by Serena Chase
It was closer now, sounding as if it came from just the other side of the fire. Erielle must have thought so, too, because she lifted the bow and drew back the string.
I turned to Dyfnel and spoke to his mind. What is it?
A mountain cat, he said.
A cat? But it sounds so big!
Because it is.
He sent a memory of a long, lanky creature the color of old straw into my thoughts. It had a broomstick tale and wide-set, intelligent—but wild—eyes, big teeth, and long, coarse whiskers protruding from a muzzle that was much wider and longer about the nose than any cat I’d ever seen.
Some call it a “wolfcat” due to its size, the shape of its nose, and the power of its jaws, he explained. But it is not actually related to the wolf at all. Its mannerisms are very catlike, and physically, it does quite resemble those common creatures. But in every way, it is exponentially larger than a cat and many grow larger than even the wolves found in the Nyrland province.
Leave it to an Andoven to take a possibly life-or-death moment and insert a lesson.
Is it dangerous?
He nodded. Quite. Especially if it’s hungry.
“Rozen,” Erielle hissed. “Can you help me see it?”
Help her . . . oh!
I broke my connection with Dyfnel and concentrated on connecting my mind to Erielle’s, while somewhere beyond the fire, an odd, scratching noise sounded for a short rhythm and then stilled.
I closed my eyes, careful to keep a grip on a strand of Erielle’s colors while I sought the unfamiliar, animalistic presence in the dark trees surrounding our camp.
I thought about the picture Dyfnel had put into my thoughts and my mind’s eye roved the trees until a glint of reflection, that seemed almost to have its own scent, caught my attention.
I gasped. A cat? No, it was a beast!
Its muzzle wrinkled, revealing long teeth that reminded me of Julien’s bearskin cloak. It sniffed the air and its long, thick tail flicked once. Other than that, it was as still as the trunk of the tree itself. In its mind was one thought:
Fresh meat.
Since the pheasant Risson had snared and roasted was nothing now but a pile of bones in our fire, I could only assume the wolfcat meant . . . us.
Its tail flicked a long, silent swoosh, like a broom across the floor, except it hung over the back of the wide branch where the giant cat perched, waiting for the moment to strike.
In the tree, I told Erielle.
“Which tree?” she hissed. “We’re in the middle of a forest!”
I had no idea how to explain it.
“Timepiece!” she whispered.
Timepiece? I don’t have one, I said to her thoughts.
She groaned, but I don’t think it was aloud. Her words, however, came through her teeth like a sword. “Tell me where it is,” she said slowly, “as if you were looking at a timepiece.”
Ten o’clock.
She angled the bow to the precise angle that would have been ten on a timepiece, but it wasn’t far enough to the left and was a tad too high.
Wait! Where do you want to hit it? I’d only been thinking of the general area of the cat, not a specific target.
“Kill shot!” she whispered.
Okay. I corrected my earlier instructions, Move left and down. Er, nine and . . . a quarter. She made a slight adjustment. Just a bit higher.
All of a sudden, the cat’s attention was caught by movement near the base of its tree. Its head moved so quickly it was as if it there were no space between one angle and the next, as if its neck was made of fluid rather than sinew and bone.
Wait! I shouted into Erielle’s thoughts. It moved!
I followed the direction of the cat’s new interest.
“Julien!” I screamed his name aloud. “Don’t move!”
At my scream, the cat’s head swiveled back toward me and it crouched as if to pounce. Erielle let her arrow fly, but it sailed several inches over the animal’s head and into the trees.
Erielle had another arrow nocked faster than I could blink.
Lower!
The animal’s head was turned back to the right direction, at least. Julien was silent and still, but if it looked his direction again and decided to pounce, he was done for.
Bring it down two more inches, I told her. Now up just the tiniest bit. There!
I shrank back as the arrow let loose and my mind flew with it for a moment before I thought to disconnect.
The wolfcat’s howl was little more than a staccato cry this time, followed by a resounding thud as it fell out of the tree and hit the ground.
A long moment stretched. Finally, Julien called out. “It’s dead!” He laughed. “Erielle got him right between the eyes!”
A few moments later, the three knights dragged the beast closer to the fire. “Tonight, we feast!” Gerrias slapped Kinley on the back.
I looked at the large, limp animal. Its paws were huge clawed things and its face, even as big as it was, seemed very like the cats Lord Whittier delighted in keeping to reduce the rodent populations in the stable and barns . . . but with just a reminder around the muzzle of the dogs that herded his sheep.
“It’s a cat,” I said.
“Indeed,” Edru nodded, grinning. “Many consider wolfcat a delicacy. They’re nearly impossible to hunt, which is why the meat and pelts are sold at such a dear cost. This is indeed a treat.”
“A treat?” My stomach lurched. “No.” I shook my head, vigorously. “I can’t eat a cat.”
“It’s just meat,” Kinley said. “Bounty provided us by The First.”
“It would’ve eaten any one of us.” Erielle rejoined us after examining her handiwork. “What’s the problem?”
“Look at its whiskers. Its ears. Its paws. It’s a cat. I used to play with them in the barn.”
She laughed. “Not this kind of cat.”
“Well, I for one will eat anything that would consider eating me.” Risson pulled a dagger from his boot. “Shall we get on with skinning him, then? I’ve got my eye on those juicy hindquarters.”
I ran for the trees and heaved, emptying my stomach of the spare portion of pheasant we had shared earlier.
I could not begrudge my friends a full and satisfying meal, especially one considered a delicacy, but neither could I partake of something that looked so like a larger version of a combination of family pets.
It was well into the night before the meat was ready to cook. While they’d butchered the animal, Kinley had whistled a Veetrish feasting tune, but when it was finally on the spit, he began to sing.
“Bring ye out the pudding, Cook. Put a log upon the fire. We’ve a merry tune and a goblet full and a tale to pass the hour.” Kinley continued singing as Edru turned the spit, though he refrained from the usual rousing volume expected of one singing that particular tune. His voice was a tad deeper than Lord Whittier’s, but Kinley’s Veetrish brogue was thicker when he sang. It had to be, of course, to make the words rhyme correctly. I closed my eyes as the sound recalled many happy eves at Mirthan Hall, and smiled.
Pretty soon, Risson added his rumbling bass to the song and Erielle surprised me, joining in with a pure, sweet harmony in a higher register. As vehement as she had been that I should not allow Julien to sing his courtship to me, I had assumed the gift of song to be one absent among all Sir Gladiel’s children. I was glad to be wrong—and entirely too Veetrish to resist the tune’s pull. I couldn’t help but tap my foot now and then. Once or twice I even joined Kinley, singing the melody. But whenever my eyes strayed to the hunks of cat Edru was turning on the spit, the merriment within me curdled. Finally, I unpacked my bedroll, choked down a small wedge of cheese that argued with my stomach for a while before deciding to stay put, and turned away, purposing to sleep before my friends partook of their meal.
In the morning, no sign of the wolfcat remained and no one spoke of it. I was glad to leave the whole incident behind, and while packing up my bedroll, I was surprise
d to find one of the promised notes from Julien.
Like the first, it had neither salutation nor signature, but even though it consisted of only two short lines, it warmed my heart.
I’m sure my sister has warned you off my singing, but were I to present you with a ballad, it would be “So Far As Ere the Skies Have Reached.”
I remain, yours.
Having been raised in Veetri, I was, of course, familiar with the song. It was the tale of a young man who learned to fly in order to woo and rescue a maiden who had been kidnapped by the moon. Unlike the lively tune Kinley had sung the night before, this song was utterly romantic. Julien could not have known how precious a place it held in my heart, but having heard Lord Whittier sing that ballad to his lady on many occasions, just the mention of it conjured the warmth of love within me.
I closed my eyes and remembered Lord Whittier repeating the chorus, the beauty of his rich, honeyed voice no match for the love in his eyes.
So far as ere the skies have reached
is not too far for me
to seek the favor of the one
whose one glance captured me.
Of all the ballads Julien could have chosen to “not sing” to me, he had chosen the best. With a full heart, I tucked the parchment among my things.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Days ran together like the endless view of trees as we followed the paths of deer—and sometimes no path at all—through the mountain’s foothills. Risson, being most familiar with the province of Shireya, took the lead and Gerrias took the rear. When the trail allowed, we rode close enough to converse, Julien almost always on my right and Kinley or Erielle on my left.
The typical drizzle of early spring visited our journey every two or three days, and even though we were well rested, I was ready for a real bed and a long soak in a deep tub.
“Are there no inns in Shireya?” I groaned one afternoon.
“Not this side of the mountain.”
I winced at Gerrias’s reply, not having intended to speak my complaint aloud.
“Closer to the borders with Stoen and Dwons there are villages with inns large enough to house several hunting parties,” he said. “Much like our Great Wood in Mynissbyr, this part of Shireya is sparsely inhabited.”
I sighed. True, I hadn’t meant to voice my complaint, but since I had, I couldn’t seem to stop from adding to it. “What I wouldn’t give for a warm bath and a bed with a pillow.”
“Indeed.” Gerrias laughed. “Risson, how close do you think we are to Fennik’s Glenn?” He turned back to me. “It’s not an inn, but it’s a roof, a fire, and a bed.”
“We’re still a bit away,” Risson said. “Within a week or so, I’d think.”
A week or so? It already felt as if we had been in Shireya a lifetime.
“And how much farther to the mountain after that?” Erielle spoke up. “Are we even halfway yet?”
“By the time we get to Fennik’s, we’ll be almost to the Sacred Mountain’s base,” Risson said, adding another, “almost.”
“Meaning?” Erielle prodded.
“It will be a few more days after that.”
I used a bit more self-control this time and didn’t voice my disappointment, because even my thoughts were tinged with a whiny sounding groan that didn’t particularly suit a squire—or a princess, for that matter.
“Risson?” I asked instead. “What is Fennik’s Glenn?”
“It’s the home of a rather cantankerous old knight who lives like a hermit and likes it that way. He served your grandfather, King Rynitel,” Risson replied. “He’s not the most welcoming host, but his home is large enough and he’ll share his hearth for a night.” His brow furrowed as we reached a break in the trees and he angled his horse to go around the small meadow rather than through it. “If we were to angle eastward, there is a farmstead near here. A rather more humble dwelling than Fennik’s. I’d meant to skirt around it, but if you—”
“Hold.” Julien’s voice stilled us all. “Do you smell that?”
I inhaled deeply, but only caught the scents of damp earth, evergreen, and the smoke that permeated my clothes from our campfires.
“Smoke,” Gerrias said with a nod.
I took another breath. Perhaps the smoke smell was a bit stronger than I’d originally given it credit.
“Look up.” Erielle pointed above the meadow to a path of dark gray puffs snaking across the blue sky. “It’s coming from the northeast. It’s a bit too much smoke to be a cooking fire, isn’t it?”
Risson and Julien exchanged a look. Risson nodded. When I moved my gaze to the other knights, both Gerrias and Kinley wore pronounced frowns.
“We’ll go north,” Julien said, turning Salvador that direction rather than the more eastward direction of the smoke. “Give it a wide berth.”
“But what if it’s coming from that farm Risson mentioned?” I asked. “They could need help.”
Julien shook his head. “Our goal is to reach the mountain. We shouldn’t delay.”
“But shouldn’t we offer help if we can? Or at least get close enough to make sure the farmers are unhurt? That wouldn’t delay us too much, would it?”
His look was pointed, narrowing his green eyes. “That fire could be deliberately set. If there are enemies about, we need to move away from whatever mischief they’re engaged in. To keep you safe.”
Enemies? I hadn’t even thought of that. My mind had conjured little more than a cooking fire gone awry. But now that Julien had mentioned it . . .
A scene from Rowlen’s story flashed thorugh my mind. The smoking ruins of Mirthan Hall and the village of Glenhume. The surrounding farms, destroyed by fires set by Dwonsil warriors and Cobelds.
“This farm,” I said, addressing Risson, “it is operated by citizens of E’veria, yes?”
“I should hope so.”
“And are there children in this family, Risson?”
He glanced at Julien before returning his gaze to me. His answer was slow. “Yes, but Sir Julien—”
“I’m sure Sir Julien would agree that it is the duty of the E’veri family and our knights to protect even the humblest citizens of the Kingdom.” I took a breath in through my nose. “If they need our help, we will give it.”
I turned to Kinley. “No one was there to help the people of Glenhume when the village was razed,” I said. “But we’re here now. We should help.”
“This isn’t Veetri, Rose,” he said, and I knew his use of my old name was on purpose. “And this isn’t Glenhume.”
“This farm is someone’s home! If we can be of any help—”
“Normally, I would agree with you,” Julien interjected, “but on our current course, we have to think in bigger terms. In entire Kingdom terms. And the best defense for the Kingdom is finding the Remedy. To do that, you must safely reach the mountain.”
Why couldn’t he understand what I was trying to say? This was my duty!
“What kind of Ryn would ignore her people’s need?”
“Lower your voice!” Julien hissed.
I bit my lip. Until my last emotionally-driven statement, our conversation had barely registered above a murmur.
Julien closed his eyes and inhaled deeply and slowly. When he spoke, his words were soft, but as firm as the ground beneath his horse’s hooves. “A wise leader must choose the path of greater benefit to the whole. Even when it is difficult.”
He was right. I knew he was right. But I couldn’t get the vision of Mirthan Hall, destroyed, out of my mind. What if Lord and Lady Whittier had been home when the enemy had arrived?
“Would you at least be willing to investigate it? To see if there is a need?” I implored. “If we find all is well, we could ride a bit harder or longer to make up the time.”
“Our company is small.” Julien shook his head. “I would prefer to avoid dividing our number to go investigate. If there is trouble, it might find you with a reduced guard.”
“Julien’s right,” Kinley sai
d. “I understand why you want to do this, but we shouldn’t split up.”
“I agree that we should not split up,” I said, sitting straighter. “Therefore, we will all go.” I pulled Stanza’s reins to the right. “Together.”
“We will not.”
Julien’s pronouncement, spoken through clenched teeth, brought me up short and my eyebrows up high.
I tilted my head, locking on to his steely emerald gaze. “Pardon?”
Kinley groaned.
A long moment of silence ensued in which neither Julien nor I capitulated—and in which I clearly saw that as long as he was in charge, he wouldn’t.
But neither would I.
“I am the Ryn,” I said, careful to keep quiet. The words lifted my chin, cutting off the fullness of my breath. I lowered it and looked toward the smoke. “We will go. Now.”
“I mean no disrespect,” Gerrias said softly, “but this is unwise.”
“Rynnaia,” Erielle whispered, “you should trust Julien. We may be walking into a trap.”
I turned my glare to her for a long moment before letting it rove the group. “I will not force any of you to accompany me, but I will go with or without you. There could be people—children, even—in need of help. I will not ignore them. I don’t care if it’s Veetri or Shireya. I will not let another E’verian farm burn without at least trying to help.”
All eyes turned to Julien.
His lips pressed together as his jaw worked his top teeth against the bottom. Clearly, he did not like having his orders questioned. Even by the Ryn.
Finally, he sighed and looked off toward the trees. “Tight formation. Risson, lead. If the Ryn commands it,” he said tightly, “we do her bidding.”
With that, we switched direction, although the quick nods exchanged by the knights assured me that at the first sign of trouble, my commands were to be ignored.
The smell of smoke became denser as we circled the meadow toward its eastern edge. Soon my eyes were watering from it. But no taste of meat rode on the breeze. This was not a cooking fire. It may have started as one—at least I hoped it had—but it must have gotten out of control.
