Camette wanted to stop Jennelle from leaving the citadel, and had followed Tuffs to talk to the commander. But when crossing the courtyard to the command building, she had sensed the presence of the approaching mageen even while they were still far out from the citadel. It had triggered such deep revulsion and hatred in her that she had to hurry back to the kitchen, her arms crossed over her chest to hide her claws.
Her limbs wouldn’t change back into hands. Thus, she was forced to remain there with towels covering her claws, so if anyone came in it appeared as if she was going to hold a hot pot. From the kitchen door she had listened to the two mageen talking to Jennelle, all the while wanting to kill them as her throat burned and her stomach boiled.
When the mageen left, and the main gate was closed, she was finally able to compose herself enough to leave the kitchen. Before she did anything else, she had to unlock the water room and pump water into her fanged mouth.
After she had cooled her stomach, she hurriedly climbed the steps to the north wall walkway to speak to Sparks. The redhead had a tubular field glass pressed to one eye as she surveyed the land north of the citadel.
Camette strode up to her and gently cupped the young woman’s elbow to turn her. “I’m worried, Sparks.” She was glad her words caught the redhead’s attention.
Sparks looked her over. “Are you feeling all right, Camette?”
“Yes, but I’m frightened for Jennelle.” She sighed, trying to not sound arrogant. “I’ve seen a lot of battles in the Dead Lands, so I’ve learned a bit about strategy.”
Sparks’ brows arched. “Jennelle’s pretty sharp, Camette.”
“She’s smart. But when someone’s heart is involved, it can make them careless. Take risks they normally avoid.”
“Why do you say that?”
Camette pointed north. “Consider two hundred of Cringe’s troops north of here, supposedly looking for a wyshea peace messenger.” She swung her arm east. “Then think of Lask and his troops to the south, just east of here.”
Sparks’ eyes widened. “You believe they’ll trap Jennelle from two directions and attack her?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” She hoped it was obvious to the young woman.
Sparks’ brow furrowed and she lifted a limp hand. “I can’t send riders after her. Commander Jennelle left orders.”
“I could ride out on the big yellow and warn her. My one-horn’s fast enough to catch them.”
“It’s not a good idea. It’s too dangerous for you to take such a risk.”
“No maqal can catch my one-horn.” She emphasized her next words. “I’m very worried, Sparks.”
Sparks put a hand on her shoulder. “I know you are. I am too, Camette. But I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you.”
“Will you be able to forgive yourself if they kill Commander Jennelle and Malley?” Camette saw indecision on the young woman’s freckled face, but also that she wouldn’t budge. Inexperienced. “Then at least send a few riders to spy on Lask’s troops, and have Northerners ready if they need to leave quickly.”
Withdrawing her hand, Sparks nodded. “Thanks, Camette. That’s wise advice.”
Sparks left to give orders, and Camette contemplated jumping over the wall and running to the distant forest. Without water she would be weak and in no shape to fight if she had to. Sontay’s image popped into her mind. Sadness. And more coming. She didn’t want Jennelle or Malley to die.
“You fool,” she murmured. “You should have stopped the commander from leaving. You lost control again.”
The two mageen had prevented her from protecting the commander, just as a mageen had prevented her from defending Sontay. Whippet was especially arrogant. Camette wanted to tear the heart out of the mageen’s chest.
She was surprised to hear about an Order of Mageen. It hadn’t existed when she had left a thousand years ago. Maybe F’ahbay controlled all of them now. He might have sent the two mageen to kill Jennelle, which would mean their story of being guided by a prophetess was a lie. If so, she vowed to track them down, no matter where they went, and kill them. Then she would find the Order and Power Mageen Harken and kill all of them.
A snarl left her lips before she realized it. Tower guards jerked their heads toward her, but she ducked and flew down the stairs as fast as she could.
26
Surrender
After several hours of easy cantering, Jennelle stopped at the tip of a long finger of green grass—bordered by thick woods on either side—which led into a larger meadow. Her thoughts were occupied with the two mageen who sat apart on their mounts.
A stiff breeze ruffled her blouse. “Tuffs?”
Tuffs swallowed some of the dried meat he chewed. “Yes, commander?”
“Ride to the top of the plateau and scan the whole meadow. I’d hate to meet Cresh if it’s avoidable.”
“Sure, Jennelle.” He rode toward the crest of the meadow, his maqal’s hoofbeats muffled by the tall grass.
Jennelle swung her mare toward Raif. “A question?”
Raif bowed slightly, but Whippet scowled and looked elsewhere.
“Does the Order know anything about the death mists?” Jennelle sighed when Raif looked quizzically at her. “Many of us fear the mists are preventing the dead from reaching the sweet land with Dosh and Deve in the forever life.”
Whippet scoffed. “Mageen don’t believe in the forever life, nor your married gods of Dosh and Deve.”
“But we respect all beliefs that don’t harm others,” Raif said hurriedly.
“What do you believe?” asked Malley.
Whippet’s eyes darkened. “It’s none of your affair.”
Raif glanced at his sister with a creased brow, and then leaned forward. “Mageen believe that when we die our essence joins the sahr weave in the air, which we feel gave birth to us and all life. It’s why we abstain from war and killing, since all of us, and all of life, are connected to the weave, and we don’t wish to break this bond with anyone.”
“The sahr weave could explain the longer throwing distances of wyshea daggers, and the longer range of our sahr-coated arrows and darts.” Jennelle found the explanation credible, and amazing.
“It also probably explains how the wyshea can float their thrips,” said Malley.
“What about the mists?” asked Jennelle.
Whippet glared at her brother.
Raif paused, but said, “Harken believes the mists are taking whatever sahr energy is left in the bodies.”
Malley’s brow creased. “I didn’t know we had sahr in our bodies.”
Raif smiled. “All living creatures have sahr.”
“So whoever created the mists wants sahr, and thus wants the war to continue.” Jennelle realized she had it all wrong. It made her more concerned about the mists. They posed a bigger threat than she had realized and pointed to a hidden enemy, not an ally. “I thought a mageen was responsible and wanted to stop the war.”
“No one in the Order created this abomination,” Whippet said harshly.
Jennelle considered Whippet’s words. “If not a mageen, then who could do something like this?”
“It’s a mystery.” Raif lifted a hand. “But I believe your dead will reach Dosh and Deve in the forever life, sir.”
Whippet regarded her brother with narrowed eyes.
Jennelle had always been troubled over her father’s death, and Raif’s words brought her some relief. “Thank you.”
Raif gave a small bow.
Jennelle had more questions for him, but when Tuffs’ maqal reached the summit, it reared with a screech. Faint jade figures appeared in front of the Northerner.
“Wyshea!” exclaimed Malley.
Jennelle clasped her blade, ready to give orders, but Tuffs’ maqal settled down and Tuffs didn’t move. Luck’s blanket had a vertical sleeve sewn into it, and from it Jennelle pulled a tubular field glass that she lifted to her eye.
Tuffs sat for another few moments, then whee
led his mount and pounded toward them in a gallop.
Jennelle swept her glass back and forth, searching for the emerald figures, but they had already melted into the grass again. She lowered the field glass. “The messengers Basture warned us about?”
Malley shrugged, looking uneasy, but Jennelle couldn’t deny her rising hope.
When Tuffs reined to a stop in front of them, he spat out his meat, talking fast. “You won’t believe what’s on top of the hill. Three wyshea. Green as grass with their pointy ears and sitting with their death mounts like they were having a picnic. And one of them said she was She of Two Shadows and she’s offering peace to the Coyote. Her words, Jennelle. And Cresh just entered another arm of the meadow with his troops.” He heaved a breath, settling down on his maqal. “And you know what else? They had a long-eared meadow cat lying right next to them.”
Malley fingered his dagger hilt. “Could be a trap.”
“Maybe.” Jennelle said it without conviction. “She of Two Shadows.” Her hand tightened on Luck’s reins. “I recall some reference to the title in one of my books. Malley, gut feeling?”
“We’ll have to deal with Cresh.” He hesitated. “As much as I don’t like that, if we don’t beat him to the wyshea, we’ll never find out what this is about.”
“My sentiments exactly. Tuffs, battle charge, blow it out. Our riders are to surround the top of the hill in rows five deep, facing out.”
Tuffs’ gaped. “Facing out? But that puts our backs to death riders and their death mounts, Jennelle.”
“I think we heard correctly, Tuffs.” Malley eyed Jennelle. “Facing out.”
Jennelle smiled at Tuffs as she took off her spectacles and pocketed them. “There’s three wyshea, Tuffs, and four hundred of us. Hah, Luck!” With Malley at her side, she galloped toward the center of the meadow.
Tuffs blew his horn and shouted orders to the four hundred riders who followed.
As they rode through the grass, Jennelle recalled the many talks she had with her father about asking the wyshea for peace. Gasten always insisted it was impossible, given Prosperus’ trade stranglehold on them and Basture’s hunger for power. Over time she had come to believe him. Now excitement bubbled up inside her.
When they left the finger of the meadow, its expansive center opened to them. To the southeast, Cresh led Minister Basture’s field troops in a blanket of brown, cantering north through the grass. His troops veered west toward them, when they spotted her and Malley.
Riding along the gentle slope, Jennelle was disappointed when she neared the top of the plateau and found it empty.
Figures erupted from the grass in front of her maqal.
Jennelle reined to a sudden stop. Three wyshea stood in front of her, blending with the grass, all holding leveled thrips and daggers. Two death mounts, as big as Luck, sped Jennelle’s hand to her blade. She didn’t see the long-eared meadow cat, which somehow disappointed her.
Malley pulled his blade partially free of its sheath.
When Jennelle was satisfied the grotesque black creatures weren’t going to attack, she viewed the wyshea, her gaze lingering on their emerald skin and shimmering hair. The smaller female had three complicated long braids woven with grass strands, her expression less serious than the others. The male had steady eyes, showing no fear, his hair loose on his shoulders.
The taller female had long hair hanging over the front of one shoulder, with part of it in a single braid over her other shoulder. Her braid was also held together by strands of meadow grass. Sharp black nails were visible on her fingers and she stood with dignity.
The tall female’s eyes were hopeful. “I’m She of Two Shadows and the wyshea guide. I’ve come to ask for peace. Is it possible?”
The clarity of the wyshea’s voice made Jennelle think of songbirds. She also recognized the tall female from the first time they had met nine months ago, remembering the thin scar across her upper chest and the stone amulet. More scars marred her body now, and her face looked weighed down with the heaviness only a leader carried.
Still, it seemed mad to Jennelle that the wyshea butcher was asking for peace after destroying half of Basture’s army. Even crazier, the butcher had come to her after killing her father. She had often wondered how she would react if she met Gasten’s killer again. She swallowed. It was manageable.
It also surprised her that Chisel and Luck showed no panic over the death mounts. During battles, maqal never reacted with anything but crazed fear when they were this close to the monstrous beasts. Somehow Luck and Chisel knew they were safe. She recalled again the yellow meadow where she had spared the wyshea warrior, and the flash of light from the sky. It was all part of the movement occurring now. She was sure of it.
She spoke carefully. “Peace may be possible, She of Two Shadows, but I can’t promise it. You took a risk coming here.”
The wyshea guide lowered her weapons and the others followed her example. “I’d rather risk asking for peace than fight any more battles.”
“Then we have something in common.”
Her face brightening, the wyshea said, “The Prophetess guided me to you. I knew you would be interested in peace.”
Jennelle’s eyes widened. “Prophetess?”
“My guide. A mageen who wants peace between all the races.”
It had to be the same mageen leading Raif and Whippet, but Jennelle didn’t understand how the two mageen and the female wyshea were connected. She glanced at Malley. “Incredible, isn’t it?”
“And dangerous.” He kept his eyes on the wyshea.
Malley had a right to be concerned, and she couldn’t dismiss the risk either. She noted the beautiful intricate weaving of the wyshea bodices, belts, and breeches, that artistry at odds with wyshea ferocity in battle. Many Northerners peeked over their shoulders at the wyshea and their death mounts, their expressions ranging from fear to curiosity, yet their maqal all remained calm too.
Tuffs rode up beside Jennelle. “Riders in position, sir.” He gawked at the death mounts, his hand on the hilt of his blade.
Jennelle heard Cresh’s forces pounding toward them. “Back the maqal right up to us, Tuffs. We don’t want Cresh to see the wyshea.”
Tuffs whirled and yelled orders, and then rode out to meet Cresh.
Raif and Whippet walked their maqal through the Northerner lines, stopping in silence. Curiosity showed on Raif’s face, but Whippet frowned as she stared at the wyshea.
“We’d better get to it.” Malley wheeled Chisel.
“Wait here, She of Two Shadows.” Jennelle forced herself to turn away from the wyshea butcher’s questioning gaze.
She walked Luck through the staring Northerners, the ranks of maqal opening and closing for her and Malley. Her riders were probably asking themselves how much she would risk for a few wyshea. Malley’s eyes told her that he wondered the same thing.
Twenty feet away, Cresh’s cavalry had formed a line facing the Northerners. A line of brown tunics facing a line of assorted tunics and blouses. Nine fangors strained on leashes. Halfway between the ranks, Cresh’s mount faced Tuffs’ maqal.
“They’re Finance Minister Basture’s prisoners,” shouted Cresh. His body looked too big even for the large black maqal he sat on.
Tuffs’ cheeks flushed, his hand gripping his blade hilt.
“Is that so?” Malley walked his mount toward Tuffs.
Jennelle was relieved Malley took the lead. Her thoughts churned elsewhere. The male wyshea loved She of Two Shadows. It was evident in his closeness to her. Jennelle had never had a man love her and she felt empty. Camette was right in telling her long ago not to waste time hiding her love from Malley. She was tired of it. Glancing at him, she decided as soon as they were alone she would tell him.
Cresh spurred his beast forward, smiling thinly. “Commander, thank you for capturing the wyshea. And now if you’ll hand them over, we’ll be on our way.” Cresh stopped in front of Luck.
Jennelle let her reveries go. “W
e followed some wyshea here, but they’re gone now.”
Malley spread his hands. “You don’t suppose Cresh believes we’d interfere with Minister Basture’s cavalry, do you?”
Cresh’s scar reddened. “I demand you hand over the wyshea.”
Tuffs spit on the leg of Cresh’s mount. “Sorry, sir.”
Cresh glowered at Jennelle. “Your lies won’t help you, Jennelle.”
“Nor will your bullying, Cresh. You’re in Northerner jurisdiction. If you have papers from Minister Basture asking for cooperation from an ally, I’d be happy to read them.” Jennelle smiled thinly.
Cresh’s eyes narrowed.
“Otherwise, I command here, Cresh. I believe the military coordinator’s Book of Laws, which you should read to refresh your memory, states Prosperus’ territory ends south of Hope Citadel, in the Barrens.”
Cresh’s hand formed a fist on his thigh, his voice harsh. “I wrote the Book of Laws.”
“Then you know I’m right,” said Jennelle. “I’m not asking you, but telling you, bring the necessary papers and we’ll consider them.”
“Shouldn’t take more than a few days.” Malley gave a tight smile.
Cresh’s jaw dropped. “You’re siding with the enemy?”
Jennelle spoke loudly for her riders to hear. “Northerners are allies, not subordinates to Prosperus or Basture. Go home and get your papers.”
“We’ll fight first.” Cresh gritted his teeth and drew his blade.
Jennelle, Malley, and Tuffs drew their blades. Simultaneously, over six hundred blades slid from their sheaths as Northerners and Prosperan soldiers stared in confusion at each other. The men holding the looped leashes of the straining fangors prepared to release them.
Cresh kept his blade poised high. “Do you want Northerners dying for the wyshea butcher?”
Jennelle didn’t, especially if it meant killing Prosperan soldiers. It was absurd. Malley’s eyes confirmed the same. Cresh might be bluffing, but from what little she knew of his reputation, he was brutal enough to risk losing his whole command. Her stomach churned over betraying the wyshea, but she lowered her blade.
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