Curses and Warfare

by Jeri Baird

  Chapter NINE

  Zander

  While leaning against the stable door, Zander watched the men and women head for home after another long day of training. The throbbing in his thigh angered him. Damn boar.

  Greydon strode toward Zander, looking as weary as Zander felt. He slumped against the wall next to Zander. “Rough day.”

  Zander shoved away from the door to face Greydon. “Another day closer to a war. Every night I ask myself if we’ll be ready.”

  “We push them as much as we dare.” Greydon gestured at the path leading to the stable. “Here comes your newest recruit.”

  Zeph broke from the group and trotted to the stable. “Thanks for letting me train.”

  Zander clapped Zeph’s shoulder. “Hope today wasn’t too tough for you. Will I see you tomorrow?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Zeph nodded.

  Zander held on to his shoulder. “Zeph? We have an extra room in the stable. It’s small, but do you want to move in here with me? You could bring your things tomorrow.”

  Uncharacteristically for Zeph, he grasped Zander’s hand and touched his forehead to it. Zander almost couldn’t hear his words.

  “Yes.” Zeph turned and walked stiffly down the path leading to the village.

  “I’m not sure why I did that.” Zander rubbed the back of his neck.

  Greydon’s smile lit his face. “Fate knows the boy can use some attention.”

  Zander groaned. With his invitation to Zeph, Zander’s private time at the stable would be non-existent.

  “He’s not the only one that worships you. Most of the men think you’re the next best thing to God. Defender of all.”

  Zander’s head snapped up at Greydon’s words. “I hope I don’t disappoint them. Do you think we’ll be ready?”

  “If we’re invaded, we’ll have to be.”

  “If?”

  Greydon studied his hands. “We don’t know. You’re basing your gulch strategy on a boy’s dream.”

  Zander ran his hands through his dark hair. The owl feather he’d tied on the side caught in his fingers. “It makes sense. The marsh beyond the gulch will be impassable until early summer. Have you looked in Zeph’s eyes? He carries secrets.”

  “Like you?”

  Greydon was too close to the truth. Zander ignored the question. “I believe in him.”

  “Just don’t tell everyone what your source is.”

  Zander grinned. “I’m not stupid.”

  Greydon grew serious. “We still need to talk about Lash.”

  Zander swore. “It’s time, I guess. Help me pitch some manure. It seems fitting.”

  They grabbed pitchforks and tossed manure into a cart to be taken later and spread on the alfalfa field. Between stalls, Zander asked, “Do you believe he’ll do right for us? I don’t trust him.”

  After a long toss that missed the cart, Greydon said, “I don’t either, but I’ve thought on it, and I still think he’s our best choice. You don’t want to do it, and I can’t. The only other sons of elders are Paal and Dharien. Neither have the money sense of Lash.”

  Another forkful of manure missed the cart. “What’s Dharien doing hanging out with Lash?” Zander thought he and Dharien had settled their differences after the quest. Dharien had seemed eager to make a fresh start and joined the warriors when he could have taken the easier path of becoming a Protector. Zander glanced at Greydon’s scowl. “What?”

  “I don’t know if even Dharien knows what he’s doing. He won’t talk to me.” Greydon tossed the pitchfork at the wall. “We used to be close. The quest changed him, but he won’t confide in me.” He twisted his mouth. “I don’t suppose you’d tell me?”

  Dharien would have died if Zander and Alexa hadn’t found him on the final day of the quest. The three had fought their most dangerous omens, the black panthers, together. Zander shook his head. “It’s better left unsaid.”

  “Somehow I doubt that. Maybe I can get you to the tavern. A few mugs of mead might loosen your tongue.”

  Zander snorted. “Not likely. I won’t be a drunk like my father.”

  “Drinking a pint now and then doesn’t make you a drunk.”

  “Not going to happen.”

  They finished the last stall in silence, and Greydon leaned against the rail. “What about Lash?”

  Ignoring the warning twist in his gut, Zander said, “We’ll talk to him tomorrow.” He stepped back and landed one boot in a pile of manure that had missed the cart. The smell wafted up and burned his nose.

  “And Zander?”

  He looked up from scraping his boot against the cart to see Greydon’s furrowed brow. “What?”

  “It’s your call, but what will you do about Alexa?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “At least three men can’t keep their eyes off her when she visits.” Greydon hesitated.

  “And?”

  “Maybe you could encourage her to promise to a man outside our ranks?”

  Incredulous, Zander stared at Greydon. “You want me to tell my sister who to love?”

  “What does love have to do with it? Find her a good match and convince her of the wisdom. Then she can forget about meddling in your affairs.”

  “You really don’t know my sister, do you?” Zander went over the conversation he was not having with his twin. Telling Alexa what not to do was a sure way of getting her to do it.

  “I know she’s distracting our men. And my brother is one of them.”

  “So talk to Dharien. I won’t tell Alexa what to do.”

  Chapter TEN

  Alexa

  While sitting across from her mentor, Alexa copied yet another useless spell as Melina Odella recited it. Seriously, who needed bread to rise more quickly? She forced a smile. Melina Odella didn’t respond well to anger.

  “I’ve been practicing reading the cards.”

  Annoyance flitted across Melina Odella’s face. “Understanding the cards takes years of study.” She flipped a page in her journal and recited the words to a spell for keeping a floor clean.

  Useless, useless, useless. It was all Alexa could do to write the spell. She was wasting her time with Melina Odella’s teachings. A war loomed. She needed spells that made arrows fly true. Spells that protected the village, not a floor from dirt. Spells that saved lives. Without thinking, she sighed.

  Melina Odella snapped her book shut. “If I’m wasting your time, you can leave.”

  Alexa met her teacher’s angry eyes. “The village is in danger. Zander will need my help.”

  Stone-faced, Melina Odella leaned toward Alexa and wagged her finger in her face. “You aren’t ready now and you won’t be ready for a very long time. If the village is invaded, Zander will fail. He’s seventeen. He can’t lead a war.”

  A wave of dizziness washed over Alexa. She grabbed the edge of the table to steady herself. “Moira picked him. She believes in him.”

  Melina Odella’s mocking, high-pitched laughter filled the room. “Moira. Still you trust her?”

  Did she? Uncertainty rose like flood waters, fast and furious. Just as quickly, it receded. She trusted Moira more than Melina Odella. Alexa sucked in a deep breath. “If we’re invaded, we have no choice but to trust her. Zander’s our only hope.” She steeled herself for Melina Odella’s reaction, but the fortune-teller only pursed her lips. “Why is that, Melina Odella? Why has Fate given Zander the task of protecting our village when you, the priest, and the elders should be the ones to save us? Tell me why?”

  Melina Odella leaned back in her chair. “You’re the one who gave Chanse a love potion and ruined my life. You’re the one who disgraced Chanse in front of the church. You’re the one who cheated in the quest and brought everyone home safely when half of you should have died.”

  What did those things hav
e to do with protecting the village? And how did Melina Odella know about the quest? Jumbled thoughts rolled around inside Alexa’s head. She needed to be careful with what she said next.

  Before Alexa could speak, Melina Odella slapped her hands on the table. “You do not speak for Moira. I do.” She twisted her hands together and glared at Alexa. “I’ve devoted my life to Moira’s wishes. You will not usurp me.”

  Her teacher had gone mad. Melina Odella paced the room and Alexa’s throat tightened. Suddenly, Melina Odella seemed to calm, but the fire in her eyes denied any peace.

  “You think you’re ready?” Melina Odella threw the cards onto the table. “Let’s see.” She jerked the chair away from the table and sat hard.

  Suddenly nervous, Alexa took the deck in trembling hands. She fought the urge to heave while she shuffled the cards and spread them across the table.

  Melina Odella snapped up the cards one at a time until five faced up. She glared at Alexa. “What say you?”

  Alexa laid them in a line. The Sun, The Lovers, Two of Swords, Nine of Pentacles, and the Queen of Wands.

  With a pounding heart, Alexa studied the cards. It seemed her teacher had intentionally chosen wrong. They made no sense. And if she misread them, Melina Odella would declare her unfit. She closed her eyes and fingered the red heart at her neck. A vision of the future flashed behind her eyes. Melina Odella fleeing the village. Melina Odella hiding in a rocky canyon. Melina Odella spelling a curse that surrounded the village.

  Alexa’s eyes flew open. She dropped her gaze to the cards to avoid looking at her teacher and picked up the first card.

  3

  Later that night, alone in her room, she had no memory of what she’d said to Melina Odella. Only that her teacher declared with a great deal of satisfaction that she needed more practice.

  But the images that had flitted through her head couldn’t be forgotten. Alexa felt the evil of the spell even as she remembered it. Would that be the betrayal Tshilaba had warned against?

  She shuffled her cards and asked a question—What need I fear from Melina Odella? She chose one and turned it over. The Five of Swords. Betrayal and Deceit.

  Chapter ELEVEN

  Zephyr

  Zeph trudged to the archery field. As hard as he’d tried, he wasn’t getting any better with the bow. He lined up next to Zander. Maybe this would be the day he’d do it right.

  Behind Zeph, Greydon’s voice rang out. “Ready to shoot.” Twelve archers came into position.

  Zeph eyed Zander’s stance and tried to copy it. Feet shoulder length apart, right leg slightly behind the left.

  “Nock.”

  He pointed the bow down. The arrow bounced to the ground before he could settle the notched end into the hemp cord. His cheeks flushed. He was the last to be ready.

  “Mark.”

  He raised the bow and focused on the target thirty yards in front of him. He turned his head from side to side trying to get a fix on it.

  “Draw.”

  His right arm pulled back the string, muscles trembling. Maybe this time he’d hit a bulls-eye.

  “Loose.”

  As he released the arrow, Zeph’s arm jerked up. His heart sank as his arrow flew over the target.

  Greydon continued with “Nock. Mark. Draw,” until all twelve arrows had flown. A few of Zeph’s hit the target, but none close to the center.

  After the warriors collected their arrows, Zander stood next to Zeph and frowned. “You write your letters with your right hand?”

  He didn’t understand what writing had to do with shooting, but Zeph nodded.

  “I want you to try something.” Zander took the bow from Zeph’s left hand and placed it in his right. “Pull back the string without an arrow a few times.”

  “It feels awkward.” He hated that the others stared.

  After Zeph drew a few more times, Zander said, “Try it with an arrow.”

  Zeph fumbled with the arrow. It flipped out of his hand. Guffaws rang out behind him. It seemed he was the morning’s entertainment.

  Zander stooped to pick it up and handed it back to him. “Take your time.”

  When Zeph had the arrow nocked, Zander called out, “Mark. Draw. Loose.”

  Zeph watched his arrow fly true to the target. Almost a bulls-eye! His mouth dropped, and he whirled around at Zander’s whoop.

  “Again. Nock. Mark. Draw. Loose.”

  Arrow after arrow hit the target.

  Zander grinned. “You might use your right hand, but you sight with your left. I should have thought of it sooner.”

  Zeph couldn’t stop smiling.

  3

  He’d trained for six weeks with the warriors. Zeph slumped on his bed in the stable. His wrestling had improved, but he couldn’t get a takedown. At archery practice, he hit the target every time, but not often the center. The only place he felt comfortable was with the horses or alone with Zander. And neither happened as often as he’d like.

  Every man in training demanded Zander’s time, and after the day ended, Greydon stayed to talk strategy. Lash and Dharien joined them more often now, and, for many reasons, Zeph didn’t like Lash. He was sure Lash lied to Zander, but no telltale black mist appeared over his head. Zander obviously didn’t trust Lash either. Zeph watched him force his body to relax when Lash joined them.

  It was almost the New Year. Zeph’s birthday came the day before, forcing him into his time of magic as the youngest quester. He hated that he’d miss training for the quester class, but his battered body was ready for the break they’d take for the Twelve Day Feast.

  He headed to the pells and picked up the wooden practice sword Zander had special made for him. It was smaller than the others. He hated that, hated being smaller, hated the special treatment because of it. He sucked in a deep breath. He couldn’t help his size, but he could control how hard he worked.

  He approached the pells single-mindedly. Twelve round posts stuck in the ground and most were being attacked by other warriors. Zeph found a free one in the middle. He stared at the six-foot post and imagined it as Lash. He thrust his blade where a man’s heart would be and then jabbed at what would be the thigh. He twisted and cut behind the "knee," imagining his foe dropping. Sweat poured down his temples and back, and still he swung the blade.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder. “Whoa, Zeph. Take it easy.”

  Zeph blinked through glazed eyes. “Zander?”

  “Who else? You looking to kill the pell?”

  The adrenaline rush gone, Zeph’s muscles trembled. The fury that had fueled his fight drained. He leaned against the wooden blade he’d planted on the ground and wiped sweat from his face.

  Zander’s eyes swept Zeph’s body and returned to study his face. “Everything all right?”

  Zeph nodded. He wasn’t a tattler.

  “You’d tell me if something was bothering you?”

  Or someone. Zeph stared at the ground and nodded again.

  “Hoy, Zander!” Greydon strode to the pells. “You’re needed at the archery range.”

  Grateful for the interruption, Zeph dragged the wooden blade across the grounds and returned it to the outside rack. The practice blades weighed twice as much as the steel scimitars. His muscles complained, but Zeph managed a grin. At least he had muscles now.

  His smile faded when he heard two voices inside the shed. One was Lash. Zeph pressed against the rough wood.

  “Greydon’s a fool if he thinks I’m giving him everything I collect from the villagers.”

  Laughter, and then another voice murmured. Zeph crept closer to listen.

  Lash continued. “A few coins from each guild’s bag won’t be missed.”

  Zeph heard the men’s boots at the door. He slunk to the other side of the shed. Lash strode toward the manor. Greydon’s brother, Dharien, laughed ne
xt to him.

  Zeph could go to Zander now, or he could wait. Lash would deny it, and Zeph had no proof. He would wait.

  Chapter TWELVE

  Two Days Before the New Year

  Alexa

  It had been a week since Alexa had a lesson. She’d trekked out to Melina Odella’s cottage early that day only to be banished again with the excuse her teacher had a council session. So instead of learning magic, Alexa spent the day baking. Mother was exhausted trying to meet the demands for her special breads and cakes for the Twelve Day Celebration. With the last round of sugar biscuits cooling on the counter, Alexa filled a basket with warm cinnamon rolls. She pulled the hood of her green cloak over her head and made the trek to Elder Warrin’s estate. She missed Zander. She wouldn’t mind if she ran into Dharien, too.

  Dusk rolled in as she made her way to the stable. Zeph stood outside the door. Since he’d joined the warriors, she rarely saw him. He’d grown a couple of inches, and his too-thin frame had filled out a little. His genuine happiness to see her warmed her heart. She smiled at the feather tied in his hair. Just like Zander’s.

  “Alexa! What are you doing here?” He took the basket from her and leaned in to sniff. “Cinnamon?”

  She laughed for the first time in a very long time. “Cinnamon rolls. They taste fine, but they rose lopsided.” She rolled her eyes. “Mother would be ashamed to put them out for sale. Although if I’d told her I was taking them to Zander, she would have insisted I bring the good looking ones.”

  Zeph cocked his head at her. “Don’t they taste the same?”

  Indeed. But the elders who could afford the rolls wanted only the best. She reached into the basket and pulled one out. “See for yourself.”

  The look of rapture that crossed Zeph’s face as he took a bite made her laugh again. “Isn’t my brother feeding you?”

  He mumbled around the roll. “Not like this.”

  She turned to find Dharien and Paal coming up the path behind her. Both men were sweaty, their bodies lean and muscular under their training clothes, but it was Dharien who drew her gaze. He’d always had that effect on her.