agreed, “but they aren’t much use in a scrape.”

“I generally leave the fighting to Hierm and Shanis, but I suppose I can thump someone with a stick as well as the next person.”

“That walking stick you carry,” Allyn cut in, “do you know how to use it?”

“What do you mean?” Oskar asked, drawing his stick close to his chest.

“The staff can be a formidable weapon,” Allyn said. “I thought all you herders knew how to use one.”

“We’re farmers,” Oskar corrected, “not herders.”

“If you say so,” Allyn said in a voice that conveyed his complete lack of interest in the difference between the two. “I have some skill with the staff. I can teach you if you like.”

“I’d like that.” Oskar’s face lit up. Doubtless this was, to his mind, another chapter in his adventure story.

“Tonight then, when we make camp.” Allyn nodded and turned his attention back to the road ahead.

They rode on in silence for a time. What little conversation that took place was between Allyn and Khalyndryn.

Allyn bantered playfully with the blonde girl. Khalyndryn giggled, and made nonsense comments. Shanis noted that Khalyndryn was quite at home playing the fool. She only hoped that the girl was not fool enough to let slip anything she shouldn’t. Larris eventually spoke up.

“What are your plans?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” She tried to keep the defensiveness from her voice.

“Once we reach Apelmond, where to from there?” he said. “Hierm and Khalyndryn will marry. What of you and Oskar?”

“Back home I suppose.” Shanis shrugged. She did not like being reminded that right now there was very little plan to her life.

“Home,” he echoed. “Back to… where did you say you are from?”

“Grenhamsville,” she said. Oskar had assured them that no one could possibly know the name of every village in Galdora, so they were safe in simply making up a name.

“A woman of your talent going back to simple town life? Difficult to imagine. Is there some pressing business calling you back?”

“Do you always ask so many questions?” She snapped irritably. What was it with the young man and his questions?

“Not usually, but it’s a long way to Karkwall, and your sword might come in handy.” Allyn turned an appraising glance in Larris’ direction, but did not speak. “Oskar would be welcome as well.”

“That would be interesting,” Oskar perked up. “I’ve read about Karkwall. I’d love to see it.”

“Have you done a great deal of reading?” Larris asked, blessedly turning his attention from Shanis.

“Hierm’s father has a small library.” Oskar said, not adding the fact that he read these books without the knowledge or permission of Lord Hiram.

“Books are hard to come by, and expensive as well,” Larris said. “Quite generous of him to allow you to read them.”

“Yes, Oskar,” Hierm chided, “so kind of him to let you read them.”

“Yes,” Oskar mumbled, “he is an exceptional man.”

“What is your favorite book?” If Larris noticed Oskar’s discomfort, he did not show it.

“Patrin’s Conquests,” Oskar replied immediately.

“Patrin’s Conquests? But we don’t have…” Larris appeared nonplussed. “I mean, I didn’t know that there were any copies in existence. At least, not in Galdora.”

“I know of one. Lord Hiram,” Oskar paused for a moment, realizing that he had unwittingly let slip another bit of information. “Hierm’s father has a copy in fine condition.

“Truly?” Larris gaze bored into Oskar with an intensity that alarmed Shanis. “I have only heard tell of the book. What sorts of stories are in it?”

“It’s fascinating reading,” Oskar replied. Shanis rolled her eyes. She could tell from her friend’s tone of voice that Oskar might be talking for a long time. “Heroes, battles, sorcerers, fantastic creatures, lost cities…”

“You don’t believe any of that foolishness, do you?” Allyn interrupted, an amused lilt to his voice.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Oskar retorted.

“I fear that my friend is something of a cynic,” Larris said smoothly. “He doesn’t believe in anything beyond the tip of his arrow.” He gave Allyn an unreadable look.

“I can appreciate that.” Shanis ran her fingertips across the hilt of her sword. Allyn turned toward her and nodded, his eyes gleaming above his roguish half-grin. Shanis smiled back. From the edge of her vision, she caught Hierm staring at her. Her cheeks warmed. Freeze her fair complexion! She was blushing entirely too much today.

“Friend Oskar, we are surrounded by heathens,” Larris moaned in mock-anguish. “They fail to realize that all legends contain within them a kernel of truth, sometimes more.”

“I have said the very same thing many times,” Oskar gushed. “Shanis, haven’t I said that very thing?”

“What? I don’t remember anything of the sort,” she teased. “I thought it was Khalyndryn who always said that.” The blonde girl ignored her jibe. Oskar gaped for a moment before realizing she jested. He shook his head, and looked back at Larris. “Have you ever read the story of the Glyphs of Riza?”

“I have indeed,” Larris nodded. “Imagine, an entire system of writing created just so that a prince might woo a young lady with love letters written in their very own language.”

“That is so romantic,” Khalyndryn sighed, staring up at the pale sky, feathered with wisps of cloud..

“Not really,” Oskar looked up at the blonde. “The love letters were a ruse. They were plotting together to assassinate her father.”

“Oskar, you are horrid.” Khalyndryn spurred her horse forward. She bounced awkwardly, clinging to the pommel of her saddle as her mount trotted away.

“Did it work?” Shanis asked, surprisingly curious about the story.

“The king, the girl’s father, discovered their plot. Using her key to the code, he wrote a letter ostensibly from her, asking the prince to come right away.”

“The letter led the prince into a system of caverns, where the king’s daughter was waiting.” Oskar picked up the narrative. “He sealed the entrance shut, entombing them for all eternity.”

Shanis nodded approvingly. That was the sort of princess story that she could enjoy. Life did not come wrapped in a neat package: it was messy. Her life was certainly a mess.

“You mentioned lost cities. Any lost cities in Patrin’s Conquests?” Larris leaned toward Oskar as he asked. Shanis thought she detected a bit of hopefulness in his voice.

“Several,” the boy responded. “It’s quite a long book, actually.”

“You’ll have to tell me of them,” Larris said.

Oskar opened his mouth to reply, but Shanis had thought of a question of her own.

“Larris, in your reading, have you ever come across stories of furry manlike beasts with the head and claws of wild cats?”

The young man jerked his head around to stare at her. His eyes widened momentarily, but then his features smoothed.

“Not that I recall. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” Shanis did not entirely trust their new companion. He asked too many questions. Furthermore, she suspected that he knew more than he was letting on about the strange beasts. “Just something I’ve heard about.”

“Grandmother’s fireside tales,” Allyn muttered. While he retained his calm exterior, his voice registered a note of concern.

“As I said earlier, my friend lacks imagination,” Larris said. “I have read of many odd and frightful creatures, but none precisely like the ones you describe. Where did you hear tell of these particular beasts?”

“It was just as he said.” Shanis nodded in Allyn’s direction. “One of my grandmother’s stories.”

The blonde youth rewarded her with a wink and she bit her cheeks to keep from smiling one of those idiotic girlish smiles. Why did he have such an effect on her?

“I have spent a great deal of time in the forests of Galdora and I can tell you that the next time I see such a creature will be the first.” Allyn patted Khalyndryn on the shoulder as he spoke. The girl had trembled at the mention of their mysterious assailants.

“Fortunate that your work for Larris’ father allows you so much time for adventures,” Hierm noted with a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

“Larris’ father is as generous an employer as your own father must be,” Allyn said.

“How truly blessed we are,” Hierm sighed and glanced at Larris, “to have such wonderful fathers.”

A shame, Shanis thought, that the irony was lost on their new comrades. What was Lord Hiram doing right now? Had he sent men in search of Hierm? What must all their families think? She tried not to imagine her father returning from his haul to find her gone. To hear what she had done to the soldier.

“Allyn, I suppose every creature that walks this earth lives in the forests of Galdora?” Larris’ jibe did not faze Allyn. “Have you ever been to the Ice Reaches?”

“What are the Ice Reaches?” Khalyndryn’s voice quavered as she shivered.

“The Ice Reaches lie somewhere among the highest peaks of the Walls of Stone.” He turned his gaze to the west as if he could see those fabled mountains from her. “Evil creatures are purported to make their home there.”

“Purported,” Allyn emphasized, “not known.”

“But as our friends are fond of saying,” Shanis said, “every story contains a bit of truth, does it not?” She did not like Allyn questioning the existence of the creatures they had encountered, and took pleasure in disagreeing with him. In fairness to the young man, she hadn’t actually told the story of their encounter. Nonetheless, it felt as if he were doubting her honesty.

“What of the wolfen?” Oskar inquired, obviously pleased at having discovered a kindred spirit.

“Ah, the wolfen.” Larris smiled. “Beasts who are half-man, half-wolf. Another creature Allyn has never seen.

Yet they are mentioned in countless stories. So many, in fact, that one would be a fool,” he looked at Allyn and emphasized the word with raised voice, “not to consider the possibility that they are real.”

“How improbable,” Allyn intoned, “that two relatively ordinary young men happen to be so well-read. How truly fortunate we are.”

“Yes, truly,” Larris answered dryly.

Something passed between the two men. Shanis noted a tension that was not there before. She looked from one to the other. Allyn’s partial smile was gone. He stared blankly in front of him. Larris, for his part, clutched his reins in a white-knuckled grip. They rode on in an uncomfortable silence.

Chapter 11|The Dance

The sizzling meat popped and spattered grease into the campfire. Hungry flames leapt up to engulf the squirrel carcass. Shanis cursed and grabbed the skewer, lifting it high before it scorched. She turned the meat slowly, getting it just right before propping it back on the forked stick she had driven into the ground next to the fire ring. She checked the two others that were roasting, making sure they were not too close. Certain their dinner was now safe, she returned to skinning the last squirrel.

“I told them we needed to wait until we had some good coals to cook over,” she muttered. “That’s what I get for giving in to Khalyndryn’s complaining.”

“Smells good,” Larris said, walking over to stand beside her. “Perhaps you should do all the cooking.”

She rolled her eyes but did not reply to the young man’s weak jest. Could he not leave her alone?

“Allyn says you’re quite the huntress,” Larris said, moving to sit facing her across the fire. “He says you move as quietly in the woods as he does. That is high praise from him, I promise you. He thinks everyone else sounds like a drunken bull moving through the forest.”

“I’ll be certain to thank him then,” Shanis said. They had ridden with their new companions for two days now, and she was still uncomfortable with Larris. She had joined Allyn on his evening hunting excursions primarily to get away from Larris’ prying questions. Allyn, by contrast, said little. And, truth be known, she had developed quite a fascination with the quiet young man. She admired his woodscraft, and he respected hers in turn. The few words he said to her were compliments regarding her tracking skills or her ability to move silently in the woods. This evening, he allowed her to use his bow, and she had surprised him by bringing down both squirrels with precise shots to the head, thus preserving the meaty parts. Her father had taught her well, though she certainly was nowhere near Allyn’s equal.

She wondered what Larris would think if he knew that Shanis had tried to extend her trek through the forest with Allyn today, asking questions about plant names or pretending to not recognize a particular track, just to stay away from Larris as long as possible. Of course, a small part of her had also wanted to spend more time with Allyn.

“Why don’t you go discuss books with Oskar?” she asked as she dragged her knife across the last squirrel’s abdomen with unnecessary vigor. During their daily rides, Oskar and Larris had developed the beginnings of a friendship based on their mutual love of books, and they spoke of little else.

“You enjoy our tale swapping, do you?” Larris asked. His smile was flawless, and she hated him all the more for it. “I would be happy to share some more stories with you if you like.”

“To be quite truthful,” Shanis said, looking directly at him for the first time since he sat down, “I find almost every one of them most tedious.”

“Tedious?” Larris’ eyes opened wide as he spoke.

“Tedious,” she said again. “Tiresome, monotonous, boring; shall I go on?”

“Forgive me,” he said. “I was not aware that you were familiar with that word.”

Shanis fixed him with what she hoped was a look of unadulterated disgust. She flipped over the squirrel carcass, scooped out the entrails with a deft twist of her knife, and tossed them at Larris. The gooey mass struck him on the chest, and slowly slid down the front of his silk doublet.

Larris looked down at the sticky heap of organs in surprise, but instead of being angry, he burst out laughing; a hearty, deep laugh that made him seem almost sincere. He plucked them off of his clothing with two fingers, and tossed them into the fire, where they crackled and hissed.

Shanis skewered the last tree rat, as her father called them, and positioned it over the fire. She sat down to keep watch on the meal, pointedly turning her attention away from Larris. It did no good.

The young man scooted up to sit on her right side. He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs, linking his fingers together. He sat that way, rocking back and forth, still smiling over the innards incident.

“You said you hated almost all of them.”

Shanis took a deep breath, and breathed out slowly and noisily. “Some of them serve to pass the time,” she admitted. Perhaps he would leave her alone if he got something positive out of her.

“Which ones?” he asked. He leaned toward her ever so slightly. She scooted away. If he noticed, he didn’t let on. “Honestly, which ones do you like the most?”

“The ones where the pushy young man gets killed,” she snapped. That gave him pause. He stared at her, mouth slightly agape, seemingly trying to decide if she was joking or not. Burn it all! Why did she feel guilty now? “You never answered my question,” she said, trying to change the subject. “Why don’t you go find Oskar?”

“Allyn took him into the forest to find a solid limb to make a quarterstaff.”

“What’s he going to do?” Shanis asked, looking at Larris with raised eyebrows. “String books along it and carry it over his shoulders like a yoke?”

Larris laughed and clasped her shoulder. Shanis laughed too, in spite of her discomfort.

“Allyn was showing him a few moves with his own staff. He thinks Oskar might be an apt pupil. Allyn says the lad has strong arms and quick wrists.”

“Too bad his hands are so slow,” Shanis deadpanned.

Larris laughed even harder at this.

Shanis stood and checked the meat before he could touch her shoulder again.

“Someone should tell the happy couple that it’s almost time to eat,” she said, looking around for Hierm and Khalyndryn. The young man was already chafing at having to pretend to be Khalyndryn’s intended. For her part, Khalyndryn was taking full advantage, fawning over him worse than she ever had at home. Just then, the two of them walked up, arm-in-arm.

“Looking for us?” Khalyndryn cooed. She smiled sweetly, and batted her eyes at Larris, who bowed in an exaggerated, mocking fashion. The sarcasm was lost on Khalyndryn, who squeezed Hierm’s arm in both hands and bounced excitedly on her toes. “Larris is such a gentleman, Hierm. He could teach you how to treat a lady.”

Hierm grunted and shook loose of her grasp. He sat down next to Shanis and stared at the fire. Shanis wanted to laugh, but she was too worried that Khalyndryn might spoil their charade with her flirting.

“I think you should be more appreciative of your intended,” Shanis said, looking Khalyndryn directly in the eye.

“I am not accustomed,” Khalyndryn said, her voice lofty, “to taking suggestions from a servant girl.” Folding her hands across her chest, she tossed her head and made a “humph” sound.

Before she realized what she was doing, Shanis went down one knee and felt her hand close around a large, smooth pebble. Its cool, unblemished surface felt just right in her hand. It would serve Khalyndryn right if Shanis bounced the stone off of her forehead. That, however, would be most un-servant like. Quickly gaining control of herself, she dropped the pebble and drew her knife from its belt sheath.

Khalyndryn gasped and took a small step backward. Her creamy complexion paled to a stark white. “You wouldn’t,” she whispered, slumping to the ground to sit next to Hierm. The concern in her green eyes made it sound more like a question than a statement.

“Wouldn’t cut bread?” Shanis asked, trying to sound as innocent as possible. She picked up the small loaf of bread Larris had provided, and proceeded to cut off thick chunks and pass them out. Larris sliced up a hard cheese from his pack, and handed that around as well.

Oskar and Allyn soon returned from their trek into the forest, Oskar proudly sporting a length of wood for a new staff. Shanis smiled at the excitement evident in the youth’s broad face. Growing up an aspiring scholar in a town where a young man was expected to learn to hunt, farm and fight had not earned him a great deal of respect from his peers. Likely, Oskar would take great pride in developing a fighting skill of his own.

“Sit beside me, Allyn,” Khalyndryn said, patting the ground ton her left. The blond woodsman shrugged and dropped to the ground.

“Can I help?” Oskar asked Shanis.

“Get the squirrels off the skewers. Start with the ones on the left. They’ve been over the fire the longest.”

Oskar complied, and soon, they were all feasting on bread, cheese, and roast squirrel.

“It’s tough on the outside and raw on the inside,” Khalyndryn complained, biting into a chunk of meat. Shanis was about to curse the girl roundly when Allyn intervened.

“You know the camp rule, don’t you?” he asked. Seeing the blank expression on Khalyndryn’s face, he continued. “Whoever complains about the cooking prepares the next day’s meals.”

“Oh,” the girl said, turning to Shanis. “I’m sure you did the best you could.” She returned to her meal, an obvious expression of distaste marring her lovely face. Around the fire, choked sounds of suppressed laughter sprang up. Even Hierm was fighting to keep his tight-lipped grin in place.

“I, for one,” Larris said, regaining control of himself, “think this is fine cooking. You could apprentice in the kitchen of one of the larger houses or inns.”

“What? Work in a kitchen?” Shanis sprang to her feet. “What are you saying? You think I can’t handle a sword?”

Larris had gone too far this time, and he seemed to know it. “I did not say that,” he said evenly. His bronze face was pale under the heat of her stare. “I was trying to pay you a compliment.”

Shanis felt embarrassed, but she did not want to back down from the pushy young man. “I don’t need your compliments, thank you very much.” She stalked away as quickly as dignity would permit. Would she never learn to control her temper? No wonder Master Yurg had always been so hard on her.

Thoughts of Yurg led to thoughts of home, and with them, a wave of homesickness. Where was her father right now? Had he gone looking for her? Who was caring for her horse? Her eyes misted, and she stumbled in the fast-dimming light of evening. A hand caught her by the upper arm and lifted her up.

“It’s all right,” Hierm said, steadying her. His eyes searched hers. “What can I do?” He moved to put his arms around her, but she drew back quickly.

“You’re betrothed, remember?” she whispered. “I’m fine. Just a little tired and homesick.” She gave his hand a quick squeeze. “Thanks.” She heard a rustling behind Hierm, turned and rolled her eyes as she saw Larris approaching. Silhouetted against the distant campfire, the young merchant looked vaguely wraithlike in the twilight. Or perhaps the sinister characterization was merely a product of her discomfort with him.

“May I speak with you?” he asked. “Please?”

Hierm looked from Shanis to Larris, then back at Shanis, his eyebrow arched. After a moment’s thought, she nodded. Hierm threw a brief, challenging stare at Larris, holding his gaze for several heartbeats, before returning to the campfire.

“You have an interesting relationship with your employer,” Larris mused. His expression betrayed nothing, but there was a touch of suspicion in his tone. Before Shanis could answer, he raised his hands in front of him, as if to ward her off. “I know. I’ve yet again managed to offend you.” He took a deep breath, and looked up at the leafy branches that drooped just above their heads.

“What do you want to talk to me about?” she snapped. She didn’t like being alone with Larris. She wasn’t frightened of him, exactly. She was more concerned that she would let something important slip in the midst of his constant interrogation. She folded her hands across her chest, tapped her foot, and tried to imitate the face she had seen Mistress Anna make when Papa and Master Yurg came home after too long an evening in Master Serrill’s common room.

“If we are going to be traveling together, you and I might as well find a way to get along with one another.”

He said it firmly, as if there were nothing else to discuss.

“I know Oskar likes traveling with you, as does Khalyndryn.” She couldn’t speak for Hierm, and her feelings were well known. She spoke slowly, careful not to speak in haste, as she often did. Near the campfire, a clacking sound arose: Allyn and Oskar practicing their quarterstaffs. “It’s certainly safer for us all to be together,” she added, thinking of the cat creatures. “Why isn’t that enough?”

“Because I don’t want any more evenings like this,” he said. “We are traveling companions. What can I do, beyond what I have already done, to help us peacefully coexist?”

“Not speaking to one another comes immediately to mind,” she said.

“No good,” he replied, smiling, “I like to talk too much.” He looked down at her waist, his eyes narrowing.

She was about to smack the grin off of his face when he looked back up at her and grinned.

“How good are you with that sword of yours, anyway?” he asked slyly.

“Half again as good as you,” she said, taking a step toward him. She was almost of a height with the tall young man, and she met his gaze resolutely.

“Perhaps I can persuade you otherwise,” he said. He turned sideways and motioned back toward the campfire, moving into step behind her as she passed him by. Retrieving their swords, they squared off in the clearing. Allyn and Oskar broke from their practice, watching with interest.

They crossed blades, tentatively at first, then with greater intensity. Her earlier impression of Larris was correct; he was a fine swordsman. He flowed through the forms with the grace of a dancer, smiling broadly all the while. The smile only made her want to beat him all the more, and she poured everything into the attack. Her anger, her guilt, her homesickness, her loneliness, her suspicion, her fear, her hurts all flowed through her blade as it whistled its deadly song. Blows rained down in torrents upon Larris’ defenses. No longer smiling, the boy gave ground grudgingly. Blow by blow, with all the precision of a blacksmith working a chunk of iron, she beat him back until Allyn stepped in.

“Hold!” the hunter called, pulling her away. “Put your sword away. I think I can find something more suitable.”

Shanis was surprised to find that her anger was gone. She felt emptied, and in a strange way, cleansed. She had missed this. The sword had been a part of her life for so long that it felt like an important part of her.

The young woodsman vanished into the forest, returning a short while later with bundles of long, springy branches lashed together in bundles which roughly approximated the length and weight of practice swords.

He had fashioned four of the makeshift swords: one each for Shanis, Larris, Hierm, and himself.

“A little safer,” he explained, “though you can still leave a lovely bruise on your opponent.”

Hierm initially declined to take part. Shanis tried to convince him, but to no avail. With a shrug, she turned to Allyn.

“What do you say, hunter boy? Do you want to try me?” she taunted, grinning broadly.

“Been dying to.” With a wicked grin, he raised his “sword” to his forehead in a mock-salute, and assumed the ready position. Shanis dispensed with the niceties, and sent a lightning-quick thrust at his throat. Allyn deflected her attack with an economy of movement, and slashed back at her with a deft flick of the wrist. Shanis parried, and battered his defenses with a sweeping backhand.

The two were well-matched. Each had quick reflexes and moved well. Their reach was almost equal as well.

They traded blows for what seemed like hours, laughing and playfully taunting one another all the while.

It did not take long before the clack of the imitation swords drew Hierm out of his shell. He joined in, squaring of first against Larris, then Allyn. Oskar and Khalyndryn enjoyed the display as well, alternately cheering and jeering the combatants. The duels continued late into the evening, long after they should have taken to bed. When fatigue finally overcame them, they lay around the fire, sharing wine from a skin Larris produced from his saddlebag. All of the previous tension had been wrung out of the small group of travelers.

“Fine blade work for a merchant’s son and his hired hand,” Larris said, offering his hand to Shanis. She stared at him for a moment before clasping it in hers.

“I suppose,” she said, “we’ve found something in common.”

Chapter 12|The Grinning Goat

Shanis’ horse pounded muddy footprints into a heavily-rutted street, fouled with manure and stagnant pools of rainwater. Houses and shops in various states of disrepair crowded the narrow thoroughfare. The smell of wood smoke hung heavy in the air, carrying on a struggle for dominance with the pungent aroma of horse dung. She crinkled her nose against the fetid odors. She was surprised at the size of the town. She had always believed her home must be the smallest place in the world, but it seemed to her that this hamlet would scarcely fit onto Galdora’s green.

A short, fat man in a dirty, green tunic pushed a barrow of turnips down the street. He paused to scowl at the two young travelers before continuing down the way.

“A friendly sort, wouldn’t you say?” Larris sounded amused, but his expression was grave.

Shanis would have preferred to avoid the place entirely, but Larris had insisted that they stop. She had racked her brain, but could not come up with an explanation to dissuade him that would not have raised his suspicions. She tried to convince herself that there was little to fear so far from Galdora. No one would recognize her. Still, a nagging fear bored a hole in the back of her consciousness, irrational though it might be.

Would she ever be free of the feeling that she needed to hide from every stranger’s gaze?

Oskar had gone with Allyn to purchase supplies, while Hierm was charged with purchasing two more horses for the group. Shanis’ friend had initially balked, but Larris had assured him that the horses were not a gift.

The horses would speed their journey, the young man had reasoned, and provide them with a means to carry the supplies they would purchase. Hierm’s pride was not such that he could not see reason, though he was less than pleased with Khalyndryn accompanying him. Shanis had wanted to go with Hierm, arguing that she knew more about horses than her friend, but to no avail. Larris insisted on her coming with him.

“What makes you think the others will be able to find horses or supplies in this place?” Shanis asked.

“It is the last town of any size along the way to Lothan,” the young man answered. “I told them to spare no expense.”

All her life, Shanis had gotten her way, be it through fits of temper, or sheer determination. Larris, though, had a way of simply pronouncing his will, and assuming that it would be done. Strange, it seemed to work on her.

She couldn’t win an argument with him, which made her dislike him all the more.

She and Larris reined their horses in at the front of a small inn. A faded sign named it The Grinning Goat. As they mounted the rickety steps, Shanis looked with disdain upon the sagging roof and weather-stained walls badly in need of whitewash. She hoped the condition of the exterior was not an indicator of the quality of the fare served inside. Memories of evenings spent on the front steps of Master Serrill’s inn, listening to the cheerful din of music and conversation, sent tremors of loneliness through her. Would she ever go home again?

The common room was dark and oddly cool for a warm summer day. On the far end of the room, a low fire smoldered and spat an occasional spark onto the dirty floor. A few patrons huddled over mugs of ale, their conversations merely a low whisper. A man in a greasy apron, eyes closed, reclined in a chair propped against the far wall. Larris selected a table near the door, and positioned himself with his back to the wall.

Shanis sat down opposite him.

“Innkeeper,” Larris called in an imperious tone, “two ales!”

The innkeeper’s eyes popped open. The front legs of his chair crashed to the floor as Larris’ shout jolted him from his slumber. Scowling, he made his way across the room to their table. He fixed them with a sour gaze.

“You have coin?” he grumbled, beefy arms folded across his chest above his paunchy stomach. Shanis cringed at his dirty hands and the black filth under his nails.

Larris jingled a fat purse at his waist. With a curt nod, the innkeeper turned and slowly made his way into a back room.

“Take your time about it,” Larris mumbled, looking around the room with a pained expression.

“Do you treat everyone that way?” Shanis asked. Master Serrill would have shown this uppity lad the door, money or no. A rat-faced man at the end of the room apparently shared her opinion, glaring at the two of them over a cup of wine.

“I’m accustomed to having my instructions obeyed promptly. Besides, he should take pride in his work.”

“How is he going to feel proud if you take away his dignity?” Shanis replied hotly. It felt good to give him the rough side of her tongue. “You treated him like he’s nothing. Being a merchant’s son doesn’t make you a noble. Besides, I’ll wager he’s spat in your ale.”

Larris winced, and opened his mouth to reply when the innkeeper returned. He plopped two frothy mugs of ale down onto the table, foam splashing onto Larris’ tunic. Shanis smirked.

“Four coppers.”

Larris reached into his money pouch, and withdrew a silver coin. He pressed it onto the table with two long, tanned fingers. The innkeeper reached for the coin, but Larris did not remove his hand. The man’s eyes widened, and he regarded Shanis’ companion with a questioning look.

“I would hear the news.” Larris spared a glance at Shanis. “Please,” he added. Shanis grinned at the way the boy’s mouth twisted as it formed the last word.

The innkeeper rubbed his hands on his dirty apron. His eyes flitted from the coin to Larris’ face, then back to the coin. “We don’t get much news here, young sir.”

“Four coppers, you said?” Larris dragged the coin back toward himself.

“Understand M’lord, this here is the middle of nowhere. We don’t get much news here. Leastways, none that isn’t as stale as Madrin’s bread.” The man tilted his head to his right, as if to indicate the direction of the baker’s house, and smiled a broad, gap-toothed grin.

“Anything at all.”

“Well, mostly the usual. There’s talk of war with Kyrin, of course.” The man scratched at his bald pate with beefy fingers.

“Any battles?”

“Not as I’ve heard. But things is pretty tense on the border, so they say.”

“Has Lerryn done any recruiting in the area? I’ve heard that the prince has been traveling about raising troops for the army.”

“No word of the prince hereabouts. But I did hear tell that there’s some nobles camped just north of town.

Don’t know why they’re here. We don’t get many nobles pass this way.”

“Interesting.” Larris face indicated that the information was anything but. “Any other strange happenings?”

Shanis frowned. What was he talking about? The innkeeper apparently shared her confusion.

“Beggin’ your pardon, young sir?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Larris shrugged. “Anything odd, out of the ordinary going on?”

“Don’t know about that.” The innkeeper rubbed his ample girth. “The herders been saying that the wolves are coming down out of the mountains a bit further’n usual. I’d say that’s about everything.” He punctuated the statement with a firm nod.

“I thank you.” Larris slid the coin across the table. It quickly vanished into the dirty apron pocket. Making an awkward bow, the man returned to his chair.

Larris looked into his mug of ale, as if searching for some impurity. With a shrug, he lifted it to his lips, and took a long pull. His eyebrows raised in surprise, and he nodded to Shanis. She took a sip, and found it surprisingly good, rich and dark, with a hint of honey.

She rocked back in her chair, and gazed intently at the young man seated across from her. She supposed he was handsome, in his own way. His long hair was wavy and brown where Allyn’s was straight and blonde, his complexion bronze where Allyn’s was fair. His brown eyes met her gaze, and he smiled. What was it about him that seemed so familiar? Had she met him before? She shook her head, and broke off her gaze.

She still didn’t entirely trust him. What were all these questions? This need to know “the news”? He was always prying. Of course, she had to admit that their travels together had thus far not been entirely unpleasant. Having a horse to ride had certainly been a welcome change from walking, not to mention Oscar’s floating contraption. She sat now, in a filthy tavern, gazing across a filthier table at this strange young man. He met her stare with an impudent grin.

“What are you smiling at?” she asked.

“Why don’t you like me?” The expression on his face was earnest. “I want to know.”

“What?” She wasn’t sure how to answer the question. Obviously, she couldn’t reveal the reason for her resistance to his constant questioning.

“You heard me. Why don’t you like me?”

“What’s there to like?” That was unkind. She felt a moment’s regret as the young man’s eyes fell, and he gazed into his mug of ale. “It’s just that you ask so many questions. Why don’t you just leave me alone?” Spoken aloud, her reasoning did not seem to her as solid as it once had.

“That’s why you don’t like me?”

“It’s what I don’t like about you,” she said after a moment’s pause. “Not the same.”

“So there’s a difference?” he said, tilting his head and frowning.

“Only a small one,” she grumbled. Would he never stop pelting her with questions?

“Why shouldn’t I ask you questions?” he asked.

“There you go again. Now you’re asking me questions about asking me questions. Do you ever stop?” She was surprised to realize that she was laughing.

“I ask you questions because I want to know you better,” he explained, gesturing with his mug. “Considering the time we’ve spent riding together, I don’t know very much about you.”

She took a long pull from her mug, using the time to think. Why did he want to know her better? Suspicion flared anew, but she quelled it. He seemed to mean it in a genuine way.

“I’d have to say, you know just as much about me as I know about you,” she said.

“Fair enough. Ask me anything. I don’t mind questions.” He rocked back on the legs of his chair, tucked his hands behind his head. “You ask me a question, then I’ll ask you a question.”

“I don’t want to know anything about you,” she mumbled, taking another drink.

“Well, I want to know about you.” The front legs of his chair dropped to the floor with a thump. He leaned forward, folding his hands together and propping his elbows on the table.

Silhouetted in front of the window, his appearance again struck Shanis as vaguely familiar. She shook the thought from her head. “Why do you want to know anything about me?”

“Aha! That was a question,” he laughed. “I’ll answer it, and then you’ll have to answer one from me.”

Shanis was about to protest when she felt an icy chill, harsher than the damp cold of the common room, envelop her body. She shuddered and drew her arms up against her chest.

“Something wrong?” Larris’ face conveyed genuine concern as he reached across the table and placed his hand on her arm.

“Just a bit of a chill,” she whispered through chattering teeth. She wanted to point out to him that he had just asked his question, but the tremors that ran through her seemed to have rattled her brain.

“You must be taking ill.” Larris frowned deeply. “I’ll tell the innkeeper to add a log…” He halted in mid-sentence. He gazed past her, eyes wide open, the blood draining from his face.

“What is it?” Shanis turned around to look.

Six armed men had entered the room and filed over to a large table near the fireplace. Three looked familiar. A reed-thin youth with an unruly shock of brown hair that obscured his eyes sat closest to the fire. A large, bulky boy bigger even than Oskar sat next to him. A lanky young man with long blond hair and a smile that displayed straight, white teeth sat next to the large youth. The three others made their way to the other side of the table. Her breath caught as she spied one of them. Pedric Karst!

She stood, ready to confront him, her chills forgotten. The sour-faced boy looked up, and their eyes met for a moment. Did he recognize her without red hair? A whispered warning from Larris drew her attention to the other two men at the table. One of the men, a gaunt, wrinkled man with strange purple eyes, she had never seen before. The other she knew.

She crumpled into her chair, the sound of Prince Lerryn’s voice calling for ales all around echoing in her ears. She felt numb. Why was he here? How had he found her? Had he found her? What was he doing with Karst? Amidst the torrent of questions, one thought came through clearly. She leaned toward Larris.

“We need to leave,” she whispered. “Now!”

Larris cocked an eye, then nodded his agreement. Slowly, calmly they stood, both of them keeping their backs toward Lerryn’s table. She felt his arm encircle his waist, and he drew her close to him. Forcing herself to relax, she laid her head against his shoulder, and they walked casually out the door, like lovers on a stroll.

When they reached their horses, they unhitched them, and led them several paces down the road, so as not to mount up in front of the window of the common room.

“Allyn will take care of the others,” Larris said softly as they mounted up. “No doubt he has seen.”

Shame flooded through her. She hadn’t even thought of her friends, only of herself. But would Lerryn even know the others? She was the one he was after. No doubt he would remember her; the girl with the sword.

The girl who had killed his guard. She bit her lip. Perhaps neither he nor Karst had recognized her. Few people ever looked past her red hair and her sword.

An entirely different thought flashed through her mind, giving her pause. Larris had obviously recognized someone in the group that had entered the common room. He had reacted to them first. Was he running from someone too? She mulled things over as they made their way down the south road and out of town.

Rounding a bend, they came upon their companions waiting for them. Hierm had acquired two solid mounts.

Everyone was mounted and ready to ride. Allyn exchanged glances with Larris, then turned to Shanis, motioning for her to take the lead. As she trotted her horse forward, she passed Hierm. The look in his eyes indicated that he too had seen Lerryn.

The whisper of a sword being drawn from its scabbard interrupted her thoughts. She felt the cold edge of Larris’ blade pressed against her throat. She froze. What was he doing? From the corner of her eye, she could see that Allyn had drawn his bow. The archer had his bow drawn and an arrow aimed at the center of Hierm’s chest. Obviously the two of them were considered the most dangerous of the group.

“Anyone moves,” Allyn said calmly, almost cheerfully, “and your friends die.”

His matter-of-fact tone chilled her. She looked back at Larris, who appeared equally determined.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered through gritted teeth.

“You said that you didn’t want to ask me any questions,” he replied in even tones, “but now I have one for you. Why are you running from my brother?”

Chapter 13|In Motion

Lerryn quaffed his ale in a few short gulps, and called for more. He wiped the foam from his mouth with the back of his sleeve, and took stock of his companions. Mattyas, or “Hair” as they called him, had proven to be a pleasant traveling companion, quick with an insult but quick to laugh at himself as well. Barlis, nicknamed “Bull”, was equally amenable, though a bit on the quiet side, as was Edrin, the archer. Pedric Karst was another matter entirely.

“This place is filthy,” the dark-haired boy muttered. “I am accustomed to better.” He sat with his hands folded across his chest, staring down at the floor.

“And I am accustomed to young men who know their place,” Xaver said, his face a cold mask.

“And I would like to enjoy my ale with none of your bickering, if you please,” Lerryn said. He accepted a fresh mug from the innkeeper with a nod. He turned to chastise Karst, but stopped when he saw the strange look on the lad’s face. “What is it?”

“I thought I knew that girl.” Karst nodded toward the door. “Over there.”

Lerryn turned to look, but saw only and empty table. The girl, whoever she was, had apparently left.

“You’ve never known a girl in your life,” Hair chided, “except your mother perhaps.”

“Take that back!” Karst leapt to his feet, his sword half drawn. “Right now.”

“Sit down boy,” Lerryn ordered, not bothering to rise.

Karst opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again as the innkeeper returned with ales for the rest of their party. Lerryn motioned for him to sit, which he did grudgingly.

Lerryn regarded Karst for a moment. The boy’s pinched face and beady eyes were a perfect match for his personality, he mused.

“I am not accustomed,” Karst grumbled, “to being spoken to in such a way by a commoner. My father…”

Lerryn had heard enough of Karst’s foolishness. He raised his hand, cutting the youth off.

“Master Karst, I have not shared with you the fact that I know precisely who your father is.” He did not miss Karst’s eyes flit down at the table for a moment before looking back at him in defiance. “You are the son of the chief pig farmer in a province of pig farmers. If you think that gains you any special favor from me, you are sadly mistaken.”

Karst’s face reddened, but he remained silent.

“Pedric Pig. I like it!” Bull said, clapping his huge hands. “We could call you Piggy for short.”

“Lord Ham!” Hair laughed and smacked the table. Edrin joined in, and even Xaver cracked a smile. “Ham, Hair and Bull.”

“My father is not a pig farmer,” Karst whispered, still staring down at his drink.

“I suppose you are correct,” Lerryn agreed. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he should be above goading the boy, but he couldn’t help himself. He rocked back in his chair as he spoke. “Your father is a landowner. Tell me, what do his serfs raise on his land?”

“Corn, tomatoes… food.” Karst frown deepened and he kept his gaze directed away from Lerryn.

“If you include the kitchen gardens, that is true. But what do they raise?” Lerryn asked.

“Pigs.”

“And the tithes that your father claims from them, he is paid in what?”

“Pigs.” Karst’s voice grew more sullen.

“Need I say more?”

They sat in silence for a long time. Lerryn sipped his ale. It was dark and strong with a hint of honey. Not bad for a dingy inn in a dirty town. He was almost embarrassed that such a town could exist in his kingdom. Then again, such domestic issues were the king’s domain. The First Prince was responsible for the military, and for justice. He hoped things were running smoothly in his absence.

“You still haven’t told us where we’re going.” As usual, Karst’s silence had not lasted long.

“We tell you what you need to know, Master Karst,” Lerryn responded.

“One of us ought to know,” Karst protested. Lerryn would not have thought it possible, but his expression turned even more sour.

“You think so, do you?” Lerryn snapped back. The boy always managed to raise his ire. He had done it again, cutting right to the heart of Lerryn’s worries.

“This…. thing…we’re after,” Karst probed, “it’s one single thing, right?”

Lerryn nodded. What harm was there in revealing that small detail?

“So then, whatever it is, only one of us can use it.” Karst’s dark eyes narrowed, like a bird of prey spotting a potential kill.

“What makes you think someone is going to use it?” Lerryn retorted, knowing it was a weak response.

“You said we had to have it to save our country.”

“That is true,” Lerryn agreed. If only the boy knew how much truly depended upon the success of this quest.

“If either of you could use whatever it is, you wouldn’t need the four of us. Obviously, one of us is going to have to use it.” Karst propped an elbow on the table, resting his chin in a cupped hand and looking at Lerryn with an expectant smile.

“I was wrong about you, Master Karst,” Xaver’s dry voice interrupted. “I once thought you a great fool, but I was mistaken.”

Karst’s smile broadened in self-satisfaction.

“You are not a great fool, only an average fool.”

Hair guffawed, choking on his ale. Bull slapped the coughing boy on the back. Hair regained his composure quickly under Xaver’s purple-eyed stare.

“If one of us is to use this thing,” Karst began again, “don’t you think that person should at least know what it is? Unless, of course, you don’t know which one of us it is.”

Xaver’s mouth twisted into a contemptuous snarl. He leaned toward Karst, eyes boring into the arrogant lad.

“You go too far, boy. All of you get out. Wait by the horses.” The four youths scrambled quickly to their feet, overturning chairs, and nearly upending the innkeeper on their way out.

Lerryn fumed inside. He was First Prince of Galdora, yet he did not intimidate the boys the way his vizier did. They had a healthy respect for him, he was certain. Even Karst had learned to mind the sharper edge of his tongue. Yet they seemed to treat Lerryn more as first among equals, rather than someone whom they should fear.

“The prophecy has brought us together.” Xaver turned to Lerryn. “Together! We must be united. We cannot be so without a leader. Stop drinking with these boys and start leading them.”

“Do not tell me about the prophecy. I have seen no signs of your prophecy since this journey began.” It was such a simple plan. Assemble the six, set off in the direction their research told them to go, and wait for the prophecy to take hold.

“The prophecy is in action,” his Vizier protested. “Take the four boys. They fit perfectly.” He paused for a moment. “Well, almost perfectly.”

Xaver glared past Lerryn, as if he could see Karst through the wall. Lerryn shook his head. Perhaps Xaver could see through walls.

“Every day I look for signs,” he argued, mindful of the need to keep his voice down. “I watch these boys, waiting for one of them to do something, I don’t know, prophetic.” He drank down the last of his ale, then relieved Xaver of his untouched tankard. “You aren’t completely certain yourself. I’ve seen you at night, poring over the scrolls, looking for something you might have missed.”

“The prophecy works in inexplicable ways. You mustn’t lose faith. Something will happen when you least expect it, usually in the way you least expect.”

“Something had better happen soon,” Lerryn muttered sourly.

“Forgive me, M’lords. There’s someone would like to have a word with you.” The innkeeper approached their table warily, wringing his hands, and staring at Xaver as if he were a poisonous serpent. “It’s the constable. Something terrible’s happened. He’s a hoping that you Lords might could help him.” He backed away quickly, gesturing toward the door.

Lerryn rose from his chair slowly. He drained Xaver’s tankard in a few greedy gulps, fished into his money pouch, and produced a heavy silver coin with his father’s image imprinted on one side. He tossed it to the innkeeper.

“Our thanks for your hospitality. Lead us to this constable, and we shall see if we may be of some assistance.”

“I thank you M’lord.” The surprised innkeeper examined the coin with rheumy eyes. “Two of these in one day! Who’d have thought it?”

Lerryn frowned. Two in one day? Not likely. Perhaps he meant two silver coins in one day. Surely this pitiful place did not see much silver.

The innkeeper led them out into the street, where a heavyset man with bulging brown eyes waited. He pressed a giant hand against his ample girth and bowed deeply, displaying a bald spot peeking through his thin brown hair.

“M’lords, we have need of your assistance. Two men have been killed.” The constable’s eyes darted nervously from Lerryn to Xaver, then back to Lerryn.

“Constable, I can assure you that no one from our party was involved,” Lerryn replied.

“I am sorry, M’lord, I did not make myself clear. Wild animals killed the men. Tore them up something terrible. Their family could scarcely recognize ‘em.”

“I fail to see how we may be of assistance,” Xaver said. “We can hardly bring these men back to life.”

The constable nervously rubbed his hands over his ample girth. He scraped the heel of his boot back and forth in the filth of the muddy street.

“They managed to bring down one of the animals before they were killed. Truth is, we’ve never seen the like.

We had hoped that you, being travelers, might’ve seen one of these things before.” He looked at Lerryn pleadingly, studiously avoiding Xaver’s gaze.

“Very well,” Lerryn agreed. He turned to find Hair waiting with his horse in hand. He mounted up and set off at a slow trot, following the relieved looking constable.

They came to a halt a few leagues west of town in a small patch of farmland. Rows of snap beans grew up the stalks of young corn, bright green in the summer stun. A woman stood at the edge of the field, sobbing over two figures wrapped in blood soaked fabric. Two men, most likely neighbors, stood behind her, arms folded across their chests. Four small girls were being led away by two heavyset women, probably the men’s wives.

Lerryn’s heart groaned at the sight. He wished he had a bottle of wine, or something stronger.

“Her husband and her son,” the constable explained.

Lerryn leapt down from his horse and walked over to the woman. He withdrew his money pouch and knelt down by the grief-stricken widow. “Mistress, I cannot hope to ease your pain, but perhaps this will ease your family’s suffering a bit.” He held the pouch out toward her. She looked up at him. Her eyes, red and swollen from crying, were a deep emerald green, and her hair was a lustrous brown. Had she been of noble birth, she would have married well. She shook her head, and drew slightly away from him. “Please take it,” he said, this time pressing the bag of money into her hands.

Without a word, she accepted the gift, then threw her arms around him, and squeezed tightly. Silent tears dripped onto his shoulder. He awkwardly patted her back, but he had no words of comfort to offer.

The woman held on to him for a long time. She smelled vaguely of cinnamon, not altogether unpleasant.

Certainly better than the scullery maids and serving girls he preferred. He stroked her hair, and noticed its softness. What sort of beast was he? The woman’s husband lay dead not two paces from where they knelt! Slowly, reluctantly, he broke the embrace.

“My thanks,” the widow whispered, and turned again to look upon the bodies of the deceased.

“Show me the animal,” Lerryn said gruffly, trying to keep the emotion from his voice.

The Constable led him across the clearing. Xaver, Karst, and Edrin followed, along with the two farmers. A strange looking beast lay on the ground, its corpse feathered with arrows. Its fur was a glossy gray, tinged with silver. Its head was catlike, as were the wicked claws that extended from its all too human fingers and toes. Its body was vaguely human, though the short, muscular arms and legs added to the animal’s beast-like quality.

“The oldest girl came out to bring them lunch. She saw it all,” the Constable explained. “A pack of them came through the woods. They got enough arrows in this one to bring it down, but not the others. The critters tore through them like they was nothing.” He shook his head. “The girl hid in the woods. She said the rest of ‘em just kept on going. She said, if they was people, you’d think they had somewhere they had to be.” He spat on the ground, and fixed Lerryn with a patient stare.

“I know what this is.” Xaver pushed past Lerryn and knelt down to examine the beast. “This is a Halvalan snow cougar.”

“Halvalan?” the Constable barked, “How’d a Halvalan anything get all the way down here?”

“It’s rare, but they have been known to range widely. Unfortunate that the pack happened upon these men.”

“That’s not a cougar…” Karst halted in mid-sentence when Edrin slapped him on the back of the head.

“Don’t contradict the priest.” Edrin invoked the title Lerryn had instructed him to use for Xaver. “He’s seen more than the rest of us put together.”

Karst frowned and rubbed the back of his head, but said no more.

“What should we do with it, M’lord?”

Xaver looked at Lerryn for a moment, then turned to the constable.

“Burn it,” Xaver said. “Burn it and bury the ashes deep.” He turned and headed back to the horses, motioning for the others to join him.

Lerryn resisted the urge to say goodbye to the grieving woman. Hair and Bull hugged the girls, and mounted up. As they cantered forth from the clearing, Xaver drew his horse alongside that of Lerryn.

“Your Highness,” he said, “I fear the frost creeps again.”

Chapter 14|A Quest

Oskar sat for a moment in stunned disbelief. His brother? What… Suddenly, things fell into place. He looked at Larris again, as if for the first time. Oskar had not seen Lerryn many times, but from what he remembered, the two certainly could be brothers. The tall, lean body, lightly tanned, skin, brown eyes and wavy brown hair all resembled Lerryn. If Larris was a prince, that would explain many things, including his breadth of knowledge, his access to so many books, and his general attitude of superiority.

Oskar looked at his companions. Hierm sat stone still, his eyes flitting back and forth between Larris, who held his sword at Shanis’ throat, and Allyn, whose bow was drawn and aimed directly at Hierm. Shanis also sat still. Her angry eyes raged at Larris, and her face was flush. Not good, Oskar thought. If Shanis’ temper got the better of her, she was prone to try something foolish.

What could he do? He was close enough to Allyn that he might be able to thump the boy with his staff before the archer could release his shot. But he liked Allyn! Allyn was his friend, had taught him to use his quarterstaff. At any rate, even if he managed to rescue Hierm, it would be a death sentence for Shanis. Larris would kill her. They had no choice.

“Wait! I’ll tell you.”

“Proceed.” Larris’ voice had grown even more imperious, if that was possible. He neither removed his eyes from Shanis’ face, nor his sword from her throat.

Oskar quickly relayed the story. All of it. Khalyndryn sobbed quietly when he recounted the tale of her assault.

For her part, Shanis face did not change when Oskar told the story of her killing the guard. Silence hung in the air for a few moments at the completion of his tale.

Allyn nodded to Larris, who turned and addressed to Shanis and Hierm.

“I want your word, both of you,” he said, his voice taut with tension, “that when Allyn and I put down our weapons, your swords will remain sheathed.”

“Or else?” Shanis hissed.

“What choice do you have?” Oskar shouted. He had to make Shanis understand that this was not the time for her to lose her temper. Of course, holding back Shanis’ temper was only a touch easier than holding back the sunrise.

“He’s a prince,” she said, her voice deathly quiet. “I killed one of his brother’s personal soldiers. What do you think he’s going to do to me?” Her eyes bored into Larris with hot fury.

“He could have already killed you if he wanted to,” Oskar argued. Freeze it all! The girl was stubborn. “He hasn’t given us any reason not to trust him so far. Trust him now.”

“What possible reason is there to trust him?” she asked, her gaze never leaving the prince. “He lied to us. They lied to us.”

“We lied too,” Hierm said flatly.

“We had reason,” Shanis said, her eyes flitting toward the ground for a split second.

“As did we,” Allyn said. “I assure you. Give us your word, and we shall sort this all out.”

At that, Shanis paused. She looked imploringly at Oskar. He nodded to her. He hoped she was seeing reason.

“All right,” she whispered, “you have my word.”

“Mine as well,” Hierm agreed.

The tension left Larris’ face. He smiled as he sheathed his sword. “First, let me tell you, I know Borram.”

“You knew Borram,” Allyn corrected with a smirk.

“A drunkard and a fool,” Larris continued, ignoring his friend. “My brother kept him on as part of the guard as a favor to his father, who once performed a great service to the crown. I daresay you’ve done a greater service by ridding us of the sot.”

Larris glanced over at Allyn for a brief instant. It seemed to Oskar that something was being communicated between the two. Suspicion rose inside of him.

“It isn’t that simple, is it?” he asked. “There’s something more. I can tell.”

Larris met his gaze, and smiled a tight smile. “You are too smart for me by half, Oskar. My brother will doubtless be grateful to be rid of Borram. Unfortunately, the word of a commoner, even that of four commoners, does not change the fact that noble blood has been spilled.”

“Borram could hardly be called noble,” Allyn scoffed. “Unless that word has taken on a meaning with which I am unfamiliar.” He cleared his throat and spat. “Of course,” he added dryly, “I am not as well-read as you and our friend here.”

“Borram’s actions were not noble, but his family is,” Larris continued. “If Allyn and I were to vouch for you, though, that should be sufficient to see you clear of any accusations brought against you.”

“Would you do that for us,” Khalyndryn asked hopefully.

“I would,” Larris replied. Again he looked at Allyn. “I certainly would.”

What is going on here? Oskar wondered. Something was very much amiss.

“You’re running from him too!” Shanis shouted, a triumphant look on her face.

What was she talking about?

“I saw the way you looked at your brother,” she said. “You didn’t want to be seen any more than I did. Why not?”

“It’s gone too far,” Allyn muttered, shaking his head. “Much too far. We should never have let them join us.”

“I trust them,” Larris replied.

“We can’t let them go running back to your brother,” Allyn said. “What then?”

“They can’t go running back to my brother,” Larris said. “Whether he believes them or not, he’ll have no choice. They need us.”

“But do we need them?” Allyn asked.

“Perhaps we do.” Larris turned to Oskar and his companions. “Allyn and I have embarked upon a quest. One that is vital to the future of our nation. If you will join us, and remain loyal to us throughout our quest, I will personally guarantee your freedom.”

He drew his sword, and held it upright, with the blade in front of his face. “This I swear, upon my sword and upon the honor of my house.” He kissed the blade. Shafts of sunlight flickering through the branches of the stately oaks lining the road shone on the young man’s face, adding to the regal quality of the ancient oath.

“This is my word and my bond. Will you join us?” He smiled up at the four youths on horseback, the very image of royalty.

Oskar’s heart pounded. This was what he had dreamed of all his life. He could join a prince on a quest. He could travel, have adventures.

“I’ll do it,” he blurted, perhaps with more enthusiasm than he had intended. He blushed as Shanis and Hierm stared at him angrily. Who cared what they thought? This was what he wanted. “I will join you on your…” He swallowed the lump in his throat. His heart pounded so fiercely that his ears roared. “…on your quest.”

“I’ll go as well,” Khalyndryn sighed. “I don’t know what use I’ll be to you, but I don’t suppose I have a choice.”

“How can the two of you make such a promise?” Hierm asked, his voice heated. “Have you forgotten that two minutes ago they were prepared to kill us?”

“We didn’t want to hurt you,” Larris protested. “Our quest is too important to risk being found out. We needed to know what you were about.”

“Can you truly do all that you promised?” Hierm asked. “Can you guarantee our safety? Our freedom?”

“A fair question,” Larris agreed. “If it were not so important that I avoid my brother, I truly believe that we could ride into town right now, and my word, coupled with what we know about Borram, would more than suffice to gain your freedom. What I can guarantee you is, if we successfully complete this quest, my father will give me anything that I ask.”

“If we complete this quest?” Shanis asked. “What kind of quest is this?”

“Swear first,” Larris answered flatly. He met her frown with an implacable gaze.

“All right then,” Shanis shot back. Oskar saw her fists close tightly around the reins, and for a moment feared that she might ride the young prince down. “I’ll swear.”

“I’ll swear as well,” Hierm added.

“Everyone off your horses,” Allyn ordered crisply. He leapt down off of his own horse, and gathered the reins of the other mounts as Oskar and his comrades dismounted. “Kneel before your prince,” he instructed.

None of them were accustomed to kneeling, and they did so awkwardly. Oskar dropped heavily onto one knee, cracking his kneecap on a sharp stone.

“Repeat after me,” Larris said. “Upon my honor and upon my life…”

“On my honor and upon my life,” Oskar’s heart pounded as he spoke. His head was abuzz with realized fantasies, and wonderful disbelief.

“I swear to remain loyal to Prince Larris, and to the quest upon which he has embarked,” Larris continued.

They repeated the pledge in unison. Oskar’s voice quavered with excitement. Shanis veritably spat the words, a scowl of distaste twisting her face, while Hierm and Khalyndryn repeated them dully, as if not certain what to think.

After the words had been spoken, Larris extended his sword to Oskar. He did not know what he was supposed to do. Fearful of looking foolish, he went with his first instinct, and kissed the flat of the blade. The satisfied smile on Larris’ face told him that he had done the right thing.

Larris went down the line, holding his sword out to each person. Khalyndryn kissed the blade, then Hierm.

When he came to Shanis, she stared at the sword, face reddening. She slapped the blade away and leapt to her feet, muttering a curse.

“You have my word. That should be good enough for you.” She whirled about, and stalked quickly over to Allyn. Snatching the reins of her horse from the blond youth, she led her mount a few paces away. She stood there with her back to the group, staring off into the dense tangle of forest.

Larris’ eyes widened at Shanis’ rebuke, obviously unprepared for such a reaction. He stared at her for a moment. He took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, visibly gaining control of his emotions, then turned to face the three who remained kneeling before him.

“You may rise,” he said. When they stood, he clasped hands with Hierm, then Khalyndryn. When he came to Oskar, the two clasped hands for a moment, then Larris yanked the larger boy toward him, hugging him roughly. “I am very glad you are joining us.”

“So am I,” Oskar replied hoarsely. He was stunned by the prince’s display of emotion, and his apparent sincerity. How had he, and ordinary farm boy, befriended royalty? He could scarcely have dreamed a more unlikely scenario.

Larris walked over to where Shanis stood, and placed a hand on her shoulder. She did not look at him. Oskar saw the prince lean toward her, and whisper something into her ear that sounded like “Forgive me,” but that couldn’t be right. Princes didn’t apologize. After a moment, he turned back to the group.

“Allyn and I have much to tell you all. But first, let’s ride,” he said, grinning. “Come nightfall I want to be as far from my brother as possible.”

Chapter 15|Seeker

Aspin brought his horse to a halt at the Galsbur town green. It was a small place, and quaint in its own way.

He looked across a central green to a sturdy, two-story log building. It had the look of an inn about it, albeit a small one. He took in the shops and the few small houses that surrounded the green. It should not be too difficult to find what, or should he say whom, he was looking for. To his right stood a large, white building toward the rear of which a wagon was being loaded. It had the look of a business. It was as good a place as any to start. Dismounting, he tied his horse to a post near the front door, brushed the dust from his plain, brown robe, and entered through the front door.

An attractive woman, just short of middle years, sat at a small table, polishing a ring with the hem of her dress. In doing so, she revealed a bit more calf than modesty permitted, but Aspin did not mind. She had long, pale blonde hair tied up in a bun. He could see just enough of her face to know that she was beautiful, or had been in her younger years.

“May I help you?” The woman did not look up from her jewelry.

“I certainly hope so, my good lady. I am seeking directions.”

“Directions to…” She raised her head and the words died in her throat. Her pale blue eyes widened, then seem to lose focus. The sai-kur’s robe often had that effect on people. The woman cleared her throat, and stood slowly. “Directions to where?”

“I am looking for the home of Lord Yurg Van Sarten.”

The woman’s face turned a ghastly white, and she slumped awkwardly back into her chair. “Did you say, Lord Yurg?”

Aspin chuckled. It was just like Yurg to pretend to be a commoner. What story had he told these people?

“Yes, Lord Yurg, my lady. It is my understanding that he lives in this village. Do you know of him?”

“Yes.” Her voice was soft and her eyes had a distant look. “He is our swordmaster.”

Aspin waited, but no more information was forthcoming. “And do you know where his home is?”

“I’m sorry.” The woman stood slowly, and pointed with a shaking hand. “He lives that way. Between the sword yard and the smithy.”

“You have my most sincere thanks, my lady. If I may trouble you for another moment.” Aspen paused as the woman audibly sucked in her breath. “Was there a tournament here of late?”

The woman visibly relaxed. “Indeed there was. More than a week ago.”

Aspin bit back a curse. “And Prince Lerryn was here?” He hoped that his anger was not evident in his voice.

“He certainly was. He left two days ago.” The woman had regained some of her composure. “I had the good fortune of sitting next to him at the tournament.”

“I must say that the fortune was his, Mistress…”

“Oh! The name is Van Derin. Faun Van Derin.” She blushed at the compliment.

“Again, you have my thanks, Mistress Van Derin. May the Gods smile on you this day.” Aspin turned and left as quickly as dignity would permit. Outside, he made a right turn, and headed in the direction of Yurg’s house at a fast walk.

Burn it all! He had missed it by days. Balric just had to go and catch fever along the way. And then the boy had the audacity to die on him. Aspin spat in the dust of the road. The boy had never been much of a disciple. An indifferent student, he was much more interested in late nights sipping ale in a common room.

Learning about the common folk he called it. Next time, Aspin would choose his own disciple.

He passed the empty sword yard, and focused his gaze on the small house that lay next to it. He hoped that Yurg would be able to tell him what he needed to know. He had not seen his old friend in…how many years had it been? He could not remember. How would Yurg look after all these years? Had he aged any better than Aspin had?

It was a peaceful day and few people were about. A gentle whisper of a breeze caressed the branches of the giant chanbor trees, the sound blending pleasantly with the gurgle of the nearby river. Only the steady ring of the blacksmith’s hammer interrupted the melody.

Arriving at Yurg’s home, Aspin rapped smartly on the front door. No response. Again he knocked. Still nothing. Nearby, the pace of the smith’s hammer slowed.

“Yurg,” he called out, “don’t think you can hide all the wine before you let me in.” He waited for a few moments and knocked again. The sounds of the smithy had died. “Yurg?” he called again. Still no answer.

Turning to his right, he walked to the end of the small porch and peered around the side of the house. As he had noted earlier, the sword yard was empty. He hopped to the ground rather nimbly for a man of his years, if he did say so himself, and made his way around the house. Still he saw nothing.

As he completed his circuit, something on the ground caught his attention. He knelt down for a closer look, but was interrupted by a pair of dirty boots that interposed themselves into his line of sight. Aspin did not look up. He was not one to be intimidated. This country lout, whoever he was, had only succeeded in annoying him.

“Your boots could use some polishing, friend.”

“Who are you?” The voice was firm, but Aspin detected no menace in it.

“My name is Aspin.” With a sigh, he rose to his full height, and looked the man in the eye. “And you have just destroyed some tracks I was hoping to examine.” He looked the fellow over. He was tall, of a height with Aspin. His leather apron, scarred forearms, and the hammer he clutched in one meaty fist named him the blacksmith. The man’s gray eyes widened as he took in the brown robe and cloak.

“What do you want here?” The man’s grip tightened around the hammer. Muscles bulged in powerful forearms.

“You have my name, friend. It is customary to return the courtesy.” He was amused at how much simple courtesies could throw a person off-guard.

“Ham Lurel,” the man said, “I’m the blacksmith.”

“Yes,” Aspin said, “I noticed your hammer.”

The man scratched his head. If he blushed, Aspin could not tell. Working at the forge had flushed the smith’s face an angry scarlet. “We look out for one another here. You have some business with Master Yurg?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. We are old friends.”

“He never mentioned you,” Lurel said.

Aspin was disappointed in the man. He gave him a condescending smile. Having a sai-kur for a friend was not something one mentioned in casual conversation. The man looked away for a moment. When he turned back, his expression was resolute. “We look out for one another around here.”

“Glad to hear it. It happens that I am a bit concerned about your Master Yurg. When did you last see him?”

Lurel’s eyes narrowed. Obviously, he was debating whether or not he should help this stranger… this sai-kur.

“Yesterday, Seeker,” he said, using the title that commoners often attached to those of Aspin’s order.

“Sometime early yesterday if I am remembering correct.”

“You have not seen him at all today?” Aspin was puzzled by Yurg’s absence, and more than a bit concerned.

“No.” Lurel shook his head. “Of course, I’ve been focused on my work. But I haven’t seen him come outside or anything.”

“Is that unusual for him?” An icy ball formed in the pit of Aspin’s stomach.

“It is.” The smith paused. Cupping his chin in his hand, he gazed at the ground for a long moment.

“Understand, now, things have not been usual around here for some time. Everything’s been a mess since the prince announced that snow-blighted tournament. The whole town has just been…” His lips pursed in a frown as his words trailed away.

“I can imagine,” Aspin replied. He could indeed imagine. A tiny little hamlet like this one would be turned on its ear by such an event. What was Lerryn up to? He hoped Yurg could tell him.

“You’re worried about Master Yurg, aren’t you?” The blacksmith calmly looked him in the eye.

“I am,” Aspin confessed. He had not gotten a close look at the tracks around Yurg’s house, but the first glance had chilled him to the marrow. “I think we should look inside.”

Lurel nodded resolutely, and led the way to the porch.

“Master Yurg?” The blacksmith rapped on the door as he shouted. “Master Yurg, Mistress Anna,” the pitch of his voice elevated, and a deep frown marred his face, “are you there?”

“I think we should go in,” Aspin said. He tried not to think about the tracks he had glimpsed, nor what it would mean if he was right about what they meant.

Lurel tried the door. It was open. A foul odor assailed Aspin’s nose almost instantly. He heard the blacksmith groan. Aspin pushed past the larger man, and was greeted by a horrendous sight.

Blood was spattered on the walls, and pooled in the floor around Yurg’s lifeless body. He wore the tattered remains of a nightshirt. His body was shredded, rent open from throat to midriff in long, narrow slices, like the raking of claws. His sword lay a few paces away. Its shining, clean blade told Aspin that Yurg had not had the chance to put up a fight.

“They must have surprised you, my old friend,” he whispered. “You probably thought you were safe in this sleepy town.”

A door on the far side of the room led into the bedroom, where he found the remains of Yurg’s wife Anna in a similar condition. She lay atop a blood-soaked bed, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms shielding her face.

Aspin’s eyes misted as he turned back toward the front of the house. Lurel slumped heavily against the door facing, still clutching his hammer in a trembling fist. Unshed tears clouded his vision as he stared at his dead friend.

“Do you know Colin Malan?” Aspin asked sharply. Lurel’s head snapped up, and he nodded. “Bring him here right away. I need him.”

He paced the floor, inspecting every inch. Much of the surface was covered in blood, but in several places he observed the same footprints he had seen outside. He shook his head. It was all happening so much faster than he had anticipated. How had he let himself be caught unaware?

He retrieved two thick woolen blankets from the back room, laying across the remains of his old friend, the other over Anna. Someone else would have to take care of the burial. He would be leaving again soon.

It was not long before the door burst open. Colin Malan’s hulking figure blotted out the sunlight as he passed through the doorway. He had changed little since Aspin had seen him last. His unkempt black beard and curly raven locks were sprinkled with a touch of silver, but he otherwise retained his youthful appearance. Aspin flinched as Malan slammed the door behind him.

“You let on that I know you? A Seeker?” Thick forearm muscles rippled as he pointed an accusing finger at Aspin. “What would possess you to do such a thing?”

“It’s too late for you to concern yourself with that. Look!” Aspin gestured at the lifeless bodies.

“Lurel told me,” Colin said, shaking his head as he surveyed the scene. “What happened?”

“Ice cats.” Aspin could not believe it. “A pack of them from what I can tell.”

Colin shook his head. He squatted down next to Yurg’s body, drawing back the blanket to peer underneath.

He dropped the blanket with a sharp intake of breath.

“They gave Mistress Anna the same treatment,” Aspin said. “She did not deserve to go like that.”

“Freeze me!” Malan cursed, pounding his fist into a thigh as thick as a tree trunk.” I had no idea. It’s all too soon!”

A sudden thought struck Aspin.

“Why didn’t they come after you, Colin?” He tensed as he waited for the answer. His palm itched, and he forced himself not to reach for his sword. Colin Malan was a dangerous man, and the wrong answer would force a confrontation that Aspin did not want. “Or, more to the point, why didn’t they go after the girl?”

“She’s gone.” Colin looked up at him with defiance in his dark brown eyes. “Been gone for a while.”

“Did she go with Lerryn?”

“No.” The man rose up to his full height, and stared down his nose at Aspin, but the Seeker was too angry to be intimidated.

“The cold take you and your reticence!” Aspin snapped. “Tell what happened.”

“I don’t know.” Colin turned away, his voice catching slightly. “When Lerryn allowed her to compete in the tournament, I knew the time had come and I knew better than to try and stand in her way, but I couldn’t bear the thought of what she will have to do. I left town on a job for Van Derin.” His voice grew husky. “I’ve had her since she was a baby.”

“I know you love her,” Aspin said. “You raised her, after all. But I need to know why she isn’t with Lerryn.”

“When I came home, they told me that she had disappeared before her final match. Her and some of her friends.”

“How many friends?”

“Three.”

Aspin cursed and shook his head. Too few!

“They found one of the White Fang dead. Another guard saw Shanis running away from the body. Rumor is, the guard was a drunkard and a womanizer. If he tried to have his way with my girl, he got what he deserved.” Malan’s mouth curled into a wicked grin, white teeth shining beneath his thick, black moustache.

“Did you try and track them?” Aspin was almost embarrassed at the look Malan gave him. “Allow me to re-phrase my question. Did you find any indications of where they might have gone?” Thoughts whirled rapidly through his mind. If the girl was with Lerryn, there would be reason to believe that things were happening as they should. But vanishing without a trace? Had the prophecy truly gone askew? Or had Aspin made a serious miscalculation?

“I didn’t find anything at all. The families of the others were no help either. I had hoped she was hiding in the forest, waiting for Lerryn to leave, but she hasn’t been back.”

“Did Lerryn go back to Archstone?” Aspin asked.

“Strangest thing,” Malan replied. “He sent the White Fang back to the city with most of the new recruits. But he and another man took a few of the boys and left on their own.” Malan scratched his head. “I truly think she’ll come back here. The girl who went with her wouldn’t last very long in the woods. Who knows about the boys?”

“We have to find her. You can remain here and keep up the search. I’ll head out after them.”

A few minutes later, Aspin was back in the saddle. His hopes for a hot bath and soft bed would have to wait.

Colin’s descriptions of Shanis and her three companions were firmly etched in his mind. He had to find them.

As he left Galdora behind, a nagging thought played in the back of his mind. What if they had been wrong all along?

Chapter 16|Revelation

Oskar hunched over the small campfire, trying vainly to absorb the scant warmth that it provided. Larris had permitted only a large enough fire for cooking. Oskar’s stomach growled as he inhaled the aroma of roasted squirrel.

Perhaps Khalyndryn wouldn’t want to eat hers. The girl had crinkled her nose in disgust at the sight of the carcasses roasting on spits. She sat in the doorway of her tent, eating some nuts that Allyn had packed for the trail. The others sat huddled about the fire, each quiet with their own thoughts.

“I suppose I’ve waited long enough,” Larris announced, breaking the silence. “It’s time to tell you about the quest.”

Seated opposite the prince, Allyn shook his head, but said nothing. He had been even colder than usual, obviously unhappy with Larris’ decision to include them on the quest.

“Ages ago, more than twenty grandfathers past, the forces of the Ice King invaded the nations of the east.

They ravaged much of Halvala, Kyrin, and Lothan, and threatened Riza, Cardith and Diyonus. Unable to fend off the onslaught, the rulers of the six nations pleaded with the gods for assistance.”

Oskar’s heart raced. This was a familiar story. To think that this quest, one in which he would take part, had something to do with this legendary tale was beyond belief. He glanced to Allyn, then Larris. He had heard bits and pieces of this story as a child, everyone had. He always considered it nothing more than that; a child’s tale by mothers to frighten the little ones.

“The gods blessed each ruler with an extraordinary gift, actually an amplification of talents that each already possessed: strength, cunning, charisma, skill with the sword, wisdom, and sorcerous abilities of some sort.

Using these gifts, they led their armies into battle, driving the Ice King’s creatures back into the mountains.

The victory was theirs, but the gods demanded a payment. The rulers were required to offer themselves as sacrifices to the gods. Against the day that the Ice King would return, their essences were captured in a weapon of awesome power: the Silver Serpent.”

“What happened to the Ice King?” Hierm asked, shifting uncomfortably.

“He was badly weakened and fled into the Ice Reaches. One day, his power recovered, he will return.” Larris paused to take a long pull from his water skin. “I believe that day is coming soon. I seek the Silver Serpent.”

Everyone sat in silence, absorbing what they had learned. Hierm frowned, staring into the flames.

Shanis, elbows on knees, cupped her chin and looked directly at Larris for the first time since the incident on the road. “What sort of weapon is it?”

“No one knows,” said Larris. “All that is known for certain is that it is a weapon of supreme power. We must have it if we hope to defeat the Ice King.” He picked up a stick and absently prodded the fire.

“Does he have a name, this Ice King?” Shanis leaned toward Larris, her gaze boring into him.

“Tichris,” Oskar provided. “That’s right, isn’t…”

“Freeze you for a fool!” Allyn shouted, leaping to his feet, Larris an instant behind him. “Never speak his name!” Allyn’s angry whisper was like a knife in Oskar’s gut. “Never!”

Oskar hung his head. He had only wanted to show them that he himself had some knowledge on the subject.

He was accustomed to being the best-informed in his circle of friends. This mysterious quest had left him feeling as uninformed as…Khalyndryn. He didn’t look up when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s all right,” Larris said. “Likely it’s little more than superstition, but it’s a belief we’ve been raised with.”

“You won’t hear it again from my mouth,” Oskar muttered, wishing he could have the words back.

“That name gives me the chills,” Shanis said, clutching her arms to her sides. “Not only because we’ve heard it for so long. It’s the very sound of it that seems to freeze your bones.” She shivered as she spoke.

The ancient oaks that surrounded their campsite seemed to lean in on the small party. Oskar scooted closer to the fire, imagining frozen fiends creeping from every shadow.

“Any closer and you’ll singe your eyebrows,” Hierm teased. Oskar forced a smile, but did not move away from the fire’s modest heat.

“What does he want?” Khalyndryn stood outside their little circle, and had interposed herself between Oskar and Larris. “The Ice King, I mean.”

“What does anyone want?” Allyn removed a skewer from the fire and tested the meat with the edge of his knife. Finding it to his satisfaction, he handed it to Shanis. “Power, wealth, revenge…” He offered one to Khalyndryn, who declined with a shake of her head. Oskar snapped it up greedily.

“I don’t want any of those things,” Khalyndryn said.

“Come now,” Allyn fixed her with his half smile as he finished serving their dinner. “If you could choose your husband, what sort of man would he be?”

“I don’t know.” Khalyndryn’s blushing face shone in the dim light. “Someone strong and handsome…”

“And rich,” Shanis said around a mouthful of roast squirrel.

“That isn’t true,” Khalyndryn protested. “I mean, it would be all right if he were rich,” she smiled shyly at Larris. “But it isn’t necessary. I mean… it’s not the only thing that matters.”

“Think back to your home,” Allyn said. “Was there a particular young man who caught your fancy?”

Shanis snickered, and received a shove from Hierm for her trouble. Khalyndryn frowned at the pair, but said nothing.

“Was his one of the wealthier families, or one of the poorer?” Allyn continued.

Khalyndryn shrugged and looked away.

“No need to be embarrassed,” Allyn continued. “You only want what everyone wants. And I think that if you are honest with yourself, you wish you could have taken your revenge against the man who assaulted you.”

A single tear rolled down Khalyndryn’s face. “I’m going to bed,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

She rose gracefully, and walked back to her tent.

“My friend,” Larris said, turning to Allyn, “sometimes I worry that your cold heart will freeze you solid.”

“I understand people, nothing more.” The archer shrugged and tossed the remains of his meal into the fire.

“Beneath this thin façade of humanity, we are all animals. You just have to look deeper inside some of us, that is all.”

Oskar took a large bite from his second squirrel, chewing the tough meat slowly and methodically. He wished for a squirrel stew, or perhaps some gravy, but the rich smoke brought out the gamy flavor in a way that made the meal quite savory. Allyn was wrong. The world was filled with kind, generous people who cared for others. People like Master Yurg or Ham Lurel.

The unexpected thought of home ached hollowly in the pit of his stomach. Allyn was correct about Khalyndryn, though it pained Oskar to admit it. He had always harbored a fantasy that she would someday lose interest in handsome, wealthy young men, and take a shine to a large, intelligent young man such as himself. Despite his secret hopes, Khalyndryn had always doted on Hierm. Until, that is, she had met Larris.

The revelation that he was a prince had sealed the bargain. She had set her sights on the biggest prize of them all.

“I suppose I’ll turn in myself.” Larris added his skewer to the fire and made to stand.

“Sit down,” Shanis commanded in a voice that made Larris’ head jerk toward her in surprise. “I have a few more questions. The first of which is, why are you avoiding your brother? You conveniently neglected to explain that to us.”

Larris glanced down at her, smirking. He returned to his seat slowly enough that Shanis shot him an impatient scowl. He looked up at the dark sky, seeming to choose his words.

“My brother is also searching for the Silver Serpent,” he finally said, not looking at them.

“Why not join forces with him?” Hierm asked.

“Yes, Larris,” Allyn said. “Why not run back to your dear brother and offer him our assistance?” The young man chuckled to himself as he plucked the last bits of meat from the carcass.

“My brother and I do not exactly see eye-to-eye on certain things,” Larris said, frowning at Allyn. “His methods, for one. His vizier, for two.”

“Make that his vizier for one, and his methods for two” Allyn corrected.

“What is a vizier?” Hierm’s mouth twisted as he pronounced the odd word.

“Xaver is a sorcerer from the Isle of the Sky,” Larris said. “He gave himself that odd name. I don’t know why ‘adviser’ wasn’t good enough for him. At any rate, he’s a purple-eyed snake who has charmed my brother with his prophecies and visions.”

“Purple eyes,” Shanis said. “The ecclesiast at the tournament had purple eyes.”

“Bah! That is just like him,” Allyn said, a bitter look on is face. “I’m surprised the gods didn’t strike him down on the spot.” He pounded a clenched fist on his thigh.

“You mentioned his methods,” Oskar said, not entirely certain he wanted to hear the answer. “What of them?”

“Xaver is a believer in the prophetic writings about the Serpent. His method, and that of my brother, is to first meet the conditions of the prophecy, whatever they might be. Second, to move south, which is where the prize is believed to lie, and wait for the prophecy to take command and guide them.

“Take command? You talk like the prophecy is some living thing.” Hierm wore a confused expression. “As if it is going to take hold of us or something.”

“Perhaps that was a poor choice of words,” Larris replied. “My brother believes that the prophecies will come to fruition. His objective is to be the person of whom the prophecy speaks. By doing so, he believes that he cannot help but succeed.” He shook his head as he spoke.

“How does your method differ from his?” Oskar asked. “Is it very different?”

“The war with the Ice King is a historical fact. The Silver Serpent is real. The best way to find it is through research. Allyn and I have done a great deal of traveling, studying both history and myth surrounding the serpent. We have amassed quite a bit of information on the subject.”

“What have you found?” Oskar found himself sorely envying Larris’ knowledge. Lord Hiram’s collection, of which Oskar had availed himself as often as possible, was remarkable in its diversity, particularly for a village merchant. Unfortunately, the collection had great gaps in the topics that it covered.

“We know that the serpent lies to the west of Lothan,” Larris counted on his fingers as he explained. “We have a rough map, with some clear landmarks, as well as some riddles that we hope to puzzle out along the way.

“There is a book in the Great Library in Karkwall that I would dearly love to get my hands on. I would have to reveal my identity in order to gain access. I don’t know if it is worth the risk of my brother hearing of my whereabouts.

“The resting place of the Silver Serpent lies beyond the Ramsgate on the western border of Lothan. That we can find with ease. Somewhere in those mountains is Robrus’ Pass. Given that Robrus was a famous king, though of a nation long gone, I hope we might find the location of the pass in the library in Karkwall, though the clues we have give us hope that we may find it on our own. Once we are through the pass, we must then search for the lost city of Murantha. At the present, we have little information on the city or how to find it.”

Oskar felt the blood drain from his face. He rose to his feet. His legs were weak, and an icy tingle of disbelief swept through him. He swayed as he turned away from the fire.

“Are you all right?” Hierm sprang to his feet and laid a hand on Oskar’s upper arm..

“I’m fine. Don’t mind me. I’ll be right back.” He stumbled to his tent. Crawling inside, he quickly found his sack of belongings. Opening it, he rummaged through until he found his precious sheaf of papers. He withdrew them with care, and hurried back to the fireside. The others stared at him in curiosity but did not speak. He hastily removed the strings that held the bundle together, and withdrew the small piece of wood that served as both cover and protector of his bundle. It did not take him long to find what he was looking for. With shaking hands, he held it out to Larris.

“Is this what you’re looking for?”

Chapter 17|Lothan

Shanis had never felt as vulnerable as she did in this vast, open land, where anyone or anything could be hidden behind the next rise. In front of her, the road disappeared and reappeared as it rolled its way through the sparsely wooded hills of northern Lothan until it was swallowed by the morning mist. She missed the lush forests and tree-lined roadways of home.

“Does this whole country look like this?” she asked, looking around with barely concealed discomfort.

“Not all,” Larris said. The western part of the country looks like this. It grows hillier closer to the mountains.

To the south and east, the land is very different. It’s all swamps and marsh.”

“Will you take us to some cities?” Khalyndryn asked. “I’ve never been to a real city.”

Allyn chuckled. Khalyndryn frowned at him before turning back to Larris with a beatific smile that turned Shanis’ stomach. The prince rolled his eyes.

“Don’t mind him,” Larris said. “Karkwall, the capital, is the only true city in Lothan. The nation is so torn by civil war that a permanent settlement of any size is difficult to maintain. One side burns down whatever the other side builds.”

“How long has it been like that?” Hierm asked. “The civil war, I mean.”

Shanis laughed as Oskar opened his mouth to respond, only to have Larris cut him off.

“There has always been discord between the clans, but this particular war has lasted for forty years. Ever since Badla died.”

“Who was he?” Hierm asked.

“She,” Larris said, “was a warrior queen, the last to rule a united Lothan.”

“I’ve never heard of a warrior queen,” Shanis said. The discussion had suddenly turned interesting.

“She was a rare woman,” Larris said. “Not content to sit on a throne and hand down orders, she remained in the field. Under her leadership, Lothan secured all of its outlying provinces. Any minor rebellions that broke out were quashed without mercy.”

“What happened to her?” Khalyndryn asked.

“She was killed while fighting in the mountains. That’s when the trouble started. They brought her body back to Karkwall, but the tribes could not agree upon where she should be buried. Her father was a Malgog from the eastern marshes. Her mother was Monaghan, a western highlander.”

“What does it matter where she is buried?” Shanis asked. “It’s just a body in the dirt.”

“It matters to them. The Monaghan worship Dagdar, the god of the earth. Monaghan royalty is buried in the sacred grove just west of Karkwall. Malgog worship Boana, goddess of the water. Their kings and queens are laid to rest in the waters of a holy lake far south of the capital city.”

I remember this story,” Oskar interrupted. “The tribal leaders argued for so long that sorcery was used to preserve the body until a decision was made. The civil war began when someone stole the body. Each side accused the other. The rest, as we say, is history.”

“What happened to her body?” Khalyndryn grimaced as she asked the question.

“It’s still out there somewhere,” Larris answered. “For forty years, the tribes have been stealing it from one another. Originally, the intent was to inter the body in the resting place of their choosing, but each tribe was on guard against that eventuality. Now, there is such great honor in being the chief of the clan that possesses the body that no one is truly interested in putting her mortal remains to rest. It has become something of a game to them.”

“That’s morbid,” Hierm said. He thought for a moment. “Is it truly a good idea to travel through this place, what with the war and all?

“We will certainly need to keep our wits about us,” Allyn said. “As long as we remain vigilant, we’ll be safe.”

For some reason, his self-assuredness allayed some of Shanis’ concerns. She had another question on her mind.

“Doesn’t Lothan have a king?”

“Orbrad is the king, though one cannot truly say that he rules anything save Karkwall. His forces maintain some presence in the north between Karkwall and the border with Galdora,” Larris said. “He was a Monaghan clan chief. When the civil war broke out, the sai-kurs, or seekers as you might know them, tried to solve the problem by marrying him off to Kalla, the daughter of a powerful Malgog chieftain. Their own clans remained loyal to them, as did most everyone in Karkwall. Everyone else viewed them as traitors. Kalla died of the wasting sickness soon after they married, which did not help matters. His current wife is an outlander. A Rizan, perhaps?”

Shanis’ thoughts returned to the odd concept of a warrior queen. “Are women permitted to be warriors in Lothan?” Shanis asked, looking pointedly at Oskar. He had not mentioned this to her before.

Larris laughed. “Thinking about changing sides?” When Shanis did not respond, he continued. “It is not culturally prohibited, but it does not happen much anymore. The women generally try to stay pregnant.”

“Which is the way things ought to be,” Allyn said. He flashed a quick grin at Shanis to show that he was joking.

“Let me guess,” Hierm said, “they’re trying to replenish the population.”

“That,” said Larris, “and the fact that it’s taboo to, shall we say, lay hands on a pregnant woman.” After that proclamation, there seemed little to say. They rode on in silence.

Shanis tugged her cloak up around her neck and drew it tightly closed in the front. “It’s cold.”

“And damp,” Khalyndryn added. “My hair must look a mess.” She ran a hand gently over her tangled hair.

“It will warm up once the sun comes out and the fog burns off a bit,” Larris said.

Allyn, riding slightly ahead of the others, raised his hand. “Riders,” he whispered. He indicated a hill down the road and to the left. “Behind that rise.”

“How many?” Larris asked.

“I saw movement,” Allyn said, “but little more.”

“Have they realized that we’ve stopped?” Larris looked very serious, but not alarmed or afraid.

“I don’t think so, but if we sit here much longer they will.” Allyn was equally calm.

“What if we attack them first?” Shanis asked, gripping the hilt of her sword. She let go suddenly. What was she becoming?

Allyn nodded at Shanis and reached for his bow.

“No,” Larris ordered. “I would avoid conflict if possible. Perhaps they are hiding from us and mean us no harm, but we cannot be certain of that. We will try to avoid them.”

Wordlessly, Allyn wheeled his horse to the right and led the group off the road. They wound their way between two small hills before turning south to move parallel to the road.

Shanis was startled by a loud curse from Allyn. She leaned to her right in order to see around the blond youth.

A small cluster of riders was charging directly toward them.

“There are more behind us,” Hierm called.

Over the muted sound of hoofbeats on the soft turf Shanis could hear the cries of their pursuers. To her chagrin, more shouts arose from her left. The first group Allyn had spotted must be in pursuit as well.

“Up the hill!” Larris shouted. He broke away from the group and plunged his mount up a steep embankment on their right. The others followed. Shanis leaned forward and gripped her horse’s mane in one hand as they galloped up the precipitous slope. She hoped Oskar and Khalyndryn would be able to remain astride their mounts.

When they reached the wide, flat hilltop, they dismounted quickly. Oskar took charge of the horses, giving two over to Khalyndryn. Allyn held his bow at the ready. Larris unslung his own shortbow and hastily strung it.

“Give it to her,” Allyn ordered, inclining his head toward Shanis. “She’s better than you.”

To Shanis’ surprise, Larris immediately handed her his bow and quiver before drawing his sword and moving to stand back-to-back with Allyn. Hierm, his sword at the ready, moved behind Shanis.

She quickly surveyed the scene. Groups of riders, about a half-dozen in each, approached from the east, the south, and the northwest.

Allyn took aim at the man who appeared to be the leader; a corpulent man with a massive red beard and a long tangle of coppery hair. Like the other riders, he was clad in a loose-fitting tunic, dark in color and decorated in an odd pattern of interlocking lines, and a deerskin cloak. What made him stand out was the high, conical headdress that he wore. It was made of some sort of hide, and decorated with red hawk feathers. Allyn let fly. The arrow sliced through the center of the headdress, sweeping it from the man’s head, and burying itself in the shoulder of a trailing attacker.

The leader reined in his horse, and the others of his band did the same. They fanned out, encircling the base of the hill.

“You be a fine shot, boy!” the man called. His heavy accent made boy sound more like buy. “But even if the Malgog girl be as good as you, you can’t take us all down.”

Shanis frowned. “Malgog girl? What is he talking about?”

“Perhaps not,” Allyn replied in his ever-calm voice, speaking loud enough for his words to carry “but I’ll surely put the next one through your throat. That I can promise you.”

The large man involuntarily put his hand to his neck for a brief moment.

“We can take them, Horgris.” The man who had been shot rode up to the leader’s side. He was lean, with greasy strawberry blonde hair and a pockmarked face. The arrow had obviously not wounded him deeply. He, or someone, had pulled it out, though blood still stained the sleeve of his injured arm. He handed Horgris his headdress back.

“You want to be leading the charge then, Garmon?” Horgris asked. He donned his hat, and returned his attention to Allyn, whom he obviously took to be the leader. “You’ve got a strange crew with you boy. I see a Kyrinian boy,” he pointed to Hierm, “and a Halvalan girl,” he indicated Khalyndryn, “but it’s the Malgog girl traveling through Monaghan territory that I be most concerned about.”

Shanis was about to protest when Larris spoke up.

“We are Galdorans,” he said.

“Mongrels, then,” called one of the Monaghan. The laughter elicited by his comment died when Shanis trained her arrow upon the man.

“We have business with King Orbrad,” Larris continued. The mention of Orbrad inspired more laughter.

“Lothan has no king.” Horgris’ face twisted as if the very title was distasteful to him.

“Be that as it may, we have business in Karkwall. There need be no bloodshed here today.”

“You be right,” Horgris replied. “There need be no bloodshed, provided you have protection on the road.”

He grinned, displaying a gapped smile.

Allyn cursed, and for a moment Shanis feared that he would loose another arrow, but he remained calm.

“That can be arranged,” Larris said flatly.

“Good,” said Horgris. “But you be leaving the Malgog girl with us.”

“I have already told you…” Larris said

“I know what you be telling me, boy. The others I might believe, but that one,” he pointed to Shanis, “be a black-headed Malgog if I ever be seein’ one.”

“She is not black-headed,” Khalyndryn shouted. Releasing the reins she was holding, she grabbed Shanis by the back of the neck and pulled her head down. Shanis was too surprised to resist. “We colored her hair black.

See where the red hair is growing…” her voice trailed away. Everyone stared at her in incredulity.

“Now things be getting stranger,” Horgris said. “What do we be making of this?” He fixed Shanis with a look of puzzlement.

For the first time, Shanis noticed that to a man, the Monaghan had hair that was some shade of red. Burn it all!

Now he probably thought she was one of them. She was about to roundly curse Khalyndryn’s grandparents when the drumming of hoofbeats sounded from the south.

A column of riders materialized out of the fog. They were clad in capes and tunics of deep green, chain mail, and polished silver helms. They approached from the road, coming in behind Horgris.

The leader thrust his fist in the air, and the riders spread out, forming up in two rows of ten. The man removed his helmet, and surveyed the scene with a look of detached amusement.

“And what sorts of games are we playing today, Horgris?”

“This no be your concern, Martrin,” Horgris replied. His voice oozed with contempt.

“What happens on the King’s road is the King’s business,” the newcomer replied. He seemed unconcerned that Horgris’ numbers were nearly the equal of his own.

“We be off the road,” Garmon protested.

Horgris cuffed the skinny man absently with the back of a meaty fist, knocking him from his saddle. Garmon fell to the soft ground and lay there, rubbing his arm and scowling at Horgris.

“We be negotiating with these travelers,” Horgris said. “Leave us to our business.”

“Unless the rest of your clan is somewhere nearby, you haven’t the men to stand against us,” Martrin said.

“One Monaghan warrior do be worth five of Orbrad’s armored jesters,” Horgris retorted.

Martrin’s complexion flushed until his neatly trimmed red beard seemed to fade into his face. He sat ramrod straight and his voice lost its amused edge.

“Perhaps we should put your theory to the test,” he said, pushing his helmet back down onto his head. “Or mayhap you would like to try me man to man?” He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Ah Martrin,” Horgris replied, hefting the sword he had not bothered to sheath when Allyn had shot at him earlier, “I always knew ye’d be dying young!”

A sudden chill ran through Shanis. An otherworldly scream pierced the air, and shouts of alarm rose up all around her. She whirled around to see a blur of silver fly across a nearby rise, and hurtle into the riders flanking the hill’s western side. The cat creatures!

Horgris, his view obscured by the hill on which Shanis and her companions stood, kicked his horse into a gallop around the base of the hill. His men followed, all thoughts of Martrin apparently forgotten.

The cats tore through the surprised Monaghan, many of whom fled, or were thrown by their frightened mounts. The beasts surged up the hill, nine in all. Allyn dropped one immediately, a feathered shaft protruding from between its eyes. He was not as fortunate with his subsequent shots, but he and Shanis managed to slow their approach with several well-placed shots. Beside them, Larris and Hierm stood, swords at the ready.

With a roar, Horgris rounded the hill and charged up the slope in pursuit of the silvery creatures. Two of the cats turned to meet his charge. The Monaghan clan chief met the first with a vicious swipe of his sword that nearly cleaved the monster in two. The second beast hurtled into him, knocking him from the saddle. Horgris, still bellowing like a wounded bear, wrestled with the creature as they tumbled down the hill in a blur of red and gray.

Shanis lost sight of the combatants as Martrin and his squad galloped past them, meeting the final three beasts head-on. The eerie cries of the manlike monsters blended with the angry shouts and pained exclamations of the soldiers, the fearful whinnying of the horses, and the sickening sounds of swords meeting fur and bone, and claws rending flesh. Dropping the bow, she drew her sword, seeking comfort in its familiar weight and feel.

The fight raged on in a flurry of fog, fur, dirt, and blood. Soon, the sheer weight of numbers carried the day.

Most of the beasts lay dead and the others had fled. Four of Martrin’s men had also fallen, along with five of the Monaghan. Several of the soldiers nursed injuries. Of Horgris and the beast he had fought, there was no sign.

Larris walked over to one of the creatures and nudged at it with his boot. He turned back to Shanis.

“You asked me once about such creatures. They are called ice cats and they are minions of the Ice King. One of his many foul creations.” He fixed her with a penetrating stare. “How is it that you know of them?”

“Two of them attacked our camp not long before we met you,” Shanis said.

“People live their entire lives without ever seeing one of these, and you are attacked twice in a few weeks?”

Larris shook his head. “The world is becoming a frightening place. We must succeed.”

Martrin approached them warily, his sword still in his hand. “Dare I ask how you have knowledge of such creatures?”

Larris did not answer.

“You would do well to answer my questions,” Martrin said. “Either way, you’re likely going to the dungeon until this is all sorted out, but it will speak well of you if you cooperate.

Larris sighed deeply, reached into the collar of his shirt and withdrew a fat signet ring tied to a leather cord.

“My name is Larris Van Altman,” he announced in a voice steeped in authority, “son of King Allar Van Altman, and the Second Prince of Galdora.”

Shanis did not know if it was the name or the signet ring that affected the soldiers, but each snapped to attention as they were able. Martrin made a fist, brought it to his forehead, then snapped his arm down to his thigh in what Shanis surmised was a type of salute.

“Your Highness,” Martrin said, “we must get you to the King.”

Chapter 18|Karkwall

The giant towers interspersed along the massive stone wall surrounding Karkwall rose before them like sentinels in the morning mist. Oskar stood in his stirrups in an effort to see over the soldiers who rode in a square formation around him and his companions. This was his first visit to a city and he did not want to miss anything.

“Many of the great cities have an outer city,” Larris explained. “People set up stands to hawk their wares outside the city gates, or camp outside the city looking for work. Enough of them put down roots and a sort of town grows up. Not here, though. At least, not anymore.

“Orbrad was so paranoid,” he paused when Martrin cleared his throat loudly. “Excuse me. Orbrad, wisely fearing infiltration of his capital city, had the outer city razed. Residents had to either find a place to live within the city or leave. The land around the city was totally cleared of trees, rocks, anything that an attacker could use, and it is now regularly patrolled. For a league on every side, there is no cover. He may not control his own country, but his capital city is at least held firmly in his grasp.”

“With all due respect, your highness,” Martrin spoke in a slightly strained voice. “We have made great strides in taking control of the lands outside our city. The road we have traveled for the past four days is well patrolled.” He turned his head to stare back at Larris. “Fortunately for you,” he added with a smirk.

Allyn looked at Oskar and rolled his eyes. Oskar stifled a laugh. Expressions of humor were rare for Allyn.

Larris ignored them both.

“Captain Martrin, you have my thanks for the timely intervention of you and your men, as well as the escort to Lothan. Your King will hear of your good work,” Larris replied magnanimously.

“Your Highness is too kind,” the soldier replied blandly. “But doing my duty to my country is all the thanks I need.”

“Which are you, Captain?” Khalyndryn asked. “Which tribe, I mean.”

Martrin took a deep breath and held it for several heartbeats before answering. “My grandparents were Monaghan. When the tribes rebelled, my father remained loyal to the crown. He is a soldier, like me.”

“So your allegiance is to your king rather than to your tribe?” Oskar asked.

“My allegiance is to a united Lothan.” Martrin turned and smiled. “Take that as you will.” With a snap of the reins, he urged his horse forward, riding slightly ahead of the rest of the group.

They rode quietly for a while. Oskar took in the amazing sight that lay before them. As they drew closer to the city, he could appreciate the craftsmanship behind the mammoth city walls. What had appeared to be little more than great, grey, bulk was constructed of countless granite blocks, fitted together with such precision that he doubted one could slide a knife between any two of them.

Martrin led them around the long line of carts and wagons that waited outside the city gate. The gates themselves were huge, more than four times the height of a mounted man. They were constructed of heavy timbers, cross-braced, and bound in brass. Giant chains ran from the back center of each door to winches on either wall.

Two soldiers, clad in uniforms like those of Martrin and his men, each armed with a spear, stood at attention on either side of the gate. A number of others, Oskar guessed there were ten, were busy inspecting cargo, checking papers, and interrogating those waiting for entry. As they trotted by, one wagoneer, a farmer by the look of him, scowled and spat a thick wad in the direction of their party.

“How crude,” Khalyndryn said, frowning and leaning away, as if the phlegm might leap up onto her dress.

“I might feel the same way if I had to wait in that line,” Hierm said.

Oskar expected their party to be halted at the gate, but as Martrin neared them, the sentinels at the gate clapped their fists to their hearts. Martrin returned the salute, and led them through the gates and into the city.

What he saw made him gasp in surprise. Nothing could have prepared him for this. Where the area outside the city walls had been stark and empty, the city pulsed with life. More people than Oskar had ever seen in one place moved shoulder-to-shoulder through the narrow thoroughfare. Peddlers sold their goods from carts on either side of the hard-packed dirt road.

The city had a haphazard feel to it. Houses were interspersed with taverns, inns, and shops with no apparent planning. All of the buildings were close together, some actually built against one another. Most were in a state of disrepair, and seemed to lean in toward the street, giving Oskar a vague feeling of having the breath squeezed from him.

Two women looked out of a second story window, waving and calling out to passers by. Oskar noted with mild surprise that they were clad only in their underclothes, and had painted their faces in a most unseemly fashion. One of them saw him looking, and called down to him, suggesting something that he had thought was a physical impossibility. He heard Khalyndryn gasp, and Shanis chuckle wickedly. He surprised himself by shouting back an insultingly low price, which prompted the woman to bite her thumb.

“Oskar!” Shanis said, laughing. “If your mother could hear you right now…”

“Sorry. Just excited to be in the city.” And he was, in fact, almost giddy with joy at being in a real city. There was so much to see. There were more people and buildings in the area immediately surrounding him than in all of Galsbur, or so it seemed.

“Country oaf,” one of the soldiers muttered. He spat on the ground and fixed his stare in the opposite direction.

Oskar ignored him. His eyes sought to drink it all in. To his left was a man dressed in the gaudiest clothing he had ever seen, juggling three colored balls, then four. He tried a fifth, but a stumbling, drunken fellow careened into him, sending the juggler and his balls tumbling into the roadway. The juggler’s curses, though inventive, did not top those of the women at the brothel.

As they moved toward the center of town, the dirt road changed to cobblestone, and the buildings were in better condition as well. Larris explained that these sections of the city were organized into residential and business districts. Even the people were better dressed, and comported themselves in a calm, quiet manner that Oskar found quite boring. A few paused to give cursory bows in Martrin’s direction. The soldier acknowledged each with a curt nod.

“How far do we have to go?” Khalyndryn asked, eyeing a tall man dressed in silks.

“There,” Larris pointed ahead of them to a hill that rose out of the city’s center. A crenellated wall of gray stone encircled the crest of the hill. Behind the wall rose the keep. Not an architectural marvel, it was a massive square structure with narrow windows. Atop it, the flag of Lothan, an orange fox against a field of dark green, rippled in the breeze.

Oskar trembled. He was going to see the inside of a real castle. He could scarcely believe his good fortune.

Oh, the letter he would write to his family. His family. His heart sank. Doubtless they had given him up for dead by now. Perhaps he could send word to them without jeopardizing Shanis. They deserved to know that he was all right. All of their families should know that their children were safe. He resolved to speak with Allyn about it later.

Such was his fascination with the sights of Karkwall that it seemed mere moments before they arrived at the outer wall of the castle. It was much taller than it had appeared from a distance. The solid stone walls, eroded in places by time and weather, spoke of ancient strength. He craned his neck to look up at the battlements.

Through the low embrasures he could just make out the figures of soldiers walking the wall.

They approached the outer gates, massive structures of wood bound with brass, set in an archway in the wall.

They were met there by a squad of soldiers, each uniformed in the same fashion as Martrin and his men.

“State your business,” one of the guards ordered.

“Martrin, a loyal soldier of Lothan, brings visitors to see His Royal Highness, King Orbrad.”

Oskar’s head swam. Him, a visitor to see the king? He sat very still, in hopes of not rousing himself from this most amazing of dreams.

The guard bowed to Martrin, then called for the gates to be opened. After a long moment, a loud creaking filled the air, and the gates slowly swung apart. At Martrin’s signal, they proceeded through the gates, coming to a halt on the far side of the wall at a heavy iron portcullis. Behind them, the gates ground closed, leaving them shut inside the wall. Oskar looked around. The walls were a good fifteen paces thick. He noted that above them, a pattern of holes were spaced at regular intervals in the archway above them.

“Murder holes,” Allyn explained. “Defenders use arrows, long spears, or even boiling oil to attack invaders from above.” His smirk was incongruent with the horror he described.

“The walls are hollow, then?” Shanis asked, looking around.

“Not entirely, but tunnels run throughout them,” Allyn said. “The keep is highly defensible.”

Oskar shook his head, partly in amazement at the ingenuity, and partly at the grisly mental image of soldiers trapped inside the wall being skewered by invisible enemies.

Another group of guards waited on the opposite side of the portcullis. The earlier ritual was repeated, and the portcullis was raised. Martrin led them at a quick trot down a cobblestone street lined with fruit bearing trees.

They soon came to an inner wall, not as imposing as the outer wall, but sizeable none the less. A few paces short of the wall, the road divided. Oskar could see that it ran along the wall’s face in either direction, and disappeared around the squat towers at each corner. Martrin led them to the right.

As they followed behind, Oskar took in the layout of the castle grounds. To his left, between the road and the heavy, angled batters that formed the foundation of the inner wall, lay an open, grassy area about ten paces across. To his right, between the road and the outer wall, a small orchard grew, and alongside that, a small garden. Both were tended by servants in green livery.

They turned left at the walls corner, revealing that the road and grassy swath encircled the inner wall. On this side, the area between inner and outer walls was occupied by crafters shops, a smithy, an armorer, a stable, and a corral. A mix of soldiers and liveried servants moved in and around the various buildings.

“Close your mouth before you draw flies.” Larris drew his horse alongside Oskar’s mount. “Servant’s quarters and a small, spring-fed pond are on the opposite side. Barracks are on the far end, near the inner gate.”

“It’s amazing,” said Oskar. “I never imagined it would be so…” he searched for the right word, “so massive.”

“It isn’t the most beautiful castle I’ve ever seen, but it is well planned and easily defended,” Larris said.

“I think it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Khalyndryn said in whispered awe. He eyes sparkled with childlike wonder.

It seemed only moments before they arrived at the inner gate. They dismounted and turned their horses over to a group of stable hands. Martrin’s men departed for their barracks, while a detachment of foot soldiers escorted the remainder of their group through the gate and into a broad, grassy area, the “inner ward”, Larris called it, that encircled the keep.

The massive doors of the main castle stood open. They entered into a dim hallway, illuminated by torchlight. Ornate tapestries depicting battle scenes were hung on either side of the hallway, doing little to detract from the austerity of the immense stone fortress.

A thin man with silvery hair and a pointed nose met them inside the doorway. He rubbed one hand absently across the breast of his silk doublet. The other hand cupped his clean-shaven face. He regarded them with a disapproving frown.

“Hmmm. This will not do at all. I say, it will not do.” He turned and clapped twice. Two servants, one man, one woman, clad in the same green livery that Oskar had seen throughout the castle grounds, hurried to his side.

“Clean them up. Put them in some decent clothing. They are to be presented to His Majesty.” He turned to walk away.

“Ah, Master…” Larris spoke up. The man turned, the frown still etched upon his face.

“Bertram,” the man said, looking disapprovingly at the travel-worn young man.

“Thank you. Master Bertram, our presence here at this time is, shall we say, a delicate issue. Your discretion in presenting us to His Majesty would be greatly appreciated.”

Bertram’s lips curled into a sneer. “If you will forgive me for asking, young man, who might you be to make such a request of the king’s steward?”

Martrin stepped forward. “Forgive me, Master Bertram. May I present His Royal Highness, Prince Larris of Galdora?” The soldier did not try to hide his amusement as the steward’s face fell in slack-jawed amazement.

“Please accept my most heartfelt apologies, Your Highness.” Oskar was impressed at how quickly the man recovered his composure. “I will certainly address your situation with the utmost care. If you and your retinue will permit me to make you comfortable?” He motioned toward the servants, still waiting for them to follow.

“I will take my leave of you now, Your Highness.” Martrin bowed deeply to Larris.

“You have my thanks for your invaluable assistance, Captain Martrin,” the prince replied. With a wave of his hand, he signaled for Oskar and the others to follow behind the servants into the heart of the castle.

Oskar waited outside the throne room with Larris, Hierm, and Allyn. The fancy clothes in which they had dressed him were comfortable, but felt… ‘wrong’ was the only word to describe the feeling. Silks were for women. He hadn’t minded the bath, though. He closed his eyes and remembered the exquisite feeling of hot water washing down his back, leaching away weeks of dirt, and with it, the aches and pains of travel. Washing in cold streams was no substitute for a hot bath.

Hierm had created quite a scene when one of the servants had tried to bathe him, yelling and jumping out of the tub, only to remember that he was naked, and jump back in with a splash that sent soapy water everywhere. The indignant servant had left in a huff, suds covering the entire front half of his body.

“Where are the women?” Bertram snapped at the servant girl who was hurrying toward them.

“A thousand pardons,” she said. “We had trouble getting the redhead into a dress.”

Oskar looked past her to see Khalyndryn and Shanis coming toward them. Khalyndryn looked positively regal. Her blonde hair was piled up on top of her head, and held in place with jeweled pins. Her dress was of deep blue silk, cut to accentuate all of her curves. She smiled with delight as first Allyn, then Larris greeted her with a bow and a kiss of the hand. Oskar and Hierm probably should have done the same, but they were distracted.

Shanis wore a dark green dress, cut high at the thigh and low at the chest. The black dye had been washed from her hair, which she now wore pulled back in an intricate series of braids interwoven with gold thread.

She walked stiffly, as if she feared falling. Her angry countenance was as close to purple as Oskar had ever seen on a person.

“Don’t either of you dare laugh,” she growled. Her hand clutched at her waist, seeking the hilt of her absent sword.

“Shanis, you look exquisite.” Larris swept past them. Dropping to one knee in front of Shanis, he reached for her hand.

“Stuff yourself, Larris.” She snatched her hand back and folded her arms across her chest. She stood, tapping her foot and staring at the ceiling.

Bertram’s eyes widened, and he made a squawking sound in his throat, which he attempted to cover with a cough. “Excuse me, Highness,” he said. “His Majesty awaits.” Larris and Allyn followed the steward through the open doors and into the throne room. Oskar and Khalyndryn entered next, followed by Hierm, then Shanis.

The throne room was immense, with ornately carved columns supporting a high vaulted ceiling. Colored floor tiles formed the flag of Lothan in the room’s center. Set against the far wall was a dais of polished marble, topped by a massive throne of dark red wood, lacquered to a high sheen. Spread across the back wall, framing the throne, was a giant tapestry woven into a map of the lands between the ocean in the east and the Walls of Stone in the west. Oskar was amazed at the detail. There was Galdora, almost in the center!

“Kneel, you dolt,” Bertram hissed in his ear. Oskar looked around and saw that on either side of him, the others had dropped to one knee, heads held low. Shanis dress had ridden well up her thigh and he could almost feel the heat from her blushing. He hastily took a knee, with Bertram dropping down alongside him.

“You may rise,” said a bored voice. Oskar stood, along with the others. Smoothing his new doublet, he looked for the first time at the king of Lothan. He understood now how the ruler had escaped his notice.

King Orbrad cut a wholly unimpressive figure. Just past middle years, the king was of average height, with plain brown hair that hung limply around his pale, round face. His body was thick around the middle, his arms and legs skinny. His robes were too big, the cuffs hanging down to his fingertips, and the unadorned golden crown atop his head appeared dangerously close to being too much for his thin neck to bear.

“Your Majesty,” Bertram intoned, “may I present His Royal Highness, Prince Larris of Galdora.”

Larris placed a hand across his stomach and genuflected. Orbrad’s nod of the head was cursory at best.

“Shall we dispense with formalities, Larris?” Orbrad asked in his slightly nasal voice. “I find them most tiresome.”

“And I, as well, Orbrad.” Larris seemed unfazed by the presence of one who, at least technically, outranked him.

“What business do you have in my country that you could not forewarn me of your visit?” Orbrad asked, leaning forward and lacing his stubby fingers together in his lap.

“My apologies. No offense was intended,” Larris said. “My business is only to pass through as quickly and quietly as possible. I saw no reason to trouble you.”

“Your brother would not happen to be negotiating with one of the rebel tribes, would he?” Orbrad’s voice grew more nasal as he spoke. “I am sure it would suit Galdora to have even more unrest in my poor kingdom than I already have.”

“Not at all.” Larris sounded as if he were trying to calm an unsettled mount. “I am on a task of my own. One that lies beyond the bounds of your kingdom.”

“Larris,” Orbrad said, “what business could you possibly have beyond my kingdom? There is nothing there, save mountains and wild men.”

“I regret that I cannot disclose my plans. I respectfully ask that you accept my word that I have no intentions, neither good nor ill, with regard to your kingdom.”

Orbrad stared at Larris for a long moment before sitting up and visibly relaxing. “I suppose I have no reason to disbelieve you.”

Oskar felt himself relax as well. He had not realized how tense he had grown during the exchange.

“You must permit me to hold a banquet in your honor. Karkwall receives too few noble visitors. Once your arrival is announced, the palace will be teeming with bootlickers within the hour.” Orbrad chuckled ruefully.

“I am truly grateful for the offer, but the situation is delicate,” Larris said. “My father does not exactly know where I am right now. Neither does my brother. I would like to keep it that way.”

Orbrad laughed again, a hard, snorting sound. “That explains why you wanted the throne room cleared before you came in. I wondered at that when Bertram told me.” He paused for a moment, looking over the group. “I don’t think I want to know what you young ones are about. Understand, however, hospitality is of the utmost importance in Karkwall. You come dangerously close to insulting me. Is there nothing I can do for you, aside from keeping your secret, that is?”

“I would be grateful if you would permit my man,” Larris nodded at Oskar, “and I access to your library for the day. I’m something of a scholar, and have long wanted to visit it.” Oskar’s head swam. A royal library!

“My library?” Orbrad sounded scandalized. “Suit yourself. Bertram will show you all to your quarters, and see to it that you are fed.” Larris bowed, and the others followed suit.

“Will you be sharing a room with your women?” Khalyndryn paled at Orbrad’s question. Shanis actually smiled and stared at Larris with an expectant look.

“Ah, no,” Larris mumbled. “They will require rooms of their own.”

“See to it,” the king said to Bertram. The steward bowed to his liege, then hastily led the group from the throne room.

“We’re going to find it,” Larris whispered to Oskar. “I can feel it!”

Chapter 19|The Library

“We are never going to find it,” Larris said, closing the book with a cavernous thud.

Oskar fanned away the dust that rose from the ancient tome. “Don’t give up. We haven’t been looking very long, have we?”

“Since morning,” the prince replied. “It’s dark outside now.” He gestured toward the library’s only window, a small porthole set high in the wall.

Oskar was surprised to see the night sky. The time spent in the library had passed quickly. To be in a palace library, surrounded by more books than he ever imagined existed, was beyond his most far-fetched daydreams.

“Try this one.” Oskar handed Larris a thick, leather-bound volume entitled The Wars of the Bogs.

“That isn’t it,” Larris said. “Robrus died long before any of those wars.”

“Maybe the pass is mentioned.” He was reaching, hoping, but he refused to surrender hope.

“The pass is in the mountains. The bog wars were fought in the south.” Larris closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. “I have a splitting headache.”

“Out on the road, you told us that there was a book in this library that you would love to get your hands on.

Which book is that?”

“It is called Robrus’ Reign.” Larris held up a dusty volume. “I located it right away, but it does not have what I am looking for.”

“What do we have?” Oskar sat down next to Larris.

Larris sighed and dropped the book back onto the table. He swept the stack of bound volumes out of the way, and spread a roughly sketched map in front of them. “We know where the Ramsgate is.” He pointed to the upper right corner of the page. “We know that somewhere beyond it is what was once called Robrus’

Pass.” His finger slid to the left across a blank portion of the map. “Once we find the pass, we know how to get to Murantha.” His finger traced a path down the page, winding through a series of mountain peaks and ravines. Occasional landmarks were drawn in, with notes written to the side.

“Thanks to my map,” Oskar could not resist commenting. He was still swelling with pride over his contribution to the quest. “You did a fine job copying it, by the way.”

“So glad you approve,” Larris replied dryly. A hint of a smile crept up the corner of his mouth.

“What do we know about Robrus’ Pass?” Oskar pushed his chair back and propped his feet on the table, eliciting a hiss from the elderly librarian. He dropped his feet with a clump. The old man had left them alone some time earlier and Oskar had not noticed his return until now.

“Robrus led his army into the mountains west of Malgog lands to put down an incursion by a marauding force of mountain men. He pursued them for several days, chasing them deep into the mountains, until he found himself faced with an invading force of ice creatures and coldhearts.

“Coldhearts are…” It always bothered him to admit that he did not know something, but his eagerness to learn almost always outweighed his reluctance.

“Men who have given themselves over to the Ice King. Something fundamental about them changes. I have heard that they gain strength and longer life, but they lose much of their humanity. Driven only by their primal urges, they are incapable of empathy, of love. And once they go over, they cannot go back. Their heart has turned cold.”

Oskar thought about that for a moment. What would make anyone give himself to the cold? What good was a long life if you lived it under winter’s shadow?

“As I was saying, Robrus and his forces were badly outnumbered. The Ice King’s forces drove them into a narrow pass, where the coldhearts hurled stones and spears down upon them, keeping them moving. On a hill in the middle of the pass, more ice creatures waited.

“Robrus didn’t hesitate. He led his men in a desperate charge. Most fell to arrows before they reached the top.

Those who made it to the top engaged in ferocious hand-to-hand combat. The defenders finally broke under the desperate assault of Robrus’ men, fleeing into the mountains.

“Of the men who began the campaign, only one in five lived through that battle. Short on food and supplies, they camped in the valley in which they had first encountered the ice minions. It is said that the valley was verdant, teeming with life. The deer were fat and lazy, and the stream that ran through the center was filled with silversides that practically jumped onto the hook. Some of the soldiers were so taken with the place that Robrus permitted them to remain behind. They founded a settlement and tended to the few wounded who remained.”

“I take it the name of the settlement has been forgotten,” Oskar said.

“It’s been centuries,” Larris said. “Even if we knew the name, by now it is likely to be known by another, if it exists at all.” He rubbed his temples and groaned.

“Does the story mention any landmarks?”

“Only that when the sun sets, the mountain peaks around the pass glisten like a golden crown.” Larris hung his head for a moment, then pounded his fist hard on the table. “Freeze it all! I will not let Lerryn beat me. I will not!”

“Larris, I…” Oskar paused as four soldiers, swords at the ready, moved quickly and silently into the library.

He looked behind him to see who they might be after. Funny, he was certain that he and Larris had been alone all day, save for the librarian. He turned back around to find a sword leveled at his throat. Another soldier moved quickly behind him, and pressed the tip of his own sword into Oskar’s back. Alongside him, Larris was in the same predicament.

“What are you about?” Larris showed no sign of fear, but instead sounded affronted.

“Do not speak,” the soldier in front of Oskar ordered. “Slowly put your hands behind your back and fold your fingers together.” Completely baffled, Oskar complied. The coarse rope bit into his wrists as the soldier cinched it tight. This had to be a mistake. Larris was a royal guest. He pitied these soldiers once King Orbrad found out they had arrested a Galdoran prince.

Guarded on all sides, they were led through the library and out a small door in the back, one so inconspicuous that neither of them had noticed it before. The door opened onto a dark, narrow corridor. Not bothering to light a torch, the soldier who had spoken to them, a thick man with hair the color of rust and a pitted face, turned right and led them into the darkness. The hallway had not been used in some time, Oskar thought, spitting out a mouthful of cobwebs. He crinkled his nostrils and tried not to breathe in the thick cloud of dust that had been stirred up by their passing.

The passageway ended at a stone staircase which they descended. The party wound their way down into the depths of the castle. The air grew cooler, and his boots slipped several times on the slick, wet steps. Oskar brushed against a wall, feeling damp moss climbing the cold rock face.

From the bottom of the stairs they moved through several twists and turns before coming to a halt before a heavy wooden door. Faint torchlight flickered through a small, grated window set at eye level in the door’s center. Their guide rapped twice. After a moment, a face set in deep shadow against the faint light appeared.

Another moment, and the door swung slowly inward. Oskar was dizzy with disbelief as they stepped through the doorway.

Sputtering torches set in brackets on the wall sprinkled flashes of firelight onto heavy iron cages that spanned the far side of the room. A dungeon!

“Are you men daft?” Larris shouted. “I am…” The soldier bringing up the rear cuffed Larris at the base of the skull with the hilt of his sword. The young prince stumbled forward. Unable to catch himself with his hands bound at his back, he fell heavily on his face. Two of their captors each took an elbow and dragged him toward a cell in the far right corner of the dungeon. Still guarded by two men and feeling a bit queasy, Oskar followed behind.

The man who had let them in now scurried ahead, a heavy key ring clinking in a thick fist. The jailer, Oskar assumed. He was a round man, with muscular arms and spindly legs. He opened a cell, and the soldiers tossed Larris inside. Someone gave Oskar a rough shove from behind and he stumbled over Larris’ limp body, falling to one knee. He sucked in his breath sharply as he heard the door close behind him.

“Oskar,” a voice whispered from behind him. “What’s wrong with Larris?” He looked up to see the faint outline of Allyn coming toward them with Hierm following behind.

“They hit him,” Oskar explained, as Hierm helped him to his feet and relieved him of his bonds. “He fell pretty hard.”

“Will he be all right?” Oskar turned to see Khalyndryn and Shanis, mere shadows, in the next cell. They were pressed against the bars, straining to see.

“Don’t ye be worryin’ about yer lad.” The jailer, a man as smelly as he was ugly, stood just outside the door to Oskar’s cell, his arms folded across his chest. His smile revealed several stumps of teeth partially obscured by an oily moustache and beard. “The boy’ll be awake in plenty of time to watch me have my way with both of ye girlies.” He cackled a mad, mindless laugh.

Shanis cursed loudly and spat at the man, who stepped back a few paces and continued smiling.

“Don’t ye be doin’ that now. I’ll have to be turnin’ ye over to the boys in the other cells if ye can’t mind your manners. They won’t treat ye nice like I’ll be doin’.” With a chuckle, he turned and walked away.

Khalyndryn began to cry. Oskar walked over to her, and reached through the bars to take her hand. She drew back quickly.

“Do not put your hands on me,” she sobbed. “Don’t anyone touch me.” She scurried into the back corner of her cell, where she dropped to the floor and sat with her knees against her chest, arms wrapped around her legs, trembling.

“Bad memories,” Shanis explained with a nod in the girl’s direction. She reached out and clasped Oskar’s hand. “I’m so glad the two of you are all right.”

“We are fine. How about you?” His head swam with disbelief. One moment he had been reveling in the joy of being a guest in a castle, the next, he was a prisoner in a dungeon.

“Oh, just lovely.” Even in the darkness he stood close enough to see her roll her eyes. “I don’t know which is worse: being in a dungeon, or being in a dress.”

Oskar had to chuckle despite their plight. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but that dress makes you look…” he paused, “female.” He flinched as Shanis punched at him through the bars. She didn’t let go of his hand, though.

“Did they tell you why we’re in here?”

Oskar shook his head. “They only told us not to speak.”

“At first I thought it must be a mistake,” Shanis said. “Now I wonder if perhaps someone from one of these warring tribes might have something to do with it. Perhaps they thought taking a royal hostage might somehow help their cause.”

“How?” Oskar failed to see the logic.

“I don’t know.” She let go of his hand, and turned her back to him.

Oskar felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see that Larris had regained his feet, and apparently his senses.

“I wouldn’t put it past Orbrad to allow guests to be whisked out from under his nose.” Larris said. “But none of this makes sense.”

The loud scrape of the dungeon door opening interrupted their conversation. It swung wide, illuminating the damp chamber. Two men approached, looking like dark, wavering specters in the flickering torchlight. One was the jailer. The other was King Orbrad.

“Orbrad,” Larris said. “Open this door. I have business with this man.” He fixed the jailer with a contemptuous scowl. “You won’t mind if I dirty the floor of your cell with his blood?”

“Let you out?” Orbrad’s detached grin did not match his cold voice. “Why, you only just arrived, Your Highness. Do you tire already of my hospitality?”

“Your guards dragged us down here, one of them dared strike me, and this vermin,” he pointed to the jailer, “threatened the dignity of the young ladies in my charge. If you find humor in this situation, I fail to see it.”

“The humor, my young friend, lies in the fact that you assume that all of this happened without my knowledge.” Orbrad smiled like that cat that ate the cream. “My little birds have been singing in my ear, don’t you know?”

Oskar’s knees buckled. He grabbed a thick bar to support himself. Orbrad knew?

“I know what you are looking for.” Orbrad reached beneath his cape and produced a rolled document.

Oskar recognized their map. “This does not tell me a great deal. Not enough. I would know everything you have learned.”

“I will tell you nothing,” Larris said. “My father will…”

“Thanks to your demand for secrecy your father does not know that you are here. Nor does anyone else, save a very few trusted members of my household and guard.”

Oskar felt sick. The king was right. No one knew where they were. They were utterly at his mercy.

“You have tonight to consider the situation. If you are forthcoming, I promise you a quick death. If you are uncooperative, Moggs here,” he clapped a hand on the jailer’s shoulder, “will begin by questioning your women.” The way his face contorted as he said the word ‘questioning’ indicated to Oskar that asking questions would be the last thing Moggs would do.

“It will be done in your presence, Highness. If watching them suffer does not move you, we will put every one of you to the question in the most painful of ways. I shall save you for last.”

Allyn snarled with wild fury and leapt against the front of their cell. His curled fingers reached for Orbrad’s throat. Moggs thrust his torch at one of the young man’s forearms, and Allyn drew back.

Larris put a hand on his friend’s chest, shoving him away from their captors. He set cold eyes upon the king of Lothan.

“I will see you dead, Orbrad. You have made the biggest mistake of your error-riddled rule. Enjoy the days you have left.”

The rancor of the whispered words chilled Oskar. For a moment, he believed that Larris would do it. He didn’t know how, but the words sounded more a vow than a threat.

Orbrad began to speak, but something stopped him. Likely he lacked the wit to compose a suitable response.

He briefly met the young prince’s gaze before turning away. As he exited the dungeon, he paused and looked back at them.

“I will give you the night to think on what we have discussed. Pleasant dreams.”

Chapter 20|In the Dark

Aspin crinkled his nose in distaste as he mounted the steps of the inn. It was a dirty place, but there was no other in this small town. He paused in front of the door, arms folded across his chest, and turned to survey the surrounding area. The place was a cesspit. A single dirt road meandered through an ugly little town.

Ramshackle buildings crowded together, giving the place an oppressive feel. He shook his head. All that beautiful, rolling farmland about, and they had chosen to build in the midst of the only dense forest for miles.

He turned about and strode into the smoky common room. He immediately spotted the innkeeper, a fat, balding man, dozing in a chair on the opposite side of the room. Aspin strode through the room and stopped in front of the man, who did not open his eyes.

“I require a room,” Aspin said, “and a meal.”

“I’m all filled up,” the man said without opening his eyes. “A meal I can give you, but it’ll be cold stew and day old bread.”

Aspin put the ball of his foot on the front rung of the man’s chair. He stomped down, slamming the chair to the floor, and nearly spilling the innkeeper from his seat.

The man bolted up with a curse, but the anger in his eyes instantly turned to fear.

“Forgive me, Seeker,” he said, bowing awkwardly. “I will find you a room.”

“I thank you for your hospitality.”

As the man scurried off, Aspin selected a chair in the corner near the fireplace. He tossed his saddlebags on the floor and sat down. As he took his seat, he drew the edge of his cloak back, exposing the hilt of his sword.

No harm in having it within easy reach.

The sound of voices raised in anger penetrated the ceiling of the common room. A few moments later, a paunchy man with thinning ginger hair, dressed in cheap silks, thumped down the stairs. He was followed by a frightened-looking girl who could have seen no more than twelve summers.

“I’ll not believe there’s any seeker in this town until I see him myself,” the man shouted. He took only a few steps into the common room before his eyes settled upon Aspin. He stepped backward toward the stairwell, visibly shaken. After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded, placing his hand over his chest.

“My compliments, Seeker,” he stammered. “Forgive me for my outburst.”

“No apology is necessary,” Aspin lied. “I hope I did not inconvenience you and your daughter too greatly.”

“My daughter?” The man shot an annoyed glance back over his shoulder at the young girl who cowered at the foot of the stairs. His face paled. “Oh, yes, my daughter. No inconvenience at all. We were leaving soon.” He shuffled his feet nervously and looked around the room, as if seeking an escape route.

“You are taking to the road so late in the evening?” Aspin said. “Is that not dangerous?”

“We do not live far from here,” the man mumbled, his face now white.

“I see,” Aspin said. “In your haste, you seem to have forgotten your bags.”

“We have no bags,” the man’s voice was barely perceptible. He turned and snatched the girl by the forearm, and led her roughly out the door.

Aspin closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath. Was this world truly worth saving? If only he could pick and choose those who reaped the benefits of his work. He laughed to himself.

“Aspin,” he whispered, “you may be getting old, but you don’t have to sound like an old man.”

“Don’t know where he finds these girls,” the innkeeper said. “Comes here from time-to-time with one of them. He’s a wicked one, if you ask me.” He stood with his hands on his hips, staring disapprovingly at the door.

“And yet, you accept his coin.”

The innkeeper looked like a fish out of water. His mouth moved, but he made no sound. He stood like that for a moment, then coughed.

“I’ll have that stew you mentioned, if you will be so kind as to warm it for me.”

“Of course,” the man said. “Ale? Wine?”

“Water will be fine.” Aspin had little taste for ale, and had abstained from wine since Yurg’s death. It was his way of remembering his old friend.

The innkeeper returned shortly with a bowl of thin stew, mostly potatoes and onions with a few scraps of some unidentifiable meat, along with a chunk of bread, and a cup of water.

“Thank you,” Aspin said. “May I have a word?” He motioned to an empty chair on the opposite side of the table.

The innkeeper sat down cautiously. His hands kneaded a dirty cloth that he kept tucked in his apron. His eyes darted around the room as he sought any reason to excuse himself.

“I assume that most travelers in this area stop at your inn,” Aspin said.

The man nodded.

Aspin held his breath for a moment. He had no choice but to ask the question. “I am looking for a group of young people. Two young men, two young women.” He paused, trying to recall the description Malan had given him. “One of the young ladies is a striking young woman, tall with red hair. The other is blonde with blue eyes, a very pretty girl.”

“Not seen the girls.” The innkeeper shook his head. “I would remember either of those.”

“How about the boys? One is a big fellow with brown hair, the other tall and blond with gray eyes.”

The man shrugged. “Not as I remember.”

Aspin wanted to curse. He had been certain he was headed in the right direction.

“We did have a tall girl come through her some time back, with some young lord or such,” the innkeeper offered. “Pretty in her own way, but she had black hair.”

Aspin continued fishing. “How about a group of six men traveling together? Most of them young. One an older man.”

“Purple eyes?” The innkeeper leaned forward, his voice falling to a bare whisper. “Kind of pinched-looking face?”

“That’s the one,” Aspin said, keeping his voice calm.

“They came through here not too long ago. Had drinks, but didn’t take rooms.”

“No?”

“Constable came and got them. Some locals were killed by a strange animal.”

Aspin leaned forward, intrigued by what he was hearing. Strange animals. Could it be?

“He asked the leader of the group to take a look,” the man said. His tongue was unburdened now that it was obvious he had information in which Aspin was interested. “I hear he said it was a Halvalan snow cougar.”

A cold lump formed in Aspin’s stomach. Lerryn might or might not have seen such a beast, but Xaver knew very well that it was not a Halvalan anything.

“They had a sour-looking young boy with them, too. A contrary fellow with beady eyes. Didn’t like him or that purple-eyed man at all. No sir.”

“How long ago was this?” Aspin asked.

“Can’t rightly say.” The innkeeper scratched his head and looked up at the ceiling. “Several days. One day’s the same as the next around here.”

“You can’t say how many days?” Freeze this backwoods lout. How could one be so ignorant?

“No, but the widow of the man who was killed could tell you. Seems a person would remember a thing like that.”

Aspin stopped several paces from the small house, and called out a greeting. “Hello?” A woman living alone would likely be fearful of nighttime visitors. “Hello?”

“Who is there?” A gentle, distinctly feminine voice called out.

“My name is Aspin,” he said. “I am a sai-kur, or a seeker you might call me. May I have a word with you?”

The door opened slightly, and a pair of deep green eyes peered out into the darkness. Aspin stepped into the sliver of light that shone from the house. She regarded him for a moment, then nodded and opened the door.

The house was small but neat. The dirt floor was swept and the room was tidy. A delicious aroma wafted over him, and his stomach growled. Most undignified, he thought.

“Mother?” A tentative voice called from above.

Aspin looked up to see four small faces, all little girls, peering over the edge of the second-story loft.

“It’s all right. Go back to bed,” the woman said.

“Why is he dressed so funny?” the oldest girl asked.

“Hush now, Melina,” she scolded, an amused smile illuminating her lovely face. “Go to sleep.”

With a chorus of groans, the girls disappeared from sight.

“May I offer you something to eat?” the woman asked, gesturing to the rough-hewn table pushed against the far wall.

“That would be delightful,” Aspin said with sincerity. “The fare at the Grinning Goat leaves much to be desired.”

“My husband used to say that he wouldn’t give Balman’s food to the hogs. It might ruin the bacon,” she forced a small laugh.

“Again, I am sorry for your loss, mistress…”

“Marya,” she said. Aspin took a seat on one of the benches on either side of the table, and in short order she sat a plate of chicken, beans, and bread in front of him along with a cup of water. “I am sorry I can’t offer you anything else to drink.” She sat down across from Aspin and folded her hands across her lap.

“This is fine,” he assured her. “Your hospitality is most appreciated, I assure you.”

“You’re very polite for a seeker,” she said, staring directly at him in a way that most people did not.

“And you are very blunt for a farm wife.” Aspin cocked an eyebrow. “Have you known many seekers?”

Marya laughed. This time it was not forced, and the sound was like music. “You are not what I expected.”

Aspin nodded. “I am not like most of my order. Perhaps it is because I came to it late.” If she was interested in the story, she did not show it.

“So what business does a seeker have with me?”

Aspin admired her backbone. She was not the least bit intimidated by him or his station.

“I am certain that it is painful for you to discuss, but can you please tell me, on what day did your husband die?’

Marya’s eyes dropped. She sat for a moment, seeming to gather herself. “My husband and my son,” she said softly. “Six days ago they were killed.”

“The men who came to identify the creature, did you happen to hear them say where they were going next?”

“South.”

“Nothing else?” Aspin was disappointed.

“That’s all.” She looked back up at him, staring intensely. “The man who was the leader. The handsome one with brown, curly hair. Who is he?”

Sympathy welled up inside of Aspin. Surely Lerryn would not have taken advantage of this poor creature while her husband’s body was still warm. “His name is Lerryn,” he said.

“He is some sort of noble, isn’t he?” There was something in here eyes that said she was not certain she wanted to know the answer to the question.

“He is.” Aspin had to be careful here.

Marya looked up for a moment, here gaze suddenly far away. “Will he be coming back?” Her voice was soft, and her cheeks flushed pink as she asked the question.

“I cannot say.”

“He seemed so sad. I can’t explain it.” She paused. “He was kind to me, but he seemed…removed in some way.”

“He is a complicated man,” Aspin replied truthfully, “but a good man. Shall I convey your greetings to him?”

“No.” Marya shook her head. “He would not remember me.”

Aspin was surprised to realize he had devoured the all the food she had served him. The empty space the watery stew had left in his stomach was nearly filled.

“It is imperative that I find these men,” he said. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“Nothing I can recall.” She shook her head. “Is the man with the purple eyes a friend of yours as well?”

“We,” Aspin paused, trying to decided how to answer, “are not friends.”

Marya nodded, as if that were enough.

“How many were they traveling with?”

“Six, I think.”

Aspin tensed for a moment. So that was their game. “I don’t know the other four. It would help me if you could describe them for me.”

She cupped her chin in her hand, her elbow now propped on the table. “One of them was a large boy.

Another had the longest blond hair I’ve ever seen on a man. Another had brown hair and sort of a long nose.” She paused for a moment.

“And the other,” Aspin prompted.

“I didn’t care for him at all. He had black hair down to his shoulders. His eyes were dark and cruel, and his face had a pinched look to it, as if he’d just smelled something foul.”

Aspin nodded and rose from the table. “Mistress Marya, I thank you for the hospitality and the information.”

He fished into his money pouch and withdrew a fat, silver coin. “If you will permit me..”

“That is not necessary,” Marya protested. “The man, Lerryn, gave me a very generous gift. My daughters and I are fine.”

“I insist,” Aspin said, and laid the coin on the table. He raised his hand as she opened her mouth to argue. “I know that a gift from a seeker always comes with strings attached. Think of it not as a gift, but as payment for the meal.” When she made no further protest, he bowed and took his leave.

He took his time walking back to the inn. He had not wanted to spend another moment in the saddle this day, and the walk was short. Enveloped in the cloak of darkness, he turned over in his mind the stories he had heard of strange creatures about. Most of them were farmers near the edge of the mountains losing livestock.

The beasts were growing bolder. He hoped that things had not gone too far.

As he made his way into town, a faint sense of alarm sounded somewhere in the recesses of his mind. His military training took over, and he dropped to the ground. He heard a hiss and a thud, and looked up to see a crossbow quarrel embedded in the side of a nearby building. He turned his head in time to see a figure vanish around the back of the smithy on the other side of the road.

Leaping to his feet, he drew his sword and gave chase, his mouth forming the words of a spell of shielding.

Arriving behind the smithy, he was not surprised to find that the assailant had vanished into the forest.

Footsteps sounded behind him, and he turned, sword upraised.

“I seen him,” shouted a skinny man in ragged clothing. “I seen him running away.”

“What did he look like?” Aspin stared at the man, who was perhaps the first person he had ever met who had only half his teeth, but had each tooth represented to some extent.

“I dunno,” the man scratched at his thinning pate. His breath reeked of sour wine. “He had a dark cape, maybe gray. I couldn’t see his face. He got away quick.” The man pointed into the woods.

Aspin took a deep breath and held it for a moment. “Thank you for your help. If you will excuse me, perhaps I can learn something from his tracks.”

The man stood there, a broken-toothed grin on his face. After a moment, Aspin realized what he was waiting for, and rewarded the man with a small copper coin. He bobbed his head in thanks, and hurried away.

The bright moonlight made it easy to locate the tracks in the damp earth. Aspin followed the heavy bootprints, widely spaced, toward the woods. He froze, staring at the ground. Looking all around to make sure no one was watching, he knelt where the outline of the assassin’s boots vanished. A closer look confirmed what he thought he had seen. Where the footprints disappeared, perfectly aligned and in stride, were the clawed, padded tracks of a giant cat.

Chapter 21|The Order

Shanis clenched her chattering teeth and struggled to stay awake. Beside her, Khalyndryn slept fitfully, mumbling and groaning. The group had agreed that someone needed to keep watch, so she and Hierm had stayed awake. They didn’t know what they could do without weapons, but, as Larris had pointed out, it was better than doing nothing. A shiver passed through her. This dress did nothing to keep the cold out. At the sound of her teeth chattering, Hierm reached through the bars and vigorously rubbed her shoulders, then her back.

“Shall I go lower?” he teased as his fingers reached the base of her spine.

“Rub Allyn’s behind,” she whispered, turning and playfully smacking at his hands.

“I thought that was your job,” he said, a frown souring his face.

“What are you talking about?” Shanis stepped back, hoping that the darkness would conceal her discomfort.

“Just kidding,” he said, but the playful lilt was now absent from his voice.

Shanis was content not to carry the discussion any further. Hierm had seemed increasingly distant since they met up with Allyn and Larris. It had not occurred to her that he might be jealous. Besides, there was nothing to be jealous of. Allyn was always flirting with Khalyndryn.

“If only your father could see us now,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.

Hierm smiled and shook his head. “Likely he wouldn’t be too surprised. It would break my mother’s heart, though.”

“She would not be the least bit surprised to find me here, though,” she whispered. She noted that Hierm did not disagree. She thought about the life that he had left behind, and a wave of remorse swept through her.

“I’m sorry about all of this, Hierm.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“This all happened because of me.” The longer they had sat in this cold, dark place, the greater her guilt had grown. “It’s my fault.”

“It’s Borram’s fault. He is the one who tried to hurt you and Khalyndryn,” Hierm whispered, gripping the cold bars that separated their cells, and staring at her intently.

“I should have been the kind of person they wanted me to be,” she said. “I should have given up the sword and found a husband.”

“That isn’t who you are.” Hierm reached between the bars and took her hand. His presence was as comforting now as it had always been.

“But if I had never entered that tournament…”

“That’s enough,” Hierm interrupted. “I still would have entered that tournament. I still would have lost to Karst, and Khalyndryn still would have followed me. The difference is, you would have been out in the crowd watching, probably with Oskar. And then, none of us could have gotten there in time to stop it.”

Hierm was right, of course. If she had not fought in the tournament, she would have watched with Oskar. She would have gotten to Khalyndryn along with the two boys, too late to help. Her rage would have gotten the better of her, and she likely would have killed Borram, or at least tried to. The four of them still would have fled, with Khalyndryn even worse for the wear. Perhaps it was fated.

There was something else

bothering her, though. An irrational thought that she needed to share with someone.

“Do you think everything is as it seems?” she asked. “Is it all for real?”

Hierm gripped the bars that divided their cells and gave them a tug. “Feels real to me.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Shanis groaned. She should have discussed this with Oskar. Hierm was not slow, by any stretch, but he did not look beneath the surface of things the way Oskar did. “Do you think something is going on between Larris and Orbrad? Some hidden communication?” She lowered her voice so as not to awaken the others. “When they talk to each other, it seems so insincere, so…false.”

“Isn’t that the way they all talk to each other?” her friend asked.

“It’s more than that.” She pounded her fist into her palm. “Think about it, though. Nothing has been as it seems. We lied to Larris and Allyn when we met them, and they lied to us. Larris is hiding from his family.

Orbrad is pretending that he’s some powerful king, when he barely controls his capitol city. He tells us we’re his guests, then locks us down here.”

“What is the point of all this?”

“I am just saying that if nothing else has been as it seems, why should this situation be any different?”

“Perhaps you should talk to Oskar about this,” Hierm said. “But it seems to me that we should be concerning ourselves with what we know for certain. We need to get out of this dungeon. Worrying about anything else is a waste of time. Have you thought about that?”

Shanis nodded. The group had quickly given up on the possibilities of picking a lock or finding a hidden passage under a loose stone. Since then, she had managed to come up with only one plan. Looking around, she reassured herself that Moggs remained in his small room near the dungeon door, most likely asleep.

“Moggs is planning to, you know, have his way with Khalyndryn and me. Dressed like this, he won’t consider me dangerous. If I can disable him, perhaps I can get us out of here.”

“If no one else is in the dungeon. If he has his key ring with him,” Hierm counted the ifs on his fingers, “if you can take care of him, that only gets us as far as the door. What about the guards on the other side?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

Before Hierm could reply, a loud knock sounded at the dungeon door. Shanis and her friend drew deeper into the shadows as around them, their companions were stirring. The knock came again, not loud, but insistent. Angry muttering came from Moggs’ room, and after a few moments the fat jailer appeared, tugging on his clothing.

“I be coming.” He slid open the peephole and peered through. “Wha’ you be wantin’?”

“King’s business,” said an oddly familiar voice.

Moggs stared for a moment longer, then, as if satisfied with what he saw, closed the peephole and unlocked the door. The door flew open, sending him stumbling backward. A guard burst in. Without a word, he delivered a vicious punch to Moggs’ throat, followed by a solid kick to the side of the knee. Despite her surprise, Shanis noted that she, too, had planned to go for the knees. As Moggs fell to the floor, the guard doubled his fists, and struck the warden a crippling blow to the base of the skull. He quickly relieved the unconscious man of his keys, and hurried to their cells.

“Martrin,” Shanis whispered in amazement as the soldier drew close enough for his features to become visible in the gloom. The captain nodded, and after a few failed attempts, located the proper keys and opened their doors in quick succession. Placing a finger to his lips, he tilted his head toward the dungeon door.

As they passed Moggs’ supine form, Allyn paused to kick the man hard in the face. Shanis was surprised at this show of cruelty from the normally placid young woodsman. The guards were slumped on either side of the hall outside the dungeon door. Two empty wine cups lay on the ground nearby. Though the men were obviously unconscious, Shanis tiptoed around them, watching her steps carefully. When they came to the end of the entryway, they turned the corner to find Bertram, the king’s steward, waiting for them.

“Your belongings,” he said, and gestured grandly to a half-dozen bags lying on the floor behind him. Take one and follow me.”

With a squeal of delight, Khalyndryn ran forward and squeezed his neck in a tight hug.

“Thank you Master Bertram,” she said softly.

The man seemed taken aback by her display of affection. He put his arms around her and gave her a tentative pat on the back.

“You are quite welcome,” he said. “Of course, Captain Martrin helped a bit, as well.”

Larris stepped forward and opened his mouth to speak to the two men, but the soldier cut him off.

“There is no time for thanks,” Martrin said. “Everyone grab your bag and move.”

Shanis took a perverse pleasure in the look on Larris’ face as he was brought up short by a commoner. She hastily found her belongings, and buckled her sword on over the ridiculous dress. Its weight upon her hip was reassuring. She squeezed the grip, finding a comfort in its solid feel.

Bertram led the way through the dank passages. After only a few turns, Shanis was thoroughly confused.

“This isn’t the way we came down,” she observed.

Bertram looked over his shoulder, looking mildly offended.

“Please,” he said, “I am hardly so foolish as to try and take you back through the palace.”

Shanis felt embarrassed at having spoke up.

“Besides, I have a greater sense of style than that,” the steward continued.

“Might I remind you,” Martrin called from the back of the group in a soft voice, “that we are trying to sneak out of the palace. Perhaps a bit of quiet is in order.”

“Not that anyone will hear us down here,” Bertram sighed, “but you are correct.”

The passage made a sharp bend to the right. There, Bertram halted, raising his hand for the others to stop as well. He stepped to the wall and placed his hands across the ancient stone. Shanis thought that the man’s long, dainty fingers, the nails so clean and neatly-trimmed, stood out in odd contrast to the moldy rocks of the wall.

Bertram moved his hands round and round, seeming to gently caress the ancient stone.

“Aha,” he said, stepping back. He turned to the group. “You, the large boy,” he said to Oskar, “push right here.”

Oskar moved to the man’s side, and placed both palms where Bertram indicated, against a large stone that was set in the wall at chest level. Shanis didn’t see anything that would make this rock stand out among the others, but she assumed the steward knew what he was doing.

Oskar bent his knees, and braced himself. He glanced at Bertram, who nodded and waved his hand at him, a careless gesture as if he were ordering a servant. Oskar gave a great heave, and tumbled forward, falling to the ground in a heap as a section of the wall swung back as if on oiled hinges.

“That was unnecessary,” Martrin said to Bertram.

“Couldn’t help myself,” the older man replied. “No hard feelings?” he asked, looking down at Oskar.

The red-faced boy shook his head and held his hand out for Bertram to help him up. When the steward grasped his hand, Oskar heaved, pulling the man down on top of him. Everyone laughed at the sight of the prim, proper man lying atop the big country boy.

“My goodness,” Bertram said, with an amused lilt in his voice. “Had I but known, I would have led you to my chambers instead.”

Oskar shoved the man off of him and lurched to his feet. The boy was red-faced, and sputtering incomprehensibly. He backed away from the older man, brushing at the front of his tunic as if to wipe away all memory of the embarrassing situation.

Bertram climbed to his feet, his expression impassive.

“Shall we?” he said, and led the way down the passage that the door had revealed.

The tunnel went on for some distance. It gradually sloped upward. As they moved forward, the air became less damp. The passageway came to an end at a blank wall. Handholds were hewn into the rock, vanishing into the darkness above.

“My work here is done,” Bertram said, bowing ostentatiously. Everyone, including Oskar, thanked him profusely. He merely nodded in response, then turned toward Martrin, suddenly appearing very stiff and formal. Hands in front of his chest, he cupped his right fist in his left hand, and bowed to Martrin. The Captain repeated the gesture, and Bertram swept wraithlike down the hallway in the direction from which they had come.

Martrin pushed his way past Shanis and the others, stopping at the wall. He turned and passed the torch he had been carrying to Larris.

“Wait here until I call,” he said. He turned, reached up, and grasped two of the handholds that were carved into the wall just above head level. He hooked the toe of his right boot into another depression, and began to climb.

Shanis watched him scale the wall until the darkness hid him from sight. No one spoke as they waited in the semi-darkness of the underground tunnel, their necks craned as their eyes fought to penetrate the darkness above. Finally, they heard what sounded like two sharp knocks on a wooden surface. After a moment, the knocks were answered by two muffled thumps. Another single, sharp rap, and then a faint sliver of light appeared high above them as a trapdoor was drawn open.

“You may come up, now,” Martrin said quietly. Torchlight blossomed in the trapdoor, casting a faint glow on the walls above them. “Hurry.”

Larris motioned for Khalyndryn to lead the way, with Shanis following behind. Khalyndryn gave her pack over to Oskar, and grasped the handholds with shaking hands.

“You can do it,” Oskar urged the girl.

Grimacing, Khalyndryn began to climb. She made her way up painstakingly, taking her time with each hand hold and toehold. Shanis unbuckled her sword, slung it over her shoulder, and fastened it. She took to the wall a few paces behind Khalyndryn. As they made their way up, she continued to encourage the girl. She hoped her voice did not betray the impatience that she felt. About halfway up, Khalyndryn halted.

“What if I fall?” the blonde girl whimpered. She started to turn her head back toward Shanis.

“Don’t look down,” Shanis snapped. “Keep your eyes on Captain Martrin.”

Khalyndryn nodded, and continued her slow ascent. She finally reached the top of the wall, where Martrin and another man hauled her up through the trapdoor and into the darkness beyond. Shanis had almost reached the top when she heard a voice behind her.

“I can see up your dress,” Hierm said.

Shanis raised a foot to kick at him, then thought the better of it. She looked down at him, and saw his eyes wide with surprise.

“I wouldn’t really kick you, you mule,” she said crossly. “I’d fall too.”

“I know your temper,” he said. She wished she could disagree with him.

Behind her friend, Shanis could make out the forms of Oskar and Allyn climbing up the wall. Oskar was breathing hard, but bearing up well under the combined weight of his own bundle and that of Khalyndryn.

Behind him, Allyn wore a bored expression. Far below them, Larris stood, holding a torch. Suddenly, the flames of the torch took on a frightening clarity. The floor appeared to rush up to meet her, then fall away until Larris seemed a distant speck.

Shanis jerked her head around. She should have taken her own advice, and not looked back. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

“Are you alright?” Allyn called.

Shanis cursed softly to herself. Allyn was the last person in front of whom she wanted to make a fool of herself.

“I’m fine,” she answered as nonchalantly as she could, and scaled the remainder of the wall as quickly as she dared. She refused Martrin’s offered hand, instead pulling herself up and out of the opening in the ceiling.

She rolled away from the hole, and came up on the balls of her feet. A familiar aroma teased her olfactory senses. She looked down to see straw covering the floor. They were in a stable. The trapdoor was located in the center of an oversized stall. Nearby, Hierm was changing out of his palace finery and into his own clothes.

“Where’s Khalyndryn?” she asked. Hierm tilted his head toward the adjacent stall. Shanis could see the top of Khalyndryn’s blonde head just above the wall.

“Don’t look!” Khalyndryn called through the wooden barrier.

“Mind the noise, girl,” Martrin whispered harshly. He turned to Shanis. “Get changed. You’ll also find a dark green, hooded cloak among your belongings. Put it on over your clothes.”

Shanis turned to face Hierm, who had finished dressing and was donning his cloak.

“Screen me,” she said. She moved to the end of the stall, positioned herself so that Hierm blocked the others’

view of her, and began to undress.

“You’re changing right here?” Hierm asked, his voice strained.

“Nobody’s looking,” she said. The truth was, she was still feeling embarrassed by her dizzy spell. On some level, she felt that if she acted as though she weren’t bothered by changing clothes in front of the men, they wouldn’t view her as a weak female, as they did Khalyndryn. Also, she couldn’t wait another moment to get out of the ridiculous dress. Tugging on her own clothes, she was surprised to find that Bertram had seen to it that they were washed and mended. It was a relief to be back in her comfortable attire. Men’s clothes or not, they were unquestionably better suited for hiking and riding than skirts would have been. She tugged the dark green cloak that had been provided for her, and found that the thick wool provided a welcome protection from the nighttime chill that she had been too nervous to notice before.

Soon, they had all changed and stood in the middle of the stable waiting for Khalyndryn. Hierm rapped on the door of the stall into which the girl had gone to change.

“I’m not coming out,” the girl said. She sounded close to tears. Hierm peered over the side, and turned back quickly, a broad grin on his face.

“Miss Serrill,” Larris said in a firm voice, moving up to stand alongside Hierm, “you are endangering the lives of everyone in this party. You will come out at once.”

There was a moment of quiet, then a shuffling sound. Khalyndryn opened the stable door and stepped out, her blushing face shining red in the dim torchlight. Shanis gasped.

Khalyndryn was garbed in a fashion almost identical to Shanis. Her brown tunic and olive hose were obviously tailor-made to fit her. She held the dark green cloak in front of her face, and refused to speak.

“I suggested to Bertram that he have some clothing made for you,” Martrin said. “Those skirts you were wearing would not have served you well in your travels. Now, put on your cloak. It is past time we should be leaving.”

He led the way to the stable door. The man whom Shanis had seen through the trapdoor, one of Martrin’s soldiers, kept watch in the doorway. The soldier nodded to Martrin, who led the group out into the darkened city streets.

“Where are we?” Larris asked, careful to keep his voice quiet.

“With all due respect, Highness,” Martrin said, “the less I tell you, the better.”

“The better for whom?” Larris asked.

“The order to which I belong is assisting you because of the nature of your quest,” Martin replied, “but our first loyalty is to our country.” He stressed the word ‘country’.

Shanis assumed that he meant country as opposed to king. She could not blame him for not supporting the duplicitous Orbrad.

The moon bathed the sleeping city in faint, silver light. There were no signs of life in this quarter of Karkwall.

The streets were deserted, and not a light shone in any of the houses they passed. None the less, Martrin stayed out of the center of the road, keeping instead to the shadows and dark places.

Shanis looked around. Martrin had brought them out well beyond the castle keep. Its dark bulk rose up in the distance behind them, inky black in the faint moonlight. They turned a corner, and Shanis saw that they were not far from the city’s outer wall.

They moved quietly, even Oskar managed to move carefully, making little sound in the stillness. From time to time she heard the approach of riders, most likely city guard on patrol. They ducked into shadowy recessed doorways whenever someone passed nearby.

They arrived at the back door of a large inn. Martrin knocked twice. The soft raps sounded like thunderclaps in the quiet night. The knock was returned by someone on the inside, but they did not go in. Instead, Martrin led them to the cellar door, which he opened hastily, and clambered inside. As his head sunk from view, he motioned for them to follow. They followed, one by one, with Hierm in the lead and Allyn bringing up the rear.

The cellar walls were lined with sacks of carrots and potatoes, along with shelves laden with bottles of wine and other provisions. Martrin stepped up to a narrow shelf, grasped it firmly, and gave it a tug. The shelf swung freely toward him, exposing another passage. Shanis shook her head. If she needed any proof that her way of viewing the world had changed, she need only point to the fact that she was already considering hidden doors and secret passageways commonplace.

The short tunnel led to a set of stone-lined steps that wound up into the darkness. Martrin pulled a torch from a bracket on the wall and led the way upward. Was a torch always kept burning in this tunnel, Shanis wondered, as she climbed the steps, or had someone provided it for them?

The stairway opened into a long, wide hallway. Shanis could not see the end of the hall in either direction. It vanished in the blend of torchlight and shadow. Martrin turned a sharp left and led them at a quick pace down the hall. They passed an occasional stairwell, but nothing else as they hurried along.

“We’re inside the city wall, aren’t we?” Oskar whispered.

“Yes,” Martrin said. “We are on the highest level. It is all right to talk, by the way. Sound does not easily penetrate these walls, and the soldiers on duty in this particular area are, shall we say, sympathetic?”

“Are they part of your order?” Shanis asked.

Martrin seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded.

“Why is this order of yours interested in helping us?” She wondered if she might be pushing the man too far, but after what she’d just been through, she really didn’t care.

“There is a prophecy known to the tribes of Lothan that states that the bearer of the Silver Serpent will reunite the clans.”

Larris began to protest, but Martrin raised his hand.

“Please, your Highness, you would dishonor the service that I’ve rendered you were you to deny what it is that you seek.”

Larris closed his mouth, to Shanis’ amusement. What a rare treat it was to see a royal brought up short.

“Orbrad did not merely wish to halt your search,” Martrin continued. “He wanted your information. He would have tortured you until he extracted every last bit of knowledge pertaining to the Serpent.”

“Why doesn’t he search for it himself?” Shanis asked.

“Oh, he has been searching ever since he claimed the throne. Rather, trying to search. Those he sends keep vanishing without a trace. Also, you will be pleased to know that it appears your belongings had not yet been searched when Bertram recovered them. Orbrad is arrogant. Likely, he believed that he could inspect them at his leisure once he had you locked up.”

“All of my papers were still there,” said Oskar.

“As were mine,” added Larris, “save what we left in the library.”

Martrin looked back, eyes narrowed. “Was there anything of importance?”

“Nothing we can’t live without,” Larris said. “A rough map, a few notations. Without the key information that we are missing, the map is useless.”

“Unless Orbrad already has that particular bit of information,” Oskar said.

Shanis pondered the thought in silence. The hush that had fallen over the group indicated that the others were likely doing the same. What if they reached their destination only to find that Orbrad had gotten there first?

“Bertram has assured me that Orbrad knows very little beyond common myths and prophecies. He has no solid clues, and he is too distrustful of others to work together on the search.”

“What is going to happen when Orbrad finds out that his pigeons have flown the coop?” Larris asked.

“He will rant and rave, as always. Your assessment of him yesterday was correct, Highness. He is more than a bit paranoid. He won’t know who is responsible. Bertram and I are above suspicion, and we are very discreet.” The corners of Martrin’s mouth turned up in a wry smile. “The sleeping draught Bertram put in the guard’s wine should wear off by morning. Moggs was so drunk that he’ll likely believe that it was one of them who attacked him. I’m certain he didn’t have time to recognize me. It should be quite a scene in the castle.”

“Is Bertram one of your order?” Khalyndryn asked.

“Bertram is friendly to our order, but his reasons for helping us are more personal. His tastes in companionship are, shall we say, unconventional. He and Orbrad’s nephew were quite close.” He drew out the last two words for emphasis.

It took Shanis a moment to realize what he was talking about. She felt herself blushing furiously. The very idea!

“So what happened?” Khalyndryn asked, apparently not yet understanding what Martrin was telling them.

“Orbrad found out, and flew into a rage,” Martrin said. “He caught them together, and defenestrated the boy.”

“That is horrible!” Khalyndryn exclaimed. “I thought they only did that to bulls.”

Larris and Allyn chuckled, and Oskar cleared his throat. Shanis remained quiet, as she had no more of an idea what the word meant than did her companion.

“Defenestrate means to throw someone out of a high window,” Oskar said.

“You’re lying!” Khalyndryn said, thrusting out her lower lip. “I don’t know why you are always trying to make me feel so foolish. I do not appreciate it.”

“I’m afraid he is telling the truth, my lady,” Martrin said, suppressing a grin.

“Well, that is just beastly,” Khalyndryn huffed. She settled into a quiet contemplation of what she had just been told. A few moments later, her alarmed squeak told Shanis that the girl had finally gotten the entire picture.

“So he helped us as a way of getting revenge against Orbrad?” Shanis asked. She did not blame him. From what little she had seen, Orbrad was a terrible man.

“That is part of it,” Martrin agreed. “Also, he fancies your friend there.” The soldier turned and nodded at Hierm, who looked back at him quizzically for a moment, then gasped and missed a step, nearly tumbling to the floor. The others kindly kept their laughter in check.

Martrin led them down a flight of stairs, down a narrow hallway that ended at a small, solid door.

“This is the outer wall,” he said softly. “There should be only friendly eyes to see us, but we must move quickly none the less. Your escort is waiting for you, along with your horses.” Not waiting for a reply, he turned and rapped twice on the door. When the knock was returned, he unbarred the door, and swung it open.

A soldier stood outside, apparently keeping watch. “All is clear, sir,” he whispered, giving the fist-over-heart salute that Shanis had seen the previous day. Martrin returned the salute, and led them out into the darkness.

The wide swath of land cleared for defense made Shanis feel positively naked as they hurried toward a distant wooded area. She shifted the bundle on her shoulder to cover as much of her back as possible, certain that at any moment, arrows would come whistling down upon them.

It seemed an eternity, but the cleared ground finally ended, and she spotted a cluster of shadows waiting among the sparse trees and shrubs. As they drew closer, the shadows formed into the shapes of several mounted men, and several riderless horses. The riders fanned out and led them through the trees, which grew thicker the farther they rode.

When they were all safely inside the protective arms of the forest, they came to a halt. Martrin turned and addressed them.

“This is where I leave you. I cannot be away too long, or I risk rousing suspicion. Know that I wish you much luck.” As they all thanked him, a large man on a heavy warhorse rode up alongside them.

“So these be the ones I’m a taking?” he growled. His voice was strangely familiar, and Shanis had the feeling she had met him before.

“Yes,” Martrin said to the man. He turned back to Shanis and her companions. “I assume you all remember Horgris?”

Chapter 22|Changings

The moon was little more than a small, silver orb balanced on the tip of a distant mountain peak when Horgris led them into a large encampment. Groups were gathered around several bonfires in the midst of an open area surrounded by huts and tents. Shanis heard laughter, shouts and raucous voices belting out songs that were unfamiliar to her ear. As they drew closer, she could see that the people were obviously Monaghan.

All had red hair of varying shades and were garbed in the same rough animal skins and dark, cross-hatched tunics as their leader.

They dismounted in front of the largest hut. A youth with a pitifully sparse beard took their horses. A young woman about Shanis’ age stepped out of the hut. Horgris spoke to her quietly, then motioned for Larris to follow him inside.

“Come with me,” the girl said. Without waiting for a reply, she led them over to the nearest fire. The people there eyed them curiously, but did not cease their merry-making. Chunks of meat roasted on skewers, and the girl pointed to them. “Eat,” she instructed, and walked away.

“Nice to make your acquaintance,” Allyn said with a smirk. The girl ignored him. He turned and said to no one in particular, “Where can a man get ale around here?” Almost immediately someone put a tankard in his hand. Soon, Shanis, Oskar, and Hierm were all holding large, frothy mugs. Khalyndryn declined the ale, but accepted a cup of wine.

Shanis took a sip of hers. It was warm and on the bitter side, but not all bad. She sat down next to Allyn. The ground was soft and damp, but it felt good after a night and day in the saddle. “What do you think they’re talking about in there?” She gestured with her mug toward the hut into which Horgris and Larris had disappeared.

Allyn shrugged. “Something boring, no doubt.” He took a long pull of his ale and stared at the fire.

Hierm sat down on her left and handed her a skewer of meat. She looked at it for a moment. “Any idea what it is?”

Hierm shook his head, and gingerly tore off a chunk of the hot meat. He blew on it a few times, then put it in his mouth. He frowned as he chewed. “It’s a bit tough, but not bad. I don’t recognize the flavor.”

“It’s snake,” Allyn said.

Hierm choked and coughed, spitting the bite onto the ground in front of him.

“Only joking.” Allyn took another drink. His expression was stoic as he stared into the flames.

Shanis laughed and leaned her head on Allyn’s shoulder. She looked at Hierm, who was on his feet, brushing the dirt off of his hose. “It’s all right Hierm. Sit down.”

Hierm looked at her, then at Allyn. “No thank you.” He picked up his mug of ale and stalked away into the crowd.

“No sense of humor, that one,” Allyn said, still staring straight ahead. “Has he always been like that?”

“In the last two days we’ve been waylaid by bandits, attacked by monsters, arrested, put in a dungeon, then rescued, only to be told that the bandits who accosted us are our friends,” Shanis said. “Surely you can forgive him if he’s not feeling himself.”

“I doubt he has ever had much of a sense of humor,” Allyn said. “He seems… touchy.”

“You would have to know his family to understand.” She had sometimes tried to imagine being raised by Lord Hiram and Mistress Faun, but the thought was too terrible to entertain.

Allyn seemed content to let the conversation end there, so Shanis returned her attention to the meat. She took a bite of the still-hot chunk, and chewed. “So what is this, anyway?”

“Highland rat,” Allyn said.

“Very funny,” she said, still chewing.

Allyn turned to look her in the eye. “I am not joking.”

Shanis punched him in the shoulder, and took satisfaction in the tiny wince he made. “I can’t tell when you’re lying and when you’re telling the truth. Should I be worried?”

“Everyone lies,” Allyn said. He stood and walked away, leaving his half-full mug of ale behind.

What had she said? First Hierm, now Allyn. Perhaps she should find Oskar and offend him. She looked around, but did not see him. As she was about to take another bite of the rat, or whatever it was, a chorus of giggles rang out behind her. She turned to look.

Khalyndryn stood a few paces away, her back to Shanis, surrounded by a small group of girls a few years her junior. She had changed back into her dress.

“She thinks she’s a boy,” Khalyndryn said, loud enough for Shanis to hear. “She wears boy’s clothes, she fights with the boys. My mother says she’ll make someone a good husband one day.” The girls laughed again.

Shanis felt her face heat. It was just like at home. Khalyndryn had not been too intolerable while they were on the road. Get her back to a semblance of civilization, and she was right back to her old tricks, holding court with a bunch of little girls who treated her like a princess.

“Do you think you could teach me how to make my hair silky like yours?” one of the girls asked. “I be trying to catch Granlor’s eye, but he no seems to notice me.”

“Well, I don’t know that your hair could look like mine,” Khalyndryn said, “but we will see what we can do…”

Shanis could listen to no more. She lurched to her feet, feeling dizzy. The ale was stronger than what they brewed at home. She wandered off through crowd, trying not to bump into anyone. She didn’t see Oskar anywhere. All the strange faces seemed to blur together.

“Here gal,” someone grasped her elbow, “dance with me.” Her ale fell to the ground and she staggered a bit as a young man pulled her toward a group of people who were hopping around in pairs to the beat of a primitive sounding drum.

She looked up at the young man. He was fairly handsome, though he could stand a bath. His beard was not too bushy, he had a pleasant smile, and he wasn’t angry with her: three points in his favor. Not quite believing what she was doing, she put her hands on his shoulders.

“I don’t dance very well,” she said.

“This one be simple,” he said. “You know how to use that sword you wear?”

Shanis nodded. What did her sword have to do with anything?

“Get up on the balls of your feet like you be dueling. Then, we hop around in a circle, and spin as we go. You understand, no?”

Shanis nodded, though she was not entirely certain she understood. Ordinarily she would not even consider dancing, but the ale had relaxed, if not emboldened her.

He led her in among the group of dancers, put his hands on her waist, and said, “Come now. Hop.”

Following his lead, she raised up on the balls of her feet and started bouncing. They spun to the left, all the while following the other dancers in a circle around the bonfire. By the second turn, she realized she was actually enjoying herself. The ale must have seriously affected her judgment.

“My name be Granlor,” her partner said. “What be yours?”

Where had she heard that name? Her thoughts were fuzzy. “Shanis,” she said.

“What clan be you?”

“Umm, I’m Galdoran.” Was everyone going to think she was Monaghan?

Granlor cocked his head and fixed her with an odd look, but did not say anything.

Another turn around the fire, and the drummer shouted, “And back”.

Granlor spun her in the other direction, and the dancers reversed their circle. “Keep you from getting too dizzy.”

“Too late,” she said. Her head swam, though the sensation was not entirely unpleasant.

“Would you be wanting to sit down?” She nodded, and he led her away from the fire. They sat down beside another pair who appeared wearied from dancing. Granlor introduced them as Jamnir and Calia.

“Have a drink,” Jamnir said, offering her a big earthenware jug. His hair was dark auburn, almost brown.

She took a sip and her mouth was immediately assaulted by the foulest taste she could ever imagine. She spewed it on the ground. “That is the vilest stuff I’ve ever tasted.”

The others laughed as Janmir took the jug back from her.

“It be called skok”, Granlor said. “Has a flavor all its own, it does. No everyone can handle it.” He smiled and patter her on the shoulder.

. “It took me by surprise, that’s all.” In her condition, Shanis was not about to refuse a challenge. “Let me have another taste.” She took another drink, a small one, and held it in her mouth. The second drink wasn’t as bad as the first, though it certainly didn’t taste good. It had an earthy taste, as if the water had been filtered through peat. She swished it around her mouth and swallowed. It burned all the way down, warming her entire body, but she managed to keep a straight face.

“Skok be the only thing good that come from Malgog.” Granlor gritted his teeth as he made the concession.

Jamnir grudgingly added his agreement.

“What he be doing with her?” a girl’s voice cried. “That girl in the boy’s clothes?”

Shanis turned and saw Khalyndryn standing with one of the girls she had been talking with earlier. Now she remembered. Granlor was the man whose attention this girl had been trying to attract. The girl whirled and stalked away, with Khalyndryn hurrying behind her.

“Rinala,” Khalyndryn called as she hurried away. “Wait for me. I am sure it’s just a misunderstanding. He couldn’t possibly prefer…”

“She never be giving up,” Granlor said, shaking his head. “I be no interested. She be too much trouble for me, that one.” He took another drink of skok.

“Trouble in what way?” Shanis asked. Her throat was a touch raw from the skok.

“It no be her that’s trouble,” Calia said, an odd tone in her voice, “so much as it be her father.”

“Let us no talk about that,” Granlor said, taking Shanis’ hand. “You be wanting to take a walk?”

Shanis thought she knew what he meant by ‘a walk’, and she wasn’t interested. “Actually, is there somewhere I can go? I need to…”

“I’ll take you to the pits,” Granlor said, rising.

“No, let me take her.” Calia gently took Shanis hand from Granlor and led her away.

“Thank you,” Shanis whispered when they were out of earshot. “Granlor seems nice enough, but…”

“We girls must be looking out for each other, no?” She was pretty, with broad, pleasant features and blonde streaks in her light red hair. “Granlor no be too bad, but he do move quickly sometimes.”

Shanis spied Allyn seated nearby, chatting with a plump young woman. He was even smiling. “Granlor isn’t the only one who moves quickly,” she said, hurrying past before he noticed her.

“Why so sour? Oh, I see.” Calia shook her head. “You do fancy him.”

“No I don’t.” She didn’t want to think about Allyn.

“I no be asking a question,” Calia said. “You no be worrying. Sometimes it be taking them a while to know what be good for them.”

Shanis decided to change the subject. “How long have you lived here?”

“A long time,” Calia said, “It be several moons that we be in this place.”

“That doesn’t seem like a very long time.”

“In Monaghan, we no be staying in one place for too long. But this place be close enough to Karkwall that the Malgog,” her facial features tightened as she said the name, “stay away.”

“I have lived in the same place all of my life.” The words seemed to constrict her throat as she realized that the statement was no longer true. Could she truly say she had a home anymore? Between the homesickness and the drink, she felt like she could cry.

“We hope to be staying here for a while.” Calia seemed not to notice Shanis’ sadness. “Over there, they be building a stone meetinghouse. We no have many permanent buildings.”

Shanis looked in the direction the girl indicated but paid little attention to the waist-high stone wall that would someday be the meetinghouse. Instead, she stared in utter disbelief as she watched Rinala lead Hierm into a nearby hut and draw a heavy skin across the doorway.

“What be wrong?” Calia asked.

“I have to go.” Shanis pushed the girl away, not too roughly, she hoped, and hurried blindly away from the huts. Away from Hierm. Tears filled her eyes. Where was Oskar? She needed a friend.

A cool mist had descended upon the camp as full night came upon them, and she wandered half-blinded by fog, smoke, drink, and tears. She wanted to go home. She missed her father. She missed Yurg and Anna. She missed Seventhday market and sword practice and her horse and lying on the big rock by the river…

“Shanis, are you all right?” Someone grabbed her by the arm and turned her about.

“Larris, I…” The stream of tears became a torrent. Some remote part of her brain now resented Larris even more for having seen her like this, but she couldn’t stop crying. She laid her head on his shoulder and let her weight sag against his chest. He put his arms around her and held her up. He was stronger than she had realized.

“Did someone hurt you?” His voice was gentle, yet a note of menace lay underneath.

She raised her head. “No, I…” She didn’t know how to explain. Her sobbing had abated, and he wiped her cheeks with his sleeve. He was sort of handsome.

“Am I pretty?” she asked. Where had that come from?

“Yes,” he said, looking her in the eye. “Perhaps the prettiest girl I have ever seen.”

She stared at him for a long time, waiting for him to laugh, or add on an insult, but he did neither. The drink must have been in control of her tongue, because the next thing she heard herself say was, “Will you kiss me?”

Larris’ eyes widened for a moment, then he smiled. He moved his hands to her face, cupping her cheeks, and leaned toward her.

Then he stopped.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I want to kiss you,” he said, moving his hands to her shoulders and stepping back a bit. “But only when it’s you who wants to kiss me.”

“I don’t understand.” First Allyn, then Hierm, now Larris. Was something wrong with her?

“Lerryn would take advantage of a girl who is too much in her cups, but I will not.”

Shanis could swear she saw regret in his face.

“Horgris has provided quarters for the night,” he said. “Let’s take you there.”

She wanted to protest that she was not drunk, but suddenly there was only one thing she could say.

“Larris, I’m going to be sick.”

Chapter 23 |Orbrad

Your Majesty, may I present Prince Lerryn of Galdora.”

Lerryn was impressed that so small a man as Bertram could muster such volume. He stepped through the doorway into the throne room. The small cluster of petitioners and bootlickers parted, allowing him clear path to the throne. He ignored the expressions on their faces, all various levels of wonder or suspicion, and focused on Orbrad.

The king of Lothan looked like death. His face was ghastly white and his hands trembled as they clutched the arms of the throne.

“You did not forewarn him that I was here, did you?” Lerryn whispered to the steward.

“I thought he would enjoy the surprise,” Bertram replied without moving his lips, which were frozen in a polite smile.

Lerryn chuckled. He halted several paces from the throne and made a formal bow, though not too deep.

“What are you doing in my kingdom?” Orbrad snapped, still gripping his throne as if it was going to run away.

“And a good day to you as well, Orbrad. Are you ill? You look like a dead goat.” If Orbrad was going to dispense with the niceties, he could do the same.

“You have not answered my question, Highness.” Orbrad replied in his nasal voice.

Did the poor man actually believe he sounded threatening? How pathetic.

“Your Majesty, I apologize for intruding upon you,” Lerryn said. “My retinue and I are merely passing through your kingdom. I thought it would be rude of me not to make my presence known.”

“Why does everyone want to pass through my kingdom?” Orbrad threw up his hands in exasperation. He suddenly dropped his hands to his side, and his face turned red. He cleared his throat. “Never mind,” he said, before Lerryn could ask what he meant. “I won’t bother asking your business. How long do you plan to stay?”

“We are dirty and road-weary,” Lerryn replied. “I would be most grateful if I could beg the hospitality of your castle for one night.”

“I suppose that will not be too great an inconvenience.” Orbrad appeared to relax a little. “Anything else?”

“My throat is dry from the dust of the trail. A bit of wine would not go unappreciated.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that you like your wine,” Orbrad said with a sneer. “Bertram, see to it.”

The little steward bowed much more deeply than necessary, then turned and led Lerryn from the room. When they were again in the hall, Bertram signaled for the guards to close the massive doors. He turned to Lerryn and smiled.

“He must be in a good mood today. I presumed he would throw you in the dungeon.” Without another word, he hurried down the hall, motioning for Lerryn to follow.

Lerryn scratched his head, then followed the sound of the little man’s footsteps as they receded into the depths of Karkwall Castle.

Lerryn stared out the window of his chamber at the keep below. He watched soldiers going about their duties and servants working the small gardens inside the walls. What must it be like to live under a constant siege mentality? For his nation, the threat of war with Kyrin was always a possibility, but it was not an immediate threat such as that under which these people lived. What would happen if the clans united under a single leader? How long could Orbrad hold this castle against a siege? How many would even remain loyal? In Lerryn’s experience, most commoners had little taste for war, and wanted only to live as ordinary a life as possible. They would support whichever leader seemed to offer that hope.

An ordinary life. How he envied the common folk. Ironic that so many of them likely harbored the same envy for him and his life. Perhaps one of them would trade with him one day He chuckled at the thought.

“Honestly, Highness! Talking to yourself is one thing. But a man who goes around laughing for no apparent reason will, at best, be thought a fool.”

Lerryn turned away from the window. How did Xaver always manage to enter a room without his hearing? His vizier sat in an overstuffed chair against the far wall looking pleased with himself. Above him hung a tapestry showing a battle between Tichris and the kings of the east.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you look like the Ice King?” Lerryn asked.

“That is not amusing, Highness.” Xaver’s expression was blank, cold.

“It is to me.” Lerryn sat down at the small table near the window, and poured a cup of red wine. He took a sip and held it in his mouth for a moment. It was a bit on the sour side, but it was wine. He swallowed, feeling it warm his throat ever so slightly on the way down. “What have you learned?”

Xaver chuckled. “Most of the rumors are the usual castle fare, but there is one rumor that is on everyone’s lips.”

Lerryn took another drink of wine and waited. “Are you going to tell me, or not?”

“Sorry. This one is so rich, it is worth waiting for. Apparently, you are being held in the dungeon.”

“What?” Lerryn put down his cup, and leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table.

“Everyone,” Xaver said in a low, conspiratorial voice, “and I do mean everyone, is whispering that the Prince of Galdora is being held in the dungeon.”

“Foolishness,” Lerryn scoffed. “Orbrad must have arrested some pretender to the throne of Lothan.

You know how facts become distorted when whispered in the halls and under the sheets.”

Xaver shook his head. “Everyone is saying exactly the same thing. The Prince of Galdora and his five traveling companions are in the dungeon. That is very specific and quite a coincidence.”

Lerryn stood and walked over to the corner where he had left his sword leaning against the wall, picked it up and belted it on. The feel of its weight around his middle, and the solidity of the hilt in his palm was comforting. He did his best thinking with a sword in his hand and a horse beneath him. The horse was not an option at the moment, so the sword would have to do.

“Do you think Orbrad is planning something?”

“I would not put anything past that buffoon,” Xaver said, folding his long, pale hands across his lap, “but I doubt it. Everyone is talking about it. Even Orbrad can keep a secret better than that. Also, it’s being talked about as if it has already happened.”

“So, either everyone in the castle is grossly misinformed, or Larris has sneaked away from Archstone, gathered five companions, ridden to Karkwall, and offended the king.”

They both laughed.

“There is another possibility.” Xaver looked directly at him. His purple eyes seemed to bore into Lerryn.

Lerryn stared back, uncomprehending. Then it dawned on him. “The prophecy,” he whispered.

“Precisely. The ice cat was evidence that the prophecy is in motion. This is further proof.”

“So, the prophecy is warning us that Orbrad is going to arrest us?”

“It could mean many things. When the Silver Serpent is yours, you will be the most powerful ruler in the east, perhaps in the world. Kings will fear you, even hate you. The rumor may be a foreshadowing of how you will be perceived in the new world we create.”

“We are not going to create a new world,” Lerryn said. I want to end the threat of Kyrin, and I want the nations of the east to no longer view Galdora as a bastard land. Nothing more or less.” He wondered if his words sounded as foolishly altruistic to Xaver as they did to his own ears.

“A poor choice of words on my part,” Xaver said. “In any event, we should be alert for what the prophecy has to tell us. This evening’s banquet should be interesting.”

Chapter 24|Ramsgate

There it is. The Ramsgate.” Larris pointed toward a narrow gap between two mountains.

Shanis shielded her eyes against the brightness of the afternoon sun and squinted, trying to ignore her headache. It was altogether a disappointment. She was not sure what she had expected, but for so storied a locale, at least according to Oskar, it should have been… grander. The pass was merely a narrow cleft in the rock. She could see only a few paces in before the way vanished in shadow. She would be surprised if they could get the horses through.

Larris seemed to read her thoughts. “Horgris assured me it is passable. We might have to unload the horses, though. It will be difficult, but not nearly impossible.”

Hierm groaned. Shanis took a small measure of satisfaction in the fact that he seemed to be feeling as poorly as she.

“Why do they call it the Ramsgate?” she asked.

“Because it is so narrow that common wisdom said that only a single ram could pass through at a time.”

Larris scratched his head and stared down at the narrow defile. “Of course, old stories tend to be exaggerated. At least I hope so.”

“I read a different version,” Oskar said, drawing his mount even with theirs. “I heard that the mountains here are so impassable that even the rams have to use this pass to get through.”

“Either way, let’s be at it,” Allyn said. “The day is wasting.” He put heels to his horse and set off down the slope at a steady pace.

Reaching the pass, they dismounted. Allyn handed his reins over to Oskar and went ahead of the group to scout. He returned soon thereafter, his expression unreadable, as usual.

“It’s a winding path, narrow in parts. We will definitely have to carry our bags.”

Shanis set to unloading her horse with a detached, sick feeling. Her stomach roiled and her head felt as if a horse has stepped on it. She fumbled with the buckle on one of her saddlebags, and cursed.

“Need any help?” Hierm asked. He did not quite meet her eye as he spoke, and he was obviously staying out of easy hitting or kicking range.

She gave him what she hoped was a withering stare, and returned to the task at hand. Finally loosing the bags, she hooked them together and slung them over her shoulder. Taking her horses’ reins in her left hand and gripping the pommel of her sword in her right, she started toward the cleft between the mountains.

“Shanis,” Larris said, “wait for the rest of us.” He smiled expectantly, as if last night’s offer of a kiss was going to be renewed now that she was sober.

She ignored him. She gave her horse a tug and tried to move faster. They could catch up with her later. The morning’s ride had been unbearable. She did not want to speak to any of them, Oskar included. In fairness, he hadn’t done anything wrong, but it was obvious that he was dying for someone to explain to him what was going on between the rest of the group, and she neither wanted to talk, nor hear about it.

The pathway curved to the left and the light dimmed as the cleft above her narrowed. Another turn back to the right and now the way was not much wider than what her horse could fit through. She came to a place where the path widened and ran straight ahead for some fifty or more paces ahead. A chill passed through her and she paused, drawing her cloak tight around her neck.

She stood in a rocky fissure, the walls of which ran far above her, broken up by occasional stone outcroppings. The mountain peaks blocked most of the sunlight, casting the pathway in a dusky shadow.

Something caught her eye, and she stepped back to get a better view.

Above a ledge, about thirty paces up, she could just discern the outline of a cave. Despite the dim light, she could see that its shape was unusual. The opening was a smooth, even arch, so unlike the rough stone all around. More than that, the cave seemed to beckon to her. She felt herself drawn toward it.

She examined the rocky face beneath the cave, looking for handholds. She had never climbed like this before, Galsbur being in the midst of rolling farmland and dense forest. She immediately noticed several likely-looking outcroppings and some wide cracks where she might wedge a boot.

“Should I try it?” she asked no one in particular, staring back up at the shadowed entry. If her horse had an opinion, he kept it to himself.

Down the passageway, from the direction she had come, she heard the clatter of horseshoes on stone, and the soft murmur of distant voices. That fixed it. Anything that would buy her some time away from her so-called friends was a welcome diversion. She selected her first hand-and footholds, and began to scale the rock.

The climb was surprisingly easy and she reached the small ledge in front of the cave only a bit winded. She caught a whiff of smoke and noticed a flicker of light deep in the cavern. Drawing her sword, she stepped inside.

“Your blade is needed not.” The voice was thin, cracked with age, but resilient, like old leather. “Come in.”

Shanis lowered her sword, but did not sheathe it. She walked slowly. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom she could see that the walls and floor of the cave were perfectly smooth. As she moved deeper, she could make out a small figure sitting on the opposite side of a small fire.

The woman was unbelievably old. Her face was deeply lined, with bags under her sunken, yellowed eyes. Her matted, silver hair hung limply around her face. She was garbed in a coarse, dark robe. She beckoned to Shanis with a long, gnarled finger.

“Who are you?” Shanis asked, stepping into the firelight, and finally sliding her sword back into its scabbard.

“Questions you have, but my name be not one of them. Call me Hyda, if you must.” The woman’s words sounded mysterious, but she uttered them matter-of-factly. “Sit down.”

Shanis eased down onto the cold, stone floor, and sat cross-legged. She noticed that her headache was gone, though her mind was far from clear. The same feeling of being drawn up to the cave now seemed to work at her tongue. She did have questions, and for some irrational reason, she believed that this old woman could answer them. A small voice in the back of her mind urged caution, but it was suppressed by the greater desire to unburden herself to this crone.

“What is the Silver Serpent?” she blurted. Why could she not seem to hold her tongue?

“What you seek.” The old woman replied.

“Yes, I know,” she said, her frustration rising. “But what is it?”

“That which you must find.” The woman looked Shanis directly in the eye. There was no humor there, no suggestion that the woman was toying with her.

Shanis took a deep breath. Above all, there was one question to which she wanted to know the answer. A doubt that had lingered in her mind from the day of the tournament. A simple phrasing at the end of a note.

She bit her lip. Did she truly want to know the answer?

“My father,” she paused, not certain how to ask the question. “Is he truly my father?”

The crone rose and moved slowly around the fire toward Shanis. She leaned down and extended a withered hand.

Shanis winced at the black earth under the woman’s yellow fingernails. Rough skin brushed her cheek as the old woman cupped her face. “Girl, you do ask all the wrong questions.”

Shanis drew back from the distasteful touch. “Why don’t you tell me what I need to know, then?” She wondered for a fleeting moment at the wisdom of offending her host, but the woman did not seem to care.

She turned and shuffled back into the depths of the cave, vanishing into the darkness.

Shanis looked around, but could see little in the smoky darkness. Discomfort and an odd fear itched at the back of her neck, but curiosity and the inexplicable belief that she was supposed to be here kept her anchored fast.

The woman returned carrying an earthenware bowl filled nearly to the brim with liquid. Water, Shanis guessed.

She carefully placed the bowl on the ground, then looked up at Shanis.

“Give me a hair.” She held her hand out, palm up, above the fire.

Shanis hesitated for a moment, then, as if in a dream, plucked a long hair from her head. She handed it to Hyda, who held it over the low flame. Shanis saw a small spark. She twisted up her face as the odor of burning hair filled her nostrils.

Hyda held the burning hair in her upturned palm until it burned out. She reached across the fire, holding her hand in front of Shanis’ face.

“Spit.”

Shanis looked down at the small bits of ash in Hyda’s hand. She frowned, then shrugged, and spat into the creased palm.

Hyda rubbed the saliva in a circular pattern, smearing the bit of ash. She then scooped a handful of water, and held it up.

“Breathe your life into it,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Blow on it.”

A pleasant feeling of dizziness spun in Shanis’ mind as she leaned forward again, and blew gently. Her vision narrowed, and she seemed to shoot forward until her consciousness was but a mere speck floating above the rippling sea in Hyda’s palm. A faint mist rose up, enveloping her in its delicate arms. She felt herself borne up, enshrouded in gray vapor.

“Your path not be your own.” Hyda’s words rolled across the water, breaking over her in thunderous waves.

“Many be the claims on your life, and either way you go, you be doing good for the one and ill for the other.” A long pause. “Your companions, they all be needed to complete your task, but one be not true.”

Shanis felt her brow crease, as if she were far removed from her body. She understood what the woman meant about her path not being her own. But, one of her companions would be untrue? Could she mean Hierm and that girl? It couldn’t be. She and Hierm were not promised to one another. They…The thought dissolved in the mist, and she lay back in the warmth of what felt like the most pleasant of dreams.

“What you seek, you may find, but only if you be not looking for it. Your way, it be perilous. You face…”

The sudden absence of Hyda’s voice was a shock. When the words came again, they were a tremulous, frightened whisper.

“Prevail you must. Hold fast girl. With all you have and all that you are, hold fast.” The last two words were sobbed more than spoken.

The sound of Hyda’s voice fled, and with it the comfort of the warm mist. Shanis drifted alone in cold, blackness. She had only a moment to feel fright, before her awareness dimmed, and she faded into comforting slumber.

Chapter 25|The Banquet

Your Royal Majesty, noble guests, I present His Royal Highness, Prince Lerryn of Galdora.” The herald, a paunchy, florid-faced man in a garish green and orange silk doublet, bowed, and gestured for Lerryn to enter the great hall.

Lerryn scarcely noticed the surprised expressions on the faces of the minor nobles gathered around the single, giant table that stretched the length of the hall. He brushed past the chubby man and slowly made his way down the wide, stone staircase. He forced a smile and hoped that he did not look as surly as he felt.

Xaver had insisted he forego the wine until dinner. His Vizier was correct, as usual. It wouldn’t do for Lerryn to meet foreign nobility, even ones as insignificant as these, reeking of drink. He was nonetheless displeased with the entire situation.

He surveyed the hall. It was wrought of the same gray stone as the rest of the palace. Dark, dingy walls rose high above them, narrowing to meet in an architecturally unimpressive vaulted ceiling. Faded banners hung from the rafters. On the far end of the room, spread across the back wall, hung a giant tapestry, depicting a great battle from ages past. Remnants of the great nation Lothan had once been. Slivers of evening light shone through narrow windows in the ceiling, casting a bluish hue upon the sad scene.

He heard the hushed whispers of the nobility as he moved along the massive table. At the far end, Orbrad sat at the head with his wife, Queen Agnes to his right, looking well-fed and vacant of original thought. The pale, black-haired young woman was Orbrad’s third wife. An odd coincidence all three had proved to be barren.

She smiled and nodded to him.

Lerryn noted, with some annoyance, that the seat of honor, the one to the queen’s right, had not been reserved for him. His annoyance burst into scarcely-contained rage when he saw who occupied that seat.

The white-haired man rose belatedly, stretching to his full height, just slightly taller than the Galdoran prince.

He regarded Lerryn with intense, brown eyes set above a slightly crooked nose.

“Your Highness, I believe you are acquainted with His Excellency, Count Nadrin of Kyrin?” Orbrad made no effort to keep the amusement from his voice.

“Forgive me, Highness,” Nadrin said, “I did not intend to usurp your place at the table. I was merely conversing with Her Majesty. Please.” Bowing politely, he motioned to the seat he had just vacated.

“You are too kind,” Lerryn said. He bowed politely to Orbrad, then kissed Agnes’ hand. “Your Majesty, you are most radiant this evening.” The skinny queen blushed and giggled. She nodded to her husband, who motioned for all to be seated.

Lerryn settled into his chair, and immediately reached for his wine glass. He cocked an eyebrow. Real crystal.

He swirled the burgundy liquid, enjoying its rich bouquet.

“It is from Diyonus,” Orbrad said. “The finest vintage I have in my cellar.”

“I am humbled that you thought me worthy.” Lerryn took a sip and held it in his mouth a moment before swallowing. “Exquisite.”

“I am gratified that you find it so. It is not often we receive two esteemed guests in one day.” The king of Lothan gestured to Nadrin, who smiled and bowed his head.

“What brings you this far south, Nadrin?” Lerryn attempted to sound casual. He took another sip of the wine, forcing himself not to gulp it down.

“You know, just keeping up relations with a friendly nation.” Nadrin smiled. His eyes said that they both knew he was lying.

“I did not realize your nations had reached a different status in your relations.”

“I admit that we have not always seen eye-to-eye,” Orbrad interrupted. “Nadrin has pointed out, however, that we have some mutual interests.” The two men openly exchanged knowing grins, enjoying whatever was their shared joke.

Lerryn’s fists clenched. He caught himself before he shattered his goblet, forced down his anger and took another drink.

“Perhaps it is you who should explain why you are here,” Nadrin said. “I suggested to His Majesty that I would be concerned if Galdoran princes were suddenly wandering through my kingdom.”

“How many Galdoran princes have you seen around here, Nadrin?” Lerryn asked.

A fit of coughing suddenly racked Orbrad’s chest. The pudgy monarch spewed wine across the table as he hacked. Agnes clapped him on the back in a most undignified manner.

“Are you all right?” Nadrin asked in a condescending voice.

“Quite,” Orbrad choked. He cleared his throat with a loud rasp, and signaled for more wine. “The count here has pointed out to me that each of our nations has claims on certain ancestral lands that are occupied by Galdora.”

“Gentlemen, Galdora consists entirely of your ancestral lands, as you call them. I can assure you that my father will not be handing our country back over to the two of you.” Lerryn drained his glass and held it out to be refilled as the servant arrived to attend to Orbrad.

“With all due respect, Highness, that has never been our desire.” Nadrin leaned forward, plaintive palms upraised in front of him. He was obviously putting on a show for everyone within earshot. Down the table, guests lowered their voices and turned their heads to listen. “There are certain lands that are of great historical and religious significance to us. Kyrin would compensate Galdora for the land in question. We seek a peaceful resolution to this issue.”

“Count Nadrin, I am a soldier, not a diplomat. I feel confident, though, in saying that you can tell your king there is no issue. The borders of Galdora were established centuries ago. They are not flexible, and neither is my father.”

“That is precisely the problem.” Nadrin spoke in a soothing voice, so unlike his normal manner. “Kyrin is willing to negotiate on this matter. Galdora is not.”

“You wish to negotiate the annexation of the richest farmland in our kingdom. I fail to see…”

“Burn you, boy!” Nadrin slammed his fist down hard, nearly upsetting his untouched wine glass. “Kyrinians bled for that land before your bastard nation every existed.”

“No need to raise your voice, Nadrin.” Lerryn smiled, pleased that he had gotten the better of the verbal joust. He looked down the length of the table, enjoying the disapproving expressions on the faces of those who had been listening. On the far end of the hall, he could barely see Xaver. His vizier was seated near the foot of the table, along with Pedric Karst, whose nobility, though tenuous, had merited him a seat in the great hall. The remaining members of Lerryn’s party were taking their meals in their rooms. He would have gladly exchanged places with any of them.

“There are our concerns to deal with, as well,” Orbrad spoke up. “There are lands in the southern reaches of your realm that are traditional Lothan clanholds.”

“Your Majesty, you cannot control your own kingdom, much less any portion of Galdora.”

Next to Lerryn, Queen Agnes gasped and sat upright.

“You dare speak so to us when you are a guest at our table? It is most unseemly, Highness.” The woman was positively quaking with rage. She clutched her crystal goblet in a small, trembling hand. A bit of wine had sloshed over the side, staining the sleeve of her pale green silk dress.

“No matter, my dear.” Orbrad placed a hand on hers. “Perhaps what Lothan needs is a cause behind which to unite our warring factions.” He fixed Lerryn with a meaningful stare.

Lerryn was about to ask where Orbrad had suddenly acquired some sand, though he knew the reason was sitting across the table, when shouting erupted from the other end of the great hall. He closed his eyes, not needing to look to know the source: Karst. He took a deep breath before standing.

Karst was facing off across the table with a tall, fair-skinned man with a neatly-trimmed auburn beard. The man, though dressed in doublet and hose with the traditional clan sash running across his chest from left shoulder to right hip, was obviously a soldier: Lerryn could tell by his bearing and economy of movement.

Karst was good with the sword, no doubt, but the boy just might have poured himself too strong a drink this time.

“Captain Martrin!” Orbrad shouted. “What is all of this? At my table, no less!”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Martrin said loudly, not taking his eyes from Karst. “Your young guest seems to have forgotten his manners.”

“Must be catching,” Nadrin mumbled.

“Do you accept or not?” Karst called. Around him, the dinner guests moved away from the pair. “Prove that I am as misguided as you say.”

I ought to let him kill the boy and be done with it. Larris entertained the thought for only a fleeting moment.

The prophecy would not permit it. They had to be six, and like it or not, Karst was one of them. He hurried to Karst’s side, and grabbed the youth by the shoulder, yanking him away from the table.

“Captain Martrin, I apologize for the behavior of this young man. He is inexperienced at court. I would consider it a personal favor if you allow us to forget this unfortunate event entirely.” It galled him to make nice in front of all these people, but he could not take the chance of losing Karst, and this Martrin fellow did not deserve to bear the brunt of the boy’s foolishness.

The soldier continued to stare at Karst. “If he withdraws the challenge, Highness, I will not hold him to it. But only because it is you who asks.”

“Withdraw the challenge,” Lerryn said through gritted teeth.

“I will not…”

Lerryn smacked him on the base of the skull with his open palm.

Karst turned and glared, rubbing the back of his head. “What did you do that for? I am within my rights.” He drew back a step, but the look in his eyes was defiant.

Lerryn leaned toward him, his nose nearly touching Karst’s. He whispered, in his iciest voice, “Withdraw…it…now.” He tensed, waiting for an answer. It was reckless of him to give Karst such an order in this setting. What if the boy defied him in front of everyone? With any other person, it would have been unthinkable, but Karst was foolish enough to do it. What would he do? Kill the boy and bring the quest to an end? To the ice with Karst!

Karst glared for a moment longer, then turned back to face Martrin. He visibly gathered himself before speaking.

“Because my liege orders it, I withdraw my challenge.”

Lerryn relaxed when he saw Martrin nod his acceptance. He did not think he’d ever heard so sour a voice, but the words were enough. He turned back to face the head of the table, where Orbrad stood, arms folded across his chest. Next to him, Nadrin stood grinning. Lerryn ignored the Kyrinian’s amusement.

“Your Majesty, I apologize for disrupting your fine banquet. I regret that I must beg your leave to take my young charge back to our rooms for the evening. I thank you for the hospitality of your table.” He bowed deeply. To his right, Karst grudgingly followed suit.

“We regret that His Highness must take his leave,” Orbrad lied without conviction, bowing perfunctorily before motioning for everyone to take their seats. Stealing glances toward Lerryn and Karst, the dinner guests returned to their meals.

Lerryn shoved Karst toward the door. He turned and spotted Xaver rising to leave, and shook his head.

Xaver frowned, then nodded and settled back into his chair. Perhaps he could glean some useful information.

Lerryn was finished for the night. After he chastised Karst, he would return to his quarters and drink himself to sleep.

“Wake up Highness.” Xaver hurried through the door, bumping against the frame as he entered. “We must leave.”

“I’m awake.” Lerryn slipped his feet off of the table, and sat up. The bottle of wine sat untouched in front of him. “What’s the hurry?”

“The rumor I heard earlier. I believe the prophecy was trying to warn us of Orbrad’s duplicity.” He sat down across from Lerryn, noticed the full wine bottle, and raised his eyebrows before continuing. “Obviously, Nadrin has Orbrad’s ear, and is trying to form an alliance against Galdora. Karst’s very public scene could give Orbrad an excuse to arrest us.”

“I interpret it differently,” Lerryn said. “I think the prophecy was warning us that we would be arrested if Karst slew that Martrin fellow. Besides, if we were arrested, couldn’t you do… something?”

Xaver sighed and looked up at the ceiling. He laced his long, pale fingers together and rested them on his chest.

“I can do some small things, but neither magic nor sorcery are what they once were. The feats of the past are just that: in the past. Even in my lifetime I have felt the power, for lack of a better term, dwindle. I could open a cell, yes. Perhaps I could do away with a few guards. But get us out of a dungeon, through a palace, and out of a hostile city? That is beyond my capabilities.”

“So you think we should go now?”

“Regrettably, yes. The banquet will be breaking up within the hour. The meal is over, but the wine is still flowing. I suggest that we gather the other four and go.”

Lerryn stared at the ceiling, mulling over what Xaver had said. It was all so frustratingly nebulous, just like the prophecy. All he could do was go with his gut instinct.

“I won’t run out like a beaten dog,” he said finally. “I will not give Nadrin the satisfaction.” He paused, waiting for Xaver to protest, but not a word came. That was a surprise. “Your advice is sound, but my instinct tells me to wait until morning, then move on. If we light out like thieves in the night, that will confirm in Orbrad’s mind that our intentions are dishonorable.”

“Very well. I can cast a ward on the door to our chambers. It will give us warning if someone comes for us during the night. For now, that is the most I can do.”

“No arguments, Xaver? I expected at least a small objection or two.”

Xaver rose from his chair and headed for the door. “No, Highness. I fear that when you are sober, you actually make sense from time-to-time.” He twisted the corner of his mouth into an almost-smile, bowed, and slipped quietly from the room.

Lerryn looked at the closed door for a surprised moment, then smiled. “Don’t grow accustomed to it.”

Chapter 26|Awakening

Shanis, wake up

The voice was so distant she could scarcely make it out. Dark. Everything was dark. She seemed to float, cold and sluggish in thick, black, air.

“Come now. Wake up.”

Was that Larris? She felt pressure on her shoulder. Someone was shaking her. Slowly, consciousness clawed its way back to the fore. She was lying face down on the cave floor. Dust clung to her cheek, and her front felt like ice. She rolled onto her back, and opened her eyes. Larris was leaning over her, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. Worry radiated from his deep, brown eyes. Over his shoulder, she saw Hierm looking equally concerned.

“Where’s Allyn?” she mumbled.

“He’s down with Oskar and Khalyndryn,” Larris said. “Can you sit up?” He slipped a hand behind her, and gently helped her sit up. He was stronger than she had realized.

She looked around, and felt her body go cold. The cave was nothing like she remembered. The floor was dusty and uneven. The ceiling was low and jagged. There was no sign of Hyda. There was no fire, nor any remnants. Everything was different.

She rubbed her temples, squeezing her eyes closed. She opened them to find that things still had not returned to the way she had expected to find them. Had any of it even happened?

“I can stand,” she said, though she was not certain of the veracity of that statement. She tried to get her feet under her, wobbled a bit, and felt Larris’ arm around her waist. A moment later, Hierm was on her other side, clutching her right arm, trying to help support her. She waited for the ground to stop moving beneath her feet, then rose to her full height, banging her head on the low ceiling.

“Perhaps you should sit back down.” Larris placed his other hand on her shoulder and tried to push her back down.

“I’ll be fine. It’s just that the ceiling wasn’t this low when I came in earlier.”

“What?” The prince frowned and cocked his head.

“Never mind. How did you find me?”

“We almost didn’t. We looked up and down the pass for you. Finally, Khalyndryn spotted this cave.

The light was such that it was almost invisible. Why did you climb up here, anyway?”

“I’ll explain later.” She turned to Hierm. “I’m surprised you were able to make the climb, what with your headache and all.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Hierm mumbled, blushing and looking away.

So he really had… Her anger at him returned in a flash, searing the cobwebs from her mind. She was about to say something cruel when a thought struck her. Why was she so angry with him? He had always carried a torch for her, while she repaid him with friendship. Close friendship, but nothing more. What did she care what he did with other girls? She had much more in common with Allyn… The remnants of her upset crumbled to dust. Allyn had not been concerned enough to come up here looking for her. Even Larris had shown more concern than Allyn had. She hated men!

“I feel well enough to climb back down,” she announced. “Let’s get moving.”

The setting sun cast long shadows in the rocky gray landscape. They settled in for the night under a deep overhang about ten paces above the path. Toward the back, they found a small pool of water, a seep spring, Oskar had called it, which had collected in an indentation in the rock. After tending the horses, they secured them in a nearby patch of coarse grass and scrub fir trees. They settled in for the night around a tiny cook fire and dined on fruit and dried meat, courtesy of Horgris and his clan.

Larris amused them with a story about a one-armed juggler and a queen’s chambermaid. Some parts were naughty enough to make even her blush, and she was grateful that no one could see her well in the dim firelight. She was surprised that a prince would know, much less tell such a bawdy story. It was good to laugh together and forget the peril they had been in just days past.

“Quiet.” Allyn whispered, raising his hands. “I hear something.” He crawled to the ledge and looked back and forth. “It sounds like men; lots of them. Somewhere to the west.”

“Oskar, douse the fire,” Larris instructed. He picked up his bow and quiver, which lay nearby, and crept to Allyn’s side. “Do you want me to go with you?”

Allyn shook his head. “I’ll take Shanis. She moves quietly, and she’s better with the bow.”

“So you keep reminding me,” Larris said. He sounded annoyed, but in the silver moonlight, Shanis saw a grin on the young man’s face. He handed the bow and quiver to Shanis. “Leave your sword here. It will just get in the way.”

She nodded, ducking her head down and slipping the strap of the quiver over her shoulder. She felt his hand on her arm, and she looked up.

“Be very careful,” Larris said. “We lost you once today, and I didn’t like it.”

The warmth in his brown eyes disarmed her. When had he ceased to be annoying? She nodded, uncertain how to reply, and followed Allyn into the semi-darkness.

“Who are they?” Shanis whispered. They had gone west, following the same path on which they had been traveling earlier in the day, until it made a sharp turn to the south. There, the right side of the trail opened up into a sheer ledge, dropping down to another pathway about fifty paces below. A band of men, at least a hundred in all, garbed in a motley assortment of furs, leathers, and various mismatched bits of chain mail and armor plates, sat in small clusters. Some ate. Most sipped from wineskins and talked in loud voices. Some distance away from the group, and directly beneath Shanis and Allyn, three men who appeared to be in charge were engaged in an animated conversation.

“Mercenaries of some sort,” Allyn whispered, his voice scarcely audible. “From where, I don’t know.” He turned an ear toward the men below them.

They lay facedown on the trail, their heads hanging slightly over the ledge. In the faint light, there was little chance of them being spotted, provided they did not draw attention to themselves. Shanis strained to hear the snatches of conversation that drifted up to them.

“We need to stop fer’ the night. We been walking since before first light.” A skinny man with long, greasy hair and a wicked scar running down his right cheek stood with his thumbs hooked into his belt.

“These men ain’t the kind to be takin’ much orders, anyhow.”

“They will follow orders or they will die where they stand.” The man who spoke was a tall, lean fellow. Everything about him, from the way he spoke to the way carried himself, spoke of grace and danger.

Just looking at him gave Shanis a chill. He lowered his voice, his words sounding almost like a cat purring.

“We have a rendezvous three days hence. I will not be late. Our master does not abide failure.”

“Y’see, that’s the whole problem there,” the third man, a short, rat-faced fellow, spoke up. “None of us is the kind of men who hold to having a master. We’s in this for the gold, which we ain’t seen a spot of yet.

Now if we…”

The tall man lashed out, cracking the speaker across the bridge of the nose with the back of his left fist. Rat Face dropped to his knees with a whimper, blood streaming between his fingers as he pressed his hands to his face. All heads turned toward the sound, turning away just as quickly. The scar-faced man took a step back, his mouth hanging slack-jawed.

“Give the order to march, and cut the throat of the first man who even so much as grumbles. You are all men without a country. Were it not for the grace of the master, you would all be long dead, frozen in the mountain passes to which you were exiled. Betray him, and you die. But I promise you, the lands of the east are fat and lazy. Serve him faithfully, and you will have all the gold you desire.”

Chapter 27|Direction

You cannot abandon the quest.” Allyn sat cross-legged in front of the fire they had rekindled. He and Shanis had waited until they were certain that the mercenaries were gone before reporting back to the others. “It is too important, and you’ve put too much of yourself into it to just pack up and go home.”

“I have just learned that the lands of the east are imperiled by an army of unknown origin. I have a duty to my father and to my country to warn them of this danger. How can I ignore that? We must go back.”

Larris paced to and fro across the mouth of the sheltered overhang in which they were encamped.

Oskar lay on his side, propped up on an elbow, half-listening to the argument. In his mind, he replayed what Allyn and Shanis had told them, turning the information over, trying to make sense of it. The apparent leader, the one Shanis had said gave her the chills, had called the others “men without a country.”

The nations of the east had long held to a practice of banishing their most hardened criminals to the mountains to fend for themselves against the wild animals, the bitter winters, and the other perils that some said existed only in grandmother’s tales. It sounded to him as though someone had organized the survivors into some sort of raiding party. It wouldn’t have been a difficult sell to convince such hard cases as these to plunder the very countries that had left them to die in the first place.

“What would you tell them?” Allyn’s voice had lost some of its usual serenity. “That a hundred or so poorly-armed mercenaries, operating from an unknown location in the mountains are going to raid some town somewhere in the east? How does that information do anyone any good?”

“I believe you underestimate the threat, my friend. They were on their way to meet up with someone else. Obviously the group you saw was not their entire force.” Larris held up his hand as Allyn opened his mouth to interrupt. “And the leader spoke of ‘the lands of the east’. That sounds to me like a more grandiose plan than merely raiding a few villages.”

“Let us say, for argument’s sake, that you are correct,” Allyn said. “The fact remains that we have nothing to tell, save a vague threat from a force of unknown size. Your father could not act upon what information we have, except to put his commanders on alert, which he has already done thanks to Kyrin.” He stopped speaking, his eyes darting to Oskar, then back to Larris, who waved the comment away.

“It’s all right,” Larris said. “We haven’t any secrets from them anymore.”

Oskar doubted that, but it still felt good to hear. He cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention to himself.

“It seems to me that, even if we did have information that was of some value, we would have a hard time getting back to Galdora at all, much less in time to tell anyone of the threat. Your brother is somewhere behind us. And don’t forget that we’re supposed to be in the dungeon in Karkwall right now.

Martrin and Horgris only helped us because we were looking for the Silver Serpent. What will we say to Horgris when we come riding back into his camp after being gone only a few days? Sorry, we couldn’t find it.

Pass the ale.?”

Shanis chuckled and elbowed Hierm in the ribs. “I’ll just bet you’d like to go back to Horgris’ camp, wouldn’t you?”

Hierm tensed for a moment. Then, seeing her smile, he relaxed. “Don’t remind me,” he said, an embarrassed grin on his face. “I never drank that much before and I don’t intend to again.”

“Don’t be like that, friend Hierm,” Allyn said. “Once Larris sees reason and we get back on our quest, I am sure we will find time to build up your tolerance of strong drink. Oh, don’t look at me like that Larris,” he said, staring up at the annoyed-looking young man. “You know that wherever you lead, I follow, but I believe Oskar is correct. Going back is not an option.”

Larris sat down next to Shanis, on the side opposite Hierm. He laced his fingers together and hooked his hands behind his neck. He sat that way, staring at the fire.

“Truth be told, I am almost convinced that we should continue on our quest, but I don’t feel right about it.”

“I have a thought, if I may,” Khalyndryn said in a soft, hesitating voice.

“That would be a first,” Shanis jibed.

“Let us hear what she has to say,” Larris said, grinning at Shanis’ insult.

“What if you are right, and this is one small piece of a big army?” she said. “You told us that you must find the Silver Serpent in order to counter some unknown threat to the kingdom. What if this army is that threat? If we don’t find it, do they win?”

Oskar smacked himself in the forehead, and turned to stare across the fire at Larris, who looked equally amazed. Everyone sat in silent amazement. Shanis was in such shock that Oskar believed he could knock her over with a stick.

“I’m sorry, was that a foolish idea?” Khalyndryn looked embarrassed that she had spoken up.

“Far from it,” Larris said. “My dear, you have convinced me. In the morning, we move on. We must succeed in our quest. I truly believe that the fate of our kingdom rests on our shoulders.”

Shanis hated drawing a middle watch; it always left her feeling groggy the next morning. She preferred waking up extra early for the last watch, rather than have her sleep broken into pieces. She drew her cloak tighter around her, and pulled her knees to her chest. The moon had long since departed, leaving only a faint glow above the dagger peaks of the surrounding mountains.

Hyda’s words weighed heavy on her heart. Which of her companions could be a traitor? It was difficult to believe it of any of them. She evaluated each of them, trying to be objective.

Hierm? Two days before, she would have said “never”, but now she was not so sure. She could not rid herself of the memory of her best friend vanishing into the hut with that… girl. With a shake of the head, she rattled the thought out of her mind, but the bitterness remained. How could he have done that? Another thought occurred to her. Was it possible that the betrayal had already occurred? Could Hyda have been making reference to Hierm’s betrayal of their friendship?

She dismissed the idea almost as soon as it entered her mind. The old woman had clearly indicated that the betrayal would take place in the future. Even more than that, she knew intuitively that it was wrong.

Besides, she wasn’t being entirely fair to Hierm. Yes, she knew that he had feelings for her, but had she reciprocated those feelings? Not really. In fact, how did she feel about Hierm? Did she want anything more than friendship from him? Was it possible that she took some sort of perverse pleasure from the situation: enjoying the admiration, but keeping him at a safe distance? It couldn’t be. Girls like Khalyndryn kept boys on a string, not her. Or did she? A weight hung like a stone in the pit of her stomach, and she hastily moved her thoughts along.

Oskar? Could he betray them? Objectively, she could imagine him getting swept up in the excitement of the adventure, and making an honest mistake. Shanis believed him to be naïve enough to manipulated under the right circumstances.

Larris was a possibility. His quest was of the utmost importance to him. Would he let anyone stand in the way? He was, after all, nobility, and nobles were not famous for caring one whit for regular folk. Then again, Larris had not thus far conformed to her notions of royalty. He did not treat the others as if he was their better. He also impressed Shanis as being an honorable person.

What about Allyn? He was an enigma: fiercely loyal to Larris, but in a manner that seemed to say that their relationship was one of near-equals. He did not, however, seem the sort to act completely independently.

She put off Khalyndryn until last. Though Shanis was convinced that Khalyndryn would not betray the group out of malice, the fact remained that the girl could be a fool at times. She was definitely the most vulnerable member of their little party. Would she be the one?

“Talking to yourself?” Oskar emerged from the darkness of the cave and sat down next to her. He reached over and laid a tentative hand on her shoulder. “Sorry if I’m disturbing you. I couldn’t sleep.” He stretched his legs out straight in front of him, toes pointed forward, arched his back, and groaned deeply.

“Even with a blanket under you, the rocks just seem to suck the warmth right out of you.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Shanis said. “My backside feels like ice. Don’t say anything.” She frowned comically, then scooted up against him and laid her head on his shoulder. She felt his arm around her as he gave her a squeeze. If she ever had a brother, she would want him to be like Oskar.

“What happened in the cave?” His voice was nonchalant as he stared up at the sky. “You didn’t tell us everything. I know you well enough to know that something is wrong.” He let the statement hang there between them. Unusual, as Oskar was seldom comfortable with silence for any length of time.

She wanted to tell him, to unburden herself. But what if it had not really happened? Perhaps the fatigue and the strain had been too much, and the old woman and her prophecy had been a hallucination? Perhaps she shouldn’t…

“There was a woman.” The story poured forth despite her reservations. Hyda’s advice that they must all remain together if they were to succeed. Her apparent distress at what she saw in her scrying. The exhortation that they, that she, must succeed. She held back the detail that one of her companions was untrue. It didn’t seem right to burden Oskar with it. Even if he was not the one, he would drive himself mad with worry that it would be him. What was more, she could not see him keeping it to himself for long. If the group were to remain united through the quest, they could not afford the suspicion that such a revelation would raise.

Oskar just listened. When she had finished, he pulled her close, giving her a hard squeeze. “Did she say anything at all about what frightened her, or why it’s so important that we succeed?”

“No. She was looking down into the bowl, and all of a sudden her eyes got big, and she looked like she had seen a ghost. She told me that we had to succeed, that I must hold fast, and then…”

“What?”

“And then I fell asleep, I suppose. Oskar…” She wasn’t sure she wanted to tell him this next bit. “When I woke up, everything was different. The cave was smaller, and it was empty. No fire, no old woman, nothing.”

“Maybe she carried you to another cave,” he said with little conviction.

“It was the only cave in that cliff face,” she argued. “I wonder if I dreamed it all.”

“You didn’t dream it,” he said. “I can tell by the way you’re reacting just to the memory. It was real. It happened.”

“So what do we do now?”

“The only thing we can do.” He looked out at the dark sky. “We keep going.”

Lerryn slept fitfully, his dreams confused and unsettling. In one, he was trapped at the bottom of a well, struggling to climb out, but his fingers could find no purchase on the slick, smooth stone, and he kept sliding back to the bottom. He was cold and soaked to the bone. Far above him, Orbrad, Nadrin, and Xaver laughed and poured wine down onto his head.

In another dream, one which he remembered with vivid clarity, he knelt before a small fire in a tiny cave as a shriveled old woman told his fortune. She gazed long into a smoking bowl of liquid, then raised her head and fixed him with dead eyes.

You know not where you go. Blind, you are. Blind. With that, she tipped the bowl into the fire. Sparks peppered his face, and thick white smoke burned his eyes and filled his nose. A scream filled his ears. It sounded like his own voice.

He sat up, gasping for air. He took a moment to orient himself to his surroundings, then slipped from his bed. Out of habit, he reached for the bottle of wine. The memory of the well dream still fresh in his mind, he drew his hand back, and moved to the window.

Leaning against the sill, he looked out over the fortified keep of Karkwall castle, and down at the sleeping city.

Only the occasional flicker of light broke the perfect blanket of darkness. He thought he could see movement on one of the streets. His night vision had always been excellent.

“I am not blind,” he whispered, “I just need to know where to go next.” He looked up to the heavens, as if the answer lay there. A sparse array of stars was visible through the ever-present curtain of mist, and a faint hint of the new day glowed a faint gray upon the lip of the horizon. Like a beacon from the gods, a star suddenly caught fire and coursed across the sky, hurtling toward the morning light. It took only a moment for the firestar to burn away, ending its brief trek across the dome of the universe.

But its fiery imprint was etched upon Lerryn’s mind, and he had his answer. “We shall go east.”

Chapter 28|Thandryll

The narrow crush of the mountain peaks opened onto a lush, green valley. A precarious trail ran down the rocky slope, where it met a narrow dirt path. Shanis’ eyes followed the dirt walk up a gentle slope to where it vanished among a cluster of small buildings. Most were small houses with stone foundations and wooden roofs. Some houses had small kitchen gardens, all healthy and heavy with produce. A few people moved about, busy with their daily regimen. It had been a week since they had seen other people and looking down upon the scene from afar gave her the disconcerting sense of being somehow removed from reality.

The village disappeared over a hill. In the distance beyond, the valley sloped upward again to meet the encircling arms of the mountain range. The peaks continued on as far as she could see. She sighed. So they wouldn’t be leaving the mountains anytime soon. She head bleating and looked down to see an old man wandering behind four goats.

The man looked up at the same time, and stopped short. He stared, mouth hanging open. Finally, he spoke.

“Hello?” he squeaked. He raised his hand, palm open, in cautious greeting, then let it fall limp at his side. A short, wiry fellow, his gaunt face was partially obscured by a gray beard, peppered with bits of black. His hair, the same specked gray, he wore short and parted in the middle. He was garbed in deerskin leggings and tunic, and a homespun cloak dyed a hideous shade of red.

Shanis raised her hand, and was about to call down to him when she heard a light scraping of footfalls on stone. She glanced back to see Allyn coming up behind her.

“I didn’t find anything down the path I scouted. I see you had better luck.” His eyes took in the village. As he moved to her side, Shanis elbowed him and nodded down at the man who still stared up at them.

Nonplussed, Allyn greeted the man. “Good day to you sir! We are travelers seeking accommodations. Is there an inn about?”

“An inn?” He cackled, closing his eyes, head tossed back. “An inn!” The fellow collected himself, and opened his eyes. “We have no inn here, young sir, but we can find a place for you and your woman to stay.” He motioned for them to come down.

“I’m not his woman,” Shanis shouted. She immediately felt foolish. The man did not care what her relationship to Allyn was or was not.

He shrugged, as if confirming her thought. “We will feed you and give you a place to stay. Have you any wine?” His face took on an expression of childlike hopefulness.

“Our companions have wine. We will be glad to share it with you.” Allyn said.

“Oh no!” he said. “We must trade. We must trade.” He made a strange crossing motion with his hands.

“Come down, bring your companions, and we will trade with them.”

Shanis found herself wanting to be anywhere but with this strange, manic little man. Something about him made her feel very uncomfortable. Perhaps it was his odd voice or his eccentric manner. Either way, he and his village suddenly seemed very sinister.

“Let’s not go down there,” she said softly, her mouth frozen in a false smile. “Just ask for directions, or something.”

“No,” Allyn said. “We need vegetables, fruit if they have any. We need to sleep in a warm, dry place for at least one night. Why would you not want to go?” His brow furrowed and he cocked his head as he looked at her.

“I don’t know.” The feeling of discomfort was gone. She looked down upon the little goat herder, still gazing innocently up at them, his head tilted to the side like a puppy, and wondered why he had given her a moment’s pause. In this desolate place, he might never have seen an outsider. Perhaps fatigue was clouding her judgment. “Don’t mind me.”

Allyn nodded and turned back to the little man. “What is this place?”

“It is called Thandryll.”

The knock came again. Oskar rolled over onto his stomach, and raised his head. Foggy, his awareness returned slowly. He felt as if he had slept for weeks. He looked down and was surprised to find that he was lying on a bed. After all these weeks of sleeping on the ground, a real bed. He sighed contentedly and flopped back into the straw tick mattress, closing his eyes.

This time the knock was accompanied by a shout. “Oskar! Time to wake up.”

He heard the sound of a door scraping across the floorboards, light footfalls, then he felt the covers stripped off of him. He groaned, turned his head, and opened his eyes. Allyn leaned over him, grinning.

“Is the roof afire?” Oskar grumbled. Allyn frowned and shook his head. “Then there’s no need for me to get up.”

“Fine by me,” Allyn said, “but you’ll miss the feast.”

That got Oskar’s attention. He sat up too fast, and his head swam. He squeezed his eyes closed and pressed his hands to his temples. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Since we arrived this morning. I fear your snoring will become part of the local folklore when we leave. People kept coming to the window to listen.”

“So what is this place like?” As the cobwebs of sleepiness were cleared away, he recalled their arrival in the small village. The villagers crowded around them, all of them small and pale, talking in strange, high-pitched voices. They spoke the same language as Oskar and his friends, but in a stiff, almost formal manner. Even in the short walk through the village, he noticed that sometimes, in place of words, they communicated with strange, hooting sounds. The experience was so surreal as to contribute to his sense of tired confusion.

“It is all right,” Allyn said, sitting down on the bed. “The people have an odd manner of speaking, and they insist on ‘trading’ with us, whatever that means to them. Larris has been meeting with the leader of their village, trying to understand something of their customs. We don’t want to offend them if we can help it.”

“In that case,” Oskar said as his stomach growled, “we don’t want to offend them by showing up late for the meal.”

Allyn led him to a large, lowlying, round structure at the end of the village. The walls, built stockade-style with vertical logs, were only shoulder high, surmounted by a humped thatch roof. Smoke rose from a hole in the center. They arrived at a small, square door. Allyn drew back the hide draped over the entryway, and motioned for him to enter.

Oskar froze as he stepped inside. The floor sloped downward at a sharp angle, gradually smoothing out into a broad, shallow depression, more than fifty paces across. The floor was covered with furs, and people were seated all around, eating, drinking, and quietly conversing. Near the fire in the room’s center, a scrawny man beat out a gentle rhythm on a small drum. In the sparse firelight he could just make out his friends sitting in a cluster near the fireplace along with a local man and woman.

He took his time weaving between the clusters of people. His mother had always said he had all the grace of a drunken bull. Fatigue and inadequate light did not help matters. As he picked his way through, he realized that people were staring at him, and whispering. It’s my imagination, he thought, but the deeper he went into the room, the more obvious it became. Some folks were actually gawking. Joining the others, he sank to the floor next to Hierm, who was chewing on a generous hunk of deer meat on a skewer. Allyn took a seat to Oskar’s right, next to the villagers.

“Why are people staring at me?” he asked the others. “Did they do that to any you?”

“You must forgive us, I pray,” the man seated next to Larris said, leaning forward and fixing Oskar with an overeager smile. “We have never seen anyone as…large as you before. All of you are taller than anyone in our village, but you are…”

“Large.” Oskar completed the sentence for him as he reached for a chunk of meat from the platter of meat, vegetables, cheese, and bread that sat on the floor in the midst of the group. “Do you not have many travelers pass this way?” A slip of a girl dressed in a loose-fitting homespun robe belted with a strip of rawhide knelt down beside him and held out a bottle of wine and an empty cup. Oskar took the bottle from her and turned back to the conversation.

“You are the third to visit us in my lifetime. The others were wanderers. Half-mad mountain men, to be perfectly frank.”

Seated next to the speaker, Larris nodded knowingly. Apparently they had already had this discussion.

“This place is quite far from civilization,” the prince said.

“I suppose.” The man shrugged, taking a sip of his wine.

Oskar took a long pull from his bottle. The wine was sour and weak, but it had a hint of some unusual flavor, like green apples. He swished the drink around his mouth and mulled over the idea of living somewhere so remote that you were virtually cut off from the rest of the world. He swallowed, the wine stinging his throat as it went down.

“Oskar, this is Malram, the chief councilor of Thandryll.” Larris indicated the man with whom Oskar had been talking. “And this is his wife Ramilla.”

Ramilla was a tiny, kind-faced woman with gray-streaked light brown hair, which she wore in a bun. She nodded politely when Larris introduced her. Her husband’s hair was of similar color, and he wore it in a ponytail. His neatly-trimmed beard was generously sprinkled with gray.

Oskar felt a soft touch on his shoulder. He jerked his head to the side and was startled to see that the young girl who had brought his wine was stroking his arm. His first instinct was to jerk away, but he did not want to seem rude. Also, seated at close quarters as they were, he couldn’t have moved very far in any event.

He looked at her face, eyes glistening with…he didn’t know what. Some sort of worship, he supposed. No girl had ever looked at him that way. In his fantasies, it had felt a great deal more comfortable than he felt right now. Besides, she was so young.

“I see my wife fancies you,” Malram said with a smile.

“Your wife?” Khalyndryn, seated next to Larris, leaned across the prince to speak to the councilor. “I thought Ramilla was your wife.”

“I have four wives. Some have more, but I fear I am too old to be, shall we say, a satisfactory husband to any more. Lilan is the youngest of my wives. I fear her needs are quite great.” He smiled indulgently at the little girl the way a man would smile at a favorite dog.

“You are very strong,” Lilan said in a high, almost birdlike voice. She squeezed his arm and her smile grew wider.

If anyone in Oskar’s party was as taken aback as he was, they didn’t say so. It was as if the man wanted him to… He shook his head. This was crazy.

“Isn’t she awfully young to be married?” Shanis asked.

“I am seventeen winters this turn,” the girl said. “I hope to give my husband a child soon.”

Shanis screwed her mouth into a grimace. Appearances notwithstanding, she and Lilan were the same age. Doubtless, Shanis was trying not to imagine having a husband and children.

Oskar grinned at his friend’s discomfort. Lilan, mistaking his smile for encouragement, pressed her body against him, and laid her head on his shoulder.

“A new baby would truly be a blessing to our community,” Malram said. “Perhaps our new friend could help us in that respect? He is obviously of solid stock.”

Oskar coughed and held a fist to his mouth, hoping to hide his blushing. He had read about such a thing once, but thought it little more than a fanciful legend. This man truly wanted him to get a child on his wife? Surely this was some elaborate joke that the fellow had conspired with his friends to play at his expense.

“If not Oskar, perhaps Hierm could oblige you,” Allyn said, his voice dry, and his eyes dull over the top of his upraised wine cup.

For an instant, Oskar thought Hierm was going to jump on Allyn, but he merely smirked and stared intently at the fire in the center of the room. Next to him, Shanis cleared her throat and frowned at Allyn. This was a change. Apparently, Shanis was the only one permitted to needle Hierm about his indiscretion back at Horgris’ camp.

“If I have given offense in some way, friend Oskar, please accept my apology.” Malram formed a diamond shape with his thumbs and index fingers, and bowed, touching the tips his joined fingers to his forehead.

“No offense was taken, I assure you,” Larris said, covering for Oskar’s obvious disconcertment.

“Being married to more than one woman is not something that is part of our culture. We are simply unaccustomed to it.”

“It is of necessity, truly,” Malram said. “We have many more women than men. Being isolated as we are, it is not as if we can marry off our young women to men of other villages. And if we do not reproduce,”

he held his hands open, palms up, and shrugged.

Oskar was about to ask about the dearth of males in the village, but Khalyndryn spoke first.

“Where are the old people?” she asked.

“I beg your pardon?” Malram said. He had an odd look on his face, as if he had been affronted in some way. Next to him, his wife Ramilla stared down into her wine cup, looking sick.

“Men aren’t the only thing you don’t have many of,” she said. She swept her hand in a circle. “Look around. You are one of the oldest people in this room. Where are your elders? Your grandmothers?”

“Khalyndryn,” Larris said carefully, “perhaps that is not a subject that is proper for us to discuss…”

“It is all right.” Malram had regained his serenity. “Life is difficult here. The winters are long and bitter. The growing season is short. Food is always scarce. Sadly, our life expectancy is obviously much shorter than that to which you are accustomed.”

“I am sorry. I did not intend to bring up such a painful subject.” Khalyndryn actually looked sincere.

She reached across Larris’ lap and laid a hand on Malram’s arm.

“Your apologies are unnecessary, I assure you. You are correct that I am one of the oldest in our village. I sometimes wonder how many more winters I will see. It is a difficult thing to reflect upon one’s mortality.” He stared despondently down at the ground for the briefest of moments, then looked up, forcing a smile. “Enough somber talk.” He stood, and clapped his hands three times. The soft murmur of voices faded away, and he moved to the fireside to address the crowd.

“My friends, it is our privilege to welcome our esteemed guests to Thandryll.” He motioned for them to rise, then bowed deeply. They were greeted not by polite applause, but by odd hooting sounds, as if a flock of owls had settled in the rafters. “Let us entertain them with words and music.”

The drummer, who had been tapping out a gentle rhythm while they ate, accelerated his pace, striking a primal beat. Everyone clapped along, and Oskar found himself tapping his foot in time to the music. Many of the young girls moved to the center of the room, and began whirling about the fire. They spun one way, then the other, arms outstretched, heads thrown back so that their unbound hair flew about them. At various places around the room, young men stood and stomped out a muted back beat on the earthen floor. One by one, more girls joined the circle until the area around the fire became so full that Oskar wondered how they avoided crashing into one another. Lilan’s gaze flashed from the dancers to Oskar, then back to the dancers.

With a flash of regret on her face, she rose to her feet and joined the other girls around the fire.

Despite the raucous atmosphere, Oskar noted with interest that the girls’ faces remained solemn as they danced. Lilan turned round and round, like the others her head was thrown so far back that he could see her serious expression and closed eyes. The way she held her arms out, her throat exposed, reminded him of a sacrifice. A vision came to him unbidden of her lying spread-eagle on a stone altar, a knife held above her throat by an unseen hand. The image settled onto him like a dark cloud, and he turned his thoughts and his gaze to his bottle of wine.

“Are you going to share any of that?” Shanis asked, holding out a cup. Her back remained turned toward the dancers. Such things had never been of much interest to her.

“Why don’t you join in the dancing?” Oskar poured generously, laughing at the sour expression on her face.

“Tell you what,” Shanis said, ignoring her wine. “I will take that challenge if you’ll take Lilan up on her offer.”

Oskar choked on the sour wine, and spat it on the ground. “What are you talking about? I barely know her.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. The others made no attempt to conceal their amusement.

“She is a lovely girl, Oskar,” Allyn said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “In any event, perhaps it is time you became a man.”

Larris had the grace to shake his head at Allyn, but Oskar could see the twinkle in the young prince’s eyes. Hierm was keeping quiet, while Khalyndryn was doing her best to look offended, but Oskar could see the amusement in her eyes as well. Become a man. Who was Allyn to say that he was not a man? He was tired of being laughed at. Everyone complimented him for his knowledge, yet treated him like a fool. It’s because I’m big. If I were some slender, pasty-faced fellow, they’d treat me like I knew something. I’m tired of being mocked.

“How do you know I’m not already a man?” He regretted the comment almost immediately. Rather than shocking or silencing the others, it made them laugh aloud. All of them. He looked down at his wine cup and tried to pretend that his face was not burning. “I’m just saying you don’t know,” he muttered.

He was spared Allyn’s reply when Malram stood and clapped his hands thrice again. The sharp, staccato sound caught everyone’s attention. The drumming and dancing ceased, and the hooting started up again. Malram raised his hands and looked around the room, waiting for quiet.

“My friends,” he said, as the sounds faded away, “may we enjoy the words of Barthomes.” The hooting erupted again, filling the domed gathering place with its otherworldly sound. A tiny man stood and daintily picked his path to where Malram stood. They greeted one another by making the odd triangular shape on their foreheads, and bowing.

Barthomes’ hair was snow white, but otherwise he appeared to be several winters younger than Malram.

He stretched his hand out in a grand, sweeping gesture, and the room fell silent as frozen night.

“And how shall I entertain our guests this evening?” he asked the room. His voice was deep and rich.

Oskar wondered at the plotting of the Gods, that such a small body should contain so large a voice. “A poem, perhaps? A story from ages ago?”

“Raw Bruce!” someone shouted, eliciting more hoots.

“Yes!” another cried. The hooting started up, but was quickly overwhelmed by eerie chants of “Raw…Bruce…Raw…Bruce…”

Oskar looked around the room, and was frightened by what he saw. The looks on the local’s faces could only be described as zealous. This must be quite a story, he thought. The whispered chant, the semi-darkness, and the wine he had drunk gave the scene a surreal air. He glanced at Shanis, and was not altogether pleased to see that she, too appeared uncomfortable.

“Very well,” Barthomes replied. “Raw Bruce it shall be.” He lowered his head, his hands together in a gesture like supplication. He stood there for so long that Oskar was wondering if the man had forgotten the words. But finally he lifted his head and stared not so much at, but through the audience. His face had taken on a wooden quality, as if it were a mask, hiding something sinister. He opened his mouth, and the words flowed forth in a rich cadence that seemed almost ritualistic in its ebb and flow.

“We live our days like dying flame,

but none will remember our name,

lest we rise up and defeat fate,

and become one anointed great.

So open your ears.

My tongue I will loose.

As I tell you the tale

of the brave man Raw Bruce.”

The chanting resumed. “Raw Bruce! Raw Bruce! Raw Bruce!” It ceased, as if on cue, as Barthomes began the next stanza.

“All vested in green his warriors they came.

But our brave Raw Bruce had no thought of fame.

For down from the hills, and cold mountain peaks,

came minions of ice. Midst their angry shrieks,

Raw Bruce he did turn, and urge his men on,

knowing full well they would not see the dawn.”

He spread his arms and lowered his head again. This time, there was no chanting. Everyone waited, anticipating the rest of the story.

He is quite the showman, Oskar thought. The others in his party were as enraptured as he, wondering how the story would end. They all gazed intently at Barthomes, their wine forgotten. Even Khalyndryn, who rarely showed interest in old tales, was paying attention.

The story continued, and Oskar was spellbound. The beauty of Barthomes’ voice, and the hypnotic cadence of his retelling captivated the audience. Oskar listened eagerly as Raw Bruce led his forces in a reckless charge into the left flank of the Ice King’s army. The creatures of ice, and coldheart soldiers were caught off-guard by the aggressive tactic, and Raw Bruce’s charge ripped through their lines. Not slowing, they fought their way through the reserve forces, paying a dear price. Raw Bruce himself led the way. The powerful warrior, half again taller and broader of shoulder than his biggest soldier, fought with a broadsword in each hand, and cold blood flew wherever he led. Oskar supposed the man’s size, and perhaps his prowess had been exaggerated over time, but the thought was merely a minor one in the back of his consciousness, and did not detract from the tale.

Raw Bruce and his men fled into a narrow pass, leaving behind one of every three men lying dead or wounded on the field of battle. Their enemies, surprised by the fury of Raw Bruce’s attack, were slow to pursue. Just over a rise and around a bend in the pass, the heroic leader placed himself and a company of his most loyal foot soldiers directly in the path of the assault. The remainder of his forces he sent up onto the ridges on either side. Moving with haste, they got into position before the bulk of the Ice King’s forces engaged them.

Bravely, Raw Bruce and his finest held the line in ferocious hand-to-hand, and hand-to-claw combat, standing against overwhelming odds until all of the forces of ice were backed up in the pass. That was when the archers opened up from above, raining death upon the coldhearts and ice beasts. Other soldiers hurled boulders and logs down onto their enemies. The ice creatures tried to climb the walls, but were summarily brought down by the arrow fire that raked the sheer stone walls. As the rear elements of the Ice King’s army faltered, Raw Bruce and his men fell back. The front ranks, now reduced to the wildest and most ferocious of the coldheart warriors, charged recklessly after them, to be met by the cavalry Raw Bruce had held in reserve just out of sight. Their resolve broken, the minions of ice fled from the pass, harried by the cavalry and peppered by missile fire all the way out. They poured out through the valley, their numbers reduced by more than half, and scattered into the mountains.

“And so, my dear friends, this story now ends,

but remember you ev’ry word.

His men he did save, for Raw Bruce was brave,

and cunning as the fox on his standard.”

Oskar frowned. Suddenly, the tale sounded familiar, as if he had heard it long ago. What was it that caught his attention?

“And remember with pride, that here many men died,

their blood crimson on the green grass.

For our homes we have wrought, on the site where they fought, in the shadow of brave Raw Bruce Pass.”

Oskar’s stomach lurched, and he staggered to his feet, scarcely hearing the hoots of approval bestowed upon Barthomes by his fellow villagers. He felt cold inside, but he trembled with excitement. His head was dizzy with the thrill of discovery, a feeling he had not felt since he had learned that he possessed the map to the lost city of Murantha. He had to be right!

“Are you all right?” Larris asked. He clambered to his feet and grabbed hold of Oskar’s arm, as if to steady him.

“I’m fine,” Oskar said. He was surprised that Larris had not made the connection. Perhaps the prince had imbibed a bit too heavily. “Come outside with me for a moment. I want to talk with you about something.”

Larris frowned, looking Oskar in the eye. With a shrug, he turned to Malram, who made his strange, fingers-in-a-diamond bow, and indicated that the two might take their leave.

Outside, Larris stepped in front of Oskar and grabbed his shoulders. “What is this about? Are you ill?

Is it Allyn? He doesn’t mean anything by his jests. He is just so dry that people take him…What are you looking at?”

Oskar drew away from Larris, and turned slowly about, admiring how the setting sun shone golden on the knife tips of the mountain peaks. This had to be the place!

“I’m marveling at how the setting sun makes the peaks encircling the valley look like a golden crown.”

He paused, waiting for Larris to react. It was only a moment.

“A golden crown! Raw Bruce…Robrus. Oskar, this is it! You did it again!” He wrapped an arm around Oskar’s neck and jumped up and down. “I was so discouraged, so distracted by the army we saw, it did not even occur to me.” He laughed.

“Stories change over time,” he said, his words coming faster, “and so do names. Barthomes’ account of the battle is the reverse of how I have always read it, though his version makes more sense. The valley…

Robrus’ Pass. These are the descendants of those soldiers. They’ve been cut off for so long from the rest of the world for generations. That is why they seem so small, so unhealthy. No wonder Malram wanted you to mate with Lilan. A robust fellow like yourself would add strong blood to their lines. Oskar, how did I not realize it?”

“It was not until he mentioned the fox standard that I connected the two stories,” Oskar explained.

“Then he said ‘Raw Bruce’s Pass’, and it sounded so much like Robrus’ Pass that I knew it had to be true.” He realized, as he stared at the overjoyed Larris, that his feelings of resentment had abated. Some might think him a great oaf, but he knew better. Twice now, he had come through. He just stood there for a moment, enjoying the heady feeling of vindication, but eagerness to explore quickly got the better of him. “Should we tell the others?”

“Not yet. Let’s find the pass first, just to be certain. It must be on the far end of the valley, over that rise.”

Chapter 29|Golorak

Stopping for Larris to retrieve his sword, and Oskar his staff, they hastened through the deserted village.

Oskar wanted to bounce like a little boy at play. Pride swelled within him so strong he felt he would rupture.

Not only was he along on a grand adventure, he was a real part of it. Not just some tagger-along.

They moved quickly through the deserted village. Everyone had apparently gone to the gathering. The clustered houses gave way to a gently sloping field, beyond which the mountains closed in. Cresting the hill, they scanned the rocky slopes until Larris spotted something.

“Over there.” He indicated a place where the shadows deepened from gray to black. As they approached, it resolved into a narrow crevasse, sloping upward. Without hesitation, they headed in.

The sharp rock dug into the soles of his boots as he clambered over the rubble from erosion and rockslides that cluttered the path. He laid his hand against the cold, firmness of the stone that walled them in. He imagined he could actually feel that ancient strength of the mountains. How much had these fractured old stones seen?

Side-by-side they picked their way up the gentle slope. Cresting the rise, they looked out upon the beauty of the mountain peaks, aglow in the shimmering light of the cradle moon. Oskar held his breath, awestruck by the spectacle. The mountains before them were not as tall as the ones through which they had come. There was no sign of snow on any of them. Everything seemed to slope downward from here. It was as if he was standing on the highest spot in the world.

“We’re on the divide,” Larris said, his voice made soft by the wonderment which mirrored that which Oskar felt. “And beyond those peaks is…”

“The Lands West,” Oskar breathed. “Wild men, barren wastes, and parched deserts. Do you know anyone who has been there?”

“No,” Larris replied, still gazing ahead. “A lord from the eastern part of the kingdom tried it once. I fear he had more gold than sense.”

“Does that not go without saying when speaking of a noble?” Oskar jibed.

Larris gave him a withering stare before continuing. “At any rate, he came to court with some outlandish story about black gold, and petitioned my father to finance his expedition. My father refused, of course. Somehow, the fool raised enough to buy and crew three ships. He set sail for the Boot.”

Oskar shook his head. The very idea of sailing around the Boot! “I suppose he was never heard from again.”

Larris’ grin was all the answer he needed.

“Did you hear something?” Larris cocked his head and turned an ear toward the pathway.

Oskar strained to listen. A whisper of wind, the rustle of scrub brush, and then the distinctive clink of metal on stone. He tightened his grip on his staff and looked around. He saw nothing.

Larris eased his sword from its scabbard. Holding it at the ready, he crept forward. Oskar followed, hoping he would not stumble. His father had always called him “Oxfoot” for his clumsiness.

The sound came again, sharp in the stillness of the evening, this time followed by an odd, groaning sound.

Oskar’s first thought, though, was of the ice cats, as if one might be wearing armor or carrying a sword. He chastised himself and focused on picking his way quietly across the broken rocks, ignoring the tightness in his throat and the cool sweat that was beading on the back of his neck.

A few paces down the slope the pathway made a hard bend to the left. Larris pressed his back against the inner wall, scooted up to the bend, and peered around.

Oskar could barely see his friend in the deepening shadows. He moved cautiously up behind Larris, resisting the urge to ask him what he saw. He did not have to wait long.

After only a moment’s pause, Larris stepped around the corner, motioning for Oskar to follow. Rounding the corner, he saw a man lying chained to a wide, flat rock in the center of the path. They moved to either side of him.

The fellow was obviously one of the villagers. He had the look about him, and was garbed in the same fashion as the others they had met. His graying hair and beard told him to be of late middle-years. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his eyes were open wide, and his breath came in gasps.

“Are you hurt?” Oskar asked, not knowing what to say. The man shook his head and continued his labored breathing. “We’ll get you out of here.” He glanced up to see Larris examining the shackle that bound one of the man’s wrists, and shaking his head.

“You,” the man gasped, “you must go.” He swallowed loudly, and took a deep breath. “Golorak. He comes.

You must go!”

“What is a golorak?” Larris asked, leaning over the captive.

“Golorak! You must go now!”

Oskar opened his mouth to speak, but a scratching sound drew his attention. He turned to see a bizarre shape appear in the dim light. It was the height of a draft horse, and three times the breadth at the chest. Moonlight glowed faint off the scaly hide covering its muscular form. Its shape was vaguely like that of a bull, but sleeker, with massive hind legs and a long, thick tail. Shadows rippled across its powerful haunches, and the long, sharp claws that tipped all four feet shone like daggers. The beast had no visible neck. Its wide head and bulging eyes reminded Oskar of a frog. Its gaze locked upon them, and it hissed angrily, opening its mouth to reveal rows of razor teeth.

Oskar could not move, could not breathe. Twice now, he had encountered ice cats. In both cases, the attacks had come swiftly, and ended just as fast. There had been no time to be afraid. Now, the golorak’s measured approach froze his very soul.

Larris raised his sword and took a step backward. “Oskar,” he said softly. “Run. Don’t look back.”

“I don’t think I can.” Oskar said truthfully. His eyes remained locked on the golorak. He had no doubt that the creature would catch him before he had run twenty paces.

“You must finish it, Oskar,” Larris said firmly. “Finish the quest. You can do it. Run back to the village. I’ll slow it down as much as I can.”

The full realization of what he was saying struck Oskar like a hammer. He took an involuntary step backward, more out of surprise than any desire to flee. “No. I won’t do it.”

“One of us has to live, Oskar. They can’t do it without at least one of us. They don’t have the knowledge.”

Without warning, Larris darted toward the beast, his sword raised, his defiant roar rose above the terrified shrieks of the chained man.

Oskar tried to run, but he could not take his eyes away from the scene before him. The golorak paused only a moment before charging. Larris darted to his left, just avoiding the wicked claws. He struck hard with his sword, slicing the beast across the haunch, but his blade had no visible effect. The golorak hissed, whirled and charged again. Larris’ blade bounced off the beast’s hide, and its claws slashed his shoulder. He cried out in pain, but gritted his teeth and kept his sword in front of him.

Oskar had never felt so powerless. The staff in his hands would be useless, and Larris would never survive long enough for him to go for help. In fact, it was highly doubtful that Larris could last long enough for him to escape with his life. In that moment, there was nothing more he wanted than to save his friend. Everything he had ever wished for, all his hopes and dreams fell away. He stood alone with his own complete and utter helplessness, and his all-consuming need. He was nothing. He surrendered.

An icy fire swept through him. His body seemed to draw it in from all around him. Up from the ground it raged. His skin seemed to absorb it from the very air. It roiled through him, up through his legs, down his arms, and whirling in the center of his chest.

Something leapt forth from within him. He grunted as a blinding white light shot forth from his extended fist that still clenched his staff out in front of him. The beam struck the golorak in mid-leap, ripping through it at an angle from behind its left shoulder. The creature uttered nary a sound as its head and leg were severed from its body, the remains falling heavily at Larris’ feet. The prince stared blankly at the lifeless form, blood soaking his sleeve, his sword still held aloft.

Oskar’s body tingled all over, but all strength had left him. His legs were like water. He dropped limply to his knees, and knelt there, staring straight ahead.

“What happened?” Larris asked, looking at Oskar with a baffled expression.

Oskar did not know precisely what had happened. Whatever it was, he wasn’t ready to share it. “It was…lightning,” he said, hoping Larris would take the uncertainty in his voice for shock or weariness.

“Lightning,” Larris echoed, looking up at the cloudless sky. “Amazing.”

“It was, Master,” the man on the rocks whimpered, straining to rise. “I seen it. A flash of white light. Cut the golorak clean in two. Nothing can harm the golorak.”

“Something or someone must be looking out for us,” Larris said, though the flat tone of his voice indicated that he did not believe it. His eyes vainly scanned the surrounding cliffs, as if he could see anything in the impending darkness. “At any rate, we must get you off of this rock, assuming you have no further objections master…”

“Kelrom,” the man said. “And no, Master, I do not object. You see, the golorak, it feeds on… fed on us.

Every new moon, we gave a sacrifice, and it lets the village be.”

“I see,” Larris replied sardonically. “I suppose that explains the lack of elders in your village.”

“And the lack of men,” Oskar said, using his staff to help himself to his feet. “One man can impregnate several women. As long as they keep a few healthy young men, they can maintain their population. It must be how they survived with so few resources.” The shock of whatever it was he had just done was forgotten as he fit the pieces of the puzzle together. “The infirm, the weak, likely even anyone with a serious injury, anyone expendable.

On the rock, Kelrom nodded. “You have the right of it, young sir. We knew not what else to do. It is the way it has always been done.”

“I cannot even begin to fathom it,” Larris said. “I assume there is someone in the village who can unlock these?”

The sound of voices reverberated down the passageway, along with that of feet scrabbling on loose rock.

“Here they come,” Oskar said, looking back.

Soon, torchlight flickered on the walls of the passage. Allyn and Shanis appeared at the head of a column of villagers. Shanis ran to Oskar’s side.

“What happened to the two of you? You disappear, and then next thing we know, someone comes rushing in telling us there’s some strange light up on the hill.” She paused, noticing Larris’ injury. “What happened?”

“It looks worse than it is,” Larris said.

Shanis frowned, but before she could argue with him, she caught sight of Kelrom. “Who is that?”

“It’s a long story,” Oskar said. He had not regained his strength, and he was feeling woozy. He placed a hand on Shanis’ shoulder to steady himself. She touched a warm, dry palm to his forehead.

“You’re all clammy.” She took hold of his hand. “Oskar, you’re like ice. Are you hurt too?”

“There was a…” He put his hand to his head and leaned against his staff, trying to explain what happened.

Where should he begin? Should he tell her about…whatever it was he had done?

“The golorak!” Someone shouted. “They have slain the golorak.” A woman shrieked and fell to her feet, covering her eyes. Others groaned, or cried out. It almost seemed as if they were somehow angry.

Larris and Allyn appeared at their side, along with Malram. The villager wore a tight-lipped frown.

“I do not understand what has happened here,” he said.

Larris quickly recounted how they had found Kelrom, then were attacked. He did not offer any explanation as to how they had slain the golorak, but Malram did not let the omission pass.

“But how did you slay the golorak? No weapon can pierce its hide. Our ancestors tried…” he held his hands out, his face blank.

“Lightning struck it,” Oskar said.

“Lightning?” Malram looked up at the clear sky, just as Larris had done. “I suppose that would explain the bright light Lilan saw when she went out looking for you.” He looked directly at Oskar as he said the last.

“That was no lightning I saw,” Lilan piped up from behind her husband. “The light came up from behind the hills. It was the brightest I have ever seen.”

“I only saw a flash of light. My attention was on the beast that was about to kill me,” Larris said, turning to cock an eyebrow at Oskar. The others followed suit.

“If it wasn’t lightning, then I have no idea what it was,” Oskar said. There was an element of truth to his statement. He had no idea what the light was. That it somehow came from him was not a detail he intended to share.

“They called down lightning on it,” someone in the crowd murmured. The villagers who had followed Malram gravitated toward the remains of the beast that had held them in terror for countless grandfathers past. Slowly, curiosity overcame fear, and soon they were huddled around the remains of the golorak.

“What about Kelron?” Oskar asked, embarrassed that he had forgotten the poor fellow.

“Ah, yes.” Malram appeared uncertain what to do.

“For the god’s sake, let the man loose!” Shanis scolded. “There’s no monster anymore.” She spoke slowly and loudly as if she were speaking to someone thick-skulled and hard of hearing. “You no longer have to feed your people to it.”

“I beg your pardon,” Malram replied tersely, the glare in his eyes belying his apology. “This is all a shock to me. If you will now excuse me.” He turned and stalked over to the sacrificial stone. Fishing a key from inside his robe, he freed Kelron, who sat up slowly and began rubbing his wrists.

Oskar still felt wrung-out, but he wanted a closer look at the creature that had nearly claimed their lives. Still using his staff for support, he picked his way over to the crowd that encircled the beast. They gave way, awestruck by the slayers of their nemesis.

He knelt down alongside the bulk of the creature. Full night was upon them, but the moonlight and torchlight blended to cast the creature in a wavering golden light. He lay a hand on the smooth, reptilian scales.

Unlike the ice cats, it was not cold to the touch, though the warmth of its body was scant. His eyes moved to the wound in front of the shoulder, where…whatever it had been had sliced through the golorak. He sucked in his breath at the sight. It was cut through as cleanly as a baker would slice a loaf of bread. What did I do?

A chill breeze swept through the assembled group. He rose and shrugged his cloak up around his shoulders. Larris, Hierm, Allyn and Shanis were engaged nearby in quiet conversation.

“Where’s Khalyndryn?” he asked, sidling up alongside Allyn.

“Left her in the village,” Shanis replied, her expression unreadable. “Larris was just telling us how the two of you came to be out here in the first place.”

“I should like to hear that explanation as well.” Malram stood with his arms folded across his chest. The other villagers were clustered behind him, most staring with expressions of disapproval or outright anger.

“Why are you looking at us like that?” Shanis snapped, stepping toward the group. “You live in this valley, feeding your people to this creature. Now it’s dead, and you’re angry with us?” Larris grabbed her forearm, but she pulled away. “No! I’ve been chased from my home, attacked by the gods-only-know-what kind of monsters, been thrown into a dungeon. I’ll take no more!” She stalked toward the knot of villagers, her eyes wide with anger. Oskar had seen that look before, and he feared for Malram.

Shanis stood nose-to-forehead with the village leader poked a finger into his chest. “You will take a civil tone with us,” she said, her voice icy calm. “We will not be interfered with, nor will we abide another moment of your sour looks and suspicious questions. You owe us a debt of gratitude. Do you understand?” The last came out as little more than a whisper, but it was clearly audible in the stillness.

The villagers fell back a pace, but to Oskar’s surprise, Malram did not back down. He met her stare, his mouth working, but producing no sound. Oskar’s heart was racing, and he counted twenty beats as he waited for one of them to break the silence. He was not afraid. He and his companions could dispatch these frail little people with ease. Freeze me! What am I thinking? He turned to Larris and gestured for the prince to do something, but he hesitated before stepping in.

“Master Malram, it was not our intention to abuse your hospitality. We have been through a number of hardships of late, and I fear our nerves are stretched thin.” He glanced at Shanis, who thankfully remained silent. “On behalf of myself and my party, I apologize.”

Shanis locked eyes with Larris, and they stared at one another nearly as long as she and Malram had. Oskar felt his heart lift when finally, she nodded her head. “I apologize for shouting at you,” she said to Malram, taking a step back and lowering her head. “I am tired, and I was frightened for my friends.”

Malram’s frown made a deep, v-shaped furrow across his forehead. “I fear that my tone of voice did not help matters,” he said. “Please hear me. I must know what you were doing out here tonight. I must know why all of you are here. I must.”

The hesitation Larris had shown earlier was gone. Without so much as a glance toward any of his comrades, he sprang up on top of the stone where Kelrom had been chained. Facing the villagers, he drew the leather cord from his shirt, and held up his signet ring.

“I realize that this symbol will mean nothing to you, nor will the name of my country, but it is the symbol of my house and my birthright. I am the Second Prince of the nation of Galdora. The frost creeps forward again. We have twice been attacked by minions of the Ice King.” A collective gasp went up from the listeners.

“For my kingdom, my bloodline, and for the good of all those who walk under the heat of the sun, I seek the Silver Serpent.”

Shrieks rose anew from the villagers, even louder than when they had discovered the slain golorak.

Malram raised his hands to the sky and dropped to his knees. In groups of two and three, the villagers, many of them weeping, approached the stone. They prostrated themselves before Larris, softly chanting, “Bringer of heat. Bringer of heat.”

Someone grabbed Oskar’s forearm, and he turned to see Hierm standing next to him, looking baffled.

“I thought Larris was crazy for telling them,” he whispered. “Now look at them. What does this mean?”

Bringer of heat. Bringer of heat.

“I don’t know,” Oskar replied. “But at least it doesn’t appear we’ll have to fight them.” He looked over Hierm’s shoulder to see Khalyndryn round the bend, followed by more villagers. She frowned at the strange sight, but surprisingly had the good sense to remain quiet. Allyn walked over to meet her, taking her by the elbow and guiding her over the loose rocks with the aid of his torch, to stand by Hierm and Oskar.

“Where is Shanis?” she asked.

“Over there.” Allyn tilted his head in Shanis’ direction.

She stood only a few paces from Malram, arms folded, and foot tapping like an impatient mother. She stared up at Larris with a mix of disgust and wonder painted on her face. One corner of her mouth was tilted up in the beginnings of a smile.

Larris surveyed the scene as the newly-arriving villagers joined the ranks of their brethren, falling prostrate to the ground and joining in the chant. He cocked an eyebrow at Allyn, who shrugged and shook his head. Larris turned back to Malram, who had finally risen to his feet.

Bringer of heat.

“My friends,” Malram said, his tone now changed from annoyance to wonderment, “I ask that you return with us to the village. “Tomorrow, we must trade.”

Chapter 30|Connections

Our clan chief’s hut be there,” the young man said, indicating the largest of the primitive-looking structures that encircled the floor of the tiny canyon. “I will notify him of your arrival.”

“And to whom do I owe thanks for guiding me?” Aspin asked, reining his horse in and looking around for a place to tie off the reins.

The fellow’s eyes narrowed, and he cocked his head to the side.

“What is your name, young man?” Aspin spoke loudly and slowly, as if speaking to a dullard. Despite his weariness, he knew that he should not treat the lad so, after all he had saved Aspin at least two days of riding and what would likely have been a dull, if not outright unpleasant visit to Karkwall. The party he had described to Aspin had to be the Malan girl and her friends. Who the other two with them were, he could not deduce.

“Oh. My name be Jamnir. At your service, Sai-kur.” He thumped his fist to his chest and bowed, keeping his eyes on Aspin as if to see what else he might do to unintentionally give offense.

Aspin looked down at the Monaghan scout. His bright red whiskers scarcely covered his cheeks. “Jamnir, I wish to thank you for guiding me to your encampment. I shall commend you to your clan chief. What is his name?”

“Horgris, sir. His name be Horgris.” Jamnir’s features relaxed, obviously relieved that he had not drawn the ire of a Sai-kur. “If you be allowing me, I’ll see your horse be tended to.”

“I would be most appreciative,” Aspin said, slipping out of the saddle and stepping down onto the spongy turf. He passed the reins to Jamnir before freeing his saddlebags and slinging them over his shoulder. “Lead the way.”

Jamnir hastily turned Aspin’s mount, as well as his own, over to a young lad of no more than ten summers, unless Aspin missed his guess. They walked over to the hut that Jamnir had indicated. As they approached, he heard shouts from within.”

“You’ll be telling me now, girl!” A voice like low thunder rolled through the damp morning mist. “I’ll be knowing it, or you’ll be marrying the first goat-herder I be setting my eyes on!”

“I will not!” a strident, female voice shrieked. “I will be telling you when I be ready, and not a moment sooner!”

“If it be Granlor, just tell me.” The rough voice had softened a bit, but not much.

“It not be Granlor. Just leave me be!” A pretty, round-faced girl with auburn hair burst through the doorway, jostling Jamnir as she stalked past. A moment later, a large, heavyset man clad in the traditional Monaghan garb, emerged.

“Rinala!” he shouted, though he made no move to follow her. “Fool girl,” he muttered. He turned toward Aspin, his brown eyes locking in on him with the challenging gaze of a cornered wolf. “Who this be?”

Jamnir’s eyes darted from Horgris to Aspin and back to Horgris again. He swallowed, and took a deep breath. “Ah, Horgris, this be, ah…”

“My name is Aspin. I am a Sai-kur. This young man was good enough to guide me to your camp. I believe you can help me locate some people I am looking for. I realize that this is probably not the ideal time for you to receive a visitor, but…”

“Ah, it be no matter.” Horgris waved a beefy hand at him, and turned back toward the hut. “Come inside.

Do you drink skok, or be you weak in the gut?”

Aspin smirked. It was refreshing to be around someone who was neither intimidated by the Sai-kur cloak, nor openly hostile toward him. This Horgris fellow would be interesting.

He entered the hut, ducking slightly as he passed through the doorway. A fat-burning lamp cast the room in a smoky, yellow haze. Save the small table where the lamp rested alongside a jug and a few mismatched mugs, the only furnishings were a few blankets on the floor.

Horgris motioned for him to sit, before filling two mugs. He drained one and refilled it before passing the second to Aspin, and taking a seat on one of the blankets.

“My daughter Rinala,” he said, shaking his head, “gone and got herself with child.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Aspin said levelly, taking a sip of skok. Vile stuff, really, but he needed information, and did not wish to offend his host. At least not until he had learned all he could.

“Bah!” Horgris made a dismissive gesture. “I no care about that. But she’ll no tell me who the father be. I want the boy, whoever he be, to live up to his responsibilities, that be all.” He took a gulp of skok, closing his eyes and smiling as he swallowed.

“I am certain she will tell you when she is ready,” Aspin said. In Monaghan culture, it was incumbent upon the host to initiate business discussions. For Aspin to broach the subject of the Malan girl before Horgris inquired as to the reason for his visit would be the height of rudeness.

“No doubt,” Horgris grumbled, staring down into his mug. “I be a grandfather soon. Hard to believe.” He snapped his head up. “I no look like a grandfather, do I?”

“Not at all,” Aspin replied truthfully. The man, despite his girth, was obviously robust. He exuded strength.

“You be a good liar. I like that.” Horgris laughed, a sonorous sound, and raised his cup. “To the seeds of my planting!”

Aspin raised his mug, and recited a blessing remembered from a lifetime ago. “May your descendants be as plentiful as the stars of night.” He took a healthy swallow, squeezing his eyes closed and willing himself not to shudder as the drink scorched his throat.

“May they be so, but no time soon, yes?” Horgris took another drink. “Very well. Now you will be telling me what you be doing here.”

“I am searching for the daughter of a friend,” Aspin began, grateful that Horgris seemed one to appreciate directness. “A young woman, a girl really, taller than you, red hair, gray eyes. She dresses like a boy, and carries a sword. I understand from young Jamnir that someone meeting her description passed through here not long ago.” He took another sip of skok, thankful for its warmth in this cold, damp place.

“Ah yes. That one, she be traveling with Prince Larris.”

Aspin choked, spewing his drink all over the front of his cloak. A series of racking coughs cleared the drink from his windpipe.

“You be all right?” Horgris asked, looking perplexed.

“Fine,” he wheezed. A fine thing for a Sai-kur to let himself show surprise like that. What was Larris doing down here? And how in the god’s names had the Malan girl gotten mixed up with him? “Just haven’t had skok in quite some time. Went down the wrong way.”

“Ah.” Neither the utterance nor the look on Horgris’ face indicated whether or not he believed the explanation. “Why you be looking for the girl?”

Many of Aspin’s order might have taken the opportunity to educate Horgris as to the impropriety of questioning a Sai-kur’s motives. He chose not to do so. For one, arrogant people annoyed him. For another, he suspected that such a comment might elicit a half-hearted apology from Horgris, but the clan chief would likely deny having any further knowledge of the Malan girl. He decided to lie instead.

“The girl set off adventuring. She has always wanted to be a soldier, which a woman cannot be in Galdora.

She spirited away three other youngsters from her village. Her father is an old friend, and he asked me to bring her home.”

“Finding lost children no seem like important enough business to be troubling one of your lot.” Horgris put his cup down, and folded his arms across his chest, resting them on his paunch. “And how she come to travel with a prince of Galdora if she be no more than a runaway?” He sat, waiting for an explanation.

“I owe her father a debt,” Aspin said. “As for the latter, I was hoping you could tell me. Did Larris say where they were going, or what they were doing?” He took another drink, hoping the Monaghan would be forthcoming with something helpful.

Horgris sat in quiet contemplation for a long while, his drink forgotten. Finally, he sighed and looked Aspin directly in the eye. “You be a Seeker, so I no can think of a reason not to tell you. But first you answer me this, and answer true. The girl you seek have the look of a Monaghan about her, but she be having the eyes of a Malgog. Do she truly be Galdoran?”

“I know for a fact that she was born and lived her life in Galdora,” Aspin said. He could tell by Horgris’

frown that this answer would not suffice. “Her father was born a Malgog. I did not know her mother.” It was almost the truth.

Horgris raised his eyebrows and leaned forward. Whatever he was thinking, he did not share. “Very well, Seeker. I can tell you what your Galdoran, Malgog, maybe Monaghan girl be about, and where she be headed.

I sent them to the Ramsgate. They be in search of the Silver Serpent.”

Aspin was grateful that he had not been taking a drink when Horgris said that, else he might have choked again. Pieces rapidly fell into place, and others began to organize themselves in at least a remotely sensible fashion. Lerryn’s sword tournament held in the middle of nowhere suddenly made a certain amount of sense.

But how had the girl ended up with Larris? Were the princes working together? And if so, did that mean that Larris was under Xaver’s sway? That was unfair. He had nothing more than an instinctive dislike of Lerryn’s vizier upon which to ground his suspicions. His mind was abuzz with possibilities.

“I see that be meaningful to you,” Horgris observed, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “I be thinking it might be important.”

Aspin couldn’t resist taking the man down a peg. “Horgris, are you a member of the order?” The smile fell from the man’s face instantly, and he gaped at the Sai-kur. “You had to be. Why else would you have aided them? What I don’t understand is why you did not go after it yourself.”

Horgris picked his cup back up, but did not drink. “Boys from the clan, they go in search of it from time-to-time. Foolishness, mostly. We can no spare the men, what with the Malgog raiding us all the time.”

Aspin noted that he did not mention the Monaghan raiding the Malgog. “Besides, we no know where to look.

One legend say it be in a lost city beyond the Ramsgate, another say it be carried away to…” his eyes flitted toward Aspin, then away again, “to another place.”

He was going to say Vatania, Aspin thought. “But Larris believes he knows where to find it?”

Horgris nodded. “He be looking for Robrus’ Pass. Says if he be able to find it, he be able to find the city.

I tell him the location of the pass be lost to memory, but I send him to the Ramsgate. Wasting his time if you be asking me.”

Aspin’s thoughts raced again. He had never put much store in prophecy, dismissing it as the ratings of madmen. However, this was too much of a coincidence to ignore. If the bearer of the Silver Serpent was to be the one to reunite the clans, then would not the reverse be true as well? Would the one chosen to reunite the clans be fated to bear the Serpent? And what became of his plan if the wrong person discovered it? It was too much to worry over. He could only control his own actions, and right now, he needed to find the girl.

“What be on your mind, Seeker? I know how you and yours be doing your business. Things be not so simple as you make them seem. Tell me I be wrong.”

How much should he tell? “The frost creeps again.” He expected to see surprise on Horgris’ face, but the man simply nodded. “That does not surprise you?”

“We be attacked by ice cats the first time I be meeting up with Larris and that girl. First ones I ever be seeing in my lifetime. And I hear tell the wolves and pumas be ranging far out of their territory. Something be pushing them out; something they be afraid of.”

“Have you heard anything else? Anything that might be of importance?”

“One of my scouts come across a mountain man, half-wild he be. Said he seen an army moving through the passes far west of here. My scout say he no see any sign this way, and he doubt there be an army, but he believe the man be telling the truth as he be seeing it. A man live alone in the mountains, perhaps fifty men be seeming an army to him. Still, it be strange.”

“Strange indeed.” Aspin took another swallow of skok, now so immersed in thought as to be blissfully oblivious to the taste. Perhaps fifty men, and perhaps not. “Can you direct me to this Ramsgate?”

Chapter 31|Brisacea

Your Highness, might we have leave to walk around the city?” Hair, flanked by Bull and Edrin, stood on the opposite side of the table, eyes wide with excitement.

Lerryn sometimes forgot that even a city of moderate size, like Brisacea, was far beyond the realm of these country boys’ experience.

“You may, but do not wander far, and be back here before sunset. I don’t want to have to go looking for you.” He fished into his belt pouch and withdrew a few coins. He inspected them, culling the golds, and handing the rest to Hair. “Enough to enjoy yourself, but not enough to get into too much trouble, I suppose.”

“Thank you, Highness!” Hair exclaimed, bowing. Bull and Edrin murmured their agreement, and made awkward bows. They turned and hurried toward the door. Pedric Karst, who had been sitting nearby with his feet propped on a table, stood and made to follow them.

“Not you, Master Karst.” Lerryn gritted his teeth as Karst turned, his ordinarily sour expression now curdled. “Have you forgotten the last city we visited?”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Karst complained, folding his hands across his chest. “He provoked me. I was only protecting my honor.”

Lerryn did not bother to reply. They had discussed the matter on the evening in question, and he was not interested in repeating the lesson. Until the boy demonstrated that he could conduct himself as a proper guest, Lerryn would not chance letting him roam. He stood, pushing his chair back, drained the last dregs of his wine, and fixed Karst with a broad smile that he knew would infuriate the lad to no end.

“You will be coming with me. Did you leave your sword with the steward, as I instructed?” Karst nodded, still frowning. “Very well.” Lerryn stepped out the door and stepped out onto the street.

Foot traffic was light this morning, and the city was devoid of beggars, one of the details of Diyonan life that Lerryn appreciated. The morning sun sparkled on the white paving stones flecked with bits of gray, and shone on the solidly-constructed shops and homes, all set well back from the road and at a comfortable distance apart. Uniformly built from the same white as that with which the street was paved, all of Brisacea seemed to shine against the verdant backdrop of the valley in which the city nestled.

Most of the structures were topped by roof gardens, where people conducted business over glasses of rich Diyonan port, or sat enjoying the unseasonably cool summer morning. Several people raised hands or glasses as they passed by. Lerryn nodded and smiled in return. Walking at his side, Karst kept his gaze on the ground in front of him.

“I understand why people hate me,” the young man suddenly said. “I have a strong sense of pride, and I give and take offense easily. I don’t suppose any of you would understand how it feels to be raised by a pig farmer. No matter how high my father’s station rises, he will always be a pig farmer in the eyes of the nobility. I traveled so far to be a part of your tournament in hopes that no one would know anything about me. I wanted to advance on my own merit without anyone knowing from whence I had come.”

Lerryn felt a slight pang of guilt, knowing that he was the one who had brought the Karst family’s livelihood to light. That fact notwithstanding, he would not permit the youth to wallow in self pity.

“Do you know that you are more than a pig farmer?”

“I suppose,” Karst said, still looking down.

“You suppose,” Lerryn echoed. “I advise you to stop trying to convince everyone else what you are and are not. Instead, try convincing yourself.”

Karst cast a sideways glance at him. “I am not certain I understand.”

Lerryn clapped a hand on the lad’s shoulder as they walked. “When you truly know your own value, it will no longer matter what anyone else thinks of you. Remember that.” Karst had no reply, and they continued on in silence until they arrived at their destination.

They proceeded along a narrow stone walk lined with short evergreen shrubs. A houseman stood outside the front door holding a ceremonial spear. He was dressed in traditional Diyonan fashion. His shirt, tunic and hose were white. Over this he wore a red surcote with his house symbol, a cluster of yellow grapes, emblazoned on the chest. The surcote, which looked to Lerryn like nothing more than a blanket with a hole cut in the center for the head, hung to the man’s knees and was belted with a twist of gold rope. The guard greeted him with an expectant look.

“Lerryn of Galdora to see the master of the house, if you please.” He handed his invitation to the guard, who held it aloft, letting it unroll only far enough for him to see his lord’s signature and seal. “He received my request last evening, and was gracious enough to reply almost immediately.”

“I shall announce you at once.” The man frowned. “Forgive me, but how shall I announce you. I do not know your title.”

“Forgive me,” Lerryn answered, deciding to have a bit of fun with the fellow. “You may announce me as ‘Sir’ if you so desire. ‘Lerryn Van Altman, First Prince of the Sword to His Highness, King Allar of Galdora’ is such a mouthful.” Karst snickered as the man’s face blanched. Lerryn smiled to put the man at ease.

“Very well, Your Highness,” he whispered, his voice suddenly hoarse, before turning and opening the front door. Clearing his throat, he straightened, and pounded the butt of his spear on the ground three times.

“Sir Lerryn of Galdora to see the master,” he called out.

In the span of two heartbeats, Antonn appeared from behind the door. The wizened little man was garbed much like his guard, save for his surcote which was white. He smiled an easy smile, his teeth were as white as his closely-cropped hair, and shone against his leathery skin. He raised his clenched fists to his chin, bowed, and rapped his knuckles together three times.

Lerryn returned the gesture, bringing his knuckles together twice, all the while inwardly bemoaning the Diyonan’s overvaluing of ritual. As he stood, he turned and gestured to Karst, who stepped forward and perfectly imitated the ritual greeting. Realizing he had not instructed Karst on how to properly greet someone, he flashed three fingers at the youth, who thankfully understood, and rapped his knuckles three times. He should have taught the boy. Too much wine early in the day, Xaver would have said.

“Ministrar Antonn, may I present Master Pedric Karst, son of the Duke of Kurnsbur.”

“I bid you both welcome,” Antonn said, smiling. For such an old man, he still had a fine set of straight, white teeth. “My wine is your wine. My bread is your bread.”

“May your vintage be as fine as your hospitality,” Lerryn responded.

“Do come in.” Antonn led them down a narrow hallway to a winding iron staircase at the back of the house. They mounted the stairs and climbed to a small room with a finely-wrought door of iron and glass set in one wall, which opened onto the roof garden. A flower-lined walkway led to a small table laden with wine and bread, and surrounded by chairs of woven reed, lined with red cushions. Beyond the flowers on either side were a variety of vegetable plants, ornamental shrubs, and small fruit trees, planted with an eye to aesthetics rather than practicality.

Antonn motioned for his guests to sit. He then broke the bread, giving a large piece to each of them.

“Heart and life,” he intoned, and took a bite.

“Heart and life,” Lerryn replied slowly, giving Karst the opportunity to join in. He took a bite of the bread. It was typical Diyonan: chewy, with herbs sprinkled into the flour to give it a unique, almost minty flavor. Waiting for Antonn to take the first sip, he raised his glass and took a drink of the orange-tinted drink, schooling himself not to drain the cup. Diyonus might be a mere shade of what she had once been, but her vineyards still produced the finest wine in Gameryah.

“You honor my house with your presence, Your Highness,” Antonn said. “I must confess my surprise both at your presence in our city, and that you wanted to see me. How may I be of service?”

“I asked about, as we traveled,” Lerryn said, “as to whom I might go to hear old stories. It is my understanding that you are Diyonus’ foremost collector of ancient lore.”

“Foremost in the western region, perhaps,” Antonn replied. He neither smiled nor attempted to look abashed. It was the simple truth. “I cannot help you with anything that has happened over the course of the last twenty-five or so imperators. Prior to that, perhaps I can. Is there a particular story you are seeking?”

“The Silver Serpent.” If the name affected Antonn in any meaningful way, he did not show it. “I am familiar with the basic story of its crafting and use. The prophecies are also well-known to me. What I would like to know is if there are any stories of what happened to the serpent after the Ice King was defeated.”

“An odd request,” Antonn said. He took another drink before answering. “As I recall, most of the stories tell of it being secreted away in a city called Murantha, somewhere in the mountains west of Lothan.”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and his eyes lost focus as he gazed upward.

From where he sat, Lerryn could look directly across the table and out across the city. It was truly a picturesque scene, the sparkling white buildings and shining roads set in a series of progressively smaller circles, glowing bright among the verdant hills. At Brisacea’s center stood a monument to Rantor, god of the sun. The once-magnificent statue, as tall as ten men, now showed signs of its age. His body was pockmarked with gaps where stone had fallen away, and the stone was discolored due to the ravages of time. The spikes radiating from his head, symbolizing sunbeams, were broken and eroded. In his left hand he held a bowl from which a reluctant flame smoked and sputtered. Standing in the midst of beautifully tended lawn and ringed by late blooming flowers, he looked more like a beggar than the chief deity of a proud nation.

“He once inspired awe and reverence,” Antonn said, following Lerryn’s line of sight. “It is said that he glowed as if plated with gold, and neither scratch nor stain marred his surface for generations.”

“I am told he was made and maintained by magic. But now sorcery wanes, and magic fails as often as it succeeds.” Larris said, remembering what Xaver had told him many times. “That, of course, is another conversation entirely.”

“Sorcery and magic,” Antonn replied, shaking his head, “are little more than legend, I fear. As to your question, there is one story that comes to mind as something that might be of use to you. I mention it only because I have heard so many versions of it, each only slightly different than the next, that I believe there must be some truth to it.

“It seems to have its roots around the time of the reign of Imperator Buratell, the second woman to guide the Council of the Nine. By our calendar, that would place it about four-hundred.”

“Forgive me Ministrar,” Karst interjected in a surprisingly respectful tone. “I am not familiar with your calendar. What does the date mean?”

“You may call me Antonn, Master Karst, and there is naught to forgive. Our nation was once ruled by a series of self-styled noblemen, who ruled by force of arms rather than wisdom. After the revolution, the Council of the Nine was formed, and an imperator selected to lead them. A new calendar was created, counting forward from the date of the founding of the new government. Each summer marks a new year. It is now, by our calendar, the year seven-hundred sixteen.”

“Thank you.” Karst returned to his wine.

“The story is of a Malgog clan chief who vanished as a young man, returning six years later with a talisman he claimed to have found in the mountains. He carried it into the next battle, and his clan was victorious. Under his guidance, his clan prospered, and eventually came to adopt the image of the talisman as their clan symbol: a serpent. The clan chief died an old man, and took the serpent with him to his grave.

Admittedly, the story does not call it the Silver Serpent, but the coincidence is intriguing.”

Larris thought it was more than coincidence. It is the prophecy. The star guided me to this place so that I might hear this story. “Can you tell me where to find this particular clan?”

“Certainly. In fact, it is not far. Only a few days ride from here.” He pushed back from the table, stood, and smoothed his surcote. “If you will excuse me, I will prepare a map for you.” He bowed slightly, and took his leave.

“So they don’t do the thing with their fists when they leave a place?” Karst asked.

“Strictly a greeting.” He drained his glass, enjoying the rich flavor. “You understood the knuckles?”

“I assume it reflects social standing. The lower your rank, the more times you pound your fists together.”

Lerryn nodded, pleased at the way Karst had presented himself thus far. His spirits were lifted by the new light that had been shed on the mystery. Perhaps this was the clue they had been searching for.

“The wine is excellent as well. I have had Diyonan wine only twice before, and neither were this good. And the color is unusual as well. What gives it the orange tint?”

“Movanan Orange,” Lerryn replied. “It is only produced in one valley in central Diyonus. Its making is a closely guarded secret. Some believe that it has something to do with the soil in which the grapes are grown.” He chuckled. “My father claims that they let their vats rust. Of course, he has little taste for wine.” He wondered if Karst would ask where Lerryn had gotten his taste for wine, but Antonn chose that moment to return.

“I believe this will be of help to you,” he said, proffering a rolled parchment. “Of course, given the situation in Lothan, there is no telling if the village remains.” He shrugged, nothing more to say.

“Please accept my heartfelt thanks for your assistance,” Lerryn said. He imagined he felt a tingle as his fingers closed around the map. “I am sure this will be of great assistance. I regret I must take now leave of your hospitality.”

“You have been a blessing to my house, Highness. Allow me to show you out, and we shall say our goodbyes.”

The late morning sun shone brightly on the freshly-painted picture of a golden goblet and bunch of grapes hanging in front of The Vintner’s Cup. As they approached the front steps, Larris took Karst by the elbow and pulled him past their inn. Continuing his unusually good behavior, the boy kept his mouth shut until they had passed on by.

“What is it?” he whispered, keeping his eyes to the fore.

“Two men, one on either side of the porch. Both were outside Antonn’s house when we left. Also, another man has been following us the entire time. I know you don’t have your sword, but do you have a knife?”

“In my boot. I can use it too.” Karst did not sound the least bit afraid. In fact, there was an eagerness in his voice that reminded Lerryn all too much of his own youth. “Do you think there are more?”

“I would be surprised if there is not at least one more waiting somewhere ahead of us.” His battle instinct took over, and he formulated a semblance of a plan. “How well can you throw that knife of yours?

The truth, now.”

“Very well. Just give me a target.” Once I’ve lost my knife, though, I don’t know how much use I’ll be to you.”

“I’ll give you mine.” Hastily, keeping watch for any threat that might be coming from in front of them, he outlined his plan, if it could be called that. Karst whispered that he understood.

Up ahead, two men leaned against a cart laden with vegetables. To the untrained eye, they might appear inconspicuous. Lerryn noticed any number of things wrong, though: spotless cloaks, clean hands, fine boots, not to mention the poorly-concealed sword under the first man’s cape. He cleared his throat, the signal to begin.

Karst pretended to stumble. He dropped to one knee, rubbing his ankle. Without warning, he slipped the knife from his boot, whirled, and slung it at the fellow Larris had described; a broad shouldered man with curly blond hair and a mustache that reached almost to his ears. Taken completely by surprise, the man stopped short, the hilt of Karst’s knife blossoming in his throat. Lerryn handed his heavy belt knife to the young man, as they sprinted back the way they had come.

The men he had seen lounging on the porch of the Vintner’s Cup had followed as well, and they both struggled to free their swords. Lerryn made a beeline for the one on the right, while Karst dashed directly toward the other. His target had just raised his sword to strike when Lerryn leapt into the air. Drawing his knees to his chest and twisting to his left, he kicked out. His right foot drove hard into the man’s throat, his left taking him full in the chest. The fellow made a gurgling shriek as he tumbled backward.

Lerryn fell headfirst, rolling on his forearms and springing to his feet behind the second assailant, whom Karst had distracted by circling, knife drawn, just out of sword reach. Foregoing style, Lerryn stepped up behind the man and drove a vicious kick between his legs. As the fellow crumpled to the ground, Karst relieved him of his sword and his life in short order. Lerryn took up the other man’s sword, and turned to face what he hoped would be the final two assailants, the men who had been lounging by the produce cart.

The brigands were almost upon them. The one on the left was a short, thick fellow with trunk-like arms and a scar running from above his left ear down to the corner of his mouth. The sun glinted off of his shaven head. He raised his sword high above his head as he charged in. Lerryn ducked inside his downstroke and ran him through the gut. The goon’s eyes went wide, and he made a gurgling sound as his sword dropped from his limp fingers. As life faded from his eyes, Lerryn put his foot on the dying man’s chest and pushed him off of his sword.

He turned to see Karst driving the other attacker back. He was obviously the superior swordsman, and he was toying with the fellow. Blood ran freely from cuts on the assailant’s forearms, cheek, chest, and thigh.

“Finish him!” Larris shouted. Karst’s eyes tightened, the only indication he had heard. A feint high, a slash low, and it was over. The last of the attackers lay in the roadway, entrails spilling from a gaping wound in his midsection.

“Will there be a constable coming after us?” Karst asked, kneeling to wipe the sword on the man’s cloak.

“Diyonus has a city watch,” Lerryn replied, scanning the crowd for potential threats. Fortunately, the few who had not already scattered were studiously ignoring the scene. “If I do not miss my guess, they will allow enough time to just miss catching us.” He stood and indicated with a jerk of his head that Karst should follow him. They set off at a quick jog back to The Vintner’s Cup.

Arriving at the inn, he was surprised as he entered the door, to see Xaver sitting at a table in the common room, a full cup of wine before him. The far end of the common room, the one closest to the fireplace, was crowded with a cluster of morning patrons who did not wish to sit near Lerryn’s vizier. Before Lerryn could speak, he stood and moved in close.

“I see there is no need to inform you that someone is after us.” He glanced down at Lerryn’s blood-spattered tunic. “Two armed men were waiting in our room. I was able to summon enough power to quickly disable them. The only useful information I could draw from them was the name Antonn.”

“He moves fast. We left his home not long ago, and were waylaid in the street.” A question gnawed at the back of his mind. “Two men were waiting on the porch here. I noticed them right away. How is it that you were unaware of them?”

“I don’t know what you’re implying, Highness, but I resent your tone. As I was dealing with the intruders, the boys arrived. I instructed them to load everything on the horses while I did my delving. I must have been upstairs when you passed by, as I have only been in the common room a few minutes.”

“Not implying, just asking,” Lerryn said with a sigh. He snatched up Xaver’s wine cup and drained it in three large swallows. Even cheap Diyonusan wine was palatable. “I’ll settle with the innkeeper, and we’ll go. I hope he will be discreet after we leave.”

“I have dealt with the innkeeper.” Xaver forced a smile. “No worries there.”

Lerryn’s stomach went cold. “He was an innocent. What did you do?”

“I paid him, Lerryn. Paid him well, and promised to remember him on our next visit.” He shook his head. “Truly, I do not understand your paranoia.”

“Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that a friendly little old scholar just sent assassins after me. I mean to have some answers.”

Antonn’s house guard was visibly taken aback by Lerryn’s reappearance. He hesitated before taking a tentative step forward, holding his spear diagonally across his chest, attempting to bar the way. Without breaking stride, Lerryn batted the sword down and punched the fellow hard in the jaw. He fell to the ground with a surprised grunt, clutching his face, his spear clattering to the ground. Lerryn kicked the door open and stalked inside.

“It was locked?” Xaver asked, glancing at the shattered door facing.

“I have no idea.” He looked around for Antonn. The man had broken bread with him! It was unforgivable. Toward the far end of the hall that bisected the first floor of the house, a servant poked his head out of a doorway. Blanching at the sight of six armed strangers stalking toward him, he jerked his head back and slammed the door.

“Bull. Edrin.” Lerryn motioned toward the door. Bull hooked the short-handled warhammer he had been learning to use back onto his belt and hurried down the hall. Edrin, looking uncomfortable with his bow strapped onto his back instead of in his hand, followed close behind, a broad-bladed hunting knife clenched in a white-knuckled grip.

“Do you think there are more guards, highness?” Hair asked, with neither eagerness nor trepidation in his voice.

“Not likely.” Between himself, Karst, and Xaver, he suspected Antonn’s personal security force had been utterly demolished. He heard footfalls and a crash behind a door to his left. He tried it and found it unlocked. He pushed through, dimly aware of the others following behind him.

It was a private office. A small table with quill, ink and parchment sat in the center of the room. A padded chair similar to those on the roof garden lay upended behind it. Directly across the room, a small, half-filled bookshelf sat beneath a tall, narrow window. The sash was closed. Someone was still inside. He took in the details as he surveyed the space. Paintings of landscapes, mostly vineyards and pastoral scenes, were hung head-high at precise intervals around the room. Finding the room empty, he came to the obvious conclusion.

Turning back to the door through which they had entered, which now stood almost flush against the inner wall, he leapt forward and threw his shoulder into it with all his might. The impact stung his shoulder, but the surprised cry of pain from behind the door was more than satisfying.

Antonn stumbled out, falling to his knees on the hard, tile floor. He pressed his hands against his side, probably clutching a broken rib or two. Blood dripped from his nose and mouth, staining the golden grapes on his surcote. Karst pushed past Lerryn, grabbed the man by the forehead, hooking his fingers into his eye sockets, and yanked his head back to expose his throat.

“Karst! You’ve killed enough today. Let him be.” He paused for effect. “For now.” Karst hesitated for two heartbeats before letting go. Sheathing his sword, he stepped back to stand next to Hair, arms folded across his chest, his ever-present pout firmly in place.

“I’ll tell you nothing,” Antonn said through swelling lips. “The watch will be here soon, and they’ll take you to the nearest garrison. You will wish…”

Lerryn smacked him with an open palm to the ear, cutting the ministrar off in mid-sentence. “Xaver, can you persuade this gentleman to answer my questions?” Antonn made a sound like a stuck pig, and scrabbled on all fours toward the window. Without looking down at the man, Lerryn stamped down on his right hand, eliciting a higher-pitched squeal. “Gentlemen, will you please hold our friend, here?” Karst and Hair hauled Antonn to his feet, and bent his arms behind him, arching his back so that his stomach thrust forward.

Xaver moved to stand in front of Antonn. He placed his hands on the man’s temples and began muttering in a deep, choppy voice. It was Colquahil, the language of the Gods. It sounded like someone being punched repeatedly in the gut. With each throaty exhalation, the room seemed to grow warmer. Antonn’s face turned deathly white, and his knees shook. Gradually, his eyes turned glassy, until there seemed a coating of ice across his vision. He stared blindly back at Xaver, panting and trembling.

“You may ask your questions now, Highness.” Xaver continued to hold Antonn’s head. “But do not take too long. Twice in one day is as much as I can manage.”

“Why did you send your guards after us?” Lerryn asked, beginning with the obvious.

“You seek the Silver Serpent.” Antonn’s voice was a loud whisper, without inflection. “It is best if you die.”

“But you don’t believe in sorcery or magic,” Lerryn protested, dimly aware of the irony of the statement given Antonn’s present circumstances. “Why would it matter to you?”

“Does not matter. The Lothan’s believe in it. Cannot have them united. The barbarians might turn their attentions on us if they were ever to stop fighting one another. Must do what is best for the realm.”

“How many men did you send after us, and how many more have you told?” Escape would be difficult if there were others sounding the alarm as they spoke.

There was a brief pause before Antonn answered. “I sent seven of my household guard after you.

Kevrann remained at the door. The other two have liberty today. I told no one else of you and your dealings.

I did not think it necessary.” A string of spittle, tinted pink by blood, hung from the corner of his mouth.

Lerryn was grateful that Antonn’s force had been neutralized. He would have to kill the man, of course, and probably the rest of the household staff. He could not have the Diyonusan army tailing him back into Lothan, and murdering a ministrar would do just that.

Edrin appeared in the doorway. “Highness, we rounded up the household staff and closed them up in a room across the hall. Bull is guarding the door.”

Lerryn nodded, not turning away from Antonn. “The story you told me, and the map you gave me.

Are they false?”

“No,” Antonn’s voice carried a slight touch of insistence despite Xaver’s delving. “I saw no point in lying to you. My guard would have recovered the map from you when they killed you.”

“Highness, you must hurry.” Xaver’s voice had lost much of its serenity. “I cannot do this much longer.”

“I am finished with him.” He drew his sword, and placed it against Antonn’s chest. No point in making a bigger mess than necessary. Xaver released the man, and he went limp in the two young men’s grip.

“Do not kill him,” Hair protested. “Tie him up. Tie them all up and lock them in the cellar. We can get away before they are discovered.”

“Don’t listen to him, Highness,” Karst snapped. “He does not have the stomach for killing like we do. Get out of here, Hair. I don’t need your help to hold him. He’s near-unconscious anyway.”

“Let a man face me with sword in hand and I have plenty of stomach, but this is not right. He is an old, unarmed man.” His voice softened. “Please, Highness,” he entreated, “I beg you, do not do this.”

Lerryn paused. Killing Antonn was the practical thing to do. He did not relish the idea of chancing the man getting word to the local army detachment before they could see their way clear of the border. But Hair was correct. Running an old man through was distasteful at best. Also, the fact that Karst thought the man should be killed made the idea that much less appealing. He needed to act. Indecisiveness was the death of a commander.

“It does not matter anymore,” Xaver said, stepping forward. He pulled up one of Antonn’s eyelids and examining his pupil. “I could not control the delving. I was tired from earlier, and I was careless with my incantation.”

“What are you saying?” Lerryn asked, his sword still pressed to Antonn’s chest.

“In simple terms, the part of his mind that is aware is permanently detached from his body. He will remain in this state until his body expires. I apologize for my failing.” His clinically detached tone did not convey any sense of regret.

“Very well,” Lerryn said, sheathing his sword. “Hair, you and Karst take him down to the cellar.

Edrin, you and Bull take the others down there as well, and tie them up. Our innkeeper can send someone to ‘discover’ them in three days.”

“Won’t they send someone after us then?” Karst asked, glowering over the missed opportunity to kill Antonn. “Will three days be enough time?”

“I don’t think you need to concern yourself about it. They don’t know where we are going, and Antonn certainly won’t be telling them anything. Be about your business quickly. I mean to ride within the hour.”

Chapter 32|All That Glitters

The cliff dropped off before her, looking like the end of the world. A thin veil of mist, hanging just below the edge of the precipice, obscured her vision. There must be water down there. Of the lost city of Murantha, or even the far side of the gap, there was no sign. She sighed and grasped her sword hilt for comfort. Her clothing felt heavy in the moist air, and she had pulled her hair up to keep it from clinging to the back of her neck.

Not for the first time, she turned and surveyed the rugged mountains above her. Rocks of the same varying shades of gray she had been looking at for weeks, scattered patches of scrub pine, sheer cliffs as far as she could see. No signs of human habitation, present or past. The scuffle of footfalls on loose rock told her that Hierm had finished scouting farther down the way. She cocked her head as he approached.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s a sheer drop-off not much farther down. Nowhere to go.”

He folded his arms across his chest and looked out at the fog. He had always been a serious young man, but he had lost his youthful optimism. “Do you think Larris and Oskar truly have any idea where we are going?”

“They can’t be wrong,” Shanis said, mostly believing what she was saying. “Their maps and landmarks have gotten us this far. It would be too great a coincidence for all of them to match something along the way.”

They made their way over to where the others waited. Larris was shaking his head.

“When the Thandrylls wanted to trade with us, I truly believed that the trades would somehow aid us in finding the city.” He chuckled. “And then, when they told us to keep them secret until the time came, I was certain. Foolishness.” He slipped his hand into his belt pouch and fished out a very large, very tarnished coin.

He held it up close to his eyes and turned it over slowly. “There is nothing helpful here. I have looked it over twice now.” He looked at the others. “Anyone else receive something helpful?”

They all shook their heads and murmured in the negative and, one by one, shared with the others what they had received in the Thandryll’s odd trading ritual. Khalyndryn had been given a kerchief, Oskar a plain, brown cloak, and Hierm a woman’s circlet of woven vines. Shanis had traded an ornate pearl button the she had saved from the dress Bertram had given her in Karkwall, and received a pendant on a silver chain in return. The pendant was a flat, silver circle on which was engraved a stream winding down between two hills, and pooling at the base. She liked it, and was, in fact, wearing it.

“At least all of you were given something.” Allyn said. “I didn’t get a thing.”

“They didn’t trade with you?” Shanis asked, remembering the stone Allyn had given to the Thandrylls.

It was pale green with dark blue stripes running through it. Just the right size to fit in your palm, it had been worn smooth from who-knew-how-many years lying in the streambed where he had found it as a boy. It was the only thing he had ever said about his childhood, and she was still surprised that he had parted with a remembrance of his childhood.

“Oh, they traded with me,” he said, his upper lip curling into a sneer. “They taught me a dance. Right foot, left hand, right hand, left. Right foot, left hand, right hand, left.” He acted out the dance, stomping his feet and waving his arms in such an exaggerated fashion that Shanis had to laugh. It was so unlike his unusual demeanor.

She was about to remark when she espied Oskar out of the corner of her eye. He was gaping at Allyn. He turned to look at Larris, and as he did, the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile. Larris was smiling back, his eyes gleaming.

“It can’t be,” Oskar said, still grinning.

“It must be.” Larris was actually bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet. “Can you think of another answer?”

Without waiting for Oskar’s reply, he hurried to the edge of the cliff, sighting his location against a distant peak. “About here?” He shifted a half-pace to his right.

“That looks about right to me.” Oskar held up his thumb and closed one eye, lining Larris up with the landmark. “Try right there.”

“Would one of you care to tell us what you’re talking about?” Shanis asked. She had known Oskar long enough to be accustomed to his reticence when he thought he knew something no one else new, but it still rankled her. This time, her patience was stretched thin.

Larris lay on his stomach and reached down over the edge of the cliff. A few moments, and his facial features relaxed into a smile of contentment. “It’s there,” he announced. With extreme caution, he brought his right foot down over the edge.

Oskar hurried over beside him and grabbed his right arm. “Be careful. Go slowly.”

“There’s the right foot,” Larris said. His face was pale, and a sheen of sweat covered his brow, but his smile remained firmly in place. “Now the left hand.” Trembling a bit, he brought his left hand down. “It’s right here. You cannot even see it until you are right on it, it’s so small. It’s carved at a downward angle so you can hook your fingers into it. Ah, there’s the left foot.” His head sank a bit lower. “You can let go now.”

Oskar released his grip, and Larris sank out of sight.

Shanis and the others walked over to the ledge and looked down at Larris. He was descending by way of hand and footholds in the cliff face. The holds were invisible from above, but he was having no trouble finding them as he descended at a steady pace.

“Coded handholds,” Oskar said. “Ancients used them as a system of defense. If you did not know the correct pattern, you would find yourself halfway down the cliff with nowhere to go.”

“But where is the city?” Hierm’s frown made him look like his father.

“It’s here!” Larris cried from down below. He was barely in sight now, the inward slope of the cliff, so subtle as to have been unnoticeable before, now obscured their vision. “It’s beautiful! Everyone come down! Bring water and torches. And some food.”

“The city,” Oskar’s knowing smile reminded Shanis of Master Yurg, “is carved into the cliff.”

“But we didn’t see anything when we scouted,” Allyn protested.

“You would have had to be on the other side of the canyon in order to see it. They built the city beneath an overhang set so far back that you cannot see it from above or from the side.” He smiled. “Your dance reminded me of the coded handholds. Once I came to that conclusion, it was obvious.”

“Happy I could help,” Allyn muttered. “Let’s get what we need from the horses. Hierm, help me?”

Hierm nodded and the two headed back up the trail to where their horses were tethered.

“I’ll stay here,” Khalyndryn said, staring into the emptiness. “Climbing out of the dungeon in Karkwall was quite enough for me. I can wait with the horses.”

“Larris said that everyone should come down,” Oskar protested. “I think you should go.”

“He’s right.” Shanis was letting Khalyndryn grate on her again. “There is no telling what might happen to you if you are alone up here. Wolves…”

“No.” Khalyndryn folded her arms across her chest and looked Shanis in the eye. “I will not go.”

“You will go if I have to throw you over the cliff.” Khalyndryn shook her head. Shanis leaned in toward her, hands on hips, bending down until their noses nearly touched. “I killed a man to save you!” Her voice rose. “Yet no matter where we go, what we do, you never change! You are the same childish…”

“I have no purpose!” Khalyndryn’s shout froze the words in Shanis’ throat. “Everyone else can ride, fight, track, hunt…” She looked at Oskar. “…think! What use am I? If I go down there I’ll fall, or I’ll get lost, or I’ll touch something I shouldn’t…I don’t know. I’ll do something to ruin it all.” She did not back down one step. She kept her chin up and continued to meet her eye. “I will take my chances with whatever may or may not be up here. Can you truly tell me that my presence down there would serve any purpose at all?”

Hierm and Allyn had run back when the shouting started. They now stood at the mouth of the trail where it wound back into the rock, staring at the two girls. Oskar remained rooted to his spot near where Larris had descended, saying nothing, but watching them.

Shanis was taken aback. Khalyndryn had just given voice to Shanis’ own thoughts. She took a deep breath, regaining a bit of composure, and buying herself a moment to think.

“My father,” she began, “always taught me that everyone has a purpose. He said that those who never find it are either too lazy or too afraid. Which one are you?”

“I never liked you, Shanis. You are the most spoiled, selfish person I have ever met.” Nearby, Hierm coughed and turned away. “You never had to do anything the other girls had to do. You never lived by any rules. And when the time came to be an adult, you threw a tantrum because you wanted to keep playing at swords like the boys. Killing that guard was probably the first selfless thing you ever did. I am grateful, but do not expect me to fall down and kiss your boots. You forget. I chose to come with you for reasons of my own. You were going to leave me. You, Oskar and Hierm all had your own reasons for leaving, and they had nothing to do with me.

“I don’t like you,” she repeated. “But I liked and respected your father. He was a strong, humble person who could have done more with his life than raise a spoiled daughter and haul goods for Lord Hiram.

Did you know that he and I used to talk while he loaded the wagons?”

Tears welled in Shanis’ eyes, and her throat was tight and sore. She turned her back on Khalyndryn, but she could not walk away. Somehow, she knew she needed to hear what the girl had to say.

“He listened to me, and he always gave me good advice. I’ll wager I talked to him more than you did. You would have thought Master Yurg was your father, you spent so much time at the sword.”

Khalyndryn’s voice was tinged with bitterness. “If Colin believes that everyone has a purpose, then I will listen to him.” She emphasized the last word. “I’ll be back.”

Shanis turned around to see Khalyndryn push her way past Hierm and Allyn, heading toward the horses. Allyn followed behind. Hierm took a step toward her, but she waved him away. He shrugged and went to join Allyn.

She felt a firm hand on her shoulder, turned and fell onto Oskar’s shoulder. “Is that what everyone thinks of me?” The tears flowed unabated as she allowed him to support her weight. She rarely permitted herself to cry, and never to break down. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and squeezed tight, trying to reign in her sadness, her fatigue, her frustration. “Is that what you all think?”

“No,” Oskar whispered, stroking her hair. She could hear the lie in his voice, and couldn’t say anything. He pushed away from her, cupped her chin in his hand, and raised her face to look at him. “You just said that everyone has a purpose. That goes for you as well. You cannot change anything that is past: only what lies ahead of you.”

“Aren’t you coming?” Larris called.

She drew away. Khalyndryn and the others would soon be back, and she would not let them see her cry. “Thank you,” she mumbled. “I’ll see you down there.” She pressed the back of her sleeve to her eyes, letting the rough cloth soak up the tears. Using less caution than she should have, she found the first foothold and began her descent. Her anger and confusion lent her a touch of recklessness as she scrambled down the cliff face.

She had never thought of herself as a selfish person. True, she had pursued swordsmanship with single-minded purpose. She wanted to be the best she could be, in order to make her father proud. He began teaching her the sword when she was small, and he carefully supervised her until she was ready for the swordmaster’s tutelage. She still remembered the way he smiled when she mastered a new skill. The special pride he took whenever she bested one of the boys. She knew no other way to please him, and the thought of giving up the sword was more than she could bear. Khalyndryn could not possibly understand the way the sword connected her and her father. As for the thought of Colin engaging in serious conversations with the girl, it felt like such a…violation.

“You might try looking down just about now.” Larris sounded as if he were directly beneath her.

“Slow down!”

She cast her eyes downward just as her right foot struck solid ground. She tumbled backward, and felt strong arms envelop her.

“Not enough warning, I suppose. Sorry.” He held on longer than necessary, supporting her weight, his arms across her breasts.

Shanis felt his breath on her neck, warm and damp. After he neither raised her up nor let go, she cleared her throat in a loud rasp. She imagined she could feel reluctance as he released her. She straightened, strangely feeling the absence of his embrace.

“So, where…” She stopped abruptly when she saw the city.

Murantha lay in the shelter of a massive rock overhang, recessed so deep into the stone face that it was no wonder they had been unable to see it. This place was wrought by no human hand. It seemed to have flowed out of the native stone in one single piece. It was a mound of domed structures, each with a rounded door set in the front, connected by a series of serpentine paths that wound from building-to-building. Coming toward them from the center was a walkway hewn into the rock. It too curved like the belly of a snake in the dust. A ceremonial well lay near the place where the path curled up into the city. The morning sun glinted on the surface of the water that filled it near to the rim.

Behind her, someone dropped to the ground with a grunt, but her attention was on what she saw above the city.

Glittering in the morning sun, a giant serpent wound its way across the cliff above Murantha. It was rendered in amazing detail: its scales glittered, whether from the stone from which it was hewn or some form of sorcery, she could not say, but it was marvelous. She barely noticed the others as they gathered up around her and Larris. Her eyes followed its sinuous length. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and it seemed to beckon to her.

“We found it,” Oskar whispered, breaking the silence. “I never truly believed that we would. Even as we made the journey, it all seemed a grandmother’s tale.”

“As if we would wake up and find ourselves back home,” she said in an equally soft voice.

“Well, we are awake,” Larris said, “and this is Murantha.” He turned to face the others, and took a few backward steps toward the city. “My friends, you have been faithful to your oath, and our quest nears its end. Let us complete our task, and find the Silver Serpent.

They approached the city warily, each moving at a slower pace than usual. The path beneath their feet was carved like the scales of a serpent, and wound snake-like toward the city. The stone beneath her looked brand-new.

“It looks as if no one has ever walked here before,” she said, watching mesmerized as her boots trod on the stuff of legend.

“Precious few, at any rate,” Larris said. “Murantha has been legend for so long, that few believe it exists. I’ll wager it was created for no purpose other than to house the serpent. Likely no one lived here. It certainly does not appear that the surrounding land could sustain a population.” He looked around, his eyes still wide with childlike wonder. “We are likely the first to tread this path since…” He said no more, apparently unable to come up with an adequate length of time.

“You hope we’re the first,” Hierm added. Larris arched an eyebrow at him, and then gave a curt nod.

The pathway split, wrapping around both sides of the well. Shanis looked down at its sparkling surface, and wondered how deep it was. She stopped and knelt alongside it, gazing into its depths. The blackness beneath the surface was total, and seemed to draw her in. Her head swam, and she jerked back, springing to her feet.

“Are you all right?” Hierm asked, taking her by the forearm. His blue-gray eyes stared into hers with concern.

“Just dizzy,” she said with forced cheerfulness. “A lot of excitement for one morning.” She pulled away from his grasp, sidled past Larris, who was also looking at her with consternation, and continued along the path. “Well, Your Highness, where do we start?”

“At the bottom, I suppose,” Larris said, quickening his pace to walk beside her. The path was just wide enough for the two of them to walk abreast.

“You suppose?” Larris had never said that he knew where to find the serpent, but she had assumed that once they found the city, he would lead them directly to it. In retrospect, that had been a foolish assumption, considering he had admitted that he did not even know what it was.

“I got us here, did I not? Well, Oskar and I got us here. We will find it.” His voice exuded confidence.

“Do you practice talking like that?” she asked. Behind her, she heard Allyn snigger. Larris frowned at her.

“Don’t look at me that way,” she continued. You know exactly what I mean. Like a general leading his troops into battle. I assume you weren’t born talking like that. It must be intentional.”

Larris smiled and shook his head. “This will go faster if we divide up. Oskar and Hierm, begin with the doorway farthest to your left, and work your way to the top. Allyn, you and Khalyndryn take the far right, Shanis and I will begin with the three in the middle.”

Before she could so much as make a wise comment about Larris taking charge, the others had headed in opposite directions, eager to begin the search. She stood with hands on hips, and surveyed the city from up close.

There were five of the dome-like structures arrayed in a line before them. Curving stairways wound up between each of them, and swept up each side of the cavern, leading to the second level, where there were four such edifices. The stairs snaked their way progressively upward to a level of three, then two and finally to a lone dome at the top.

“Waiting for something?” Larris kidded before leading the way through the arched doorway of the center room. Shanis followed behind him, ducking beneath the low arch.

The room, which Shanis had thought would be round from looking at it from the outside, was oval, and sunk deep into the cliff face. The faint glow of sunlight through the doorway intruded only so far into the blackness beyond. She heard a scraping sound, and a yellow-orange glow blossomed in Larris’ hand.

“What is that?” she asked.

“Firestick,” he replied. Moving forward, he raised his hand to let the light shine on the domed ceiling above. Something was carved in the surface, but Shanis paid little mind.

“I thought only thieves used firesticks!” she said.

Larris looked at her and smiled. “Come now, do you think we royals let the thieves have all the fun?

Seriously, though. They aren’t as volatile as they once were. They’re quite safe. Want to hold it?” He held the firestick, about the thickness of her middle finger and the length of her palm, toward her.

“No, thank you,” she said. Larris’ reassurances notwithstanding, she did not trust the firestick’s reputation. Her eyes took in the round room, twenty paces across, with its perfectly smooth floor, and no visible seam where the curving walls met the level floor. It was empty. She looked back up at the ceiling.

“What is all that?” She gestured at the markings that spiraled down from the center. They almost looked like writing, but not quite. Some of the images were tiny pictures: birds, trees, stars, people. Others were squares with differing numbers of dots inside. These, she intuited represented numbers.

“Glyphs,” Larris said, lifting the firestick above his head. “An ancient form of writing. What I would give to be able to record these and decipher them at my leisure.” He touched the wall, letting his hand linger.

“What stories might they tell?”

“Let’s hope they’re not telling us that another golorak is coming up through that hole,” Shanis said.

She indicated a spot just a few paces in front of him where another ceremonial well lay.

“Thank you for the warning,” he said. “My father always said my eyes were so far in the clouds that I couldn’t see what was right in front of my face. Or in this case, my feet.” He lowered the firestick to reveal a well of about half the diameter of the one they had seen outside. A serpent was carved into the stone around the well; its eye glinted with silver flecks of some stone that had been embedded in the figure. The light of the firestick revealed that, unlike the well outside, this one was empty and no more than a few hands deep. “I’ll wager there’s one of these in every room.”

His prediction was borne out as they continued their explorations. Every room they entered was approximately the same size and shape, with what appeared to Shanis to be the same writing winding its way down the ceiling. And in the center of each room was the same ceremonial well, with the engraved serpent coiled around the outside. The sameness did not end there. Each room was void of any signs of human habitation, or even passage.

They had dutifully examined every room, searching for nooks, crannies, hidden passages, anything that might conceal their objective. They even sifted through the dust at the bottom of each well, but found them all to be equally empty. By the time they reached the top of the city, the others were waiting there with discouraged looks on their faces, and an air of defeat about them.

“Nothing,” Oskar said, looking out at the canyon.

Khalyndryn pointedly looked away from Shanis, who was more than happy to ignore her as well.

“This can’t be it,” Shanis protested. “It’s too empty, too clean.” Oskar met her with a blank stare. Hierm and Allyn looked at one another and shook their heads. She turned back to Larris. “Can’t you feel it, Larris? It feels… false. This is not real.” Frustration welled within her. She could not find the words to describe what she felt, but she knew she was right.

“Looks real to me,” Allyn muttered. He slipped a knife from his belt, and began trimming his nails.

“Never mind,” Shanis said.

“No,” Larris said, taking hold of her upper arm. “Say more.” The keen interest in his brown eyes persuaded her to try again.

“I don’t know,” she said, feeling frustrated. “I’m hungry. Let’s sit down and eat.”

They circled around the well and sat down. Shanis chewed on a piece of jerked venison and contemplated their situation. What should they do? She gazed down into the well. Once again, the waters seemed to pull her down, drawing her in. She gazed at her reflection, and saw someone she scarcely recognized.

She had lost weight since they had left home. Her cheekbones were more prominent. She looked…older, more serious. She leaned closer, watching the image grow larger, until she was nose-to-nose.

And then…

“Shanis, what are you doing?”

Someone grabbed her shoulder and yanked her back. She sat upright, and felt water drip from the tip of her nose and splash onto her chin. She wiped the face with her palm and looked around at the ring of incredulous faces.

Larris took his hand from her shoulder and frowned, but said nothing. His brown eyes held a mix of concern and curiosity.

“Don’t mind me,” she said. “It’s the well. It feels like it’s…pulling me down. It’s foolish, I know. Just a feeling.” She sat back and turned her attention to her meal, still aware of a tugging sensation that seemed to draw her toward the water. She took a bite and slowly chewed on the dried meat. What was it about the well?

The water!

“Where is this water coming from?” The others looked at her quizzically. “We’ve seen very little water for days. And this,” she slapped the ground with her palm, “is solid rock. Where did this water come from?”

“There’s nothing to feed an underground river in these parts,” Oskar mused. “Especially not at this elevation.”

“No rain to speak of,” Allyn added. “You can see that by vegetation, or lack thereof. Just some scrub and stunted trees. Nothing that requires much moisture.”

Larris dipped a hand into the well and scooped out a palmful of water. He took a long look, then passed his palm under his nose, then nodded.

“It’s clean and cold,” he said, letting it spill back down. He hesitated for a moment, and then touched two wet fingers to the tip of his tongue. He frowned and leaned down close to the water, inhaling deeply. “I’m hesitant to drink it, but it seems fresh.” He looked up at Shanis. “I believe you are on to something.”

She stood and took a step back, bumping her leg against Hierm. He clambered to his feet to stand alongside her.

“The well is the only thing that is different,” she said, puzzling it out as she spoke. “That is what I was trying to say earlier. There is a sameness to everything over there,” she gestured toward the city. It’s all the same shape, the same carvings, the same stone. The serpents around the doors are plain. Here,” she pointed to the well, “the serpent twists and coils. You can see the scales. It’s done in as much detail as the one in the cliff.”

She narrowed her eyes and gazed intently now at the serpent that encircled the well. The sensation of being pulled along was stronger. She relaxed and imagined that her gaze was being drawn forward by the unseen force. She followed the body of the serpent around until she focused in on the serpent’s eye. Unlike the rest of the carving, which was rendered in lifelike detail, the eye was plain and round, too large for the head, and totally unlike a snake’s hooded orb.

Larris saw what she was looking at. He reached down and probed the carved socket with gentle fingertips. His brow creased and he narrowed an eye, setting his jaw in contemplation. His brown eyes still locked on the serpent’s eye, he drew his hand away, and reached into his belt pouch. He spoke softly to himself as he fished around for something.

“My gift,” he said. “My trade. I wondered why they would give me such a thing. Where is it?”

Shanis and Hierm exchanged puzzled glances. Khalyndryn appeared thoroughly confused, Allyn merely bored. Only Oskar appeared to know what the prince was thinking. He smiled and nodded, still gnawing on his piece of jerked meat.

“Where is it?” Larris whispered. “Ah!” From his belt pouch he drew out the old coin the Thandrylls had given him as a “trade”. He turned it over in his palm, then held it between his thumb and forefinger, feeling the tarnished surface. “I shall look the fool if I’m wrong,” he said, but his eyes were alive with confidence. With that, he laid the coin over the eye socket. A quarter-turn and it slid neatly into the hole.

Nothing happened.

Shanis watched as the grin drained from Larris’ face. His jaw went slack, and the glint in his eyes dimmed. She felt sorry for him, kneeling there, crestfallen.

Whoosh!

Larris fell back on his behind, startled by the sudden noise. Shanis backed up a step as well. The surface roiled as fat air bubbles burst to the surface. A circle appeared in the midst of the water, expanded into a turbulent whirlpool. Everyone crowed around the well, watching as the water drained away to reveal a series of handholds, much like those down which they had descended the cliff face. Larris looked down into the well, then lifted his head, smiling.

“Who’s first?”

Chapter 33|Descent

Shanis held back, letting the others to make their way down the tunnel first. She still hesitated at the thought of responding to the beckoning tug from down below. Even now that she had solved the mystery, it still drew her downward. She took a long look.

“Are you coming?” Hierm’s voice echoed from the well.

“All right.” Gingerly, she lowered her left foot into the well until it found purchase. Keeping her palms firmly on the ground, she stepped down with her right. The footholds were damp, but not particularly slippery.

Another step down and the first handhold was in sight. She hooked the fingertips of her left hand into it and continued her slow descent, all the while mindful of the pulling sensation that sought to drag her down. The cold rock sucked the warmth from her hands, and the dark blanketed her. She heard the scraping sound of a firestick, and soon a yellow glow shown up from below.

Her foot hit solid rock and she looked down to see a stone grate, cut through with narrow slits. A thin trickle of water flowed from a small spout about chest-high and disappeared through the floor. She knelt and tried to peer through one of the slits, but only blackness lay beneath. Her heart fluttered at the thought of infinite emptiness that her imagination conjured. She was suddenly aware that the sensation no longer seemed to be drawing her down, but instead seemed to be over her right shoulder. She looked back to see her companions standing in the mouth of an arched tunnel, staring at her. She was about to say something acerbic, but one look at the tunnel rendered her speechless.

The passageway was about ten paces wide, flat at the bottom, and rose at a gentle angle before narrowing at the top, to meet at a sharp point. Where the tunnel opened into the well, a groove ran all the way around, where the wall that sealed the tunnel had locked into place. She looked down to see where it had receded into the floor. She pushed between Hierm and Khalyndryn, and stepped into the passage. An odd decorative pattern was carved into the apex of the ceiling. Long, cylindrical segments with spikes jutting from either side were evenly spaced as far as she could see. The appearance was familiar, but she could not place it.

“It’s the backbone,” Larris said, walking up beside her. “And these,” he reached out and touched one of the vertical protrusions that formed arches every ten paces are so, “are the ribs.” His voice was soft and reverent as he spoke. “We are in the belly of the snake.”

Shanis knelt and touched the smooth black floor, inlaid with shiny stones carved in the shape of scales. A quick glance revealed that the walls between the ribs were the same.

“It’s…” The words would not come.

“You were right, Shanis,” Khalyndryn said, sidling up to her. Her voice was tentative, and she looked as if she would flee if Shanis so much as blinked in her direction. “The city up above was false. This is the real thing.”

Shanis stood, and met the girl’s worried frown with a long, level stare. Perhaps it was only wishful thinking, but she believed she saw, not an apology in Khalyndryn’s eyes, but a sincere desire for things to be right between them.

“Thank you,” she replied. Gods, that was painful! Resisting the urge to add something cutting, she turned away as the broad, shining smile she had hated since childhood bloomed on Khalyndryn’s face.

“Well done,” Larris whispered, clasping her shoulder in his strong hand.

“Don’t patronize me,” she shot back, pulling free of his grasp. “Let’s see where this tunnel leads before Oskar fouls his breeches.”

“Wait a moment!” Oskar protested, but nervous laughter from the rest of the group drowned him out.

She snatched the torch from Larris and led the way down the tunnel.

The passage gently wound back-and-forth like a serpent slithering across the ground. Allyn cautioned them to watch for traps or side tunnels, but they saw neither. After what seemed like an hour, but surely was not, they finally came to a place where the tunnel split into two passages.

“It seems the serpent has two heads,” Oskar quipped.

Shanis opened her mouth to ask in what direction Larris wished to proceed, but a deep roar startled her into silence. The sound came again, this time so powerful that she feared it would shake the walls down upon them. She saw Larris and Oskar exchange frightened glances.

“What was that?” Khalyndryn whispered, her voice quavering. Giant cracks were appearing in the brave façade she had adopted that morning, and the scared town girl was emerging. She clutched an annoyed-looking Hierm’s upper arm in both hands.

“Golorak.” Oskar sounded as if he had swallowed a frog.

“But you killed it!” Khalyndryn protested.

“I suppose there is more than one,” Larris said. The pallor of his face was evident even in the uneven torchlight, but his voice was surprisingly calm. “We did not expect it to be easy, did we?”

Shanis found herself grudgingly admiring his composure. She remembered his tale of their fight with the beast, and how his sword had bounced off its tough hide. What would they do if it found them? What could they do?

“Which tunnel did the sound come from?” Hierm asked, stepping toward the passage on the right and inclining an ear. The ensuing discussion yielded no agreement. Oskar and Larris thought the sound had come from the tunnel on the left, Allyn and Khalyndryn insisted that it came from the tunnel on the right, while Hierm and Shanis agreed that it sounded as if it had come from behind them, though that was impossible.

“Why couldn’t it come from behind us?” Khalyndryn asked.

“If it is even half the size of the one we saw, it would never fit down the tunnel,” Oskar replied. His voice had regained some of its strength, as if the realization reassured him.

While the others continued to discuss their plight, Shanis closed her eyes and willed the sound away. Just as she had done so many times at sword practice, she turned her focus inward. No distractions, no physical sensation. She sought the calming oneness with the blade. Within her consciousness she created the image of a shining sword. Her thoughts followed its razor edge down to the shining, perfect tip. Her flesh was steel, and she was one with the blade. The voices around her melted away, and the orange flickers of firelight upon her eyelids faded. At that moment, she felt perfect peace.

What to do when the wrong choice might mean death?

She remembered her father teaching her woodscraft. He took her into the forest and got her thoroughly lost. “Trust your instincts,” he said. “You can feel the path, if you will allow yourself to. It will call out to you, but you must let it.” Wrapped in the oneness, she felt no pang of homesickness at the memory.

She opened herself to the beckoning of the pathway that had guided her as a small child. A skill she had seldom had need to use. She felt something. It was the same tugging sensation that had drawn them into the well. It called out to her. It took her hand in a gentle grip and drew her forward.

She visualized the two passages. The tunnel on the left exuded a feeling of warmth and light. The passage to the right poured forth an icy cold like a gushing mountain stream. She shivered within her void, and her bones seemed to freeze in a way they had not since the last time they had encountered the ice cats. Her eyes snapped open.

“We must go that way,” she said, indicating the tunnel on the left. The sensation was so strong now, her certainty firm. She did not know what lay at the end, but she knew their path lay to the left. “The Golorak is down the other tunnel,” she added..

“How do you know?” Allyn stepped directly in front of her, his right hand on his sword hilt, his left thumb hooked in his belt. “It is our life if you are wrong.”

“I know,” she averred. She met his challenging stare with what she hoped was a look of firm resolve. She had no doubt that she was correct, but she had serious doubts about her ability to convince the others. “I feel it.”

“You feel it,” Allyn echoed.

Larris put his hand on Allyn’s chest and interposed himself between the two. Anger flashed in Allyn’s eyes for an instant, and then he returned to his usual calm exterior.

Larris appraised her for a long, uncomfortable second, before nodding his assent. “We take the passage on the left, and may the gods smile upon us.”

“Wait!” Khalyndryn called out, recovering some of her earlier salt. “She feels it? Shanis has never felt anything in her life, save anger. She doesn’t know which way we should go.”

“So,” Larris said, “it is your opinion that we should take the tunnel on the right?” He waited as Khalyndryn gaped at them for a heartbeat before shaking her head. “You prefer the path to the left?” Khalyndryn only shrugged. “Well then, seeing how as it makes no difference to you….” Leaving the statement hanging, he turned and led the group down the passage Shanis had chosen.

She felt gratified that he had taken her side and her advice. It was good to be trusted for something other than hunting and fighting. It also pleased her to see someone else take Khalyndryn down a peg. She suppressed a smile. She was not one to act the fool over a prince. He was just seeing good sense, that was all.

They followed the tunnel at a steady pace. She kept glancing back over her shoulder, expecting to see the golorak, though she knew the passage was too small. She wondered how far they had come. She imagined they were deep in the mountains, Murantha left far behind. She spared a thought for their horses, hoping the mounts were safe.

Her thoughts snapped back to her immediate surroundings when the golorak bellowed again. Thankfully, the sound clearly came from behind them. She felt relieved until she heard the second cry. It was a golorak, but its cry was slightly higher-pitched. She imagined it was a female. Worse, it came from in front of them.

“Two of them,” Allyn muttered. They walked side-by-side a few paces behind Larris. When the first golorak answered, he fished a bowstring from his belt pouch and strung his bow with dexterous fingers. Shanis imagined that the bow would do them little good, but it likely made him feel better.

“If they are a mating pair,” Oskar said to no one in particular, “then there might be younglings. And if the younglings are small enough to pass through the tunnel…”

“Shut up, Oskar,” she said. Not looking back to see if she had hurt his feelings, she gripped her sword hilt and quickened her pace to catch up with Larris. Always better to meet a problem head on, so Master Yurg always said. Of course, Master Yurg never had a golorak for a problem.

The tunnel wound downward at a gentle angle, and the air grew damp and distinctly chilly. The tunnel narrowed to the point that she and Larris were almost touching as they walked together. Though she understood that a narrow passageway made them safer from the golorak, or should she say, goloraks, she still sensed the oppressive weight of the stone above and around her.

Their path continued to carry them downward and she felt a slight breeze on her face as she walked. Larris paused, taking her by the arm to hold her back, and raised his torch high. Ahead of them, the blackness gave way to a gray, arching space. The tunnel had come to an end.

“Oh, my,” she whispered. The tunnel opened onto an expansive underground cavern. Unlike everything they had seen since the discovery of the city, the cavern appeared natural. Massive stalactites dangled from a ceiling so far above them that she could not guess the height. The walls were jagged, and fell into a bottomless blackness that make her stomach tremble when she tried to fathom its depths.

A faint hissing sound caught her attention. All around the cavern, as far as she could see, tiny streams no broader than arms width, poured forth from the stone, tumbling down the rocky faces into the silence below.

The others crowded up to the edge of the precipice, all wanting to witness the marvel. For a moment she feared they would push her over the edge.

“Gentle,” she said in a firm voice as Oskar shoved against her from behind. She felt Larris’ arm around her waist, and for once she did not mind.

“Look at the lights,” Khalyndryn said, awestruck. They all raised their heads to follow her gaze.

Far above them, six small openings had been bored in the rock. They formed a diamond shape, and were spaced too evenly and aligned too perfectly to have been formed naturally. Shafts of sunlight streamed through.

Each shaft of light shone on a stalactite, and she could see that they were imbued with sparkling crystalline rock. She followed the cascade of light as the beams tumbled down, dancing on the shining stones, dividing like channels of a river, and flowing back together at the tip of a thick bole of stone that hung down to eye level and shone against the far wall in a tight circle.

“There it is! There it is!” Larris’ voice danced with childlike joy. His arm still around her waist, he turned and crushed her in a tight embrace.

She was too surprised to resist. She was about to ask what he was talking about when she heard Oskar cry out.

“You’re right! I couldn’t see it before. The stalactite was in the way. Everyone duck down and look.”

She gently freed herself from Larris’ clutches, and dropped to her knees next to Oskar. “What is all this fuss about?” He pointed across the chasm, and she was surprised to see another tunnel, the twin of the one they were in, illuminated in the shaft of light. The giant stalactite in the center of the cavern had blocked their view.

She needed only a moment’s glance to know that this was the source of the pulling sensation. It seemed to glow from within, with a pulsating blue light. What was more, it seemed to her to be crackling with energy.

She could neither understand nor express the feeling, but when she gazed upon it, it felt as though lightning shot through her.

“How do we get across?” Allyn asked. For once, there was no trace of skepticism in his voice, only eagerness.

She studied the rocky face of the opposite wall, and her eyes quickly picked out a line of shadow running horizontally from the floor of the tunnel into the darkness to the right. Before she could call it to his attention, Allyn pointed into the distance.

“The ledge runs to a bridge. Or what’s left of one. I can see it from here. There was a bridge spanning the chasm. The middle has fallen away, but there are stone footings still in place.”

She strained to see the bridge, but all she could make out was a dark blob. She had not realized how good Allyn’s eyes were.

“There’s a ledge on this side as well, see it?”

“Yes, we see it.” Larris’ voice was tinged with impatience. He was likely frustrated at being unable to make out the bridge in the distance.

“If you follow it out, you can see where the bridge was on this side. There is a bit more of it left over here. If we can make our way over to it, I think I can get a rope around one of those footings, and we can climb across.”

“Climb across that?” Khalyndryn gasped. “I don’t think I can do it. I’m not strong enough.”

Oskar looked as if he were about to join the protest when another roar from a golorak shook the tunnel floor.

“That was right underneath us,” Hierm whispered, his voice almost inaudible over the ringing in Shanis’ ears.

Larris did not have to give the order to move. Allyn moved to the edge of the tunnel, took a moment to scrutinize the ledge, then extinguished the torch and dropped it to the floor.

“I have more,” he explained. “If we give our eyes time to adjust, there is enough light to make our way across.” The others followed suit, extinguishing their torches. By then, Allyn was already several paces out onto the ledge. His body was pressed flat against the rock, which was not exactly smooth, but appeared to be blessedly free of any large protrusions. “There is a groove cut into the rock at shoulder level,” he called back.

“Hook your fingertips into it. It helps.”

“I’ll go next,” Oskar said, his voice choked with fear, “before I change my mind.” He adjusted his staff, which he wore slung across his back with a length of leather Allyn had given him. He looked back at Shanis, winked, and stepped out onto the ledge.

The golorak roared again, so close that Shanis thought she must be standing on top of it. The sound startled Oskar who whirled his head around to look back at them. For a moment she feared he would lose his balance, but he held steady, and continued his trek. Khalyndryn needed no further encouragement to mount the ledge and begin her trek across.

“Follow her and stay close,” Larris said to Hierm. “Try to keep her calm and don’t let her go too fast.” Hierm nodded and followed Larris’ instructions.

Her curiosity getting the better of her, Shanis lay down flat on her stomach and hung her chin over the ledge.

A faint animal scent wafted up, foul and unfamiliar. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom beneath the ledge, they focused on another tunnel directly beneath the one through which they had passed. This one was three times the width, and was rough and round, like a burrow. She heard a wet, snuffling sound, and the scratching of claws on stone. She did not need to see the frog-like face and razor teeth to know that the golorak was there.

She sprang to her feet and snatched Larris by the forearm, dragging him toward the ledge. “There’s a tunnel right below us. It’s right there!” She did not have to explain what “it” was. He hurried to the side, and gestured for her to go first.

Trying not to think about the emptiness beneath her, she put her left foot onto the ledge. Making sure she had firm footing, she reached up and hooked the fingers of her left hand into the groove. She held her breath, brought her right foot onto the ledge, and grabbed the handhold with her right hand.

The ledge was just wide enough for the ball of her foot. She was sickeningly aware of her heels hanging out in space, and the narrow pathway prevented her from centering her weight above it. The sword strapped to her back made her situation more precarious. She dug her fingers into the groove and suddenly was struck with a feeling of gratitude that she did not have Oskar’s large behind to further unbalance her. The absurdity of the thought and the tension of the situation were nearly her undoing. She lost her focus for a moment, and with it her balance.

“What are you doing?” Larris whispered. He waited at the edge of the tunnel for her to move so he could mount the ledge.

Down below, the golorak made a grumbling sound that put Shanis in mind of an empty stomach. Not liking the images that though conjured, she began to move along the ledge. Her first steps were cautious. She slid her left foot out as far as she dared, then moved her left hand forward. Her right hand followed, then she shifted some of her weight to her hands as she slid her right foot up to meet her left.

That’s one. Only a hundred or so more to go.

Her second step was a bit more confident, and her third even more so. She heard a scuffing sound behind her, and knew that Larris was out on the ledge.

The golorak roared again, nearly startling her off the ledge. She looked back to see the beast snap at Larris’

heels. With its flat face and virtual absence of neck, the golorak had no hope of reaching the young man. A wave of relief passed through Shanis as the creature turned back into the tunnel. The feeling was short lived, as the golorak thrust its hindquarters out of the tunnel, and whipped its thick, muscular tail at Larris.

It struck the wall with a violent slap, spraying shards of stone over Shanis and Larris. Slivers of rock cut her face and hands. The golorak bellowed, and struck again. Shanis screamed and turned her head as another wave of sharp fragments sliced into the back of her neck.

She tore forward across the ledge, thinking of nothing except getting away. She took reckless chances, actually lifting her feet off the ledge to take longer strides, and letting go of the handholds so she could reach farther forward. But no matter how fast she moved, she felt as if she were standing still. She imagined the ledge tilting upward, sliding her back into the golorak’s gaping maw.

“Shanis, slow down!” Larris called. “He can’t get to you!” He shouted something else, but it was overwhelmed by another roar. All the while, the creature continued to pound the rock with his tail.

Shanis was aware of blood oozing onto her fingertips from the cuts opened by the flying stone. Her grip was less sure, and she was about to slow her pace when it happened.

Her left foot came down on a sliver of rock, probably dislodged by the golorak. It was not large, but enough to turn her ankle. Her left leg buckled, and her right foot slipped free. She screamed, her feet scrabbling for purchase against the rough stone as she dangled from bloody fingertips over a black abyss.

Her right instep caught a rough protrusion, and she pushed up, at the same time pulling with slippery fingers.

She could almost get her left foot onto the ledge. She was frighteningly mindful of the pulling sensation that drew her toward the tunnel on the other side of the cavern. She fought to ignore it as she struggled to regain the ledge.

Almost…she raised her foot…nearly there. Her left hand began to slip. Almost…her toe touched the ledge.

The rock beneath her right foot broke away, and her weight fell heavy onto her hands. Her left hand lost its purchase, and she knew she was going to die.

And then Larris was there. He gripped the back of her belt through a handful of cloak, and pulled her up. He could not lift her all the way onto the ledge by himself, but his added strength was enough to help her regain her grip, and get her feet back onto the ledge.

She looked at him, all six of him refracted in her frightened tears, and could not speak. She felt his hand on her shoulder, comforting her.

“You are all right,” he said. “You are the bravest woman I have ever known. Lead us across this ledge and away from that smelly animal.”

In that moment, she understood why a man would die for his ruler. In her moment of weakness, Larris had affirmed and inspired her with a few simple words. In the back of her mind, she knew he said those things to calm and encourage her, but in that moment she believed them to be true.

With her resolve firmed, she resumed her trek. She narrowed her focus on the ledge in front of her, and repeated her calming exercise, this time with her eyes open. Now it came easier. She formed the blade in her subconscious and imagined her senses to be the keen edge. All else was gone: the golorak, her fear, the tugging sensation.

In what seemed like seconds she felt hands on her, and looked up to see Hierm pulling her onto the remains of the old bridge. She fell into his arms as she stepped forward, and then felt Oskar wrap his bearlike arms around her from behind. They were squeezing the breath out of her, but she did not care. She felt a hand on her cheek and opened her eyes to see Khalyndryn weeping openly. She snaked an arm out and pulled the girl to her. Soon, the four villagers were in a tight circle, hugging and crying, a world away from home.

She broke the embrace with reluctance at the sound of Allyn clearing his throat. He stood at the edge of the chasm, having managed to lasso one of the square stone footings on the other side and had secured the other end rope to a nearby boulder.

“We need to get across right away,” he snapped. “Who knows what might come out of that tunnel?”

In her relief at making it across the ledge, she had not noticed the gaping passageway that opened onto the bridge.

“I’ll go first in case it doesn’t hold,” Larris said, striding to the jagged edge of the broken stone bridge.

Allyn nodded and picked up another rope lying at his feet, and cinched it around Larris’ waist. He showed Shanis and the others how to hold it, and instructed them to keep tension on it, and to play the rope out as Larris climbed across. “If his rope doesn’t hold, it’s up to us.” He tied the other end to the boulder for good measure, then signaled for Larris to cross.

Shanis and the others watched in silence as Larris took hold of the rope in both hands, hooked his ankles around it, and began to make his way, feet-first across the chasm. It seemed an eternity, but soon he was standing on the other side, untying the rope from his waist.

“Send Oskar next,” he called. “While we still have enough hands on that side to support his weight.

Oskar was trembling visibly as Allyn secured the rope around his midriff. The archer joked that he hoped there would be enough rope left after spanning Oskar’s middle, but Oskar was too nervous to laugh. None the less, he too made it across without incident.

Khalyndryn was next, and Shanis was surprised at how nimbly she made the climb. It was decided that Hierm, the heaviest of the remaining three, would go next, followed by Shanis, then Allyn.

Hierm made the hand-over-hand climb with ease, and was almost all the way across when the golorak came.

The deep, throaty roar burst forth from the passageway in a primordial challenge. It crept forward, its belly low to the ground. Muscled haunches rippled in the torchlight, and its bulbous eyes glowed silver. Shanis had never seen anything so frightening.

In a flash, Allyn fired off an arrow that clipped the golorak in the middle of its forehead and bounced harmlessly away. It roared again, and continued to slink forward. Another arrow just missed its eye, and it shook its head and took another step forward. Then it stopped.

Emerging from the tunnel, its eyes caught sight of two torches Allyn had wedged into cracks on either side of the tunnel. It flinched and drew back, baring its teeth.

“Come on while there’s time!” Larris called. “You’ll have to free climb. There’s no time for the rope.”

“Go,” Allyn ordered. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Shanis hurried to the edge and began her climb. She resisted the urge to go too fast, having learned her lesson on the ledge. The ropes cut into her already damaged hands, and her sore ankle screamed in pain as she scooted across the rope. She tried not to think of the unrelenting nothingness that reached up for her. She kept her eyes focused on her companions who waited on the other side, shouting encouragement to her.

She heard the golorak rumble, and stole a glance back. The creature had moved out of the tunnel, and was tensed to spring.

Standing at the very edge of the precipice, Allyn held his bow, an arrow nocked, in his left hand. In his right he held a firestick. Calmly, he struck the firestick against the bottom of his boot. Flame blossomed, and he touched it to the arrow, which instantly caught fire. He told me he carries a few pitch-coated arrows.

Silently, the golorak bounded forward. In a quick, fluid motion, Allyn took aim and let fly. The arrow took the monster full in the left eye, and it let out a deafening cry of pain and rage. It stumbled and fell. Rising, it turned and fled, bellowing all the while.

Shanis cheered, and she heard the others join in. With renewed spirits, she made her way across.

Allyn waited for her to finish her climb before he mounted the rope. He was the best climber of them all, and in no time he was halfway across.

We made it, Shanis thought. She was about to voice her thought when a flash of movement caught her eye. She looked up to see the golorak come hurtling out of the tunnel, sprinting toward the broken bridge.

Allyn’s back was toward the creature, but the look on the other’s faces must have told him what was happening. He scooted across the rope, hands and feet flying.

Shanis watched in fear as he drew closer, all the while mindful of the dizzying rate at which the golorak was melting the intervening distance. Could it jump so far?

Allyn was no more than twenty paces away when the golorak slid to a halt at the edge of the broken bridge, its claws grinding into the stone as it stopped.

Shanis could have sworn the creature looked right at her with its good eye as it raised a clawed foreleg and smashed down, crushing rock and cleaving the rope in two.

Chapter 34|The Chamber

Shanis cried out in alarm as Allyn fell. Upside down, his legs still wrapped around the rope, he swung down toward the wall below Shanis. His rope ran out of slack, and he nearly lost his grip, the jolt causing him to slip almost to the end. Before he could recover, he hit the wall hard. His legs came free, and he flipped in midair.

Somehow he managed to hold on.

“He’s like a cat,” Hierm marveled.

Allyn looked up at them, blood pouring down his face. “Pull me up,” he croaked. “I don’t know how long I can hold on.”

They immediately set to hauling at the rope, aided by Larris and Oskar. Allyn grunted as he banged against the rock. He used his feet to try and keep himself from the rock. Soon, he lay on his back, breathing heavily. Against his faint protests, Larris checked him for broken bones. When he was finished, he shook his head to indicate that he found none.

Shanis turned her attention away from Allyn and looked around. This side of the cleft was similar to that from which they had come. Another ledge ran along the stone wall to the glowing cave. From somewhere far away, she heard the faint call of a golorak. It was answered moments later by another, more distant than the first. Then another.

“This place is like a warren for those frost-blighted things,” Hierm muttered. He looked at the cave entrance, the blue light pulsing faintly. “What do you think we’ll find in there?” He turned to face her.

She was surprised to realize how much older he looked. So much had happened to them on this journey that she had not noticed the effect on her friend. He was leaner, more serious-looking. In fact, he looked like his father.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Just thinking about how far we’ve come,” she said. “We’ve been through so much, and now we’re about to…” She couldn’t say the words. It was beyond belief.

“I know,” he said. “I can’t believe it either.” His eyes clouded as he looked at their destination.

“Whatever it is, I hope it will protect us from the goloraks.” He shook his head. “I never thought anything would frighten me more than an ice cat.”

“The gods willing, we won’t encounter any more of them,” Larris said, walking up next to them.

Behind him, Allyn was on his feet, though he was visibly fatigued. “Allyn insists he’s ready to move on.” He shook his head to indicate that he did not agree with his friend’s assessment.

Shanis led the way across. Khalyndryn followed, with Hierm close behind. They were concerned that Khalyndryn was growing fatigued, but she was holding up well.

This time, the climb across the ledge was blessedly uneventful. She heard a few distant golorak calls, but nothing more. She was concerned about Allyn, but dared not steal a glance back until she reached the other end.

The ledge terminated on a broad shelf in front of a yawing cave. The blue light flickered with an eerie glow. She turned and offered her hand to Khalyndryn, who clasped it with cold, moist fingers. Stepping onto the shelf, she offered a thin smile of thanks before turning away.

The strain was wearing on her. She looked back to see Allyn making his way across. Blood still trickled from facial cuts he had sustained when he crashed into the rock. His face was a grim mask of determination. Larris was behind him, holding fast to the wall with his right hand. His left was on the small of Allyn’s back, steadying him. It was only then that Shanis noticed how wobbly Allyn’s legs were. She admired his resolve, and respected Larris for his concern for his friend. He is not so bad.

Oskar brought up the rear. His face was pale, and he gripped the wall so hard that his knuckles seemed to glow. His breath came in gasps.

“You’re almost there,” Shanis called to him. “Just a bit farther.”

Soon, they all were gathered in front of the tunnel. They stood in silence for a moment, looking from one face to another. The gravity of the moment rendered them speechless. She supposed that it was possible that this tunnel would lead them to another dead end, like the city up above, but somehow she knew that it would not. This was it. They had arrived.

Larris stood with his back to the others, gazing down the tunnel. She wondered if he was savoring the moment. Or perhaps he feared what he might find…or might not find. He turned to face them, smiling. He started to speak, but Shanis cut him off.

“You are not going to give us another one of your ‘Larris speeches’, are you?”

“Actually, yes I was.” He looked a touch abashed, but it lasted only a moment. “Instead, I’ll simply say, thank you for seeing this through with me… my friends.”

Shanis did not have time to feel guilty. Larris turned, drew his sword, and led the way down the passage. Blue light danced around him, and the edges of his form seemed to waver. Suppressing a wave of fear, she gripped her sword hilt and followed. Allyn took up his bow, which he had not unstrung since shooting the golorak, and fell in alongside her, with the others close behind.

She felt the mystical pull again, now almost irresistible. She felt like she should lean backward in order to keep from falling over forward.

Her thoughts swam. What would it mean to find the Silver Serpent? What would it mean to them?

To the world? Her mind was abuzz with possibilities. What if the power was so great that Larris could not control it? What if, in a moment of weakness, he used it for ill? Could they even take it? Could they touch it?

Would it hurt them?

Her knees gave just a bit, and she caught herself. Performing her focusing exercise, she pushed the thoughts away, and steeled herself against whatever seemed to be dragging her forward.

Why is it only pulling me? Looking around at the others, she saw that only Oskar’s face showed evidence of strain, though they all looked serious.

“Do you feel that?” she whispered to Oskar, who nodded his head. She noted his pale, sweaty face.

“What is that?” Larris halted and turned to face them. His face was taut, whether with excitement or annoyance at the distraction, she could not tell.

“It’s pulling me,” she said. “It’s as if invisible arms are drawing me forward. It’s almost tangible. You don’t feel it?” She looked around, generalizing the question to all of her companions. All, save Oskar, shook their heads.

“I don’t feel anything but afraid,” Khalyndryn said.

Ordinarily that statement would have annoyed Shanis, but she had to admit she admired Khalyndryn, just a touch, for going on in the face of her fears, especially after the Golorak. Her attention moved to Oskar.

Why would only the two of them feel it?

“Well,” Larris said, “whatever the reason you are feeling it, let us hope that it is drawing us toward something good.” He did not need to say what that something was. “I can’t believe otherwise.” He motioned for them to continue, and led the way.

Shanis took the final steps down the passageway as if she was walking naked in snow. Her body tingled, and she shivered. Numbness engulfed her and she heard a faint humming sound that grew louder with each step.

They reached an arched doorway. Carved into the stone all around it were serpents coiled around bolts of lightning. It looked powerful and deadly. Larris paused to look at the carvings before entering the room.

The humming burst into a crescendo as Shanis stepped over the threshold. Blue light flowed around her, rippling across her in soft waves of bright blue, almost white, and in troughs of a deep cerulean.

The chamber was round, arching up to a dome high above. A circle of columns carved like impossibly twisting serpents held up the ceiling in the room’s center. The walls, ceiling and floors were dark, polished stone.

Larris pointed toward the columns. Shanis followed the line of his finger and saw a dark figure kneeling among them. Moving closer, they saw that it was a statue.

It was a warrior clad in ancient armor. The figure was rendered in lifelike detail. Veins bulged in his powerful forearms, and his muscles seemed to ripple in the flowing light. His long, braided hair lay across his broad, powerful back. He was down on one knee, his head bowed low. A stone sword lay on his upraised palms, as if it was an offering to the gods.

The sword, too, appeared breathtakingly real. Above the round pommel, a serpent coiled around the hilt, its gaping mouth and needle-like fangs formed the guard. As they drew closer, Shanis could make out another serpent, twin to the one carved in the cliff face above the city, etched into the blade.

“It looks razor sharp,” Hierm whispered. Oskar, who had been reaching out to touch the sword, snatched his hand back.

“This is the place,” Larris said. “We’ve found it.” He dropped to his knees before the stone figure, and gazed at its face, his expression unreadable. “We are here,” he whispered. “Reveal your secrets. Where is the serpent? What is it?” They waited as if they expected the stone to speak.

After a few moments, Oskar cleared his throat. “Perhaps the answer lies back there.”

Arrayed along the back wall, thirty paces away, six stone coffins lay in silent repose. Larris sprang to his feet and they hurried to the one in the center. They were surprised to discover that these were the source of the blue light.

“Seastone,” Larris said. “Father gave two of his finest stallions and a small chest of gold and jewels for a piece of stone that was only large enough to make Mother a ring and a set of earrings. I’ll wager there is not this much seastone in all of Gameryah combined.” He trailed his fingers across the surface, the stone rippling like water. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice them before.”

“What…who is in here?” Oskar asked. “I think I see some writing.”

“Yes,” Larris said, moving his hand toward the head. “You can just make it out. It is in Elevated. I know very few words, but this one,” he pointed to a word, “is ‘Cardith”. And this says ‘ruler’.” He ran his fingers over the ornate, curved text, that looked to Shanis more like a tangle of rope than writing. He paused, sucking in his breath. “Frostmarch.” The word sent a chill through the room. “I believe,” he said, straightening, “that this is the tomb of Sarala, who ruled Cardith during the Frostmarch.”

“But she fell in battle,” Oskar protested. “They carried her body home, and it lies in a crypt beneath the temple of Vesala.” Obviously, something he had read.

“Have you looked inside the crypt of late?” Allyn said.

Oskar scowled but did not reply.

They waited while Larris made a brief inspection of the other tombs. “This is amazing,” he said, stepping away from the last one. “The rulers of the six nations at the time of the Frostmarch are entombed here.”

“So the Serpent lies with one of them?” Allyn asked.

“We shall find out,” he said. “Help me with this.” Allyn, Hierm and Oskar helped him lift the lid from the sarcophagus farthest to the left. “It’s quite light,” he said as they laid it to the side with care.

Shanis sidled up to Hierm, who stood with the others peering into the coffin. Khalyndryn joined them after a brief hesitation. The contents of the vault were illuminated in the blue glow.

A dry, brittle skeleton, its rib cage collapsed under the weight of tarnished chain mail, lay grinning up at them. A gold circlet with an onyx raven set in its center hung askew across its forehead. Its hands were folded across its chest, and it held a short sword, its blade worn and the leather wrappings around the hilt crumbling from dry rot.

“Adar, King of Kyrin,” Larris announced. “But I don’t see anything here that could possibly be the Silver Serpent.”

Disappointed, they replaced the lid and moved on to the next crypt. Riljin, King of Halvala, wore a moldy bearskin over his chain mail, and was buried with his battle axe, Wulfbane. Mardid of Lothan wore a leather jerkin over his cross-hatched clan garb, and was laid to rest with his round, bronze shield and a broken sword.

“It was broken in the battle of Storlom,” Larris explained. “He fought on with only the hilt and the hands-length of blade you see there. He slew the commander of the forces of ice, a shifter named Crattas, but he suffered a mortal blow in the fight.”

Hollac of Riza was buried with his war hammer. Oskar commented on the man’s stature, having read that Hollac was a mountain of a man. His remains, however, proved him to be unremarkable in both height and breadth.

Sarala, and Damenn, Primor of the Council of Diyonus, were buried without weapons, neither being warriors. Sarala wore the crown of Cardith and a silken dress. Damenn was outfitted in the traditional Diyonan robe and tabard. Around his neck hung the thick golden chains that indicated his station as the head of the Diyonan council.

When the last coffin was sealed, they stood in silence. It put Shanis in the mind of a mourning circle back home. Somehow, it seemed wrong to speak at this moment. After what seemed to her to be a suitable length of time, she spoke up.

“Where is it?” There was no need to say what it was. “There was neither silver nor anything that looked like a serpent in any of these.” She gestured toward the coffins.

“It is here,” Larris said. “Is that feeling of yours telling you anything?”

Shanis shook her head. “It is so powerful that it seems to be everywhere. All I can say is that it is centered on this room.”

“Everyone spread out,” Larris said, obviously disappointed. “Look everywhere. It must be something so obvious that we missed it.”

Shanis moved to the wall behind the crypts. Running her fingers across the smooth stone, she felt for…she didn’t know what. A door, a hidden switch like in the stories. Something caught her eye. A crack, no, a tiny seam, running on a perfectly plumb line down to the floor. She followed it with her fingers. The stones were fitted together so perfectly that she could scarcely feel it. Just overhead, it cut across horizontally for two arms lengths, then back down to the floor.

A doorway! She had turned to announce her find to the others, when Larris cried out.

“Right under our feet! I’ve found it!” He stood staring at the floor just outside the columns that encircled the kneeling warrior.

The others hurried to his side. Beneath their feet, a serpent, rendered in silver tile, coiled around the columns. Everyone dropped to the floor and began running their fingers across it.

“It appears to be only a design,” Shanis said, the doorway temporarily forgotten, “just a pattern in the tile.”

“We were so distracted by the statue and the crypts that we walked right over it,” Larris said, ignoring her. “I told you it would be something obvious. Didn’t I?” He was on his hands and knees, following the glittering scales with his hands.

“Larris, this is perfectly smooth,” Allyn protested. “It’s naught but a picture.”

“There must be something,” Larris muttered. “Here. The eyes are slightly recessed. Remember the eye of the serpent at the well? It was the key to opening up the passage.”

The eyes were two perfect circles of glittering green stone. From her vantage point, they looked like part of the tile to Shanis.

“Perhaps if I just…” Larris placed his index and middle fingers on the eyes and pressed.

Green light flared and a loud hiss filled the room. Larris leapt to his feet and drew his sword. The others backed away, drawing their weapons as well. Khalyndryn moved behind Oskar, the person closest to her, who was fumbling with his staff, which he wore strapped across his back.

The silver tile rippled and bubbled as the serpent took form. Silver scales coalesced on a body as thick as Shanis’ thigh. The tail pulled loose from the floor, then the head. Green light danced in its eyes, and turned and fixed its gaze on her. With another loud hiss, it opened its mouth, baring crystal fangs. It struck.

She spun to the side and heard the jaws snap closed just inches from her heart. She swung her sword, but the serpent dodged the awkward stroke. She backpedaled, and ran squarely into one of the coffins.

Its body now fully free of the floor, the serpent pursued her, fangs bared. An arrow bounced harmlessly off the glittering scales of its head. It paused to turn its head and hiss at Allyn.

She resisted the urge to hide behind the coffin. I need room to move. She danced to her right as the creature struck again. She heard the seastone shatter and Larris cry out. She turned to see him attack the serpent from behind. With a shout of rage, he brought his blade down hard across its neck. Green sparks flew, but the serpent was unfazed. With a whip of its tail, it caught Larris in the side, sending him crashing into the wall, where he fell hard, his sword clattering to the floor.

Allyn loosed two more arrows in quick succession. Both caught the snake in the head, but had as little effect as the first. It turned its attention to him for only a moment, before turning back toward Shanis. It hurtled toward her, its metallic scales clicking on the stone floor.

Shanis raised her sword again, and when the serpent struck, she beat its attack to the side and danced away.

Hierm joined the fray, hacking at the tail. It spared him not so much as a glance. Larris, having regained his feet and sword, joined him in his desperate rear assault. The serpent whipped its tail at them, but they were ready. They dodged it and resumed hacking. Now the serpent spun and darted toward them. They moved apart, and the beast went for Larris.

“Go for its tail!” Allyn shouted, dashing in to attack again. “I think I knocked a scale loose!”

Shanis saw a flash of green light, and aimed her sword at it. This time, she could swear she felt the blade bite into the scales. She danced away as the snake came about, and she saw a sliver of green light shining through the silver skin.

“It can be hurt!” Larris shouted.

But would it be enough?

“The door is closing!” Khalyndryn screamed.

Shanis turned to see a wall of stone slide into place, sealing off the tunnel from which they had come.

Khalyndryn was trying in vain to raise the stone. Next to her, Oskar stood stock-still, staring at the serpent. He was holding his staff out in front of him, and moving his lips. What was he doing? Silver light flashed in the corner of her eye, and she looked back to see glittering fangs lash out at her. She fended off the attack with her sword and danced away.

Her arms burned, and her step was slowing. The long day of climbing had worn her down, and now the fight was sapping the last of her strength. Another arrow found its mark, this time on the injured tail.

Green sparks flew, and its venomous hiss burned their ears. It reared to strike at her again.

Larris and Hierm moved in from either side, this time attacking the creature’s middle. It was waiting for them. A whip of its tail caught Hierm across the temple and he crumpled to the floor. With lightning speed it struck back at Larris, who could not move fast enough. Shanis saw a rip in his sleeve and blood running down his arm, purple in the blue light.

There was no time to ask if he was all right. The serpent came after her, striking with fury, driving her backward. No swordsman had ever kept her on such a defensive. She was fighting off its attack, but just barely. Allyn loosed another arrow, but the serpent was ignoring them, its full attention on her. It struck again, this time low, and she jumped back. She came down on something soft, and tumbled to her backside, her sword flying free from her grasp.

She had stumbled over Hierm’s unconscious form. She scrambled backward on hands and feet, the serpent’s gaping jaws seemingly right above her. Before it could strike, Larris struck it with a broad, reckless swing, his wounded left arm hanging limp at his side. The blow must have done some damage, because the snake now directed all its fury at the young prince. It caught Larris’ ankles with its tail, sending him stumbling backward. It struck, its jaws clamping down on his sword, shattering the blade. Before Shanis could get to her feet, it had Larris in its coils, crushing the life from him.

Allyn came sprinting from the corner of her vision. He leapt onto the back of the beast, wrapping an arm around its neck, and tried to gouge its eyes with his hunting knife. The serpent shook free of him, and he fell winded to the ground.

Everything seemed to slow. She heard Khalyndryn screaming. She saw Oskar, crying out in fright, beating at the beast with his staff. She saw Hierm and Allyn lying on the floor, the latter struggling to get to his feet. She saw Larris, his face purple, pummeling the snake with his fists. What she did not see was her sword, I need a weapon. She turned and her eyes fell on the statue in the center of the room, and the stone sword lying across his upraised palms. Three steps and she was there. She heard Larris cry out as her hand closed around the hilt.

Chapter 35|Resonance

Aspin sighed as he looked at the precarious switchback running down the side of the cliff. He had been traveling blind in the days since leaving the Ramsgate. He had no idea where the girl was, and signs were few in this rocky land. He had seen evidence of the passing of a great number of people, but they were too many and headed in the wrong direction. He wondered what they were about, and it concerned him more than a little, but his task was too important for him to allow himself to be diverted. He supposed he could try and send a message, but it was risky this close to the Ice Reaches. He preferred to pass across this country like a shadow. He hoped that he was heading in the right direction, but hope was all he had. That, and the bond he shared with his quarry.

He checked the sun where it hung high above the distant, snow-tipped peaks. Time was difficult to estimate in the mountains, but he could make a general estimate. This would be as good a time as any to rest.

He turned to retrieve his water skin when he felt a tremor. It was as if the world had… shifted ever so slightly.

He froze, fearing that the ledge was about to give way beneath him. He felt it again, and realized that it was not a physical tremor, but a wave of energy that seemed to come from beyond the snow-capped peaks. The direction in which he was headed. He waited.

It struck him. A blinding wave of pure energy. His mind screamed in exquisite agony, and he crumpled to the ground.

Lerryn tensed as they approached the village. Several dirty men with shaggy black beards and unkempt hair stood outside the log stockade, spears held in white knuckled grips. They eyed him with looks varying from caution to outright hostility.

“Do not draw your weapons unless I give the command,” he instructed his comrades. Nearby, a group of indecently-dressed women farmed a muddy patch of garden. They pretended to ignore the newcomers, but eyed the group with sidelong glances.

They reined in at a safe distance from the gate and, in accordance with Malgog custom, waited to be greeted.

The men continued to stare. Several heartbeats later, one sauntered into the village, returning with a wizened old man, his long hair and beard showing only faint signs of what had undoubtedly been hair as black as the others. He wore baggy pants and tunic, typical of Malgog. As a sign of his office, he wore a string of swamp lizard claws around his neck. Lerryn counted nine claws. This man had led the village for more than thirty-six springs.

Leaning heavily on his staff, the man made his way over to Lerryn. “You may dismount,” he said, his strong voice incongruous with his frail body.

Lerryn climbed down, and made a show of slowly removing his sword belt and laying it on the ground in front of him.

“My name is Lerryn van Altman, First Prince of the Sword of Galdora. I offer you this gift.” He reached into his tunic and withdrew the pouch he had secreted there earlier.

The old man cackled, showing a full mouth of ragged, yellow teeth. “And what use have we of your money in this place, young Highness? The Malgog have no commerce anymore.”

“You misunderstand, Esteemed One.” He loosened the drawstring and opened the bag. “I offer you herbs from my homeland. Ground and used in a poultice, they help prevent wounds from becoming infected.

Brewed in a tea, they have, shall we say, certain other benefits for an older gentleman.” He raised his eyebrows “And what might those be?” The man’s eyes said that he already knew the answer.

“Let us just say, your wife will be very pleased if you accept this gift.”

The man laughed again. “My wife is less than twenty springs old, Highness. I daresay she will not be pleased. I, however, gladly accept your gift.” He nodded to one of the armed villagers who hurried over to accept Larris’ gift. “As you obviously know our customs, you are aware that now is the time that you should state your business.”

“Esteemed One, I am in search of an ancient relic,” Larris said. “I have traveled far.”

“I know where Archstone is,” the old man interrupted. “What relic do you seek?.”

“The relic I seek is a remnant of the war of the Frostmarch.” Lerryn held his breath, hoping the response would be the one for which he longed. He breathed a sigh of relief when the man smiled.

“A pilgrim are you?” The old man sounded delighted. “You have come to see our relic. Yes, come this way.”

He turned and headed into the village.

Lerryn signaled for Karst to follow him. The others could wait with the horses. Inside the rough stockade was a cluster of stick and mud huts. A pig scurried underfoot, and ran away squealing. He wondered if Karst was feeling at home.

“An amazing relic it is, but no one remembers that it was brought here.”

Lerryn’s heart danced. The prophecy had led them to this place. Soon, he would lay his hands on the Silver Serpent. So great was his excitement that he scarcely heard the old man continue.

“We once had a small temple to house the relic, but with the clan wars, it was not safe. You understand, no? It has been many years since we had a pilgrim. Perhaps this is a good omen for us. This way! It is in the cave.”

Lerryn’s excitement grew as he caught sight of a small cave set in the side of a hill. An old woman sat in front of it tending a smoky fire. She wore a dress of animal skins and a necklace of bones. Of course they would have a witch guarding a relic of such power. The woman looked up, her eyes wide in surprise.

“We have a pilgrim,” he said. “A pilgrim!”

If the witch was impressed, she did not show it. “You may leave your offering on the altar,” she said in a raspy voice, indicating a flat stone at the center of the cave entrance. The old man turned to Lerryn and gestured for him to enter the cave.

Lerryn fished a gold coin from his belt pouch and dropped it onto the altar. He was certain that he could have come up with something more useful to these people than gold they would likely never get to spend, but he would not wait a moment longer than necessary. The moment was at hand.

The old man, who still had not told them his name, drew a flaming brand from the campfire and joined them. “It is just a ways back.” He led the way into the cool, musty darkness.

The cave bent to the left, and as they turned the corner, the light glinted off of a metallic surface. Lerryn’s heart raced.

The torch cast a faint circle of light around and in front of them. The flickering glow fell upon a battered bronze breastplate.

“The breastplate of Karnis the Good, greatest Malgog hero of the Frostmarch. The forces of ice pinned the Lothan army against a sheer cliff, threatening to overwhelm them. King Mardid looked at this breastplate, and saw a vision of how to defeat the enemy. Karnis and his clansmen scaled the cliff in the dark of night, and assaulted the enemy’s right flank. Only Karnis survived, but their attack opened the way for the Lothans to fight their way free. They say the tears Karnis wept for his fallen clansmen fell upon this breastplate and gave it the power to meet one’s need in his most desperate hour. Is your need great?”

Lerryn felt the bile rise in his throat. He forced himself to stand straight, though his knees felt like they would buckle. He could not believe it. The disappointment was almost more than he could bear.

“That cannot be…” Karst shut up when Lerryn cuffed him on the back of the head. His dark eyes fixed Lerryn with an evil glare.

An anguished scream from behind them saved Lerryn the trouble of speaking an insincere word of thanks. He spun around, drew his sword, and sprinted back to the mouth of the cave, Karst right behind him.

Emerging in the gray light, he almost fell across the witch woman, who lay writhing on the ground. She held her hands pressed to her temples and her lips were drawn back in an agonized grimace. Bloody scratches marred her cheeks where she had clawed her face. A frightened villager knelt beside her, looking at Lerryn with uncertain eyes.

“Highness!”

Lerryn turned to see Bull beckoning to him. He sprinted over to his party, and stopped short when he saw Xaver on the ground, in a similar condition to that of the witch woman. His vizier’s eyes were opened wide, and his breath came in labored gasps. Lerryn dropped to his knees next to Xaver. He had seen his share of battlefield injuries, but never anything like this invisible malady.

“What is it? What can I do for you?” The others stood in a semi-circle behind them, leaning over to stare at the struggling man.

“Found…” Xaver gasped, “…found it.”

“No, we did not,” Lerryn said. The admission seemed to burn his tongue. “It was just an old…”

“No!” Xaver grabbed Lerryn’s tunic with both hands. “Someone else.” He closed his eyes and fell back to the ground, squeezing his eyes shut. “Another.”

Lerryn did not want to believe what he was hearing. How could Xaver know? He was dimly aware that Karst had detached from their group and mounted his horse. As the sound of hooves pounding the soft turf rang in his ear, Xaver opened his eyes again.

“Lerryn,” he wailed. “We were wrong!”

“With all due respect, Prelate, Aspin must be reined in. For too long he has gone his own way, doing the gods know what. And now, when he is needed, we cannot find him.”

Denrill inspected the back of his hands and waited to be certain Taggian had finished his diatribe. All due respect? That would be something new from Taggian. After an adequate silence he spoke.

“And that, Proctor Taggian,” Denrill explained with more patience than he felt he owed the insufferable man, “is precisely why I cannot ‘rein him in.’”

“You could contact him by way of…”

“I am perfectly aware of the capabilities of aciash smoke. You have seen me use it. Are you suggesting that senility is encroaching upon my faculties?” Taggian shook his head, but the expression on his face indicated that he at least suspected the prelate was losing his mind. “Excellent. Now that we have established that I am not mentally impaired, I shall remind you of the potential danger of sending such a message, depending upon Aspin’s location when the message is received.”

“So he is in a precarious location?” Taggian moved to the window and looked out over the Vatanian cityscape. The man fancied himself clever, but he had no subtlety. That he had risen to proctor was, in Denrill’s estimation, an indictment of the entire order of sai-kurs.

“I have already told you,” Denrill said, his voice clearly indicating his fatigue, “that I do not know where he is.

I can assure you, and those whom you purport to represent,” he added, ignoring Taggian’s frown, “that his task is of critical importance.”

“Permission to sit?” His attention to protocol was belied by the fact that he was already settling into the chair opposite Denrill’s desk when the prelate flicked his hand toward the seat. “Prelate, I understand that you have heard rumors from the west of, shall we say, curious activity.” No one within the order had thus far been willing to consider the possibility of a second frostmarch. “But we have a situation between Kyrin and Galdora, a situation in which Aspin is uniquely qualified to intervene.”

“Proctor, we have more pressing issues than another round of the constant friction between Nadrin and the Van Altmans.”

“Both princes of Galdora are missing. You cannot convince me that Nadrin had nothing to do with it. Nor can you convince the King, for that matter. Kyrinian troops are massing on Galdora’s northwest border. War could break out at any moment.” Taggian rearranged his robes, shifted in his seat, and leaned toward Denrill.

“We need Aspin. Your trust in him, though I am certain that it is well-founded, has become a source of concern for many of the order.”

Denrill slapped the tarwood desk with the flat of his palm. “You forget yourself, Proctor. I will execute my duties as I see fit, and at this moment, I see fit to permit Aspin to continue his work.”

“But Prelate, the Kyrinian situation is urgent…”

“You are correct, Taggian. It is urgent, and requires the attention of one of our most experienced and influential Sai-kurs.” The look on the other man’s face said that he already knew who that someone would be.

“I have your orders here, Proctor.” Denrill drew a stack of folded and sealed parchments from his desk and handed them to the confused-looking Taggian.

“What are the others for?” he asked, shuffling through them and looking increasingly ill as he read each name.

“It seems that a number of urgent situations have come to my attention in the last few days. If you will do me the kindness of delivering these orders. I believe these are all men with whom you work closely?” These orders would scatter nine of Taggian’s most ardent supporters, and Denrill’s most vocal detractors, across Gameryah for three moons or more. It would not quash their dissent, but it would buy him time and a measure of blessed peace.

His satisfaction was short-lived. A humming sensation filled the room. He turned toward the window and was struck full in the face by a wave of energy that knocked him backward. He crashed into his desk and fell to the floor. He sat there, the wind knocked out of him.

Taggian appeared at his side. The proctor looked like he was about to vomit. He bent down and took Denrill by the upper arm, and carefully helped him to his feet.

“Are you in need of attention, Prelate?” he asked. “I will send for a mender.” Denrill couldn’t tell whether the frown on Taggian’s face was out of concern for his health, or out of fear of the strange phenomenon they had just experienced.

Before Denrill could answer, the door flew open and Almate bustled into the room. A large patch of ink stained the front of his robe. Obviously, he had been taken by surprise as well. “Prelate, are you all right?” So great was the clerk’s worry that he did not even acknowledge that he had burst into a meeting of two superiors.

“We are both fine,” Taggian answered for the two of them. “You may go now.”

“My Lord?” Almate turned his attention to Denrill.

“I am fine, Almate. Thank you for your concern.” When his secretary did not leave, he paused and stared. The soft lines of his florid face seemed to fade away against his rust-colored hair. “Is there something else?”

“I…uh. That is… What was that, my Lord?” Almate looked as if he were going to sick up.

“We shall certainly find out. You are dismissed.” Denrill inclined his head toward the door. Without waiting for Almate to leave, he turned and straightened his desk. “You are both excused, Taggian.”

“But Prelate, I…”

“I am sorry. Did I mumble?” The scuffling sound of the proctor’s hurried departure soothed his frayed nerves a touch. Only when he heard the door close did he cease the pretense of working, and let the papers fall from his hands. Placing his palms flat on the smooth wood of his desk, he leaned forward heavily, and took a deep breath.

“Aspin,” he whispered, “where are you?”

The sweet scent of amalino root filled Eramon’s nose as he sprinkled it into the brazier. He watched as the blue smoke drifted up, wending its way up the steeply angled ceiling and spiraling out through the hole in the center. Behind the brazier hung a curtain of deepest crimson, dividing the Hall of Sacrifice from the Sanctus, the ceremonial abode of Arscla, God of fire. He knew that it was all superstition, but he loved being a priest.

The ornate temple, the fine robes, and the theatrical elements of the ritual appealed to him. What was more, in a city of this size a priest of Arscla was always well-fed, and had no shortage of altar boys from which to choose, though some of the more provincial clergy preferred beggar girls or orphans.

He turned to address the single worshipper, a merchant from the look of him, who knelt on a cushion in the center of the floor. Why did they always choose the center, Eramon wondered. Why not one of the cushions to the right, left, or the back? For that matter, why did they keep so many kneeling cushions in the hall? Kyrinians were not known for their devotion.

“You may approach the Sanctus,” he intoned, holding his hands out to receive the sacrifice. “Sacrifice” was perhaps no longer the most precise word. The temple had long ago done away with the practice of animal sacrifice, though some of the rural priests still held to the old ways.

The merchant proffered his offering: a square of raw meat, rolled in spices. The sacrifices were prepared early in the morning by novices, and sold to worshipers for two silver crowns. It made for a tidy profit for the temple, but the adherents had no other choice. Their own meat offerings were, by temple decree, unclean and unworthy for sacrifice. Eramon took the piece of meat and turned back to the brazier, his mouth watering at the thought of the tasty meal it would make after it had been roasted. Unless, of course, the worshiper spent too long at the altar and the meat burned. Hoping that would not happen, he skewered the offering and laid it across the brazier, where it began to crackle and smoke, emitting a most pleasing aroma.

“Almighty and most munificent Arscla,” Eramon intoned, raising the offering high. “A humble worshiper approaches your altar.” When the merchant remained rooted to the floor, he cleared his throat and inclined his head toward the waist-high wooden rail, two spans wide, that stood just in front of the brazier. “The unworthy one bows humbly before your divine and magnificent presence.”

The paunchy fellow scurried forward, red coloring his cheeks. He snatched the round, flat silk hat from his head to reveal a thinning pate of short, black hair. He tucked the cap into his finely-tooled leather belt. He dropped awkwardly to his knees, propped his elbows on the rail, and opened his hands, palms up.

“Holy Arscla,” Eramon continued, “hear the prayers of this, your faithful servant. May this humble sacrifice be pleasing in your sight.” With more drama than was strictly necessary, he dropped the offering into the fire. It cracked and sizzled, sending a column of fragrant white smoke drifting upward.

“Most gracious and, um…munifical… Arscla,” the man had no gift for language. “My enemies are…”

The man ceased his prayer when a column of brilliant orange flame, as wide as the brazier, shot upward, pouring out of the hole in the ceiling with an angry roar. Heat seared Eramon’s face, and the entire Sanctus shone with an unearthly brilliance. The chamber was alive with an energy he had never felt.

“What is happening?” Eramon whispered. He wanted to run, but his legs would not respond to his mind’s commands. He scarcely noticed Arscla’s lone adherent jostle him in his hurry to escape the searing pillar.

With an audible rip, the curtain was split asunder, revealing the faceless statue that represented the fire god.

Reflecting the brilliant firelight, it almost seemed alive.

Chapter 36|Reckoning

Shanis’ hand tingled as her fingers closed around the hilt of the stone sword. Fire coursed through her veins.

She felt powerful. She whipped the sword, light as a feather, around and held it out in front of her. What she saw made her gasp.

Sparks ran up and down the edge of the blade, and within its black stone depths, tiny lights like stars whirled. Faster they spun, until the entire surface of the blade was streaked with silver light. And then the sword began to change.

Beginning at the tip, the light coalesced into solid metal, the brightest silver she had ever seen. As the stars continued to whirl, the band of silver crept downward, turning the blade to something like steel. Against the silver background, the outline of the serpent shone in dancing red fire. It seemed an eternity, but somehow she knew it had taken only a matter of heartbeats.

A mist rose all around, dimming the glow and obscuring her friends from view. What is happening? The statue from which she had taken the sword spun, slowly first then faster, and began to sink. The floor started to tilt down toward the disappearing statue, and soon there was a gaping hole in the center of the room. She shifted her weight to try and maintain her balance, but despite the sloping floor, it felt as if she was standing on level ground.

The serpent drew back before her, hissing and swaying from side-to-side. Suddenly the creature was no longer so anxious for her blood. It did not snap at her, but continued to draw back. It swayed hypnotically, and its hisses almost sounded like words.

Sssss elfisshh. Cannot be the one. Sssselfisshh. Its eyes burned a brilliant emerald flame in the midst of the cool fog. They drew Shanis in, muddling her thoughts. You have drawn it. Only by your death may you let it go. It continued to undulate, swaying before her, just out of reach of the sword.

The thickening soup of fog dampened the shouts of her friends. Larris’ voice came faint to her ears. “Kill it Shanis! Kill it!” She willed her feet to move, and again noticed the strange sensation of walking on soft, level ground. She took a tentative step toward the serpent, then another. Her legs felt like stone.

The serpent glided to its left. As she turned to follow, she caught sight of a thin band of light forming a square in the wall behind the creature, its intense glow shining through the fog. The serpent slithered backward, sliding closer to the light. Shanis followed. As the creature neared the wall, she noticed that the seam in the stone she had discovered had opened up into a doorway.

“There’s a way out!” she shouted. “Follow my voice until you see the light.” The serpent was blocking the way. She had to drive it away so the others could escape. Without further thought, she leapt forward, swinging with all her might. The sword seemed to sing as it whistled through the air, narrowly missing the serpent. She was amazed that the weapon seemed to have no weight at all. She whipped a backhand stroke that narrowly missed severing the snake’s foul head, and was forced to leap aside as it struck hard at her chest. She felt a burning sensation over her heart, and for a moment thought she had been struck, but a quick glance told her otherwise.

The creature drew back again, and hissed. Ssselfisssh you are. The Sssilver Ssserpent mussst be wielded by one who isss willing to sssacrifice. You think only of yourssself. You cannot be the one.

She was stunned. The sword was the Silver Serpent? Then she remembered what the beast had said before.

Only by death may you let it go. She had drawn the Silver Serpent and could not let it go? But it was to have been Larris who drew it. She did not want this. The fate of Galdora rode on her shoulders? No! She wanted to be a soldier. Nothing more. Nothing less.

You sssee? The beast seemed to read her thoughts. You have never cared about othersss. You cannot do what mussst be done. It began its swaying again, its eyes drawing her in. You have alwaysss thought of yourssself firssst.

“Why are you saying that? You don’t know me!” The angry words she had exchanged with Khalyndryn now came back to her in a rush. Each word now hit her like a hammer. She was selfish. Memories came firing back, distant images from childhood. She was a spoiled brat. She was demanding and indulged beyond reason. She recalled fits she had thrown over the littlest thing.

“Don’t talk to it! Kill it!” Larris shouted. Shanis couldn’t see him, but somehow she knew that he was scrabbling along the sharply tilting floor. She wanted to protect him, to protect all of her friends, but her mind was a morass of confused thoughts.

Put down the Ssserpent, and I ssshall end your sssufering. Let it go, and sssomeone worthy ssshall bear it. It isss the leassst you can do after the life you have lived.

“Oskar’s slipping!’” Khalyndryn cried. “I can’t hold him! Shanis, you have to make it stop!”

A stray tear rolled down Shanis’ cheek. She didn’t know how the creature knew, but it was correct. She was a selfish person. The least she could do was make this sacrifice. She relaxed her grip on the hilt and let the sword point dip.

“No Shanis!” Larris was at her side, and he leapt at the serpent, wrapping his arms and legs around the writhing silver body. It thrashed about, slamming Larris into the wall. He lost his grip and fell hard to the floor, but immediately tried to regain his feet. Blood still flowed from his wounded arm, soaking his shredded tunic.

Shanis was still aware of everything around her. Somehow she knew that Hierm had regained consciousness, and Allyn had recovered his feet as well. The two were working their way toward her. She saw Oskar, unconscious, sliding toward the gaping hole in floor. Khalyndryn lay flat on her stomach, holding his cloak with one hand, and gripping a handful of hair in the other. Her jaws were clenched tight and her eyes wide as she tried in vain to dig her toes into the stone floor.

“I have to end this,” Shanis whispered. She let her sword arm fall to her side. The burning in her chest intensified. The serpent saw her lower her guard, and hesitated.

In that pause, Larris voice came to her calm and clear. “Shanis, a selfish person would not be willing to give her life for her friends.” The serpent hissed with fury, turned and snapped at Larris, who leapt back. “Kill it.”

New memories flooded Shanis. She remembered taking care of her father and their home, tending to her horse with the utmost attention to its needs, helping Mistress Anna in the garden, a thousand small acts of kindness and concern. She was no monster. The monster was in front of her. It looked at her, and drew back.

It was afraid of her! That was why it was trying to break her down, to make her question herself. But a part of her still doubted herself. Who was she to be a savior.

“Shanis,” Khalyndryn called out, “you saved my life!”

That sealed it. The beast bared its fangs to strike, but before it could move, Shanis brought her sword to bear, slashing the snake across the throat. The Silver Serpent slashed through brilliant scales, sending gouts of brilliant green fire pouring forth. The wounded creature made a strangled hiss, and fled through the doorway.

She knew she had to follow. She had to kill it. She sprinted up the sloping tunnel, following the flashes of green and silver. As she sprinted, the floor beneath her vanished, and the dark stone walls melted away. She was running through dark clouds, flying. And she was gaining. The serpent looked back at her, its green eyes still burning. Hot fire still leaked from the wound, burning holes in the clouds upon which they ran. Shanis leapt over one of the holes and looked down to see light shining through. Far below she could make out snow-capped mountain peaks. Another leap, and she could almost reach out and touch the tail of the fleeing beast.

Help us! The words were faint, like a shout’s last faded echo. They came again. Help us. It was Larris. They needed her. But she had to kill the snake. She did not know how she knew, but it had to die. She was almost there. She would kill it quickly, and then go back for her friends. And then Khalyndryn screamed, a long, shrill wail that faded into hollow nothingness. The snake’s words assaulted her again.

Ssselfishhh.

She reached back with…her mind, searching for the tunnel from which they had come. She found it quickly, and her consciousness raced down the cold stone, and burst into the chamber. She felt through the room, her mind brushing across the ancient tombs, now grinding slowly down the sloping floor. She found Larris and encircled his waist with… a thought was the only way she could describe it, and drew him forth. She found Allyn and Hierm in short order, and began searching for Oskar and Khalyndryn. She soon found the room empty. Here emotions were distant, but a cold fear swelled inside her. She followed the sloping floor to the hole where the statue had been. She swept down, down, down and found emptiness. The farther she searched, the duller the sensations became. Until she felt nothing. She tried to reach farther but could not. They were gone.

She screamed in anger and frustration. She yanked her three friends toward her as she pursued the snake with the intention of venting her rage upon it. She wanted to cry, but tears could come later. Her eyes searched the cloudy skies ahead and saw a flash of green. It was outdistancing her again. Larris and the others were slowing her down. She skipped over another hole in the clouds and saw the highlands of Monaghan beneath her. Spotting a wide, flat hilltop, she laid her friends down on the spongy turf and continued her pursuit.

They flew across the sky. The dark clouds began to clear, and down below the hilly land gave way to damp marsh and tree-choked swampland. The beast before her continued to bleed green fire, and where the fire fell to the ground, chaos erupted. Green fire splashed down on wet ground, and warriors rose up, some red-haired, some black. They hacked at each other with great broadswords while the trees burned all around them. The creature turned to the northeast, where the countryside was lush and green. Blood fell on the ground, and a dark-haired young man on horseback sprang up, leading a band of mounted raiders through a village of screaming people. The young man swung his sword, and an old man went down. And all around them the village burned. Back to the west, toward the mountains. Blood now flowed freely from the beast’s wounded neck, and where it splashed onto the ground, a great army rose up, moving northwest, moving toward… home. This had to end.

Shanis reached out with her thoughts, like she had done before. Tendrils of her will stretched out, wrapping around the snake, and solidifying into thick ropes of power as they encircled the silvery coils. The snake hissed and snapped at the bonds, but for every one it severed, she ensnared it with another. It turned to fight.

Shanis faced the beast high above a broad expanse of lush farmland. A silvery band of river wended its way across the green stand. She swung the Silver Serpent with all her might, cleaving through the metallic scales.

Green fire erupted from the gash, scalding her. She gritted her teeth and swung again and again. The sword struck home, and with each blow, energy ran up the blade and surged through her. She had never felt such power, such intense exultation. Holding the hilt in one hand now, she continued to hew great chunks from the twisting creature. The beast’s bloody fire rained down on the ground below, and a great mass of black-clad soldiers formed ranks facing south and west.

Her blade cut deep into the body of the beast, and suddenly the snake lashed out at her throat. Unable to get her sword into position, she instinctively threw her left hand up. A crystal fang pierced the center of her palm, and she screamed as blistering cold pain froze her hand, doing battle with the hot power that flowed through her. She backed away and held up her hand.

Blood flowed from the hole in her palm, but where her blood struck the ground, the soldiers melted away.

The snake struck again, but she dodged to the side, striking it another vicious blow. It twisted and writhed in agony, but it would not die.

The energy now flowed up the sword in a torrent, and she felt like she would burst if she could not let it out. T hat was the answer. She stepped back and pointed the Silver Serpent at the oncoming beast. She focused every thought, every scrap of her will, and sent it hurtling through the sword and into the snake, and with it she sent the power.

A shaft of the purest white light, brighter than any sun, burst forth from the Silver Serpent. She felt the accumulated energy pour from her body like floodwaters through a tiny channel. It was ecstasy. The beam of light struck the snake full in the chest. Tiny lines of white energy crackled as it enveloped the surface of its writhing body. The snake managed one faint hiss, and the green light began to fade as the power of the Silver Serpent enveloped it, growing ever brighter. With a flash, it was gone, the afterimage of the great snake burned into Shanis’ vision. The power continued to drain from her body. With the last of her will, she reached out for Hierm, Allyn and Larris. Larris…She fixed her thoughts on the hilltop where the three young men stood in bewildered silence. Focused. Focused.

She was a leaf falling to the ground. Drifting, falling, swinging to and fro on the crest of the wind. Settling gently to the ground. She felt soft, damp earth against her back, and saw Larris’ brown eyes looking down at her, and she drifted into darkness.

And Gameryah was rent by blood and fire. Blades showered blue sparks into the night sky, and fires blazed on the horizon. Leaders rose and were struck down in the batting of an eyelash, and the carrion birds whirled in a smoke filled sky. And three words were upon every tongue….

“The Silver Serpent”.

End of The Absent Gods-Book 1

Table of Contents

Book One of The Absent Gods