Erskwe's eyes narrowed at her words. "Please do." He refrained from addressing her as ax-maid just yet. He stroked his beard and took the offered bread and stew, as did Limbreth.
She decided to start with a well-known leader. "Be assured that I've been received by Duliwe of Ezhandun and his men, as well as the village, and accorded due honor."
Erskwe chuckled and stroked his beard. "How is that old crow?"
She laughed, and the knots in her stomach relaxed as she drank wine. "The old crow still flies true enough, but his beard's gray, though the weight of his people do not bow his back. But let it also be known to you, brave Erskwe, that I was named ax-maid by Makwi, champion of Chokkra, and Tordug of Chokkra. Makwi composes my verses, though the tale of them grows faster than his slow tongue can knit words."
The dwarf's eyes widened as she spoke, but he laughed at her jibe about Makwi. "He's a careful poet, that one, and his humor sourer than week-old goat's milk."
"That it is." Limbreth laughed. "But his beard his long and still dark. He's raised his ax beside my sword any number of times, as has Tordug, whose honor has risen with the company of Makwi, Hastra the Withling, and my own. Would you hear my tale, Erskwe, honored of the Granite Brigade?"
"I would." He drank his wine and tore into his bread. "I've not heard the tale of an ax-maid from her lips." His eyes flicked to her braid. "Nor have I met one with the death-grip."
Limbreth launched into her tale, beginning with following Hastra and her daring charge at Marston's Station. She recounted the number of times she'd been overcome with the death-grip and her fights with the Bane and other creatures. She made sure to emphasize Tordug's prowess and how his honor was accepted at Ezhandun, in large part because of her.
When Limbreth finished her tale, Erskwe rose to his feet and knelt. "I acknowledge your honor, ax-maid Limbreth of the death-grip, Silver Lady and protector of travelers, as well as princess of Grendon. May the tales of your scars ring around campfires long after your days have faded."
She inclined her head. Thereafter, they spoke of dwarves and his own honor, a daring charge against greater odds at the opening of the fighting that led to Chokkra's fall. The dwarf spoke of the lack of hope among his scattered people, and she listened, gathering more information about those who traveled south and whether she might help anyone along the way.
As they neared the end of their conversation, Limbreth asked, "How many of your people migrate south from the fighting?”
At mention of the trolls, Erskwe's cheeks flushed, and he clenched his jaw several times. "We are many, well over a thousand. But few wanted to stay, so those who wanted otherwise bowed to the wishes of the many, waiting for a better time to fight."
Her eyes widened at the number. "So many? I had seen many, but the count is much higher than I'd realized."
"Aye, ax-maid. We are many, but we are hopeless." He looked away and spat.
"You could have stayed and defended your new homes."
"We lack a leader to mobilize us to hope, so we flee when we should lend our arms to the troubles of Auguron City, which has harbored us in trade and goodwill." His cheeks flushed. "Why do you leave, ax-maid?"
"I am called home by my father." Her own cheeks heated. "Did you know that Makwi had come to the city?"
Erskwe shook his head. "We knew nothing of it. Some of us might have stayed for him."
She noted he mentioned nothing of Tordug. Their meal ended as they traded a few jests, and she walked him back to the guards. Afterward, she slipped into her tent and slept better, which puzzled her in the morning.
The Grendonese plodded along the rutted road with the crowds of escaping travelers. The third day out from Auguron City nagged at her mind. Dwarves crowded the road, and she passed several, who gave her avid salutes. Apparently, word got around fast, either from Erskwe or just what was overheard by his companions. She snorted. If only she could return to Auguron City with this dwarven army, ready to fight trolls. She shook her head at the thought. They didn't want to fight.
Dust kicked up from the road at a breeze that rolled along its length. Limbreth covered her face for a few moments. Overhead a hawk screamed among the treetops of leaf-barren hardwood and needle-bristled pine. The hawk's call echoed another scream—her scream—when she’d fallen from the cliff at the Funnel. She frowned. Athson had let her down.
She tugged her reins and halted her horse, her jaw slack. She'd left Auguron because of Athson. Hastra's prophecy reared out of memory. Go and return again as if from death. Her sudden flight felt like death. She swallowed hard.
Dwarves trudged past, and she watched them. Were they truly hopeless? Or just leaderless in their own minds?
Dareth drew close, "Are you ill?"
"No, something else." She ignored his further questions, kicked her horse into movement, then practically fell out of the saddle when she reached the group of dwarves in her haste to dismount. She chose the most senior veteran among them and leaned close to him. She pulled her braid into view. "This ax-maid needs help."
The elder dwarf stroked his salt-and-pepper beard, his brows furrowed. "What can an old sergeant do for an ax-maid?"
Limbreth grinned and switched to dwarvish. "I need soldiers."
"What for?" His bushy brows climbed, but she read his guess in his expression.
"For killing trolls."
The dwarf's eyes narrowed, and his companions muttered among themselves. "You're calling us to arms?"
Limbreth nodded. "I am. We march to Auguron City."
The dwarf stroked his beard. "You can prove your status among us?"
"There are two who can. One composes the verses of my deeds. Regardless, I'm going back to Auguron City." She lifted her chin. "But, if you need more now, you'll have it." She closed her fists so tightly they shook and crossed him at her chest in show of death's repose.
The old sergeant's eyes widened and the gathering dwarves who saw muttered among themselves about the sign of the death-grip.
Limbreth followed the death-grip salute by drawing a sword and flourished it with a twirl and held it on-guard like a dwarf champion and an ax-maid's salute in one, her left extended toward the dwarf's face.
The old dwarf stepped back with a gasp and the others around him uttered gasps too.
"I am Limbreth, Princess of Grendon, Maid of the Ax." She lifted her left fist to signify the hand which won her the titles near Marston's Station. "I grip death." She followed with the same words she used on Duliwe at Ezhandun. "I am the Silver Lady of Auguron and both Patroness and Protector of the Wayfarer on the Road. I stand with my honor, in place of Makwi-angk-tho, for Tordug, Lord of Chokkra. I honor him! If you want the tale of my verses, you'll have to fight trolls for it! But I go to win my honor again." She lifted her gaze to the surrounding dwarves. Perhaps more than a hundred gathered for the spectacle. "I need as many axes with me as possible. Will you come and add your honor to mine?"
The old sergeant inhaled and shouted, "I fight to the honor of Limbreth, Maid of the Ax, may her grip never fail!"
One by one, the gathered dwarves cheered, their deep voices booming along the forest road. Then, they shouted the call to arms along the road to other bands of dwarves nearby. Startled glimpses answered at first, followed by more shouts along the road.
Limbreth sheathed her sword.
Dareth stopped his horse by Limbreth and raised his voice above the din. "What are you doing? What's all this shouting?"
She never looked at Dareth. "I'm giving these dwarves hope."
The nobleman snorted with laughter. "And how are you doing that?"
She faced her would-be suitor, her stomach steadier than at any time the last few days. "By giving them a leader."
Dareth's horse dance beneath him. "Who would that be?"
Limbreth clenched her arms behind her back and faced Dareth astride his horse. "Me."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Athson marched among a troop of rangers on one of the drill grounds. It beat
waiting for trolls, and he had to do something besides sulk in silence with Hastra. Eloch could speak to him anywhere, and drilling was doing something.
It didn't chase Limbreth from his mind, though.
He turned the wrong way and stepped on someone’s foot. He whirled to march the correct direction. None of the elves spoke a word, but Sergeant Illeth arrived moments later. "Trolls won’t wait for you to get your directions correct, ranger! Set your mind to it, or you'll find yourself in a grave all too soon!"
Athson marched ahead, his face flushed with embarrassment and his jaw clenched in anger. He'd done it again. Just kept piling mistakes on himself. But he'd joined this troop unassigned—and without Gweld—to fix things as best he could. Sarneth didn't know. At least not yet.
The troop turned on command, and Athson followed this time. He might be able to escape Hastra the rest of this day after his revelation, but she'd look for him tomorrow until she found him. He stood out here more than ever with the Bow of Hart and his blessed sword, which were definitely not ranger issue, but he might make up for all his mistakes somehow. He'd sleep in the barracks and that way might avoid his other companions.
After drilling, Athson moved his gear to another bunk and ducked Gweld's notice in the crowded mess hall. He wasn't supposed to be here, and Gweld might tell someone, and then he'd end up right back with Hastra expecting something out of him that he couldn't do. He picked at his food, his appetite gone. He'd chased Limbreth away. He was a worthless Withling.
Sergeant Illeth gripped his shoulder and leaned into his ear. "I know you're not assigned to me. I don't know what game you're playing, but keep up with the mistakes, and I'll boot you. I've training to complete and trolls due here in just a few days."
Athson glanced at the sergeant and opened his mouth but found no answer worth speaking. He nodded.
The sergeant flashed ranger hand-talk at him that he was watching Athson, his sharp elven features intent. Athson stared at the scar on the elf's pale cheek before he moved along the row of tables.
A lump rose in Athson's throat. There was no winning for him here. He shoved food into his mouth and chewed in silence. No matter what he did, Limbreth wasn't coming back. Ever. Not after finding out about his mistakes. And either Eloch spoke to him or didn't. Just be a ranger. Nothing mattered but making a difference in the battle to come.
After he ate, Athson returned to his bunk and checked his pack. The inheritance lay within, the note and the banner as useless to him as the pieces of the White Arrow Limbreth had given him. He sniffed. She'd done no better than him. He stared at the arrow pieces in his pack. But then, she hadn't chosen revenge over his life. His shoulders slumped at the thought, and he shoved his pack out of the way. He lay on his bed and grappled for sleep. Tomorrow was an early day, and he needed to blend in beneath Sergeant Illeth's eye.
The next day, Athson patted himself on the back as he successfully completed the morning marches without incident. They proceeded to the archery range for practice. Limbreth's face leapt to his mind along with the memory of her kisses. Those were gone for good. He spilled his quiver of arrows, swore, and gathered them back up.
Sergeant Illeth walked past Athson with grunt and a shake of his head.
Athson stood and nocked an arrow. Best make some sure shots and avoid further attention. He let the arrow slip off his bow as he drew, then regained control of the projectile only to pluck the string. The twang sounded loud among the soft releases of the other rangers. His arrow missed the target entirely. Athson swore under his breath. Focus, or you'll be sitting with Hastra in no time. He waited for the command to draw and release again with the other rangers. At least he hit the target the second time. Better, but not good enough yet. He knew he could do far better. Good thing Gweld wasn't around, or he'd hear it from him too.
Arrows thunked into targets and Athson relaxed. He’d recovered his aim. The sergeant walked by and sniffed. Athson owned a reputation even among the rangers.
With a final release, Athson allowed his mind fleeting considerations. He hated abandoning the others. Where was Ralda? What of the dwarves? He shrugged. They were probably running errands for Hastra. He'd sought his mother several times, but the Withlings kept her busy on some errand or other.
Sergeant Illeth called for flaming arrows. Athson turned to a brazier and selected a specially designed arrow. Limbreth's smiling face, her cheeks dimpled in pleasure, stepped to the forefront of his thoughts. Or how about when she'd kissed him back in Ezhandun? He clenched his jaw. She'd promised he wasn't something temporary.
Athson set his first arrow aflame and wheeled toward the firing line. His arrow brushed another ranger's sleeve, which caught fire. He dropped his arrow and helped the ranger beat the flame out before it did more harm than cause a scorch mark.
"Thanks." The other ranger's eyes narrowed.
A hand grabbed Athson by the shoulder. "That's it. You're gone." Sergeant Illeth pulled him away.
Athson rounded on the sergeant, his free hand clenched. "Hey, I can do this."
"Yeah, sure you can. But someone wants to see you." Illeth thumbed over his shoulder where Sarneth stood at the end of the line of rangers.
"I was wondering when Hastra and Sarneth would catch me." He sighed and glanced at the elf he'd almost caught on fire and then Sergeant Illeth. "Sorry for the trouble." The fire of his anger shriveled like Limbreth's admiration. He shouldered the Bow of Hart and walked toward the elven captain, fighting the slouch of his troubles all the way across the back of the range. He halted in front of Sarneth and managed a fairly crisp salute, which the captain returned. "You found me."
Sarneth sighed and shook his head. "Follow me."
Athson trailed the elven captain off the range as he held his grumbles of complaint. He just wanted to do something. Fix things and show Limbreth. She wasn't here, but she might hear about things if he used the Bow of Hart correctly. "Where are we going?"
The elf skipped a step, and Athson fell in beside him. "What are you doing out here with that bow? I thought we agreed you were assigned to Hastra."
"I wanted to use it more. It's not accurate. At least it wasn't back at..." He almost spoke the word Funnel but choked it back. It was useless without the White Arrow. At least against Magdronu. He thumbed over his shoulder. "Back there."
Sarneth snorted. "Yeah, that was more you than anything. Too much running through your head. You need to get that straight. Trolls will be here within a few days. But you're going to see Hastra and figure something out and get it all straightened out."
Athson‘s step hitched, but then he caught up to Sarneth as the captain presumably took Athson directly to Hastra. That was the nagging idea on his mind. Magdronu approached with this attack. Surely that was the case. And Athson had nothing to combat the dragon. "Have you heard any reports of the dragon with the trolls?"
"Oddly, no." Sarneth squinted one eye. "But then, he's rarely made direct appearance in the past, if memory serves. Not even at Chokkra."
"Well, that's before my time." Athson shoved a hand into a cloak pocket and fiddled with the arrow pieces. "Just wondering what to expect."
"I can't help you there, Athson. Hastra's the best person for that." They turned down the street for the Broken Bow Inn. "I don't suppose I can trust you to actually go meet her?" Sarneth shot Athson a sidelong gaze. "You're slippery and tend to get around commands. I want to make sure you make it to her even if you take me away from other duties." He wagged a finger in Athson's face while they approached the inn. "But I've got better things to do than drag you into Hastra's presence." He fingered the Bow of Hart. "This is too important to ignore, though. So do us both a favor. Do what you can to forget the girl and figure something out with Hastra. We need you, Athson."
Athson swallowed hard. "I'll do that."
He doubted he really could. Her kisses sent a flush across his cheeks, and the pit in his stomach opened. Did she really have to go and leave him without talking out his failure at the
Funnel? But she had, and nothing would change that fact. He slipped through exiting rangers at the inn door and dragged his feet up the steps to the porch. Limbreth wasn't coming back. He didn't know if he'd live that down, certainly not in the days to come.
He lost his battle with his posture and slouched as he entered the inn, remembering that night when he'd arrived with her after hunting the Bane. No reason for that thing to hunt her anymore. She'd taken herself out of the fray. He sighed, unable to forget her smile or her kisses.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Dareth raised his chin and his smile failed to reach his eyes. Limbreth lifted her own chin and stared at her would-be husband.
"I think not." Dareth waved a dark-gloved hand. "Colonel Meegs, please escort the princess away while I deal with this rabble."
Murmurs rippled among the gathering dwarves at Dareth's haughty words. The colonel ordered two men to join him as he approached on horse. "Princess, if you will—"
"I will not." Limbreth drew her swords, her eyes narrowed at Dareth. "Colonel, I've known you in my father's household many years. You are subject to my command, are you not?"
The colonel hesitated, his ruddy face a sudden mask of confusion. "Princess Limbreth, let's not have a scene."
She glanced toward the colonel. His sunken cheeks twitched with the tension of a withheld command. "You will obey a member of the king's family. This man is not my husband, and though he may have brought you to Auguron to retrieve me, I am well within my rights to command you all." She urged her horse closer to Colonel Meegs. "Or shall I show you why these dwarves answer my call to arms?"
Dareth laughed. "You foolish, willful girl. I shall be happy to take you over my knee when the time comes."
She backed her horse toward Dareth's mount. Without a word, she punched him in jaw, her hand still around a sword-hilt.
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