by Shannon Hale
"If your only solution for peace is keeping the towns you've taken," Geric was saying, "then I can't accept. We won't abandon our people. We're willing to discuss compromise, but ultimately it must include peace for all of Bayern."
"Sileph, first rank. Allow me a question, sir." A new Tiran captain spoke up. His hair was the lighter brown of lowland soil, his aspect confident but unassuming. He spoke properly, but with a casual arrogance, as though he knew he would not be denied. Tiedan acknowledged his request.
"King," said Sileph, stating the title with neither courtesy nor mockery, "you say you are here for peace, and yet on the eve of these talks you send your witchery to attack a camp of Tiran men."
There was a stir among the Bayern. Geric glanced at Talone and Monulf to see both offer slight shakes of their heads. Enna squinted at the soldier called Sileph. Had he been among the three last night in the storm? Even if he had, surely he could not know her face.
"We know nothing," Geric said, cutting through noise, "we know nothing of attacks last night. If they happened, they were not of our people."
"Come now, King," said Sileph. "Those at the first battle of Ostekin Field reported fire workers. They set fire to the men's clothing. The ground around them flamed." He turned and looked directly at Enna. She blinked in surprise and resisted taking a step backward. "Perhaps the women, since you see fit to include them in war councils, would care to explain."
"No need," said Geric. "I can tell you. We'd a man with fire talents, but he was killed in that battle. Have you seen fire used in the skirmishes this autumn? He's dead, and no other works fire."
Sileph did not give up. "I have heard tale of fire-witches from the south, in the kingdom called Yasid. Is Bayern in league with the desert dwellers to crush Tira?"
Isi looked up, but Geric answered. "I know nothing of fire-witches in Yasid."
"Let the woman speak," said Sileph.
At first Enna thought Sileph meant for Isi to speak, but his gaze did not leave her own face. She let go of Isi's chair and stood straighter, temper flashing in her chest. Silence followed Sileph's words; then Geric said her name gently.
"The king speaks true," she said, relishing her Forest accent, slurring her words more than usual just to contrast with the Tiran's careful speech. "Your boys thought we women conjured the fire, but we just watched atop the hill. Leifer, the fire worker, he stood in the midst of you. Then he burned himself up. I saw the body." She almost choked on emotion then, but she stayed cool and was proud of herself.
"And the others?" He seemed to take her in wholly, not acknowledging any other person in the room.
"I've never seen or heard of a Yasid fire-witch in Bayern. Leifer's dead, and he taught no one his art. Of that I'm certain." She smiled at how deftly she avoided an outright lie.
Sileph stared at her a moment longer, and she felt her face heat under his gaze. Then he nodded once and stepped back to his position behind Tiedan.
The men finished their talking, accomplishing little but an agreed standstill for the winter, and the council broke up. Enna sighed and stretched as the Tiran captains left the room. One looked at her disapprovingly. She returned his look with a saucy tip of her head. Sileph, the first rank captain, caught sight of her and looked down, smiling. He was a handsome man, more so than any she had ever known. Indeed, she had never given much thought to what made a man handsome, but looking at him, she was sure she understood.
When he glanced up again, she smiled back boldly.
As soon as the last Tiran left, the Bayern breathed out and began to talk. The council would continue, and Enna felt panicked at having to stay in that room any longer. The sounds of the departing Tiran horses felt like blows to her belly. There seemed to be no air to breathe in the heat. Quickly she ducked out of the door and onto the street.
She could see the last Tiran horseman just leaving the town gates, and impulse bade her follow and do . . . something, hurt them, chase them out of Bayern. The place in her chest throbbed, and her skin felt feverish and raw. She took a breath and turned away, allowing the cool winter air to soak into her, a snaking breeze to push the heat away.
When she reentered the building, Prime Minister Thiaddag was pounding a javelin against the wood floor. "Captains, ministers, ladies, quiet for the king."
Enna sat beside Isi in a vacated chair and listened to the ensuing discussion. Geric brought up each point dealt with in the meeting and asked the Bayern captains if he had done right. Most of the men brandished their javelins, some thumping the ends on the wooden floor to mark passionate assent. Whenever some gave to inarticulate murmuring, the murmurers were asked to speak their mind, and their dissatisfaction was discussed and resolved.
The fire crackled louder, it seemed to Enna, than the men spoke. An hour crawled by, and the heat of the room clung to her skin. But though her vision tilted a little, and the heat began to scratch, she felt calm. She looked at the fields out the window masked in snow and listened to the wind humming in the chimney, and no urge to burn bothered her thoughts.
The council voted to wait out the winter and not attack the taken towns. The king and queen were to return to the capital to oversee recruiting, supplies, and civic peace. Last, they chose a captain to lead training, defending, and spying from Ostekin. For Talone, the javelins waved. Monulf inclined his head in agreement. Monulf was the senior captain, but he had led the assault at Ostekin Fields, so under his leadership the king had been killed. This post required one untainted by such a defeat.
At one point, Talone said, "Though the best scout we could have is leaving us for the capital."
"I can't," said Isi. "I'm unreliable of late. I can't focus on what I hear."
Talone nodded respectfully. Enna shook her head. It was a shame that in a war, with two nations dangling in the balance, Isi was not able to use her gift.
Before the council broke up, Geric turned to Enna. "Have you anything to add, queen's maiden?"
Enna blinked in surprise, but one thought did push forward. "Actually, I have heard the people in camp talking about an augury. Many are doing their own, but shouldn't we conduct a war augury?"
"Yes," said one of the captains in agreement. "We should council with fate to see if we fight in vain or can sacrifice our lives with the good assurance of victory."
The thumping of javelins sounded like the heavy footfalls of fate, though Enna did not know why she perceived it so.
"The council's in agreement," said Thiaddag. "Let the king pronounce the augury."
Geric turned to Monulf. "Sir, I've never led such an exercise. I allot this to you."
Monulf inclined his head. "A combat of countries, man versus man, is the traditional war augury. There are healthy Tiran prisoners in this camp. I'll ask one to volunteer for combat unknown. He'll sleep this night on a mattress and eat with me. Tomorrow I'll give him his own weapons and pitch him in a death match against one of our own—also a volunteer. The results will give us a glimpse of our future against Tira."
"Captains, ministers, women, speak not of this until the morrow," said Thiaddag, "as foreknowledge for the fighters will tamper with the outcome. We are released from council."
The men were quiet as they left the public house. Enna felt her mouth go dry. She had thought an augury might show an encouraging sign, something to get them all through this winter. She had not considered that a war augury would require someone to die.
Though the captains gave no details, it seemed the entire camp felt the new tension. Every night for the two months that she had slept under a south-facing window in the councilman's house, Enna had heard men's jocular voices intoning tavern songs or men's solemn voices singing lost love and death songs. That night, silence. In the stillness, the hungry, crackling sound of fires wafted from the camp through her window. To Enna, it seemed that the sound itself could ignite the wooden shutters.
Chapter 8
At dawn, men were already gathering around the town square. Everyone was fully ar
med. Monulf and another man drove stakes into the hard earth and made a rope ring. When the soldiers saw it, they murmured to one another.
Enna accompanied Isi and Geric to the rope through a mob of soldiers who occasionally patted Geric on the back or touched Isi's loose-hanging hair. They passed Hesel in the crowd, and Enna felt her face twist into a scowl. No, the girl was definitely not worthy of Finn. She had no substance—all face and hair and bright eyes.
At last they broke through the crowd to face the empty ring, and Enna took a breath, feeling suffocated by the heat of all those people.
"I'm nervous," Enna said to Isi, holding a hand on her stomach. "This all feels so big."
"Too big." Isi frowned. "I don't like it. We should do it in private. That way if our Bayern man dies, the army won't know, and it won't get them down with ideas that we're doomed to lose the war."
"What difference would that make?" said Enna. "The result'll be the same no matter how many people see. Don't you believe the augury foretells the truth?"
"Well, no."
"Oh," said Enna. She had never met anyone who doubted the signs all around them. Since she was a baby, her mother had taught her to predict the weather by the flight of wild geese or the harshness of coming winter by the movement of bumblebees. Perhaps such things had power only in Bayern, so Isi was never taught. But Enna looked at the rope ring, felt her stomach harden and freeze, and had no doubts. This augury was unlike anything her mother had shown her. It meant the life of at least one person today and the fate of their kingdom in the future.
Monulf entered the arena and held up his hands for silence. He turned around slowly, as though he meant to meet eyes with every observer. At last he spoke. "Who among us will enter this ring and represent us all?"
Perhaps thinking it no more than an exercise to rouse loyalty and energy, hundreds of soldiers raised their javelins and hollered, "I will! I will!" But others took him quite seriously and pushed their way toward the ring. One young man rolled under the rope before any other. He stood, straightened his shield bearing two trees, and lifted his javelin.
"No, no," said Enna.
"I will," said Finn.
Isi gripped Enna's arm. "Oh, Finn," she said quietly.
He looked as calm as he ever did coring apples or leading a wagon into market-square. The weapons did not fit him. Clearly his sword was not his own, the belt hanging low on his hips and sword point dangling near the ground. His expression was his same, soft expression that Enna knew. She almost expected him to duck his head and break out into one of his huge, bashful grins. But Razo was right—there was something more serious in him now. Tighter lips, perhaps, or a line across his brow. But she knew for all his seriousness that he was not the ideal champion of Bayern. Most likely the first time a sword hilt touched his hand was the day he joined Geric's camp for the battle of Ostekin Fields.
Monulf raised Finn's hand and said to the crowd, "This boy is Bayern. Now bring in Tira."
Guards led a blue-coated man into the ring. He wore a leather helmet, and the tips of hair escaping its hold were a lighter color than most Bayern. He carried a sword, an unpainted square shield, and a short spear. Enna was relieved to see that Finn was taller than the prisoner and a little broader, too. But the Tiran was older by perhaps ten years. He moved with a ruthless grace, and his expression was hard with calm desperation. She had no doubt he meant to kill Finn as quickly as he could.
At the sight of the Tiran, the crowd erupted into a deafening cheer, beginning to understand what this match meant. Monulf held his fist in the air to command silence. The outer rings of the crowd took longer to quiet. Soldiers were climbing on one another's shoulders and on top of wagons, barrels, and nearby roofs to see the match. Four of the king's guard held large shields in a defensive position between the king's party and the rope, and Enna stood on her toes to get a better view. The opponents faced each other, circling slowly, each clutching his javelin or spear. In the quiet, Enna could hear their boots scrape against the earth. Monulf backed out of the ring, his fist still in the air.
"To predict the future of our war, combat to the death!"
He dropped his hand. The crowd reclaimed their cheers.
The Tiran was the first to move. He looked at Monulf as if expecting more instruction. Then with his eyes still averted he threw the spear. Finn deflected it with his shield. He moved forward quickly, stabbing at the Tiran with his javelin, making wide, swinging cuts. The Tiran held him off with his sword. Finn swiped upward, caught the Tiran's shield with his javelin tip, and tore it out of his hand. The crowd cheered. But in the next move, the Tiran dodged a javelin thrust, grabbed the haft, and pulled it out of Finn's hand. It clattered to the ground.
Now both were left to their swords.
Again the Tiran attacked first, and Finn met him in the center. In the uproar, Enna could not hear their swords meet. She could feel the crowd's emotion through the noise—anger, frustration, excitement, dread. Her own heart yelled back while her stomach cringed away.
Finn returned the attack, battering at his opponent's sword as though trying to break his arm. The Tiran jabbed from underneath, and Finn jumped back to keep from being skewered in the belly. Now Finn was on the defensive, backing away from the attack, defending with his shield. The Tiran's sword caught him on the leg, and Finn opened his mouth in a silent cry of pain. Quickly he dropped to one knee, rolled out of the way, and turned around to meet sword against sword.
Enna felt helpless. When had the world turned so grave? The Tiran struck Finn's shield with a force that knocked it from his arm, and Enna could not help but cry out. She felt as though she were tied up and being made to watch while her country fell. Enna saw Geric frown, but she knew he would let this go to the finish and accept the results. Isi bowed her head, her eyes closed. Apparently she heard enough from the wind that she did not want to see the action as well.
Please. Enna thought. Please, Finn.
The Tiran combated with the fierceness of a dying man, growling and spitting. Finn's face was nearly without expression. He bled a little from his knee and from his bare arm where his shield once sat. His chest heaved with the effort of dodging blows, yet he still attacked relentlessly.
He's persistent, Enna thought. She had a sudden memory of Finn visiting her home just after the death of her mother. A chicken had broken loose from the coop, and Enna had been too grieved to seek it out. Finn had scoured the Forest and returned hours later, carrying just a clump of feathers in both outstretched hands. He had cried for the chicken. No, Enna realized, he had cried for her, for having to bring her a corpse so soon after her mother's death, for failing her, for the sorrow he imagined she would feel.
Finn continued to fight, but the crowd's calls were becoming anxious. They pleaded now instead of cheered. Some put their faces in their hands. In a quick and desperate move, Finn dropped to his knees under his opponent's swing and pricked him in the side. The crowd roared anew, but instead of doubling at the pain and allowing Finn to gain his feet again, the Tiran continued in his swing, met Finn's sword, and twisted it from his hand.
The crowd gasped. Finn dodged the following blow, but he was now completely disarmed. "No," came the mutters and cries from all sides, "no, not to us." Finn tried to leap for the fallen spear, but the Tiran rushed him and cut off contact. Finn was now close to the rope with very little room to run. The Tiran approached. Finn stood on the balls of his feet, his arms held out in a ready posture, his face deathly still. Blood dripped off his forearm and hit the cold ground. Enna thought she could detect its heat. Despite the noise of hundreds of men around her, she could hear her own heart keeping time in her ears. The beat seemed to chant, Do something, do it, burn it, burn and burn.
The Tiran lunged. Finn dropped to his back and kicked up into his foe's belly. The Tiran was pushed back but swung around quickly, his sword in a steady arc reaching, diving, circling around, and plunging toward Finn's chest.
Enna saw this last movement slow
ly, the plunge of the enemy's sword as though it were many swords, the outcome plain before it happened. The enemy on his feet, and Finn, sweet, harmless Finn, on his back on the ground. That was wrong. And all she had to do was pull and push. So simple. So small an action. And so much heat ready, hanging around her in the winter air. And in this slowed moment, reasons raced in her mind. She could help. But she should not. She had sworn that she would not. But if she did not, then Finn would die, and not only Finn, but the war would be lost, the augury spoken.
So she did. The heat was waiting around her. She pulled it into her chest with a small sigh of pain, then she sent it boiling into the Tiran's sword, up into the iron hilt.
The Tiran faltered, and the arc of his sword swerved, just grazing Finn's shoulder. Finn grabbed the Tiran's tunic and slammed his forehead into the man's nose. The Tiran dropped the sword and stumbled backward, blood spilling down his face. Still on the ground, Finn grabbed the fallen spear and hurled it. The iron tip flew through the soldier's side and sent him to the earth. The crowd went utterly quiet. Enna could hear the Tiran's labored breath. Finn stood, went to his fallen shield, and strapped it on his bleeding arm. He picked his sword off the ground. Slowly, without glory or fear, Finn walked to the fallen man, hefted his sword in the air, and brought it down across the Tiran's neck.
The crowd exploded with noise. Men embraced one another and wept, tore down the rope, and mauled Finn with kisses and thumps. Guards immediately circled the king's company, shields facing out to protect them in the riot, but even they were cheering.
Monulf was at Geric's side. "We're assured, sire. We fight as valiantly as that Forest lad, and we'll be victorious."
Enna was holding a hand to her mouth. She did not remember putting it there. Had she been holding back a scream? Or was she trying to hide? She looked back on the image of that last struggle again and again—Finn kicks, the Tiran turns, plunges, then falters. To others, surely it would just seem that his balance failed, that his sword missed, and that Finn seized the opportunity to attack. And in all that commotion, she believed no one but her would notice that the leather-wrapped hilt of the Tiran's sword let off a thin gray string of smoke.
