Malley lowered his too, but he leaned forward. “Cresh, maybe you don’t care if you fight Northerners, but do you believe you’d stand a chance against our mageen?” He jerked his head back at Raif and Whippet, who had walked their maqal through the ranks of Northerners.
Malley gave Whippet a secretive smile and wink. She scowled and Raif looked surprised.
Cresh paled. Lowering his blade, he sheathed it. “I’ll be back and this won’t be forgotten.”
“Bring your papers.” Jennelle sheathed her blade.
Six hundred blades dropped, relief showing on both sides.
Signaling the rest of his command, Cresh wheeled his maqal and rode down the hill. His soldiers galloped through the meadow toward the east, the pounding of their mounts’ hooves quickly fading.
Tuffs leaned toward Malley. “I didn’t know the mageen were helping us.”
Malley smiled. “I didn’t either.”
“You’re pretty resourceful today, Malley.” Jennelle regarded him. “Thank you.”
His smile faded. “I hope you have a plan for what we’re doing.”
“Not yet.”
“I was afraid of that.” He ran a hand through his hair.
While Cresh’s command left the meadow, Jennelle and Malley turned their mounts and walked past the mageen and through the Northerners again.
Jennelle stopped in front of the wyshea butcher. “Do you have another name, She of Two Shadows?”
“Famere. And this is Goflin, Yameen, and shadows Shir and Lor.”
Shadows, not death mounts. The monsters even had names. Jennelle found it curious that death mounts were part of Famere’s title and carried such importance. Staring at the largest shadow, she was unnerved by its size and ferocious appearance. She felt safer sitting on Luck.
“I’m Commander Jennelle. And this is Malley and Tuffs. We’re riding Luck, Chisel, and Buster.” She paused, her next words feeling like they would change all of their lives. “Will you ride with us to Hope Citadel, Famere?”
“What’s this citadel?” Famere sheathed her dagger and wound her thrip with a flick of her wrist.
Jennelle watched her movements with amazement. “It’s where Northerners live.”
Famere didn’t hesitate. “We’ll ride with you.”
Jennelle was fascinated as the wyshea moved with surreal grace, almost floating over the ground as they leapt atop their shadows. Their ears seemed alert to every sound, their darting eyes watchful for any movement. A small, green-furred creature had its thin limbs wrapped around Yameen’s neck and cooed in a soothing rhythm, calming Jennelle’s racing pulse.
A dozen questions came to her as her dream of uniting the races in peace became a real possibility. She wanted to shout and cry all at once. “Follow us, Famere.”
As they cantered through the meadow, she checked back a few times, almost giddy to see the shadows drift after them, graceful and silent. Malley’s eyes were full of caution. She refused to say anything. She was leading them all down a deadly path of no return, and Malley already knew that.
The mageen followed everyone at a distance.
27
Fear
Once out of sight of the meadow, Cresh ordered his men to stop, but he rode farther into the woods before he reined in his maqal behind a massive norre.
From a pocket he dug out the plain silver ring Finance Minister Basture had given him. Rubbing it, he whispered, “Ison.”
In moments there was a flash of light, and the wyshea mageen appeared in front of him, jade flesh enclosed in gray robes.
Ison glared at him. “What?”
Cresh licked his lips. “Mageen helped Jennelle protect the wyshea butcher.”
“Those mageen are in the Order. They wouldn’t dare interfere. Jennelle made a fool of you.”
Cresh choked off his anger. He had never feared any man, and over the years he had fought and defeated any opponent foolish enough to stand against him. Even when badly outnumbered, he had killed many with his bare hands. Yet the memory of Ison burning two men to ashes haunted him. Worse, the wyshea mageen must have recognized him from that night, but said nothing.
He steadied himself. “All right, so Jennelle rescued the butcher. To get her, I need a paper from Finance Minister Basture asking the Northerners for their cooperation. It’ll take two days if I send a rider, one day if I do a sending. But you could do it much faster.”
“You can’t allow the wyshea butcher to reach Hope Citadel.”
Cresh shifted on his mount. “We’re too small of a force to stop them.”
“Reinforcements are coming. You’re to attack from the rear.” Ison stepped closer. “Do Basture’s men ever think before they act?” He lifted an arm and pointed a finger. “Do you need two arms, Cresh?”
Cresh slid his gloved hand to his blade hilt. Sweat beaded his brow and rolled into his eyes, but he kept them open, fixed on the mageen’s hand.
“You remember what I did to your fellow riders the night you fought us, don’t you?” Ison’s voice steeled. “Who hid your army that night?”
Cresh swallowed. “I don’t know. I never met him.”
Ison smirked and lowered his arm. “This time you get to keep your limb. But if I’m called again for an act of stupidity, you’ll pay, and I’m sure F’ahbay won’t mind.”
Cresh gripped his reins with tight knuckles, controlling his desire to flee.
“I’ll find you later. When you kill the butcher, take the stone she wears around her neck. I want it.” The gray robes dissolved in a flash of light.
Cresh exhaled through pursed lips. Shoving the ring back into his pocket as if it were diseased, he swore he would never use it again.
28
Betrayal
Famere followed Jennelle and Malley, her thoughts spinning. After all her apprehension, asking for peace had seemed easy. And a slayer leader had defied another slayer to protect a wyshea. It had never happened in the last century. She also felt it was a good omen that Jennelle wore a dark green blouse—the color of wyshea skin and the forest.
But some of Jennelle’s riders regarded them with distrust and anger, tempering her excitement, and some showed fear of the shadows. Others had curiosity in their eyes.
Yameen looked straight ahead, avoiding eye contact with the male slayers. Famere didn’t believe any of Jennelle’s riders would dare touch them, but it was obvious some wanted to. To support her friend, she clicked softly so she didn’t betray anything to the Northerners. Yameen signaled back just as quietly.
Goflin stared at the rude slayers steadily until most turned away.
When they left the meadow and entered the woods, Famere peered south. Unsure of the citadel’s location or what it looked like, she knew it would reflect Jennelle’s strength and be formidable.
Other things quickly bothered her. The loud movements of the snorting, tramping maqal scared many of the forest brethren away, and also made it harder to hear bird songs and other noises. Yameen and Goflin wrinkled their noses in distaste too. It wasn’t appealing, but peace mattered more than their discomfort. Hopefully, over time, some differences might be less annoying.
The first sounds came after they had traveled for an hour. Burying her hand in Shir’s thick fur, Famere clicked loudly.
Jennelle glanced back, and Famere lifted her chin.
The commander halted her Northerners with a raised hand, and turned her maqal around to face her. “How many, how far?”
“Five to six hundred maqal,” said Famere. “Closing fast from the east.”
“Six hundred.” Yameen pointed south. “They’ll be beyond the next meadow.”
Jennelle stiffened.
“Military Coordinator Lask.” Malley brought his mount closer. “Has to be.”
“If your citadel is to the south, they’re going to block you from reaching it,” said Goflin.
Famere eyed Jennelle. “Do some slayers want the war to continue?”
Jennelle grimaced. “Yes.�
�
“Why?”
“Power, greed, and hate.” Jennelle leaned forward. “But not all of us agree.”
“I lived in hate for a long time too.” Even if Jennelle was dedicated to peace, Famere was skeptical the Northerner would sacrifice her riders in a battle for them. She glanced at Goflin. His eyes showed he wanted to leave.
“Alert the citadel, Tuffs,” said Jennelle.
Tuffs wiped his brow. “And tell them what, Jennelle?”
“Let them know we’re in trouble, and for now they’re to stay put.”
Tuffs galloped a dozen strides away and gave two long blasts on his horn, which made Famere and her friends wince. Afterward, he walked his maqal back.
“Sparks is impulsive,” said Malley.
“Time to find out how impulsive.” Jennelle looked at Famere, as if assessing her. “To avoid a battle we need to get you into Hope Citadel in secret. Then I’ll try to convince Prosperus and its minister to accept peace.”
“Prosperus?”
“Prosperus is the city Finance Minister Basture rules in the south. He led the large army you defeated, and it’s his soldiers ahead of us. He doesn’t rule us, but he’s been an ally in the past.”
Famere nodded. “We call Basture the Blind Fangor, because he stupidly leads his fighters to death, and we named you the Coyote because you always cleverly protect your riders.”
Tuffs spit on the ground. “Sounds about right, doesn’t it, Jennelle?”
“Makes you wonder,” said Malley.
Jennelle adjusted her spectacles. “We have a hidden entrance, but it means getting past Basture’s soldiers.”
Famere shrugged. “Tell us where it is and the shadows will take us there.” Goflin’s gaze bored into her, but she couldn’t stop now, no matter what the risk.
Jennelle dismounted, and from a larger pocket on her mare’s blanket she took a pale, flat dry piece of seed and a thin tool. She knelt, and Famere crouched beside her, impressed as Jennelle used the tool to draw a picture of the forest on the flat parchment.
Next, the commander drew the citadel, showing the position of the entrance. “Can you ride there, Famere?”
Famere pointed at the picture. “Easily.”
Brushing hair off her cheek, Jennelle stood. “It’s a tunnel. We’ll signal you’re coming.”
Famere lifted her chin. “My people have lived in caves and tunnels for a century. We’ll wait inside.”
“We’ll slow down to give you more time.” Jennelle added softly, “You were trying to kill me when we first met.”
“Yes. I hated slayers then, but my hate is gone. Now I want peace between the wyshea and all races.” Famere spoke in a whisper. “I’m sorry I killed your father. My father was killed in the war too.”
Pain flashed across Jennelle’s face, but Famere didn’t see any anger. She touched Jennelle’s arm. “You’re stronger than I was to still want peace.”
Jennelle’s brow wrinkled, but she nodded.
Malley frowned. “You’d better go before you’re seen with us.”
Unsure if Jennelle would understand, Famere said, “May the melody of sahr bring you peace.”
Jennelle’s eyes brightened. “Thank you.”
Famere leapt atop Shir, and the shadows walked through the Northerner ranks. The mageen didn’t follow. Famere wanted to ask them if they knew Ison, though she doubted he had any friends.
Once past the slayers, she signaled the shadows to fly southeast through the woods, while Tuffs blew a series of brief notes on his horn.
Bending over Shir, Famere felt her hopes for peace crumbling. The slayers were divided, making her wonder what kind of peace they would have if Prosperus and Basture opposed it. Maybe Basture’s hate for wyshea mirrored her hate for slayers over the last nine months, and he fought for revenge. If so, she was partially responsible since she had killed so many slayers. She was curious if the Prophetess had visited others too, like Basture, to encourage them to seek peace. If so, the goddess had failed.
After traveling a short distance east, she gave a signal to stop when she heard galloping maqal to the north. She turned with her friends. Outside the edge of a distant tree line, Cresh and his command rode hard through a patch of grass, heading west.
“They’re going to trap the Coyote,” said Yameen. “And she’s outnumbered two to one.”
Goflin turned Lor to watch Cringe’s riders. “They’re going to kill her, Fam. I sense it, and so do you.”
His quick assessment impressed Famere. Jennelle’s allies hated the Northerners as much as they hated the wyshea. Still, the Coyote had never lost an encounter with the wyshea. “She’s clever.”
Goflin leaned toward her. “But usually she doesn’t take big risks. This time she has. For you.”
“True.” Famere grimaced. “And we’ll lose everything if she dies.”
“What do you think the Prophetess would advise?” asked Yameen.
“We have to ride to Jennelle’s citadel.” Famere looked up. The sky was darker than an hour ago. She couldn’t ignore this omen, nor the possibility of defeat, but she clung to the belief that the Prophetess, like Mereeth, was connected to Beloved’s sahr, and her guidance wouldn’t fail them.
She saw one possible solution. “If we reach Jennelle’s citadel and tell them about the two armies, her riders will come to her aid.”
Goflin looked doubtful, and she added, “The Northerners were willing to fight Basture’s soldiers for the wyshea butcher, so they will do anything to save their commander.” The Northerners’ complete loyalty to Jennelle reminded Famere of her own warriors’ dedication to her.
Goflin still looked unconvinced. “You may be right, but we’re running out of time, Fam.”
“Truly.” Yameen’s brow furrowed.
Famere knew they were right, and she tried to shove down her rising panic. “Hah!” she cried.
Shir and Lor bolted forward, carrying them swiftly south through patches of trees and meadows, and eventually into another forest. Famere tried to estimate how much time they had before Jennelle might be forced into battle, and it made her gloomy.
Noises pulled her attention west. Distant hints of black and red stood out against the green and brown of the trees, and she could hear maqal. Basture’s soldiers. Concerned for Jennelle, she cried, “Faster!”
Running hard, the shadows quickly left all traces of the soldiers behind. Famere sat rigidly on Shir, her hair blown back, her body stiff with worry. She soon turned the shadows southwest, their speed making her lay flat on Shir’s back. After another long run they reached the end of the forest where they stopped, just inside the tree line.
To the south, east, and west lay barren land. It looked dead to Famere. No norre trees, melody of sahr, or any natural vegetation lay in front of them. Instead, plants were growing in orderly rows in large open areas. The scent of the exposed soil was dry and musty. Famere found it revolting.
She swallowed. “Mereeth talked about slayers growing their food instead of harvesting it from the forest, but I’ve never seen it.”
“It’s horrible,” said Goflin.
Yameen stared wide-eyed. “How can they live like this?”
“I don’t know,” murmured Famere. What if slayers planned on stripping all land like this? A few long-eared meadow cats were leaping in the fields, and small birds flitted among the crops, so some brethren had adapted to the barren land.
To the southwest, the massive walls of Hope Citadel glowed in the middle of the cropland. Famere finally recognized something the shadows couldn’t defeat. The citadel’s size and strength impressed her, but it was painful to see hundreds of norre tree trunks forming its walls. Along the edge of the forest, and fifty feet out from the walls of the citadel, there were no crops, just low ground cover. In front of the main gate only cleared, packed dirt was visible.
A thin line of slayers wearing brown tunics sat on maqal, surrounding the front and sides of the citadel. Oddly, they were facing awa
y from the one-hundred-foot walls. From the top of the citadel’s walls, Northerners stared down at the minister’s men.
Famere understood all of it then. Basture wanted to stop her from reaching the citadel, and even if she did succeed, they would kill Jennelle, destroying any chance for peace.
Stroking Shir, she considered their choices. Going back to mrilwood meant failure, with continued war, and if they rode back to Jennelle to warn her of the trap, the commander would still die. She noted the general position of the hidden opening to the secret tunnel. Basture’s soldiers would see them as soon as they left the cover of the trees. There was one dangerous solution.
“You two wait here,” she said.
“Never.” Goflin looked at her steadily. “I want the whole adventure, Fam.”
Yameen shrugged. “We’re baethe, Fam.”
She bit her lip. “Blessings.”
Throwing back her head, Lor howled at the darkening sky. Her mournful cry was deeper and more eerie than anything Famere had ever heard from the shadows. Shir also followed suit and howled. The eerie roars carried over the land to the Northerners and minister’s riders, who pointed at them and gave shouts.
It amazed Famere that the shadows had given away their position, making any secretive approach to the tunnel impossible now. As always, they knew her intentions.
For one minute, Shir and Lor continued to howl until they abruptly stopped.
Stomping the ground with one large paw, Lor swung her head to Shir.
Famere had never witnessed this behavior either, and it sent shivers across her arms.
Shir wagged his great head and also stomped the ground with a paw. Lor watched him, and then both shadows bolted forward, across the cleared dirt and into the three-foot-tall crops, toward the citadel.
“Fam.” Goflin glanced at her while clinging tightly to Lor. Yameen hung onto him. Both bent low over their shadow.
“Trust the shadows,” shouted Famere. She leaned over Shir’s back, her arms reaching partway around the shadow’s neck.
Wyshea Shadows Page 24
