“Of course they’re upset!” Basture swept the food tray from the table with his arm. It banged on the ground, scattering shredded meat in brown and white flecks across the black dirt. “You didn’t come and our cavalry charged the staves, our allies.”
“It’s terrible, minister.” Malley bobbed his head. “And we’ll hunt down those wyshea fangors to the last one, on our own if we have to.”
Jennelle was grateful for Malley’s sarcasm, freeing her from replying more directly.
Lask slipped off the desk to his feet, his hand on his blade hilt. “You can join the melders.”
“They’re returning to their city, Jewel.” Malley sounded contrite. “They said wyshea death mounts prevented them from joining the battle.”
Basture rose and rounded the table, his knife held waist high. “Why do our allies communicate with you, Jennelle, and not me? Especially since I’m finance minister of Prosperus.”
Jennelle replied evenly, “They trust us.”
Basture stopped. “Are you saying they don’t trust me?”
“You’ll have to ask them.” Jennelle shifted her feet for better balance. “They weren’t certain your army was still standing.”
Sweat beaded her brow as Lask’s and Cresh’s hands fell to their weapons. She allowed her left hand to drift to her blade hilt. Malley and Sparks followed her lead. With her other hand she pushed her spectacles up her nose, wishing she had taken them off.
Red bared his canines.
Lask moved first, and all five blades slid from their sheaths. No one moved.
Cresh smiled at Jennelle. “We’ve been waiting for this, Northerner.”
She glared at him and sent back, “Your mistake.”
Malley stepped to the side to gain room, and Sparks moved with him, her body poised.
Lask took an eager step forward, slashing his blade at Sparks.
The redhead slapped his blade aside with a fast stroke. “Sorry, sir,” she snapped.
Drawing a dagger from his belt, Malley smiled at Lask. “Careful, you might get your uniform dirty.”
Lask’s expression darkened, but he grinned, swinging again at Sparks. The two of them traded blows, their metal ringing.
Cresh jabbed his blade at Malley, who knocked it away.
Jennelle focused on Basture. He thinks they can kill us. The man didn’t betray any fear. Strongly built and tall, he had a reputation of being formidable in fights.
“Tell me, Jennelle.” Basture smiled, slowly stepping to the side. “If something should happen to you and Malley, who do you believe would be a better commander of Hope Citadel, Military Coordinator Lask or General Cresh?”
“Northerners choose who governs them, and they would reject both of them.” Jennelle pivoted slowly so she could continue to face Basture. Red followed her lead. She smiled. “In case you’ve forgotten, minister, we’re your allies, not your subjects.”
She glimpsed Lask stabbing at Sparks, who deftly blocked the strike, while Malley traded heavy blows with Cresh.
Lask stepped back from Sparks. “Let’s kill them, minister, and I’ll show you how easy it is to run the citadel.” He glared at Sparks. “That was a test.”
Sparks’ expression remained calm. “Exactly what I thought, sir.”
Malley stepped farther aside when Cresh raised his blade high.
Jennelle wanted to watch Malley and Sparks, but she had to stay alert for Basture.
“Wait.” Basture raised a hand to his men. “It’s a shame, Commander Jennelle. You’re a sendar, like your father, right?” He gave her a twisted smile, and then regarded Malley and Sparks, as if weighing the decision to kill them.
Jennelle aimed her blade at him. We’ll take at least two of you murderers with us.
Basture wavered, and then walked to his chair and sat, holding his chin. “Unfortunately, sendars made up most of our casualties on the east flank.”
Jennelle had to hold back an angry response. Maybe he wanted her to attack him. “It’s a shame to lose any soldiers.”
“Enough.” Basture waggled his dagger at Lask and Cresh, who still held their blades raised. “We don’t need to add to our enemy’s success.”
Lask grinned, backed up, and sat on the table again, resting his blade tip against his boot. Cresh lowered his weapon, looking like a fangor denied meat.
Jennelle lowered her blade, as did Malley and Sparks. Red closed his mouth, glancing at Jennelle. She patted the fangor’s head. “Good boy. Sparks, go tend the mounts.”
Sparks hesitated, and then sheathed her blade and strode from the tent.
“The staves sent word they wounded the wyshea butcher with a poisoned blade.” Malley shrugged. “They don’t believe she’ll last the night.”
Basture casually switched his grasp to the blade-tip of his knife. “Then her death mounts will stop terrorizing my men and her death mists will no longer take our dead. Prosperans are upset about not being able to say goodbye to their loved ones, and they worry their dead won’t reach Dosh and Deve in the sweet land.”
“You have proof the mists come from the wyshea?” Jennelle switched her weight to her left foot, ready for the possibility of the minister’s thrown knife.
“Of course they come from the wyshea.” Lask smirked. “Who else would send them?”
“It’s the work of a mageen.” Though she had never met a mageen, Jennelle had read about them in her father’s books. “The mists take all fighters, including wyshea, so they’re from someone who’s against the war. I’d guess the Order of Mageen.”
“So the mists are supposed to scare us?” scoffed Lask.
“Perhaps.” She had wondered if the mageen responsible for the mists might be an ally to stop the war.
Cresh frowned. “But they’re taking citizens in Prosperus.”
Jennelle kept her attention on Basture. “Everyone is involved in the war in some way.”
“Do you think Dosh and Deve approve of the war?” Malley looked at Basture.
The minister grasped his goblet and swirled its shiny liquid. Jennelle could see it. Diluted norre sap. She was surprised he was drinking it.
“So beautiful,” murmured Basture. “Sahr gives us light, strengthens our weapons and clothing, and is the basis for all trade in Prosperus. Even our priests want it. Whoever owns it has power.” He smiled. “Who knows what the gods think of the war? But the priests and I believe Dosh and Deve want sahr shared with everyone. It’s not fair that the wyshea horde it all to themselves, is it?”
“It’s their land,” said Jennelle. “I suppose they might object to us taking it.”
Lask’s face darkened. “Prosperus’ priests say the wyshea are not worthy of our concern because they don’t worship Dosh and Deve, and because they live with wolves and death mounts.”
“Do the priests rule Prosperus?” Malley smiled. “Because they don’t rule Northerners.”
Basture stared with dull eyes into his cup. “The priests echo the general sentiments of all Prosperans. And they’re saying they need more money for their offerings to Dosh and Deve.”
“I didn’t realize Dosh and Deve were greedy,” said Malley.
Basture’s eyes narrowed and he grasped the small statue of the gods. “That’s blasphemous.”
Jennelle cleared her throat. “I’ve heard the priests are being heavily taxed by the minister’s office.”
“It takes money to run an army,” snapped Lask. “You Northerners don’t understand that, do you?”
“True.” Jennelle stiffened. “Northerners are not soldiers forced to fight a war just to line the pockets of rich merchants. They’re all volunteers fighting for their homeland.”
“Northerners have always fought when convenient to do so.” Basture put down the statue and drank from his cup, emptying it. “We don’t have that luxury.”
Jennelle stared at him. “I’ve heard drinking norre sap in any quantity will turn a human mad.” Why would he risk it? Maybe he was mad.
“
So they say.” Basture smiled grimly. “Offer our allies our apologies with the expectation that once I rebuild our army, they’ll rejoin us to crush the wyshea butcher. If she lives, of course.”
“Of course.” Jennelle recognized anger beneath Basture’s exterior, making her wary. “Anything else, minister?”
“Prosperus has to raise funds for its army. Maqal, food, clothing, and weapons all cost coin. And given that Northerners have only trade to offer, we’ll need double the norre trees and norre sap for the usual supply shipments we send to you.”
Jennelle let a retort slide down her throat.
Basture’s eyes hardened. “And allow me to make fighting with us more convenient for you. The next time Northerners don’t come to our aid as requested, we’ll cut off trade, and your heads.”
“Thank you for that clarity, minister,” Jennelle said sharply.
Malley held up a hand as Cresh raised the hot brand again. “You’re trying to obtain information from the prisoner, right?” Sheathing his blade, he lifted his dagger. “I’m an expert, allow me.”
Without waiting for permission, he strode over, grasped the prisoner’s long hair, and placed his blade against the fighter’s neck.
Jennelle’s free hand slid to the dagger in her belt. Malley, you idiot. Given his usual caution, she couldn’t understand why he would take such a risk. She wanted to yell at him.
Malley hissed into the prisoner’s ear, “Do you know whose tent you’re in, you green-skinned fool?” He yanked the fighter’s head up to view Basture, who had an amused expression. “Do you recognize who that is?”
His eyes shining briefly, the prisoner managed to whisper, “The Blind Fangor is stupid.” He shifted his gaze to Jennelle. “The Coyote smart.”
The crystal-clear voice of the wyshea, beautiful yet sharp, made Jennelle wince. She found it curious to be referred to as Coyote. Basture’s face darkened over the Blind Fangor reference.
“Fangor.” Malley stepped in front of the prisoner, his back to the others in the tent, and appeared to strike him with the butt of his dagger. For a few moments he had his hands hidden in front of him, as if he was choking the wyshea. Then he backed up, sheathing his dagger. “I’ve had enough.”
The prisoner’s jaw lolled against his chest. Death mists spiraled up from the ground, twisting around the legs of the hanging wyshea. Lask and Cresh gaped at the prisoner, while Basture grimaced.
Without looking at anyone, Malley stalked out of the tent.
“Minister.” Jennelle nodded and quickly backed up. When safely out the tent flap, she whirled and hurried past the snarling mongrels with Red beside her.
Malley had already mounted Chisel and held Luck’s reins for her. Sheathing her blade, Jennelle swung atop her mare, glancing again at the one-horn.
Annoyed Sparks wasn’t waiting for them, she twisted around to peer through the woods, but didn’t see the redhead.
“You’re right,” said Malley. “They’re going to do it on the way home.”
“Appearances.” Jennelle couldn’t help but fixate on the tent flap. Where was Sparks? “Northerners would declare them enemies if they killed us here.”
She spotted Sparks running through nearby trees, her long hair flying. The young woman quickly reached them and mounted her maqal.
“About time.” Jennelle didn’t try to hide her annoyance.
“Sorry, sir, but it was worth it.”
“It better be. Let’s get out of here before they change their minds.”
Wheeling their mounts, they walked through the forty soldiers, who parted to let them pass. The mustached sergeant gave them a cold stare.
After a few moments, Jennelle peeked over her shoulder. Basture’s men were walking their mounts after them. She spurred Luck into a canter, and the soldiers followed the three of them west.
16
The Coyote
Jennelle waited until they passed a cluster of large trees, and then she spurred Luck into a gallop. Surprisingly, it took Basture’s soldiers ten seconds before they did the same.
“I’d rather lose them.” Malley ducked a tree branch, his lean frame taut.
“Agreed.” Jennelle scoured the forest ahead, recognizing familiar landmarks they had previously scouted. Spurring Luck to take the lead, she arrived at a wide gully and leaned back as her mare plunged down the steep rocky hill to the stream at its bottom. Small rocks clattered down the bank.
Reining her maqal north, she ran the mare through the shallow water. Malley and Sparks splashed after her. In seconds, Jennelle recognized a mass of vines hanging down on the east bank, and wheeled her mare again and rode through them, entering a small cave barely big enough for the three of them.
Sparks and Malley quickly joined her.
Once inside, they spun their mounts to face the vines hiding the entrance. Red stood in front of them.
Jennelle listened as Basture’s men galloped down the bank with shouts and splashed across the stream. Through the vines she caught glimpses of the soldiers as they continued up the west bank of the gully.
She sat back, relaxing. “How did you do it, Malley?”
He lifted his dagger and pressed a button on the hilt. A small cap on the end popped open, revealing white powder in a small depression. “Vener spider poison. The wyshea prisoner smelled it and willingly licked it. Enemies or not, I won’t stand for torture.”
“Thank you, sir,” Sparks said softly.
“Kind of you, Malley.” Jennelle was amazed he had risked his life for the wyshea. It triggered a longing to touch him, bringing warmth to her cheeks. “You took a chance.”
He winked. “You were worried for me.”
Her cheeks burned. “Replacements are difficult to train.”
Malley smiled and sheathed his dagger. “Strange as it sounds, I found myself wishing the prisoner a safe journey to Dosh and Deve in the sweet land.”
Sparks pulled her gloves tighter. “That’s noble, sir. I wonder what the wyshea believe happens when they die.”
“What are you doing with vener spider poison?” asked Jennelle.
Malley shrugged. “If I ever have to choose between being a wyshea prisoner or death, it might come in handy.”
“Hmm.” Jennelle leaned back. “I’d like to talk to the wyshea butcher.”
Malley stroked Chisel. “She killed your father.”
Jennelle winced. “And we’ve killed many of theirs. It’s we who have always broken the treaties, Malley, not the wyshea. And young as the wyshea butcher is, we probably killed her father too. Last night she surprised even me by changing the time of her attack and going after the staves. That took guts. Outnumbered three armies to one and she still claims the victory. She has an excellent mind and first-rate battle strategies.”
“Not to mention an insatiable thirst for blood.”
Jennelle scowled. “Not unlike our finance minister.” She turned to Sparks. “Well, what did you learn?”
“Quite a lot, sir,” the young woman said eagerly. “Minister Basture’s army has a total of three-thousand six-hundred seventy-three dead or disabled out of six thousand.”
Jennelle pushed up her spectacles and smiled at Malley. “I like an eye for detail.”
Malley scoffed. “How did you do a body count in the short time you were outside the tent, Sparks?”
“I talked to the cook, sir. He took a plate count this morning and a sick count. That’s not all.”
Malley rolled his eyes. “I’d be disappointed if it was.”
“The cook said General Cresh is spreading word that you two refused to support the Prosperan army, resulting in the general disaster of the campaign.”
Jennelle said with contempt, “The minister will blame Northerners for his failure.”
“Sir, it seems a few of the newer recruits believed it, but according to the cook the older ones had more questions about the situation. He said they were all glad to be going home to Prosperus.”
Jennelle slashed the a
ir with a hand. “Basture had the nerve to rename the city after stealing the throne through assassination.”
“That was never proven,” said Malley.
“All sendars know that Johren, the sendar minister, was murdered.” Jennelle controlled her rising anger. “Basture planned Johren’s hunting accident. Then he fired all the sendar officers and installed his thugs, Lask and Cresh.”
“That happened five years ago,” said Malley.
“Young as I was, I won’t forget it. No sendar will.”
Malley shrugged. “Cresh is a sendar, right?”
Jennelle gripped her reins. “He’s a disgrace to sendars. Basture trains sendar farmers as soldiers for a few weeks, leads them into a trap, and blames it on us. Then he rides home with his soldiers who are grateful to him for protecting them from the wyshea, while the whole battle was probably designed to kill sendars so he can steal their farmland.”
“Sounds like a dangerous finance minister,” said Malley.
“And brutal.” Distant voices made Jennelle stiffen. “Anything else, Sparks?”
“Yes, sir. It’s rumored a death rider is running with his injured death mount back to his people.”
“Where?” asked Malley.
“Near that meadow to the northwest, sir.”
Malley eyed Jennelle. “Any objections?”
“We moved eight hundred riders out of the citadel and missed the whole war, so we might as well try to see one wyshea warrior.”
Splashing sounds caused Jennelle to draw her blade. Malley and Sparks followed with theirs.
Jennelle moved Luck a step forward, using the tip of her weapon to part a few vines.
Basture’s men were walking their mares down the west bank of the gully into the stream. Some of them turned upstream toward them.
“Get ready to run,” whispered Jennelle. When Sparks and Malley gathered their reins, she leaned forward. “Run, Red! Run Luck!”
Red bolted ahead of them, and Luck ran after him through the vines and across the stream to the opposite bank. Jennelle looked south at Basture’s men, who saw them immediately. Malley and Sparks were right behind her.
Wyshea Shadows Page 16
