A Bird of Sorrow

by Shea Godfrey

  Not the worst odds Bentley had ever seen, but it was damn close, despite the power Jessa had at her disposal. The estate was a stationary target, and though the Yellandale was at their backs, they would have to defend multiple lines of attack, and the estate and its buildings would be in constant jeopardy. It was not something any of them were willing to risk, especially with Darry as she was.

  Bentley’s eyes narrowed upon one of the wagons, the grass moving slightly near the rear gate. He smiled under the mask that covered his face beneath his eyes.

  He looked across the narrow valley to the trees where Orlando, Theroux, Tobe, and Sybok would be holding similar positions. Jemin, Etienne, Lucien, and Lucas would back Jessa’s play, and by the grace of Gamar, all seven hells would break loose before the dinner dishes were cleared. All they had to do now was wait for Jessa’s entrance.

  * * *

  Jessa walked along the road to Ballentrae, hidden beneath the Veil of Shadows, her boots silent upon the hard-packed earth. Hinsa moved beside her, hidden beneath the reach of Jessa’s spell. Hinsa moved differently now, for she could smell what Jessa could not. The hunt had begun.

  The night was cool and the stars were out, though the moon was dark. The night birds were silent and Jessa could feel the wind at her back, strong enough so that it turned their smoke to the south. There were fifteen men at two separate fires, and as she approached the small vanguard of Malcolm’s men, she lowered her hood and came to a halt, the Veil of Shadows falling away.

  They were men of Arravan, not Sahwello warriors of the Fakir, and so she waited.

  The first man to see her stood in a rush as he drew his sword. “Hiyah,” he said in warning.

  The men around him reacted quickly and they were all on their feet.

  “Spread out.” The order came from the largest man there, and the others obeyed. They looked to the grass along the road and lifted their eyes into the trees as they drew their weapons. There were four archers, and they had nocked and drawn their arrows as they searched the darkness for a suitable target.

  The large man walked toward her and then stopped, some six or seven feet away, squinting at her in the darkness. The light from the fires did not reach her position and she was still cast in shadow. “And who might you be?”

  “I am Princess Jessa-Sirrah of Lyoness,” Jessa answered. Hinsa was no longer beside her. “You stand upon my land, uninvited. I will ask you just this once to take your belongings and go. You are sons of Arravan, and it is a place I have come to love. This is not the war you should be willing to give your lives for. That war is yet to come.”

  He nodded, and then spit as he turned his head. “I’m Martin Ibins,” he replied. “And though I thank you for the warning, girl, we’ve got our orders.” He smiled. “You’re meant for Mason’s dandy of a princeling, and we’re to bring you back and kill the rest. Best not to fight it.”

  “Do not choose this, Martin Ibins.” Jessa’s tone was one of respect. “Or you will die here. Go home to your family, go home to your children. I am no one’s chattel, and I belong to another. The dandy princeling has no rights here.”

  “That’s not really the way things work,” Ibins replied, and he gave a tired sigh. “It’s not up to me, or you, I suppose. It’s up to the likes of them. We have our orders.”

  “You will never see your family again.”

  “I ain’t seen ’em in near twenty years. These men are my family, that’s just how it is,” he answered. “And there’s five thousand Arravan golds for the men who bring in the head of Bentley Greeves, and another three for Etienne Blue.”

  “I shall use your own head as a warning to the others then, when I visit them next.”

  Martin Ibins chuckled as he drew his sword. “As you please, girl.”

  Jessa pulled upon the fringe of Radha’s shawl, tied firmly about her waist. She lifted her hand out, a single piece of black yarn sitting motionless in her open palm.

  Martin narrowed his eyes again and leaned forward, trying to see. “Not sure what you’re thinkin’, girl, but you need to come wi—”

  The yarn straightened and flew true as it left her hand, piercing his neck at the base of his throat. He dropped his sword and stumbled back, clawing at his neck. His eyes were wide as he spun to the side and slammed to his knees. The archers fell almost as one, and Jessa watched as the others pulled in their ranks. Daggers moved through the air, and three more men fell as she stood in silent witness, and then another two beneath a second assault of well-placed arrows.

  It had taken but a few moments, and Jessa spoke to fire on the left, the flames hissing and then raging high. The five remaining men reacted and fell back, one of them ducking down as an arc of flames reached for the heat of the second fire. One man ran.

  Jessa saw Hinsa move in the darkness as she chased him down, and she heard the man’s panicked scream, and then she heard nothing, save for the sounds that Hinsa made as she killed her prey.

  “Lay down your arms,” Jessa told them as the fire behind them sputtered and died back down. “Wait out the night in the grass. Sleep if you can. Find your things with the morning sun and leave this place.”

  Nothing moved accept Martin Ibins as he pushed awkwardly to his feet, his brothers in arms watching with wide eyes as he rose up. He breathed inward upon air and blood as he turned to face her, drawing his dagger. The front of his tunic was soaked with blood.

  A dark shape came out of the night, and the firelight caught in a brilliant flash along the edge of Etienne’s blade. He was gone again before Martin Ibins fell a second time, his head rolling toward his comrades. His body hit the dirt of the Ballentrae Road with a dull thud of sound.

  “Surrender,” Jessa offered again, and those that remained lifted their eyes to her. Hinsa’s staccato growl moved in the flowing grass nearby. “You are men of Arravan. Lay down your arms and live. This is not your fight.”

  Only the sound of the flames could be heard, and then one man stepped forward. “This was my father’s sword.” His voice sounded terribly young and afraid. “It’s all I got of him.”

  “Then take it with you. I would not see you go unarmed into the night. But leave this place now and never return. Go home. Go east. Seek your fortune elsewhere,” Jessa told him. She stepped forward into the light. “War is coming to Arravan, and your swords will be needed. Do not fight again this night or you will die.”

  They turned from the fire, and one grabbed up a saddlebag, while another took up several skins of water. The third man grabbed their blankets, and then they were gone, running into the night. The young man who had spoken finally sheathed his sword and picked up a cloak. He threw it over his shoulders and moved quickly into the darkness.

  Etienne appeared at her side, his touch light upon her elbow. “Lady Jessa?”

  “I’m fine.” Jessa could see his concern, for he had slipped his mask down about his neck. “He was just a boy, really.”

  “Old enough to sell his sword, though.”

  “Let us finish this, Etienne, and go home,” she responded and walked to her left. She lifted her skirt above her boots as she stepped about the bodies. She held to the steel that was forged in the halls of the Jade Palace and set her eyes upon the road before them. “Bring his head, if you would, please.”

  * * *

  Darry fell through the darkness and she kept falling.

  Her thoughts this time were full of images, and though she tried, she could not grab hold and stop her fall. There were colors and heat, and voices too numerous to name or count. It was startling and overwhelming, and she felt as if she were drowning. Like the twisting of time she had experienced along her thread, it was just too much to comprehend so quickly.

  She could feel the nothing beyond it all, and it called to her in a different voice. It spoke in a calming whisper that slowed her blood and made her heart sluggish. It made her fingers cold and her legs stiff. It held an influence that could not be denied, and Darry knew she was being hunted.


  She tried to focus. Remember your blood…Remember your blood…Blood…

  She stood strong and waited, knowing what was to come. She could see it, and though her instincts told her to move, it was her heart that told her to stay. The pain of the blow exploded through her mouth so intensely that she barely felt the stones of the floor. It moved like a living thing in her nose, and she felt it blossom behind her eyes. She pulled it inside, all of the pain. She let slide in her chest and swell as she looked up, tasting blood.

  She saw the confusion. She saw the fear. She saw all of his strength laid low and crumble to the floor beside her.

  Darry…Darry, please, I didn’t…

  The deep pain in her heart slipped free, and the whispers faded beneath it.

  Darry swung over the ledge of the balcony and lowered her body into the air. She stopped at the touch upon her hand and looked up. The glorious sable eyes that met her own were filled with so many things, though mostly they held an invitation. She wasn’t sure if it was the invitation she so desperately craved, but it was utterly sweet, nonetheless. She wondered if letting herself fall might be the better option.

  If you fall, I will never forgive you.

  Darry’s heart gave a push, and her fingers tingled with sudden warmth.

  She felt the familiar fingers caress her flesh and her body reacted, her blood surging. The heat of Jessa’s body against hers was a paradise she had never dreamt might exist.

  What do you want, Akasha? Tell me. Tell me now.

  Darry’s heart began to beat again, a fierce rush of blood breathing new life into the stillness.

  She hid in the lush wilds of the Green Hills and curled her body beside Hinsa’s for warmth. The fallen oak provided both shelter and safety, but Hinsa’s body provided both, along with the certainty that she would always be loved. She felt Hinsa’s head against her neck and face as she fell asleep, wondering if the purr that moved through her body had actually spoken.

  Little one.

  Her legs began to loosen, her muscles trembling.

  She stood in the Great Hall of Blackstone Keep, her blood rushing with anticipation.

  My name is Darrius.

  Her legs stretched with strength as she felt the pull of her sword, waiting.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Jessa stood beneath the Veil of Shadows some twenty feet beyond the light of the first campfire, and studied the length of their camp and the surrounding terrain. She could see the wagons near the end of the caravan, and she opened her right hand, the words silent as they passed her lips.

  She could feel the tension in each wagon as the heavy threads, tied and bound to each by Matty, strained in answer to her call. Her eyes surveyed the trees, knowing that her Boys were there.

  She felt some fear, for they were outnumbered five to one, but it was not the fear of possible defeat. It was the fear of losing a friend. She understood in part, as their talk moved through the night and moments of laughter rose up and then fell away, what it was to lead a man to his possible death. It was not a comfortable feeling, but it was a burden that held weight in either direction. Darry loved her friends, and though she led, they followed. They gave her no say in the matter.

  The men in Mason Jefs’s command, beneath the lieutenant in charge, had run into the night when given the chance. She did not blame them, but it spoke to a lack of will. Darry’s Boys would die for her lover, and Jessa knew that they would die for her, as well. It was not a matter of skill or the rush of combat, for she understood that. She had felt it in the Great Hall, just as she felt it now. It was a matter of love, and knowing what you would give your all for. For Darry’s Boys, it was friendship, and she remembered how Bentley had stood over Tobe when he had fallen in the Great Hall, unwilling to leave his friend. He had chosen to make his stand right there, with his brother to the last.

  She knew that the men before her would have such feelings, though to what extent, she didn’t know. They fought for a man who inspired with the promise of glory and gold, and from what Bentley had told her, Mason Jefs usually delivered on his promises. They enjoyed the reputation of might and brutal strength. Martin Ibins, whose head sat in the dirt beside her, had spoken of family, but before he had died, he must have been aware of the difference.

  None of it, however, changed the fact that much like the forward guard, these were men of Arravan. Some would have wives and lovers, some would have children. They all followed the same flag, and that flag belonged to the High King of Arravan. But these men had obeyed the Crown Prince. They were not here upon Owen’s orders, but Malcolm’s. This spoke to yet another break in the chain of command. Allied to Malcolm, Emmalyn had said, no mercy will be shown.

  Emmalyn.

  Jessa smiled beneath the darkness of her hood. An unexpected game was in play, and it changed things in a way she had not expected, nor had she even accounted for such a possibility. The possibility that no matter how difficult the fight, someone sought to make things right.

  Jessa twisted at the waist and called forth her witchlight, tossing its energy against the ground behind her and letting it bounce. She stepped forth as the bright white light rose behind her and burst open in the darkness, its brilliance shining down the length of the narrow valley.

  The chaos it caused was immense, and men shouted and scrambled for their weapons. The horses shied along their lines and pulled at the ropes that bound them. Jessa watched closely for their leader to reveal himself, and as the men began to form their ranks, one man walked down the center of the camp and beyond the others.

  He held up his left hand in order to shield his eyes, his right upon the grip of his sword, though he had yet to pull it free. He was younger than Ibins was, and in better shape, and Jessa understood that due to his responsibility and rank, he was most likely one of their best fighters. She could not say much for his tactical expertise, however.

  Jessa wrapped the runes about her voice and then sent it forth, her words amplified in the night. “I am Princess Jessa-Sirrah of Lyoness.” Jessa’s right hand went back and she pulled at the dirt beneath the head of Martin Ibins. It rose up in a swirl and moved with the push of earth, his head bouncing against the road and rolling to a stop several feet in front of their lieutenant. “I asked Martin Ibins what your orders were, and I did not like his answer. You were sent to retrieve me and bring me back to the Crown Prince of Arravan. This is something that will never happen.”

  Jessa walked forward. “You are all men of Arravan, a country I love. This is not your fight. Leave now and live! There is a war coming, and your country will need you. This is not where you should die, obeying the orders of a spoiled princeling, who is no equal to even the least among you. Save your swords for the war to come.”

  “We answer to Mason Jefs, Princess,” the Lieutenant responded and lowered his hand as his eyes narrowed. “They’re in the trees!” he shouted. “Grab her up!”

  Jessa sent the runes through the night and they raced down the column as Malcolm’s soldiers spread out, moving toward the trees on each side of the passage.

  Two of the wagons at the rear of the caravan exploded in flames, splinters and chunks of flaming wood spraying outward as every man spun about, including their lieutenant.

  Jessa’s hood came up and the Veil of Shadows with it, the ball of witchlight behind her head spinning into the nearest campfire where it exploded in a fountain of flames. Jessa walked to the side of the road and reached out with both hands, grabbing the tension of the threads that still quivered, waiting for her command.

  Arrows rained down from the trees, the guards nearest the edges falling first. The archers were next, and Jessa knew that her Boys raced along their chosen paths, changing their field of fire. The Hawk’s Eye spell shook her, its power always unexpected, and she stumbled a bit to the side as she pulled, her arms swinging out behind her.

  The wagons shot forward and crashed through the rear of the column, flames exploding anew as they jerked and rolled upon the
ir wheels and rammed through the soldiers in their path. Their screams and shouts filled the night, and Jessa held several perspectives in her mind, watching as the doubletree braces snapped and the wagon tongues rammed the ground and broke apart, splinters flying as the wagons picked up speed.

  She saw Etienne, Lucas, and Lucien sprint out of the trees and attack the column, their swords flashing in the light of the flames. She saw Matthias and Tobe move like ghosts through the center of the column, striking fast and then skirting free. Soldiers fell in their wake as they disappeared, arrows pelting the column. A small company of men rushed the bottom of the western rise, and they were cut down as they made their way, slowed by debris.

  The horses broke free with their lines cut, and they bolted as Hinsa screamed, running through the long grass beside them. They thundered along the edge of the road, and she saw Matty, dressed in his clothes of earthen colors, as he drove them, low upon the back of a dun-colored mare.

  It was complete chaos and the Lieutenant pushed through his men, shouting orders. A good portion of them had gathered at the eastern side of the road as the wagons hurtled through the last of the column. As they neared, Jessa flung her threads away, and the wagons rolled past her, tipping from the road and rolling to a stop in the dirt and long grass. Jessa spoke the Ashes of Earth, and the grass shriveled beneath the wagons and spread along the hillside, stealing its fuel from the flames.

  Jessa walked back onto the road and faced them, their companies formed in four blocks, shields out as they faced the trees. Their lieutenant stood between them, roughly two companies upon each side. There were wounded men in the grass, and as Jessa’s vision returned to her, she estimated that more than half their numbers were either dead or wounded, their horses gone and their supplies destroyed. The odor of burned flesh hung in the air and it was a vile smell.

  Jessa dropped her hood back and stepped forth, letting the Veil of Shadows fall.