by Shae Ford
The grunts started in slowly, passed about from stall to stall. Then the giants began to roar. They beat their chests and their eyes caught like embers. It was only after Brend stood to quiet them that Kael realized he’d pressed himself very firmly against the wall.
He understood now why it had taken magic to conquer the plains: nothing worn or wielded by men stood a chance against the giants, once they’d been called to war.
“So it’s settled, then? We all agree?”
The giants answered Brend in a single furious bark, so loud that it rattled the shingles across the roof.
“Very well.” And Brend’s lanky limbs seemed to swell as he said it, so that by the time he turned, he wasn’t Brend anymore: but a towering giant warrior. “We’ll follow you into battle, wee whisperer. Just tell us where to go.”
The night was still young, but Kael knew the hours would pass quickly. He decided to let the giants figure out how to free the Pens on their own. They knew the land better than he did, after all. And he had no doubt they would be able to rally the others quickly.
Once he’d rushed through the rest of his instructions, he asked Brend to hoist him through the roof. “We’ll be thinking hard,” Brend whispered as Kael popped out into the night. “Fate go with you.”
Kael didn’t want Fate anywhere near him, but he nodded distractedly as he climbed free.
Hob’s cottage sat on top of Northbarn, their neighbor to the right. As Kael picked his way towards it, he was careful to stay low and cling to the shadows. A small patch of clouds had swallowed up the moon for the moment, muting its light behind a thin veil. But they wouldn’t hold for long, there was no telling when the moon might break free. And aside from those few wispy clouds, there was nothing but clear skies in all directions.
Kael had to move quickly.
He’d gotten used to having a pair of sharp eyes above him, but Eveningwing wasn’t around to warn him of trouble, this time. So it took him a bit longer to reach Northbarn than he’d expected.
Once he made it to the foot of the stairs, he was ready — he couldn’t afford to hesitate. Kael stopped, and allowed himself a deep breath. Then he grasped at his belt for the curved knife … and his hand came back empty.
He nearly swore aloud when he realized that he’d left it behind. In all of the excitement of the evening, he’d forgotten to retrieve the knife from Eveningwing’s perch. He wanted to kick himself for being so foolish, but there wasn’t enough time. If he ran back now, Brend might be able to reach it and toss it out to him.
He turned to jog back to Westbarn — and froze.
There was a shadow in his path, waiting where there hadn’t been one before. It stood so close to him that he couldn’t see what it was, but he could certainly feel its hot breath on the top of his head.
“Come with me,” a man’s voice whispered.
When Kael didn’t move, he felt a hand clamp firmly around his upper arm.
“You can carry yourself, or I’ll carry you over my shoulder. Your choice.”
Kael didn’t have time for this. But he couldn’t see very well and this man, whoever he was, obviously could. He realized he might lose every last moment of his precious time if he tried to fight him. So he decided to go along … and he waited.
The man led him out into the Fields, dragging him roughly by the arm. They passed through the vegetable patch and into the corn, keeping well away from the road. Kael could feel the minutes slipping by with every step. He tested the man’s grip, twisting his arm ever so slightly.
And it was twisted forcefully back.
Just when Kael thought he might have to risk trying to fight his way free, the clouds broke and moonlight rained down upon him. He saw the massive sword strapped to his captor’s back, and knew immediately that this was the dark rider he’d seen traveling with Countess D’Mere.
But before he could think of how to disarm him, the rider spun. “You’ve caught the Countess’s attention, whisperer. You ought to be frightened.”
Kael tried his best to look confused. “Whisperer?”
Lines wreathed the rider’s dark eyes. “Don’t play stupid. I saw you heal yourself, and your little giant friend. The Countess has already left the plains and moves quickly for the forest. She sent me back to retrieve you.”
It made Kael’s gut twist to think that he’d been spied on, but he tried to stay calm. “What does the Countess want with me?”
“To use you, obviously. Healing is such a rare gift. You could do great things for her army. But first … you’re going to do something for me.”
Kael watched — half in curiosity and half in worry — as the rider pulled his mask down. He stretched it gingerly over his nose and let it fall to his chest. The face beneath it might’ve been handsome at one point, but the swollen, festering cut on his chin marred his features.
It looked to be weeks-old and deep. The jagged line sat beneath his lower lip, so thick that it could’ve been mistaken for a second mouth. He had tried to stitch it up at one point, but the threads were so lopsided and uneven that they did little good. Amos would’ve been furious, had he seen them.
“Heal it,” the dark rider said, “and we’ll be on our way.”
Kael was about to refuse when an idea struck him. “All right.” He stepped closer and put one hand beneath the rider’s wound. “Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Because I can concentrate better if you’re not staring at me.” When the rider hesitated, Kael sighed impatiently. “Do you want it healed or not?”
“Fine.”
The rider closed his eyes, and Kael aimed carefully. Then he sent his fist flying into the rider’s chin.
It was a blow Morris had taught him, a blow designed to cripple an enemy with very little force. Kael knew he’d struck true when his knuckles connected, and the rider should’ve fallen unconscious. But instead of collapsing to the ground, he drew his sword.
Kael dropped to all fours as the blade swooshed over his head. A boot to the shoulder sent him rolling backwards. As the world spun, he caught a flash of steel — a deadly, glinting arc poised to fall for his middle — and he kicked up desperately, flailing his leg with all of his strength, his only thought was to get the sword as far away from him as possible.
His boot connected, and the rider grunted in surprise. Kael landed clumsily on his stomach. When he looked up, he saw the rider’s hands were empty. Somehow, Kael’s wild kick had managed to disarm him. He’d knocked the sword away, and for half a blink, he breathed a little easier.
But then those empty hands knocked him flat on his back.
Kael hardly had a chance to figure out where he’d landed before the rider was upon him. He tried to defend himself the best he could, watching out of the corner of his eyes for the rider’s sword. If he could reach it, he might be able to turn the tide. It should’ve landed somewhere nearby, but the ground around them was empty. Where on earth had it gone?
Without a weapon, the fight quickly turned against him.
The rider’s teeth shone wetly in the moonlight. Fresh blood dribbled out from his stitches. He grabbed a fistful of Kael’s hair and with a painful tug, brought him up on his heels. “A nice thought,” the rider growled, “but you missed. Let me show you how it’s done.” He jerked Kael’s head back by the roots of his hair, exposing his chin.
The full moon hovered in the night sky. Its glowing skin ruled the stars, unhindered by the clouds. Kael stared up at it desperately. His eyes searched over the gray, quiet mountains as he struggled to free himself from the rider’s hold. But any move he made was quickly countered; any small ground he gained was easily swallowed back up. Then, just when he thought the world was about to go dark, the moon gave him his answer.
A black shape crossed it; the pale light couldn’t quite illuminate its steely surface as it flew overhead. The shape rose until it could go no further, then it turned and began to plummet towards them. It fell for the earth like a crow with a broken
wing: spinning tightly, its beak aimed helplessly for the ground.
The dark rider’s fingers curled tighter around Kael’s hair. “Close your eyes, healer. You’re going to have a nasty headache when you come to.”
“I’m not a healer,” he said back. And for a single grain of time, the rider’s surprise put him off-guard. That was all the time Kael needed.
He pulled his legs up to his chest, putting his full weight on the rider’s arm and jerking him off his feet. Kael slung the arm back behind him, a thrust of his boots helped the rider on his way, and he went tumbling overhead.
There was the fleshy thud of his back, a gasp — and then a sharp, hissing sound … a sound like a plow blade cutting through the earth.
“I’m a Wright,” Kael whispered, in the silence left behind. He allowed himself a few moments to catch his breath before he got to his feet.
The rider lay motionless on his back; his own sword was buried deep in the center of his chest. In his desperation, Kael must’ve kicked the sword a little harder than he meant to: it had gone sailing through the air, and the weight of its thick blade had dragged it back down to earth — point first. That must’ve been what had happened, it was the only possible explanation … and yet, it seemed so very impossible.
If he’d had more time to think, Kael might’ve been able to figure it out. But time was slipping by too quickly, and he couldn’t afford to waste another second.
One of the rider’s arms hung limply across the sword’s hilt, as if he’d been struggling to pull it free. Well, he would struggle no longer.
Kael closed the rider’s eyes with the tips of his fingers and quickly searched his body for weapons. He found a long dagger strapped to the rider’s hip. It was single-edged and sharp. He knew it was bad luck to take a dead man’s weapon, but since rotten luck already seemed to follow him wherever he went, he tucked the blade into his belt. He was certain it would serve him well.
Kael sprinted back to the courtyard and this time, he knew what to look for. He tore the spelled trap off of Hob’s front porch. Then he kicked through the door.
Hob bolted upright. His eyes widened when he saw the figure in his doorway and with a cry, he sent a spell hurtling for Kael’s chest. The magic washed harmlessly over his body, itching as it passed. When the spell cleared, he made his throw.
Poor Hob died without ever knowing what hit him.
Chapter 40
A Bright Light
The Baron’s fine furniture was scattered all about them, lying across the sand in pieces. The shipbuilders gathered it up like bits of dried wood and used it to build fires around the camp. Warmth chased the cold away and brought new, crackling life to their food. They spent the evening in high spirits, drinking and feasting on their spoils.
Most of the miners were eager to return to their families, and they headed down the highway without a second glance. Nadine was able to convince about a dozen of them to stay and fight.
“I have not heard much about these giants from the plains,” she admitted. “But I have been told that they are taller even than the outlanders. I cannot imagine having to fight an enemy so large. We will need all the spears we can muster.”
Kyleigh couldn’t have agreed more. They’d been fortunate today, but even fortune wouldn’t get them past Gilderick’s army.
Her blood was still too hot to sit quietly, so she decided to take a walk around the camp. She smiled as she listened to the songs of laughter and happy chatter, the merry clinking of tankards and the murmur of contented chewing. It was strange, the sort of peace that seemed to follow a human battle. They seemed to grasp peace so quickly, so easily … and not so long ago, she’d thought them to be ignorant for it.
The halfwolves mourned all death, even the deaths of their enemies. She’d thought her pack brothers and sisters to be respectful, and the humans to have respect for no one but themselves. But the more she fought along beside them, the more she’d begun to realize that the humans celebrated because they understood something the shapechangers did not:
For every wicked man that fell, a good man would be allowed to live freely.
Kyleigh thought about the miners who walked the Baron’s highway now, thought about the lightness in their steps as they hurried home to their families. It was this new chance at life that the humans celebrated — not the death.
And she thought that was a rather wise thing, indeed.
On that particular night, there must’ve been some strange magic in the air: Kyleigh passed by one fire and was surprised to see Elena sitting next to Silas — and they weren’t even throwing elbows.
Elena shook her hands over her head, and a rattling sound came from between them. “Ask me anything,” she said loudly. “I am now the great knower of all things!”
“Hmm.” Silas’s eyes glowed as he thought. “Will I meet a pretty cat this spring?”
Elena opened her hands and a rather familiar-looking set of runes fell out. She pretended to study them for a moment. “No, I’m afraid you won’t.”
“What?” Silas leaned over in alarm. “Do they say why?”
Elena pointed. “This one here says it’s because you’re a twit.”
He hissed at her.
A few paces away, she found Jake and Shamus. The master shipbuilder seemed convinced that Jake was ill, and had therefore insisted upon draping several thick pelts over his shoulders and settling him close to the fire. The poor mage was sweating by the time Kyleigh reached them.
“I already told you: I don’t have a cold. It was a simple matter of overexertion,” he said slowly, as if he’d already had to explain it several times. “I just miscalculated the reach and magnitude of the blast.”
“Aye, a cold has a way of muddling a man’s brain,” Shamus agreed. He pressed a piping hot bowl of something into his hands. “Drink up, lad — this’ll get you back on your feet.”
And since Jake didn’t seem to think explaining himself again was worth the effort, he did as he was told.
Except for a few scattered camps, the vast majority of their party was gathered around the mots. They’d formed a wide circle around one of the smaller fires and started what looked to be some sort of dance. While the mots around the circle clapped and sang, others danced in the middle. Their movements were graceful, but more sharp than smooth: they leapt about each other, moving their legs and arms in complicated patterns. The deadly grace of their dance made it look as if they were acting out a battle scene.
A few of the shipbuilders wandered too close, and Nadine pulled one of them into the circle with her. He struggled badly with the movements. The mots’ song broke for a moment as they laughed at his efforts, then they picked back up, singing with one voice. Their song slowed as Nadine showed him the steps, gradually picking up the pace as he learned.
Another couple of shipbuilders joined their friend in the circle, but even those who weren’t brave enough to venture in stood around the edge and clapped to the beat.
Kyleigh loved to dance. It was like speaking in a different tongue. She felt like the movements of her body could express all of the things that she couldn’t quite think to say — like the dance could somehow speak for the muffled cries of her heart. And not so long ago, she would’ve joined in.
But she just hadn’t felt like dancing, lately.
As she watched the mots clap together, the heat suddenly left her blood. She felt exhausted. It would do her no good to try to sleep with the noise of her companions all around her, so she plunked down in front of the quietest fire she could find and tried to calm her heart.
She pulled the little black jewel out of her pocket and turned it over in her hand. Its two heads caught the firelight, reflecting each tongue of flame as clearly as the surface of a mirror.
“Ah, that is a rare thing you hold.”
Kyleigh looked up and saw a thin, middle-aged desert man sitting next to her. His eyes studied the jewel like a pirate might’ve studied a map — as if he already had a plan for
it. “Are you a craftsman?” she guessed.
He nodded. “My name is Asante. May I?”
She handed him the jewel.
Instead of holding it to the fire, Asante turned and held it to the night sky. “This is starlight onyx — or a lover’s jewel, as it is commonly known,” he added with a sly look. “Its secret is something only the night may reveal. Here, see for yourself.”
Kyleigh took the jewel and held it high above her. The night went through it, brightening its skin as not even the fire could. When the first star touched the jewel, it turned almost transparent: she could see the star’s light sparkling clearly through the onyx.
“I’ve seen plenty of jewels with their own light,” she said quietly, still marveling at it. “But I’ve never seen anything that could borrow light from the stars.”
“It is a rare thing,” Asante agreed. “And it is even rarer because you have found one grown into a pair. What you hold in your hand could feed a man his entire life. No, I insist you keep it,” he said, when Kyleigh offered it to him. “It came to you, and you must find a use for it.”
“I don’t wear jewels,” she pressed, trying to force it into his hand. “Please — take it for your family.”
“I have no family. I have only my craft,” he said simply. He closed her hand around the onyx, gazing at it one last time. “If you would offer me anything, then offer me this: whatever you choose to make with it, keep this pair together — do not sell them to two different merchants. They have been one since the earth was young.” He squeezed her hands tightly. “It would be cruel to separate them.”
Asante left, then, and said no more about it. Kyleigh lay back and propped an arm beneath her head. She stared dully at the night sky — and tried to lose her heartache among the stars.
*******
When Hob died, his spells evaporated — and freeing the giants became as simple as opening the door.
Kael let the giants of Northbarn out first, and they immediately went to work. Some broke the locks on the sheds and distributed the scythes; others went around to the different barns, freeing their fellows; a small group ran off to nick the water wagon; and a few had the good sense to barricade the Fallows inside their stall — just in case.
