by Shannon Hale
“Lovely,” Razo whispered as he began to fling stones against the trunk of a far tree. His skin itched with sweat, his neck hurt to be twisting around constantly as he searched for any onlookers. A sentry neared, and Razo swallowed an exclamation, producing a “haaagh” sound in his throat. It kind of hurt. To warn Talone of the sentry, he changed targets from the tree to a post near where Talone dug. Whack, his stone lashed the post, and the sounds of a shovel scraping earth paused.
“Morning,” Razo said pleasantly, still slinging at the post. “Couldn’t sleep, you know? Just practicing my, uh, sling. Here.”
The sentry glared as he continued by. Razo held his breath until he was out of sight. Then he sent a stone back at the tree. The digging resumed.
Another sentry passed, and then a third. Razo felt as though he had run up a mountain, his heart speeding, his whole body sore. At last the scraping sounds stopped altogether, so Razo gathered his shot and returned to Talone’s room. The captain entered a few minutes later. Dirt rode up his elbows, covered his boots, smudged his beard. He sat on the edge of his cot and leaned his brow against his hands.
“It’s fortunate that it rained yesterday. The ground was soft.”
Razo slumped onto the floor. “Finn and I were sleeping in her room, all but last night. Lady Megina told us to leave. If I’d stayed…”
Talone shook his head, saying it was fruitless to question it.
“Do you think it was her?” asked Razo.
“If the Tiran find burned bodies after our arrival, they’ll be convinced we’re harboring a ‘fire-witch,’ as they say, whether or not our Enna is responsible. In sketchy diplomatic situations, the truth matters less than what the other side thinks is the truth.”
“Lady Megina said as much to me last night.”
“Did she?” Talone filled a cup with water and set it on the ground beside Razo. “It’s time to tell me everything you know about Enna’s burnings.”
Razo had been avoiding this very conversation since the end of the war. He squirmed as he spoke, uncomfortable now on the hard floor. “It’s been about a year and a half since I first figured Enna had something to do with the reports of random burnings in Tiran camps. When I confronted her about it, she seemed almost relieved to have someone to tell, as well as eager to do more with the fire.”
Razo dipped a finger in the water, shook it off. “It was her idea to go on scouting missions with me into the Bayern towns the Tiran had taken, burn tents and stacks of weapons and such. She was aware that her control over the fire slipped sometimes, so she wanted someone to make sure she didn’t go too far. After our first burning raid, I brought Finn along, too, but she was already falling fast. When Finn and I realized, we refused to go with her until she was clearheaded. That night she ran off without us to Eylbold, got herself caught by that nasty Tiran captain, and spent a couple of months prisoner. I don’t know what-all happened there.”
Talone was changing his clothes, washing his hands and face, ridding himself of the residue of grave digging. Razo watched, realizing that whether or not Enna was burning, he and Talone were now elbow deep in these murders. If any Tiran had seen them, if they were found out… Razo rubbed his back against the wall. Cold chills always made him feel itchy.
“Finn and I tried to rescue her, as you know.” Razo cleared his throat casually. No need to dwell too long on that point. By rights, Talone could have seized their javelins and all rights as soldiers for deserting the army. It had hurt Razo as much as any of his wounds to betray Talone like that. “Captain, you know the rest, how Enna burned our way free and we caught up with the Tiran army before they invaded the capital.”
Talone wiped a smear of soot from his boot. “Tell me about Enna during that last battle.”
Razo decided he wanted that water now and drank the entire cup without a breath. The cold tingled his empty stomach as though he had swallowed honeybees.
“It was ugly, Captain. It was the worst thing I ever saw, and whenever I find those images in my skull, I kick them out again with a swift boot.”
“Go on, son.”
At the word son, Razo sat up a little taller.
“Well, Finn and I, we stood in front of Enna and fought any Tiran who tried to stop her. They’d started to catch fire, whole groups of them. I tried not to watch, but I could hear them scream. When I…when I turned back once to look at Enna, she was lying on her stomach, holding herself up on her elbows. She sobbed, but her face was smooth, as if she didn’t know she was crying. She just stared at the field, at the burning men.”
Razo scratched his face with both hands. “Times I saw her set fire to tents and things, and I could tell she enjoyed it, but that dead expression…I didn’t look back again. Before long, some Tiran villain got a sword between my ribs and I didn’t see her again for months, not until she and Isi had returned from their trip south.”
“Do you know what happened there?” asked Talone.
“Finn told me that in Yasid, Isi was able to teach Enna wind speech and Enna taught Isi fire, so now they both have both talents, and somehow that made Enna better.”
Talone did not even blink, and what he did not say seemed to hang above Razo’s head. Is she better?
“What do you think?” asked Talone.
“I don’t think much, Captain. You know that.”
Talone did not laugh. Razo wondered if that meant he agreed, if he did think Razo was as witless as a startled hare. Razo slumped. “I hope it isn’t Enna.”
“We need to be sure.”
“You want me to keep sleeping in her room?”
Talone shook his head. “Megina is right. And Enna’s safety relies on the fact that no one knows who she is. If we look like we’re protecting her…No, it’s better to watch her from afar.”
“Finn’ll go back,” said Razo.
“I know.”
What if he’s carrying off the bodies she burns? Razo wanted to ask.
A knock jumped Razo to his feet, javelin in hand. Talone opened the door, his face as emotionless as ever.
“Good morning, Captain Talone.”
Captain Ledel’s hair was a dirty yellow, tied back at his thick neck, the tip flung over one of his warrior shoulders. His eyes looked tired, but he smiled pleasantly into the impressive scar that ran down his jawline. Razo generally approved of facial scars. Sadly, all his own battle marks were on his torso where girls could not easily catch sight of them.
“You are occupied, Captain?” Ledel asked, looking at Razo. He had a peculiar rasp to his voice that made Razo wonder if he had been up all night.
“One of my soldiers is here to receive his daily orders,” said Talone.
Ledel nodded once, an approving gesture. “You are an early riser. I always say, a captain should never sleep.”
“Not when anyone is looking,” said Talone.
“I hope you will postpone any engagements this morning. The men need amusement, and tension often yields under the power of some friendly bashing. What do you say to mock combats at the training grounds?”
Talone barely hesitated before nodding. “I’ll wake my men.”
“Good. It’s natural for recent rivals to feel animosity. We are all military men, and the war is fresh in our ears, but I won’t tolerate disorderly violence. There is nothing I despise so much as professionals in the art of war who think they can stomp upon its rules.”
Ledel spoke with a trembling earnestness that raised goose bumps on Razo’s skin. Why was Ledel so desperate to assert his fervor for following the rules of war? It made Razo wonder.
8
The Own’s Worst Swordsman
Ledel’s men were waiting on the patch of uncovered soil between the two barracks, still bleary-eyed and wincing at the sharp disk of the sun. The morning light exposed every scar on their faces as well as every heap and dip in the dirt. Razo fiercely, desperately avoided looking at the spot where the body was buried.
Ledel tossed two wooden swords into the
fighting ring, matched the first pair, and combat began. Razo squirmed as he watched, thinking of eleven different ways a wooden sword could kill. When one soldier managed to touch his opponent anywhere between waist and neck, one of the captains would call out, “Match, for Tira,” or, “Match, Bayern.”
A couple of rounds into the exercise, Razo caught sight of Ledel muttering to his secondman, his jaw scar looking pink and raw and his manner intense. Razo shadowed them in time to hear, “…we’ll see how well they perform as soldiers without the fire fighting for them. If only they do not…”
Razo kept walking and joined Finn.
“Do you get the feeling they’re just waiting for the chance to poke out someone’s eyeball?” Razo whispered under the din of clacking swords.
Finn nodded. “Everything about this feels like the war, only without the killing.”
“So far.” Razo looked for Tumas and squinted against the morning sun, his eyes tearing. “That big brute of theirs, every time he looks at me, I get the crawly sensation that he’s spittin’ eager for the chance to slice me pigwise.”
“Tumas,” Ledel called the soldier into the ring.
Razo snorted. “There he goes. I wonder what poor sap Talone’ll call to face—”
“Razo,” said Talone.
Razo gaped—at Tumas leering in the ring, at the other soldiers staring at him, at his captain, who was sending him against an opponent who wanted him dead, or at least wounded as painfully as possible. He wondered if it would be worse to run away now or lose an eye to Tumas’s wooden sword.
Finn grabbed Razo’s arm and whispered, “What’s the captain thinking? You can’t do it.”
At that, Razo shook off Finn’s hand and strode into the ring, taking position on the large shadow of Tumas’s head that the sun dropped before him. The man was tall and impressively imposing in every way but his large, flabby ears, which reminded Razo of nothing so much as a pair of pork chops. Tumas grinned, and Razo felt his side throb where the soldier’s friend had carved a scar. I can do this, I can.
“Begin!” Ledel shouted.
Tumas moved. Razo swung. He felt a jab in his gut.
“Match, for Tira,” said Ledel.
Razo fell to one knee, pushing against the pain in his ribs, and stayed down. No blood. He would be all right when the sharpness ebbed, but the Tiran soldiers were laughing, and Razo did not want to look up and see a flicker of shame in the faces of his comrades.
You’ve still got both your eyeballs, Razo thought with hopeful cheer. He grabbed for a breath and scooted out of the ring, feeling as though he dragged a very heavy shadow behind him.
“Come, I was expecting some sport!” Tumas’s voice squealed through his congested nose. “This is a child. I demand another turn.”
“You demand nothing, soldier,” said Ledel. “Stand properly.”
Tumas straightened. “Yes, Captain.”
Ledel turned to Talone. “What say you? Shall we see if any of your boys can beat our Tumas?”
“Fair enough,” said Talone. “Finn.”
Tumas noticed the smiles of the Bayern soldiers that indicated this opponent was different, and his expression stiffened. The two challengers faced each other, sword tips resting on the ground in ready position. Then, without warning, Tumas pounced.
The first move Finn made was to step aside. And the second. And the third. Tumas’s lower lip began to twitch.
Razo had watched Finn fight a thousand times, in practice and in wartime. What never ceased to catch his breath was Finn’s expression of acceptance, almost of surrender. He wasted nothing, letting every motion matter. And although Razo was just leaning against the barracks wall, watching Finn made him feel as though even he himself mattered. He watched with energy, muscles taut, face aching, as tired as if he were the one fighting.
Tumas’s swipes began to have a vicious slice to them, seeking not just to touch Finn, but to bruise something, rip something. Then he hit Finn’s sword, and Finn was not able to bounce the strike away. They faced each other, weapons crossed. Finn opened his mouth to breathe. Tumas spat in his face. Ledel shouted Tumas’s name in disapproval but did not stop the match, and that quickly, the myth of a friendly bout evaporated. Shouts exploded from both sides.
Razo had run to the edge of the fighting circle without realizing it. Right here, he realized, the war could start again.
Tumas pushed off and attacked again, harassing Finn with strikes on his sword that would ache in Finn’s arm tomorrow. Then Razo saw the opening, just before it happened. Finn was drawing Tumas closer, getting him comfortable in his attacking, letting him fall into a routine of strike, strike, strike—then gently, almost like a step in a dance, Finn lowered his sword and moved his inside foot back. Tumas stumbled. Finn turned and tapped his sword on the Tiran’s back, lightly, as though he were getting a stranger’s attention.
“Match,” said Talone. “Bayern.”
Tumas’s chest heaved. A drop of sweat fell into his eye, but he did not blink. “I’m not fresh. If I had been fresh, the outcome would be different.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” Finn put out his hand to shake. Tumas’s face contorted. He pulled his arm back and swung.
“Watch it!” Razo shouted, but Finn had anticipated Tumas’s fist and leaned away. Ledel and others rushed forward to grab Tumas, who was cursing and shouting. Other Tiran joined the uproar, shoving Bayern soldiers in the chest, waiting for someone to draw first blood, for that permission to fight. Shouting from both sides now, muscles tensed, hands in fists. The moment spun around and around, and Razo felt twisted and backward, his eyes murky with the memory of a battlefield, men plunging swords through bodies, blood on his clothes that was not his own, killing and wondering why, expecting pain, anticipating dying, questioning if he were already dead…
“Enough!” shouted Ledel.
The Tiran soldiers quieted at the bark of their commander, a touch of fear evident in their obedience. Tumas seemed to tremble with the desire to keep hitting but pulled his arms to his sides. Razo breathed for the first time since Tumas had swung at Finn.
When Talone spoke, his tone was civil, calling no attention to the Tirans’ bad behavior. “Thank you for this exercise, Captain Ledel. I hope we may meet here again.”
And Ledel made no apology, not as though he did not care, Razo thought, but more that the quick chaos he’d witnessed so offended him that he could not even admit it had happened.
“Indeed. Good day.”
Razo noticed Enna standing on the path, watching. Finn saw her, and his entire demeanor changed. Razo tried to determine if he had stood up a little straighter or stuck out his chin or chest, but he could not figure any one thing.
“Well fought, Forest boy,” said Enna, approaching.
Finn shrugged. “It was just an exercise.”
“You exercised him quite nicely, I thought.”
“Does that mean you’ll marry me?”
Enna laughed.
The way they seemed wholly absorbed in each other made Razo certain they wanted to be alone, so of course he hustled his way over. Tumas and another soldier passed by Razo so close that they pushed him between their shoulders and dragged him along a few steps.
“Why ith thith one here?” asked Tumas’s friend with a lisp so severe, it seemed feigned.
“He’s their errand boy,” said Tumas. “What a good joke to give him a sword.”
Razo writhed, wanting out, too ashamed to shout for help, when Ledel growled for Tumas to come.
Tumas lifted Razo by the arm, bringing his ear to the soldier’s mouth. “You’re not safe,” he whispered before dropping him.
Razo ran behind the barracks. He shoved his sword into its sheath and clenched his javelin, wanting his weapons in hand, just to feel them. He realized he was standing on the secret grave, and he edged away.
Enna and Finn had disappeared. The rest of Bayern’s Own were heading out to find breakfast. Conrad called to Razo to join them, b
ut Razo pretended to be too far away to hear.
Again and again, he wondered, Why is this one here?
9
Tree Rat
The third afternoon after the match, Razo, Enna, and Finn rambled through the palace gardens, speaking longingly of Bayern potatoes, almond cakes, and venison stew and feeling caged inside the iron fence like animals in a traveling menagerie. They had been in Ingridan for three weeks with little to show for it. And now, only days before the assembly adjourned for the summer, Razo could not help feeling that the mission was failing. But they did not speak about the mission; they talked about potatoes.
When Finn left to take his turn for Megina guard duty, Enna sprinted in the opposite direction, mumbling a quick farewell.
“Slippery girl,” said Razo, racing after her. He thought he saw her black hair entering the Bayern stable, so he made his way around the far side. A row of potted trees lined one wall, and he walked inside them, listening through the stable windows for anything out of the ordinary among the wheeze, nicker, and whuffle of horses.
He had come to the end when he saw that girl again, the Tiran ambassador’s daughter, pressing her back to the stable as if she did not want to be seen. She brought her cupped palm to her mouth and drank from it. There was a bucket of water on the ground, and Razo supposed she had dipped her hand in it, though he had not seen her do it. She turned and startled when she saw him.
“Oh, hello,” she said.
“Hello. I bump into you again.” Razo eased out, hoping that he made creeping behind potted trees look as normal as dipping bread in gravy.
She picked a leaf out of his hair. “Yes, that’s because I was… looking for you.”
“Here I am.” He tugged casually on his hair to make sure it stood up properly.
“My name is Dasha.” By way of greeting, she crossed her wrists on her chest and inclined her head.
“Uh, Razo.” He tried to do the nod-and-hands thing, too, though he must have done it awkwardly, for she smiled.
Her smile was peculiar—it made her nose wrinkle, not as though she smelled something unpleasant, but more that she was so amused, her whole face wanted to be a part of the smile. It affected him strangely, and he stared at her longer than was probably polite. Her hair was not so much orange as the color of rust on iron, and her eyes were blue like the tiled fountains in the public squares. Though she was of his height, she was such a skinny thing, he could probably fling her over a shoulder. He was contemplating this appealing notion when he realized she had spoken.
