“Bart, it’s good to see you.” Lore smiled with relief. He walked over to Bart and clapped him across the shoulders. Rowen winced. The man seemed barely able to hold his own weight up, let alone Lore’s exuberant greeting.
“It’s good to see you too, Captain.” Bart’s face turned more serious. “But what are you doing here?”
“It’s a long story. And I’m afraid there’s no time to tell it now. We need to get to the White City.”
“I’d say,” Bart said as he led them down to the barge. “Mostyn’s under attack.”
“Mostyn is under attack?” Lore said, his voice turning serious. “This is not good.”
“What do you mean?” Rowen asked.
Lore turned. “You remember Mostyn, right? It was the town we first met in, at the inn?”
Rowen slowly nodded. She remembered.
“Mostyn is the first line of defense for the White City. An army the size of Temanin could not enter Anwin Forest except by passing Mostyn. Mostyn protects the path that leads up to the White City.” Lore turned back to Bart. “When did the attack begin?”
“Most likely yesterday afternoon.” Bart walked over to the river and began to untie the barge. “The courier who told me was dispatched just before the Temanin Army arrived. I was ordered to keep a watch over the river banks.” Bart motioned for Rowen and Lore to board the barge. “I was also ordered to not allow anyone to cross, but seeing how you’re the captain, I’ll make an exception.”
“Thank you, Bart.”
The old man nodded. Rowen and Lore led their horses onto the barge. The barge shook slightly under the weight. Once they were settled, Bart pushed the barge away from the bank with his long pole.
Rowen’s horse whinnied anxiously and took a step back.
“It’s all right, girl,” Rowen said, brushing the horse’s neck. The horse settled down, and Lore moved toward Rowen’s side. “I had no idea the Temanin Army would move so quickly,” he said in a hushed voice. “We’ll need to find another way to the city.”
“Do you know another route?” Rowen looked up into Lore’s face. His eyes had changed color again—now they were a deep blue.
“I do, but it’s not as easy as following the road. We’ll have to cut across the forest.” He glanced at their horses. “Hopefully the path isn’t too overgrown.”
Twenty minutes later they were off again.
• • •
That night, Rowen and Lore sat around a small campfire. The tall ancient trees of Anwin surrounded them. Stars twinkled high above in a dark blue sky. A stream gushed nearby. The air was still and warm.
Rowen watched the fire. Smoke gently drifted upward in long, pale wisps. Fish bones from dinner were strewn around the fire. Lore sat on the ground across from her. She had found an old tree stump to sit on. “Do you think Mostyn has been taken by now?” she said, looking across the fire.
Lore took a moment to answer. “Mostyn has enough resources to stop Temanin for a couple days,” he said slowly. “But it will probably fall. It was built to give the White City enough time to gear up for an attack, should one ever happen. The last time the White City was attacked, it was during the Nordic Wars.”
Rowen frowned. The fire popped and consumed sap still on the logs. “But that was over four hundred years ago.”
“I know.” Lore poked the fire with a stick, sending sparks up into the night sky. “Except those wars were led by the Shadonae. At least this time we’re fighting just men.”
“Shadonae?” Rowen said. The word conjured visions of tall pale men in black robes.
Lore glanced over at her. “Powerful twisted beings who wished to destroy everything the Word made.”
Rowen pulled her blanket closer. “Do they still exist?”
“I don’t know.” Lore dropped his stick into the fire and watched it burn. “There isn’t much written about them. I would have said no a couple days ago, but then again, I did not believe Eldarans existed anymore, at least not full blooded Eldarans.”
Rowen felt her face redden. Lore’s words were just another reminder that she was different. “So because I exist, these…Shadonae may also exist?” she said, studying the tree stump she sat on.
“Perhaps. But perhaps not. Anyway,” Lore waved his hand as if to erase the last few minutes of conversation, “there is no reason to speculate about that possibility now. There’s enough trouble with the Temanin army advancing on the White City.”
Rowen lifted her head. “You’re right.”
But later that night, her thoughts wandered back to the Shadonae. Powerful, twisted beings Lore had called them. Beings who almost wiped out the north with the Nordic Wars. Beings who should no longer exist.
Like her.
Rowen shivered and shifted over to her side.
They rode most of the next day through Anwin Forest. The trees shaded them from the bright summer sun.
Lore brought his horse next to Rowen’s. “The White City is just around this mountain. So we’ll probably reach the gates near sunset.”
“What about the Temanin Army?” Rowen asked.
“Hopefully Mostyn has kept them occupied. But if Temanin is already at the White City, I’m afraid we’ll have to turn back.”
“Turn back? To where?”
“Back to the river. With the treaty now in place, both Avonai and Nordica should be sending troops to help the White City. The courier Bart met up with the other day was probably carrying the message. When their troops arrive at the river, we’ll join them.”
“But what about the city guards?” Rowen asked. “Who will lead them if you’re not there?”
“Aren,” Lore said. “He’s more than competent, despite his youth and less than serious outlook on life. Deep inside that man there is a strong leader. His humor is a mask, a façade to hide the hurt he”s been through.”
Rowen looked over at Lore questioningly.
“I’m afraid that’s his story to tell,” Lore said, glancing at her.
“I understand.”
“I know you do,” Lore said quietly.
• • •
Caleb Tala woke up with a start, cold sweat pouring off his body. He looked around, frantically trying to figure out where he was. Everything was dark. He felt around and found a blanket across his lap. The walls next to him were made of canvas. He felt his chest and found that his shirt had been removed. What the—
Then it all came back: his wound, the group of refugees, and the healer.
Caleb shivered and grabbed the blanket and pulled it over his exposed body. His nightmare had returned, this time more vivid than ever. He had found himself in the middle of Hershaw Pass with dead bodies all around him. And the blood…
He shivered again, remembering the sickening feel of blood all over his hands. And no matter how much he tried to wipe the sticky fluid off, it had clung to him, slowly crawling up his arm.
He remembered yelling and dashing, only to run into someone deep within the pass. The body had turned, and Caleb had found himself staring into Lord Gaynor’s eyes. The high lord had laughed and held a dagger poised to thrust deep into Caleb’s body…
Caleb lay back down, his heart slowly returning to its steady beat. Outside the wagon he could hear a cricket chirping. So it had to be nighttime. Caleb listened to the tiny bug’s trill and lifted his hand, feeling for his wound. There were ridges across the skin where the healer had sown the wound shut. It was still tender to the touch, but no longer infected, and his body no longer ached. Caleb brought his hand away. Whatever medicine she had given to him, it had worked.
Suddenly the cricket stopped. Caleb tensed, his ears alert for any sound. He could hear movement outside.
“Tania!” a voice called out.
“Shhh!” The sound came from the right, just outside. Caleb thought he could hear another person approaching.
“What do you want?” a feminine voice said moments later.
“I want to talk to you about the man you helped today.”
&
nbsp; “Yeah? What about him?” she said quietly.
“Me and a couple others don’t think he’s telling the truth.”
“I already know that,” she said.
“And we… What? You know?” he sputtered.
“Shhh!” she said again.
“Can he hear us?” he said in a strained voice.
“Don’t think so,” Tania said. “He should still be out. But just in case…”
Wanting to hear more, Caleb stole away from the bed toward the canvas flaps. He parted them slightly and found the outside almost as dark as inside the wagon. A few fires burned a short distance away. Other wagons surrounded the fires. A half moon hung in the dark sky, over hills of grass. A lone tree stood to the left, apart from the fires and wagons. A couple of horses grazed beneath it.
Caleb looked to his right. Two figures stood near the wagon he was in. The man held a torch. Tania stood a short distance away. He waited to see if he could still hear them. He could, barely.
“…a Temanin,” Caleb heard the male voice say.
“Boyd, just because someone has dark hair and dark eyes doesn’t make them a Temanin,” Tania said. “Take Corra’s daughter. We both know that child is a Rylander through and through, yet looking at her you’d think she had been born to a Temanin.”
“But Tania—”
“But I think you’re right,” Tania interrupted. “His story doesn’t add up. He said he was from Tieve, yet Tieve was attacked weeks ago. His wounds were recent. So either he’s lying, or he received those wounds some other way than during the attack on Tieve.”
“He’s a Temanin,” Boyd said. “I feel it in my gut.”
“Either way, he was hurt and I was bound to help him,” Tania said. “But now my job’s done. If you want to take charge of him, be my guest. But…no killing.” Caleb watched her wave a finger at Boyd. “I didn’t patch him up for you to cut him open again. You make sure he’s a Temanin before doing anything, you hear?”
“I’ll guard the wagon tonight,” Boyd said. “We can question him tomorrow.”
“That sounds like a good plan, Boyd. I’ll let the others know.”
Time to go. Caleb pulled his hidden dagger out from his right boot. There was no time to retrieve his shirt. He doubted he would be able to find it anyway in the dark wagon.
He watched Boyd approach the wagon and suddenly felt a feeling of apprehension wash over him. Visions from his nightmare still lingered in the back of his mind. Caleb glanced at his dagger. He couldn’t believe it: He was second-guessing himself. For the first time in his life, he had doubts about taking the life of another.
Panicked by the sudden rise of conscience within him, Caleb scrambled mentally to figure out what to do. Boyd drew closer. Should he kill him or not? He readjusted his grip on the dagger, noting the slight shake of his hand. Sliding the dagger back into its sheath, Caleb made his decision. He knew other ways to incapacitate a person…
Boyd stopped beside the wagon, near the opening. He was close enough that Caleb could hear Boyd’s breathing. Foolish man. He should have checked the inside of the wagon first.
Caleb reached out and grabbed Boyd by the throat and dragged him inside the wagon. They tussled in the small space. Caleb squeezed with all his might. Boyd let go of his torch and fought back. But it was too late.
Moments later, Caleb let go. Boyd fell to the floor, unconscious. However, the torch had fallen into the black bag, and something inside had caught fire during their fight. Now the fire was spreading.
Snarling, Caleb threw back the canvas flaps and leaped from the wagon. He turned toward the tree with the horses beneath it. Caleb sprinted through the long grass and reached the horses. He found his own a moment later. He began to untie the reins. Shouts filled the air behind him.
“Come on,” he muttered angrily, working on the knot still wound around the tree branch. He glanced back and saw people running toward him.
Cursing again, he bent down and retrieved his dagger from his boot, then cut the reins. Behind him, flames reached for the sky. The wagon and its contents were fed to the inferno.
So much for not killing the man, Caleb thought darkly. He leaped up into the saddle and urged his horse forward. Then he raced off into the night, not sure what direction he was going, only that he needed to get away.
• • •
Lore came through the trees, a frown on his face. Just beyond the trees lay the field that bordered the walls of the White City. To their right, the face of the mountain, a sheer wall of stone reaching to the cloud covered peak above. The sun was a ball of red ahead of them, slowly sinking into the west. Purples and blues spread across the sky.
“There are men on the far side of the forest.” Lore took his reins from Rowen. “South. From the direction of Mostyn.”
“Temanins?” Rowen asked.
Lore leaped up into his saddle. “I could not tell from where I was standing, but probably. Looked like they were watching the gates from within the tree line. Probably the first wave.”
“So do we turn back?”
Lore was quiet for a moment, his eyes turned toward the far end of the field. “I am willing to ride to the gate. They probably won’t try to stop me, because they’d reveal their position. But they might.” He turned and looked at her. “What about you?”
Rowen readjusted her grip on her reins. She knew Lore would stay back for her. But the White City needed him. And she knew her place was there as well. “I am willing to ride.”
He nodded solemnly. “Then may the Word watch over us.”
Yes, thought Rowen. She urged her horse forward. After a minute, they came to the tree line. Ahead she could see the field…and the White City.
It stood like a glorious edifice in the dying light. Tall, proud walls. Homes and shops and Celestis Castle, all chiseled out of the mountain. Blue banners with the symbol of the eagle waving in the wind. The city had turned a light pink from the sun’s last rays.
Home.
Lore brought his horse up beside hers. “Are you ready?”
Rowen took a deep breath. “Yes.”
You go first. I’ll follow.”
She nodded. She dug her heels into her mare. The horse leaped forward, and she was racing across the field. To her left, she saw movement among the shadows.
A long thin projectile whizzed by her head. Looked like the Temanin’s weren’t concerned about blowing their cover.
“Keep going!” Lore yelled behind her.
Rowen pressed her body closer to the horse. She drew in deep breaths. Her heart pounded inside her ears. She may be able to heal, but one arrow to the heart and she doubted even she could survive that.
The gates drew closer.
Come on, she thought, willing her mount to move faster. She dared not look back for Lore. Fires flickered across the wall. Fifty meters… Twenty meters… “Open the gate!” Rowen shouted, straightening up. Her horse danced beside the wooden barrier.
“Rowen?” shouted a voice above.
“Yes!” She glanced up but unable to see who had called down. “Hurry!”
The gates groaned and swung inward. She nudged her mount closer. A moment later, the gates were far enough apart. Rowen went in.
She moved her horse away from the gate, then turned to watch for Lore.
The city was dark inside. Torches hung from the metal brackets on either side of the gates. Farther up the street, candles shown through windows. Men came running toward the gate. She could hear muffled thuds hit the wood.
“They’re shooting at us,” she heard someone shout.
Lore came bursting through. “Close the gates!” But his words were not needed. The gates were already slamming shut.
Rowen brought her horse to his side. “You’ve been hit,” she said, noting the tear along his sleeve.
Lore looked over at the graze and touched it. “Only my arm.”
Rowen brought her gloved hand up.
“No,” Lore said, pulling himself away
. “It’s a minor wound. I can handle it.”
Before she could answer, Donar ran toward them.
“Captain, Rowen, where have you been? No one would say a word when Lady Astrea arrived days ago. Other than…” Donar swallowed.
Apparently, the city knew of Lord Gaynor’s death.
More men came running. Others continued to shout overhead.
One man in particular caught Rowen’s attention. Lore continued to speak to Donar.
“Captain Lore,” the man said. Rowen recognized the man’s uniform. It was the same one her father had worn the day he’d ridden off to war.
“Commander Kelyn.” Lore dismounted. Both men bowed to each other.
Rowen watched from the top of her horse.
“We have much to talk about.” Commander Kelyn looked up toward Rowen. “Is this Commander Jedrek’s daughter?”
“Yes.” Lore turned to look at her. “Rowen, this is Commander Kelyn of the Northern Army. Commander Kelyn, Rowen Mar, varor to Lady Astrea.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you.” Commander Kelyn gave her a polite bow. “Your father was a great man.”
“Thank you, sir,” Rowen said, not sure if she should dismount and bow.
“I’m glad to see that both you and Captain Lore made it back to the city, and in good health, no less. We had heard you both had been wounded…” She could see Commander Kelyn’s eyes searching for her wounds, and she suddenly felt exposed. What if he realized she was no longer injured?
“Commander Kelyn,” Lore said, intervening. “Please excuse us, it’s been a long trip. Give me a half hour to cleanup and report to Lady Astrea, then I’ll meet you in the council room.”
“Very good, Captain.” Commander Kelyn glanced briefly at Rowen. “In one half hour.”
Lore bowed again, then mounted his horse.
“Thank you for covering for me,” Rowen said once they were away from the main gate and the throng of soldiers and guards. Ahead stood the second set of walls that surrounded the castle and the archway that led into the inner courtyard.
“Of course,” Lore said. “But we might have a problem. I’m not sure how your healing was explained, but clearly Commander Kelyn suspects something. He’s a smart man, much like your father. Two and two are not adding up to him. Which brings up the point,” Lore turned to look at her. “What are you going to do?”
Daughter of Light (Follower of the Word Book 1) Page 28
