“As ready as we’ll ever be.” Ryliann shook his head. “Sometimes the task seems so daunting.”
Arien swallowed his feelings. He was rational enough to admit no one would ever be good enough for Ilythra, and the One help the woman Arien fell in love with one day. Ilythra was far more protective of him than he was of her. “One battle at a time.” He patted the prince on the back.
They walked into the camp together. Low-lying tents stood in a rough circle around a blackened pit. Men moved around the camp. Some smiled as his men entered. Others nodded in respect.
“I meant to tell you,” Arien continued, “you’ve done a good job. I doubt even the best human tracker would know this many men occupied the Tir Rhos.”
“Did you mean to tell me before or after you decimated my ambush?”
Arien smiled and paused to watch a group of men a distance from the camp. Some of Ryliann’s men were teaching others sword fighting, using a cloth-covered block of wood. “One battle at a time,” he repeated.
“How did you keep Ilythra from coming? I’d have thought she’d want to be in the thick of things.”
Arien examined the prince. There was something in his voice that made him think Ryliann was both disappointed by the stone keeper’s absence and relieved. He opened his mouth and then hesitated. For some reason he didn’t want to tell Ryliann she was at the refugee camp. “I don’t think I could, but she listens to Ewen.”
Ryliann laughed.
Arien gestured toward the practicing men. “These are the men from the refugee camp?”
“Yes.”
“Are they improving?”
“For farmers, blacksmiths and men who have never held a blade? Yes, they are improving, but it will be awhile before they’re ready for combat.”
One of the men—boy, really—swung and missed the cloth-covered log.
He wouldn’t argue with the prince’s assessment. “Well, that is what we said about you and your men. Let’s hope we don’t see actual combat for a while.’
Ryliann nodded. “I’m thinking about sending a few of them back to the refugee camp. Only a few old men, children and women remain. If they encounter any bandits, they’ll be defenseless.”
“Don’t worry about that. Ewen is aware of the problem. He’s taken care of it.” A twinge of guilt worried at him. Arien ignored it and pulled a map out of his tunic pocket. “Now if you’re ready, I have our first assignment.”
Ryliann stared off into the distance. When he turned back, he seemed to have aged. “It’s all been practice, theory to this point.” He took a breath. “My men will die. Innocents will die.”
Arien shared the prince’s concerns, but he did not soften his words. “It is the way of war.”
The prince’s jaw flexed. His eyes gleamed. “Then let’s begin so we can end it. I want to kill the bastard with my own hands.”
Not if Ilythra gets to him first. “You may have to wait your turn for that honor.”
Ryliann grinned. “We’ll see about that.”
* * *
Ilythra dismounted. A group of trees huddled around a depression in the plains and offered shelter from the midday sun. Melior whickered. She patted his flank and looped the reins so he could wander at will.
Ilydearta felt cool and solid beneath her grasp. She’d kept up a simple prayer the entire day. Find a way. Even so, when she spied the carved stick wedged in a tree, her knees weakened. The Benai must come this way often enough that they used the grove to pass messages. She breathed a sigh of relief. The Benai would recognize her stick for what it was. She’d carved clear instructions to take the message to the traders who serviced Greton and informed them of Bredych’s plans. They would all be warned, and word should get to Ansgar, her Rugian ally, that she needed him closer. She put her will into the carved symbols on the stick, not knowing if it would help at all, and placed it next to the Benai’s message.
Ansgar needed to find a way into Bredych’s good graces. This message needed to find a way into Ansgar’s hands. Her every instinct and Teann’s urging led her to believe the Rugian needed to be relieved from his station on the outskirts and brought into the action. It was time to move her masked warrior onto the playing field.
With care, she wedged the stick into the tree, next to another message. Even if they didn’t recognize her symbol, the Benai would honor her wishes.
She only hoped Ansgar would as well. She was betting a lot on the loyalty of one Rugian. And what if that Rugian came at the cost of dead innocents? What would he have to do to get Bredych’s attention? There was always the possibility Bredych offered him more than she could.
She turned and whistled for Melior. When playing Crist, that was the risk of using the masked warrior. Once discovered, it could easily be turned against you.
Chapter Nineteen
The night air held more than a hint of chill, and the gentle breeze brought with it the rich scent of pine and moldering leaves. The pang of homesickness surprised him. He missed the tang of salt on the air, the sound of seagulls crying overhead. He tried not to think of his father or those he’d left behind too often. It only brought with it a sense of hopelessness, of failure. He’d done what he thought was right, and what he’d do again if the situation allowed. But at what price? What would Brishne do to his father? Would he end up like all the other lords and kings across Anatar?
He scanned the landscape for the countless time. If Ryliann hadn’t been aware of them, he doubted he’d be able to see his men in the surrounding countryside. The moon slept as stars and breeze composed a myriad of obscure shapes, among them darker silhouettes moving between water and forest.
Jaggon, the Elderborn companion, stood to the side, arms crossed, apparently observing the men as they completed their task. He guessed the Dawn Children had better night vision than he did. Ryliann glanced toward the sleeping enemy camp. Nothing stirred. About a length away, a sentry lay where he fell with the poisoned dart, shot from a blowpipe, still imbedded in his neck. He knew there were others. They couldn’t risk anyone alerting the enemy camped below. Even after the guards woke up, they wouldn’t know what had been done. Ryliann bent to remove the telltale projectile, and then turned back toward the camp. The waiting ground on his nerves. Not for the first time he wished he was down there, helping instead of observing.
Wordless and with economy of motion, they continued the task. One after another, they emptied earthenware jars into the pond. It was the only waterhole for miles. Within two days, every horse in camp would be dead, the enemy crippled. Ryliann took a step toward the pond. They all wore dark clothing; soot muted their skin the dusky color of shadow. Only their eyes were visible and those were to be cast down unless necessary. The men began returning from their task. Ryliann drew closer to Jaggon. The warrior turned toward him. His eyes glistened in the starlight. It took a moment before Ryliann recognized Jaggon was crying.
The Elderborn warrior caught Ryliann’s gaze, and then inclined his head toward the forest. Ryliann hesitated, held immobile by a weight he couldn’t name. He thought about what they’d done. What he knew about the Dawn Children. As much as it went against his grain, the actions they’d taken tonight were antithetical to everything the Dawn Children were. In that moment, he understood more clearly—not in words or ideas but with symbiosis—the Elderborn way of life. They were tied to the land. To damage it, even for the greater good, was to take the wound themselves. Emotion welled in his chest, tightened his throat and finally welled in his eyes.
An owl hooted in the distance. Without a sound, Ryliann turned his back on the quiet camp and joined his companions in the darkened forest.
* * *
Light breezes blew through the trees, rustling new leaves. A dried flower petal drifted from above, and Ilythra paused to note where it came from. Flowers meant fruit; fruit was food. A gna
rled apple tree grew a few lengths from the path. Small green apples decorated its branches. The apples wouldn’t be ripe until late summer, but it was worthy to keep in mind.
It had taken only an additional two days to reach the camp, but it had brought back memories of a time she’d wandered these lands alone in search of the Dawn Children. She’d been so naïve it was a wonder she’d made it. She sighed. There was still a long way to go. Determination filled her. She would help these people on the plains because it was the right thing to do, and Ewen had asked it of her. Then she’d find Arien and join the fight against Bredych. She would retrieve Crioch one way or another.
For the last hour, the stench of human waste had grown stronger. She continued south and west, following the river meandering out of the forest and deep into the Tir Rhos until it turned into a muddy watering hole. Ilythra smiled. She knew the place well.
The refugees had built their camp where the river bent and headed south. Someone planned well or got lucky. The waterway was not deep or swift but it would offer some protection should they be attacked.
Ewen had said many of the refugees traveled to the plains looking for Ryliann. The demise of kings and lords had not gone unnoticed by the commoners, and the people of Edriel had seen the change in the king. News of the prince who’d run to Siobani lands had spread. Some thought he was a hero, others were just curious. All needed hope.
The sun was deep in the west, hampering her vision, when she heard the sound of children laughing. Two small boys and a girl splashed in the water, oblivious to the rags barely attached to their backs. A group of women, sour-faced and grim, washed clothes. One woman walked up, poured something into the waters and walked back to the group of tents. The scent of waste intensified. Ilythra shook her head. It was a wonder they weren’t all sick.
One of the women glanced at her and startled. She pointed and the women gathered the clothing and children and then rushed toward the tents.
Smoke from an open fire tinted the air. Ilythra tensed, waiting for a guard of some kind, but no challenge came. Didn’t these people know bandits roamed the Tir Rhos? Tents stood in rough circles, watching over several blazing fires. A dozen women tended pots hanging on wooden supports over open flames. Ilythra didn’t know if it was more laundry or food they were preparing.
A young boy who couldn’t have seen more than eleven summers walked out toward her, carrying a long spear that towered over him. She stopped and dismounted. Had Ryliann taken all the men? “I’m looking for your leader,” Ilythra said.
The boy swallowed. “What business do you have with him?”
“I would have to tell that to him.”
He glanced down at his feet and then turned over his shoulder as though looking for advice. “You’ll find him in there,” he finally said, pointing to a wooden structure surrounded by the tents.
Late spring grasses, trampled by many feet, left the ground hard and smooth. As she strolled across the compound, children ran around the buildings, shooed by frustrated mothers. A few men, most of them older or with obvious infirmaries, stared at her.
Constructed of wooden slates with the odd stick placed seemingly at random, the shelter had the air of a child’s fort. She glanced around, noticing discarded wagon wheels. They’d taken apart their wagons to make a house.
Ilythra hesitated, and then knocked on the doorway. A gruff voice answered. She pulled aside the blanket serving as a door and entered.
A staccato of dusty beams invaded through the rough plank walls and dimly lit the interior of the cabin. Ilythra blinked, accustoming herself to the darkened room.
A man sat on top of a trunk, regarding her. His long gray hair hung past his shoulders. Creases lined his face. “Forgive me, but as you can see, I couldn’t come to the door.”
At his words, Ilythra spied the empty pant leg and looked back to the man’s face. “As you can see, I found my way in.”
At this, the man laughed, revealing the source of the wrinkles in his face.
“I’m Ilythra.” She took a step closer and offered her hand.
“I’ll be damned,” the man said, then took her hand in his. “Glad to meet you, Ilythra. I’m Cappi.” He shook his head. “I heard about you. You healed my granma’s sister.”
Ilythra inclined her head. She might have.
“Sorry, I don’t have anything better to offer you.” Cappi indicated a pile of assorted blankets. “We didn’t get out with much.”
“That’s fine, I’ve sat on worse.”
“You friends with the fellow who come by here half moon ago?”
Ryliann. Friends. She wouldn’t call him that. But what would she call him? “I know him. Yes. Ewen of the Dawn Children sent us both.”
“Don’t got no more men willing to fight.”
“That’s not why I’m here. I’ve been told you have sicknesses in the camp. I’d also like to teach the women and boys how to defend themselves.”
Cappi looked her up and down. “Yup. Was told once you was a warrior and a healer. My daughter, she’s helpin’ with some of the little ones. Tended to the sick, but she’d be eager to learn to fight. Was askin’ me about it just the other day.” He shrugged. “I tended sheep. Don’t know nothing ’bout fightin’.”
“I bet you defended a lamb or two in your day.”
He chuckled. “That I did. That I did, before this.” He waved down at his missing limb. “Can’t do nothing now.”
“Are you the one who had the buildings built in a circle?”
“Yup, thought it would be easier to keep the little ones in and the bad ones out.”
“And did you decided to build it near a river bend?”
Cappi nodded.
“A wise decision. You see, you’ve already helped. “ Ilythra smiled, aware Cappi was examining her. “I’ll find a place to set up my tent. Tomorrow I’ll start treating your sick. There’ll be changes to implement before your people stop getting sick,” she warned.
“‘Spected as much. I’ll help you any way I can.”
“Thank you.” Ilythra stood.
“You’re not Siobani,” Cappi pronounced. “I thought you might be at first. The light in here.” He waved his hand. “But you’re not, are you?”
“No sir, I’m not.” Ilythra smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”
“Bright and early.” Cappi grinned, picking up a stick lying nearby. “I can get around when I have to.”
* * *
Deep holes, bristling with sharpened sticks, lay exposed to the light of the moon. Ryliann’s men worked feverishly under the Dawn Children’s supervision. Arien watched them labor with a growing sense of distaste. It would work. He knew it. He also knew the methods they were using were sound, but he didn’t have to like it. Before morning, the orifices would be camouflaged. No one would know, until it was too late, that beneath last year’s accumulation of decaying leaves, death waited.
The enemy would march this way the next day. The Dawn Children had guaranteed it was the only path open to them. The concealing netting, covered by foliage, would hold perhaps two dozen men, then break away. When the leaders fell into the traps, Ryliann’s men were to attack the column’s rear, destroy or steal the food supplies and leave only half a dozen alive. Arien wanted survivors to return and tell their commanders of the attack. After the battle, the humans were to flee, gathering their wounded with them and stripping their dead of their outer garments. No clue left behind. Then they’d advance to the designated rendezvous point for their next assignment.
After a final scrutiny, Arien nodded to the human in charge then disappeared into the night to await the coming of day.
* * *
Garek was nervous. Dressed in Siobani garb, he could barely make out his companions along the narrow causeway. All night they’d labored to loosen stones th
e Siobani had chosen. He didn’t see a reason for the rocks they’d selected, but he’d done as told. Now he waited.
In the distance, he could hear the sound of many feet. How many were there? A thousand, two? His foot slipped, sending a tiny pebble bouncing down the steep mountainside. He cringed as a Siobani glanced at him. There was no sharp rebuke, but a Siobani could say more with a look than even his mother. A bead of sweat ran down his face.
His breath caught in his throat as the first men appeared on the path below. The column seemed immense as it passed under his hiding place, but still there was no signal. Had they changed their minds? His heart thumped against his ribs. He heard a loud crash and knew, down the line, that the first boulder fell—the one that would trap the enemy along the narrow corridor. He turned to the Siobani leader, who dipped his head. Garek kicked at a small rock with his heel and watched in amazement as the mountain below him began to move.
When the dust cleared, only parts of men could be seen from beneath the rubble.
* * *
Mikal swatted at a fly, one of many in the small tavern. A sure sign spring was here to stay. Dim, smoky light entered as patrons quietly filed in one by one. From behind his cup, he watched their expressions, nodding when he recognized a face. His parents had a farm twenty miles south. He’d come to town often as a lad. He’d peer into this establishment, wondering what marvelous deeds and exciting tales were told in the darkened interior, before his mother yanked him away from the door.
As childhood fell away, so did his illusions. Half a dozen men sat drinking. It was only late afternoon. Their wives wouldn’t be worried until sundown. Mikal stared down at his tankard of ale. When he married, would he prefer a tavern to home? He thought of Serina’s laughing dark eyes and sighed. No, never.
His noise must have caught the attention of his companion. Ely looked up, his gaze questioning. Mikal shook his head, and Ely turned his attention back to his own mug as though he pondered the state of his life. Exhaustion lined the man’s features. His pale skin skimmed bone, haggard, drawn.
Journey of the Wanderer Page 21
