by K. C. Julius
Halla launched into her story, but as soon as she mentioned her home in Lorendale, he cut her off.
“You’re of noble birth? That’s promising. Perhaps you’ll fetch a fine price.”
“What if I don’t wish to be ransomed?”
The man laughed. “What you may or may not wish has no bearing on the matter. In any event, you can’t stay here. You’d just be another mouth to feed.”
Halla refused to be so easily dismissed. “Give me a chance to prove otherwise. I can fight as well as the best of you. Ask him.” She lifted her chin in the direction of her escort.
“I suspect you were lucky with that parry,” the older man grunted.
“You were luckier,” she retorted. “If I hadn’t blocked that soldier’s blow, you’d be minus your head.” She looked across at the bearded man. “I may not be å Livåri by the right of my birth, but I am of the people in my heart. Eue ozi r’asa.”
“Anyone can learn a phrase,” the man replied, but Halla sensed his indifference shift to mild interest.
She held out her hand. “Give me a sword before you judge me.”
To her surprise, her interrogator rose and stalked out of the tent. Halla was quick to follow, and the other men were close behind.
Out in the shaded copse, the leader signaled to one of his men. “Petsha, give her your blade.”
A burly man drew his sword and held it out to Halla. She grasped its hilt and tested the sword’s balance with a cursory cut, only to meet steel as she did so. The bearded man had drawn and swung his own blade with lightning speed. Halla quickly parried, sidestepped to her left where the ground was more level, then proceeded to drive her opponent steadily back.
Surprise registered on his face, and then he smiled. A flurry of rapid strokes forced Halla into retreat, the clashing blows vibrating up through her arm. Slowly but surely, she was losing ground, and she was keenly aware that she would have to end the contest quickly, before her strength gave out.
Feinting right, she pirouetted as Draylan had taught her, then brought her sword up under his and sent it spinning out of his hand.
The man’s expression darkened, and his hand dropped to the knife at his belt.
“Go ahead,” Halla said boldly, tossing her sword away. “I can fight with a knife as well.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man called Petsha cast an uncertain look between them.
Her bearded opponent gave a hearty laugh, then raised his hands in mock surrender. “That won’t be necessary. I concede that you can, as you say, fight. The question still remains—why would you want to join us instead of returning to Drinnglennin?”
Halla had a ready reply. “Because if I go back, it will be to a life that is not of my choosing. I am bound by oath to return—one day—but until then, I would be proud to fight for your cause. If you need further proof of my right, I have been claimed as the åthinoi of one of your people.”
A murmur of surprise rose from those gathered around them.
Halla’s adversary regarded her levelly. “Then that is how you shall be known to us,” he said, thrusting out his hand. “You can call me Mihail, Åthinoi.”
* * *
That night, Halla sat at the å Livåri campfire, sipping strong wine and listening to the men’s tales of their captures and escapes. She learned that their true leader, a man named Nicu, was not among them. It was Nicu who had instigated the campaign in Albrenia to free the å Livåri captives.
“And once this goal is accomplished,” said Halla, “will you return to Drinnglennin, even though it’s no longer a safe haven for your people?”
“It’s true,” said Mihail, “that we no longer feel as welcome as we once were on the Isle. Not at present, anyway.” He tested the edge of the knife he’d been honing. “It could be that we’ll return to the land of our forebears, far to the east. Nicu says he wishes to see it with his own eyes, for our legends tell of a forested land abounding in game, crossed by rushing rivers stocked with fish.”
“Tarm,” said Halla, and the men around her looked surprised. “I learned of it from a baba’s tales, although I always believed it to be just that—a place of legend.”
“Tarm exists,” insisted Petcha. “I’ve seen it on Nicu’s maps.”
“Anyone can make a map,” said Halla, “and place things where he will. Just where is this Nicu, your elusive leader?”
Baldo grunted. “He’s not at liberty at the moment.”
Halla raised an amused brow at the formal turn of phrase. “Not at liberty?”
“Nicu was taken prisoner over a month ago in the city of Altipa,” said Mihail. “It has taken us time to organize his rescue, but now it’s done. We ride tonight to the Torre de Caeida to set him free.”
Halla’s pulse quickened. “By ‘we’ do you mean…?”
Mihail smiled. “We need every sword. It’s a chance for you to prove your worth, Åthinoi.” He flipped his dirk, then returned it to its sheath. “Now get some rest—all of you. We leave at dusk.”
* * *
In an underground tunnel below the Torre de Caeida, Halla stole a wary glance at her companions, all of whom were armed to the teeth. When they first came into view of the formidable citadel where Nicu was being held, she’d had her doubts about their chances of success—but this hidden passage had, in her estimation, increased their odds considerably. She could only hope that the rest of Mihail’s plan was as sound—and that the guard he’d paid off had drawn the bolts as promised on the inside of the torre.
“How did you learn about this tunnel?” she asked Mihail.
The å Livåri’s smile was smug. “We captured one of the gaolers and convinced him it would be in his best interests to assist us. Are you ready?”
Nodding, Halla tugged off her ragged cloak, revealing the thin shift beneath it. When one of the men made a crude remark about her attire, Baldo cuffed it off his lips.
“That’s the last time you disrespect Åthinoi, else you feel the bite of my blade!” he hissed.
Halla accepted the offender’s muttered apology with a curt nod.
“Put out the lantern,” Mihail whispered.
Baldo obeyed, plunging them into sudden darkness, and as they moved forward, Halla had to put out a steadying hand to find the damp wall of the tunnel. With the other, she grasped the hilt of the sword Mihail had given her.
At the end of the tunnel, she felt the air stir as Mihail pushed open the door leading into the tower. He stepped aside to let her pass through first.
Her role in the plan was to serve as a distraction, should one be required. Mihail had arranged for a flagon of wine, laced with a sleeping potion, to be delivered to the guards above, but they had to be prepared if it had failed to reach them.
Halla started up the steps, her sword close at her side, the men at her back. At first the passage was pitch black, but as they trudged upward, narrow apertures began to appear at regular intervals, providing dim light and a glimpse of the night sky.
Halla rounded the last of the stairs, and the glow of lantern light streamed down from above. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward, readying herself for a fight.
But her sword was not required. As promised, the two guards were out cold, their legs splayed before them, the empty flagon of doctored wine on its side. Halla was pleased not to have to employ any of the foolish feminine wiles she’d learned at the Casa Calida.
At her soft call, the å Livåri emerged from the dark stairwell. Mihail helped himself to the keyring on one of the guard’s belts, then they crept past the cells until they found the one that housed Nicu.
“Ka a’vel,” Mihail whispered. We are come. He found the key that fit the lock, and the cell door creaked open.
A broad-shouldered man with the face of a god emerged from the shadows. His long-lashed dark eyes rested on Halla for a heartbeat before he
stepped across the threshold to embrace Mihail and the others.
“You took your time,” he said, in a low baritone. “Tomorrow would have been too late. Let’s go.”
“What about us?” The question was posed in Drinn.
They all turned toward the speaker, and Baldo raised the lantern.
Halla felt her jaw drop. Her cousin Whit and his tutor were in a cell opposite Nicu’s.
She snatched the keys from Mihail’s hand and began testing them in the lock.
“We’ve no time to waste on those two,” Mihail protested. “For all we know, they may be involved in the kidnapping of our people. Leave them.”
“One of ‘those two’ is my cousin,” Halla retorted. On the third key, she felt the satisfying give of the lock.
“Enjoy your family reunion then,” said Nicu curtly. “We’re leaving.” The å Livåri started back the way they had come.
“What in the name of the gods are you doing in Altipa?” Halla demanded as she swung the cell door open.
“Later,” said Whit brusquely, raising his wrists for her to cut his bonds. “And please, let’s keep the gods out of this. They’re what landed us here in the first place.”
She had just enough time to free his hands before they lost the light. Then they groped their way back down the stairs. She hoped to find the å Livåri waiting somewhere below, but they arrived at the closed door to the tunnel without encountering anyone.
Just as Halla located the ring and pulled the door open, she heard the faint rattle of keys. Though she could see nothing, she guessed by the muffled sound that there must be another door on the opposite side of the landing—and that someone was unlocking it from the other side.
In haste, she pushed Cortenus and Whit ahead of her into the tunnel, then pushed the door shut behind them.
A second later, a waft of air hit her, and lantern light flooded the landing.
Two guards peered in at her with wide eyes from the doorway leading outside.
“What the—?”
Halla gave the younger of them a sultry smile. “I’ve been waiting for you,” she purred. “Shut the door. It’s cold.”
The older man frowned. “Did that fool Del Fornes let you in? I’ll have his hide!”
Halla tilted her head coquettishly. “Wouldn’t you like to have something else first?” She shrugged off the strap of her shift with a provocative lift of her shoulder that would have made Kainja proud.
With a leer, the younger man pulled the door shut behind them. He reached for Halla—but grasped only thin air as the door to the tunnel flew open and she was yanked backward.
“No, Whit!” she hissed, shaking her cousin’s hand off her arm.
Her would-be paramour reached for his knife. Halla kicked his shin hard enough to drop him to his knees, and in the next instant her sword point was at the older man’s throat.
“Make a sound, and it will be your last,” she threatened.
The younger guard scrambled out of her range before exposing a crooked, menacing smile and pushing himself off the ground, his weapon drawn.
Halla’s dirk was out before he was on his feet. It spun from her fingers to lodge in his heart.
The ragged-toothed man looked down in surprise as he tottered.
“Pull it out,” said Halla curtly over her shoulder to Whit.
“Wha—?”
“It will speed his death.” She kept her attention on the older guard; the fear in his eyes made it difficult to predict how he might react.
Whit lunged past her and tugged the little knife from the dying man’s chest, then made a sound of disgust at the spurting blood. The Albrenian’s eyes rolled back in his head as he slumped to the ground.
“What about him?” Whit hissed, raising his chin toward her remaining captive.
“We’ll have to take him with us. Drag the body into the tunnel.”
When Whit had done as she’d asked, Halla prodded the older guard’s chin with the flat of her sword. “Now you.” She drew the blade back to let him pass.
He took one step forward, then swung his lantern at her head. She ducked just in time to avoid the blow.
Whit said something under his breath as Halla advanced on the guard. With a shout the man swung at her again, and she used a deft upward slice to sever his hand from the lantern, sending it clattering to the ground and plunging them all into darkness once more.
Her cousin seized her arm, and this time she allowed him to drag her into the tunnel. The wounded man’s bellows were muffled as the door closed between them.
Whit muttered some gibberish, then said, “No one will follow. I’ve sealed the door.”
When the three of them reached the end of the tunnel, Halla led them to the place where the å Livåri had left their mounts, all the while praying they hadn’t been left behind. Without the aid of Nicu’s men, their escape would likely be short-lived.
To her relief, Mihail was waiting in the shadows with Halla’s horse.
She leapt onto it with a whispered word of thanks. The å Livåri signaled for Cortenus to join him, and Halla offered her hand to Whit. She tried not to smile when he bit off the protest she saw in his eyes and allowed her to pull him up behind her.
They caught up with the others about a mile south of Altipa. Pushing the horses as hard as they dared, Halla had no chance to ask Whit how he and his tutor had come to be in a cell in Albrenia until they were safely back at the camp. It then fell to Cortenus to tell her how they had come to Albrenia in search of her, and all that had transpired after, for Whit went directly to the river to wash away the grime of his incarceration.
The å Livåri, exhausted after the hard ride, tumbled onto their pallets for some much-needed sleep—all except for Nicu and his two lieutenants. As soon as he’d bathed, Nicu summoned Halla to his tent.
She found the å Livåri leader seated at the rough table with Mihail and Baldo across from him, deep in discussion. In the bright glow of the torch, Halla was surprised to see that Nicu was still a young man, probably no more than ten years older than herself. When he raised his piercing gaze to acknowledge her presence, she felt an unaccountable jolt of something akin to fear. Something about the man gave her pause—but she returned his stare with as much composure as she could muster.
“My men tell me you can fight,” said Nicu, “and that you’ve sworn allegiance to our cause. While I’ll take their word regarding the former, I find it hard to believe a Drinnglennian noblewoman wishes to support us just because she had an å Livåri playmate as a child.” He stretched his legs out before him and leaned back. “Which could not have been long ago. Why ever would a lady, born to privilege and fine living, court hardship and danger?”
“It’s true I’m of a noble line,” Halla replied, “but I’ve enjoyed little privilege in my life with regard to choosing my own path. As for fine living, as your men can verify, I’ve no complaint regarding my current circumstances.”
A smile flitted across Nicu’s lips. “No privilege? So you’re out to prove something to your papa? Did he sell your favorite horse?”
“My father is dead, and my younger brother will inherit. I left nothing for something. I want to fight, and if you won’t have me, I’ll find another company who will.”
Nicu’s expression darkened. “Even Albrenian?”
“No, of course not! I—I always thought I wanted to fight for the glory of Drinnglennin, but now I can think of no better cause than that of freeing the enslaved å Livåri here in Albrenia. I consider those I knew to be as close as any blood family I have.”
“Yet one of your blood family is here in our camp, come in search of you,” said Nicu. “Is that not your cousin who sits by our fire?”
“I can assure you,” said Halla, “nothing my cousin has to say can sway me from my decision.”
“Indeed?” Nicu
leaned forward and rested his chin on his clasped hands. “How do I know you’re not a spy? My men tell me you leapt from a fine palanquin to join them.”
“I was to be the slave of a man called Seor de Grathiz,” said Halla. “The conveyance was his, not mine. It was my good fortune that your men upset it.”
“I see,” said Nicu, his dark-fringed gaze impassive. “Well. Now I must make a decision of my own. And while I am doing so, you should get some sleep.” He lifted a finger to indicate their conversation was at an end.
Outside the tent, Halla let out a long breath. The man’s penetrating gaze was unnerving, but she could see why the others followed him.
* * *
It had been a long night, and the sky was paling toward dawn by the time Halla had finished bathing in the river. She found Whit by the fire, which had burned down to glowing embers. He raised a wineskin in silent invitation.
“I don’t normally drink wine at breakfast,” said Halla, settling across from him, “but I suppose today I can make an exception. I’m still getting over the shock of seeing you here.”
The wine was sour, but she was too thirsty to care. Handing the skin back to Whit, she said, “I suppose you want to know why I never followed you to Egydd’s.”
Whit poked at the fire with a stick. “Halla, I—”
“The truth is I lost my way, and then ran afoul of—”
“Faeries,” said Whit. “We traced you to them.”
She was relieved when he didn’t proceed to tease her. “It’s my own fault that I ended up in the hands of the slavers,” she said. “I should have gone back when it was clear I’d gone astray.”
As she told him about her fall, her capture, and her transport to Albrenia, Whit listened without comment, his brow furrowed with care. He looked aghast when she described her time in the brothel, but even then he held his tongue. She felt something akin to gratitude that he was so intent on her story.
“Cortenus told me you found me by scrying?” she said once she’d finished her tale. “That’s rather incredible.”
Whit shrugged. “I would have come sooner, but it took quite a while for the scrying stone to reveal your whereabouts. But all’s well now that we’ve been able to rescue you.”
