Category: Adventure

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9-Turning Point

We were going disguised as pilgrims, and it was a larger group than Quill or my father had originally intended because Ayglos would not be left behind. Dressed in the plainest homespun I could find in our possessions, we had packs and pious looks to reinforce the pilgrim air. My mother, a beautiful dark-haired nymph, had produced one of the precious holy books we’d salvaged from our burnt castle and given it to Namal to carry. When we stopped, we were to behave as pilgrims and spend time reading from the holy book. Pilgrims didn’t tend to travel armed, but we would. My father opened one of the doctor’s trunks and dug some knives and short swords out from the folds of blankets and clothes, then my brothers set about arming themselves.

Before I could partake, Remko pulled me aside. “Little Zare, take these.”

My eyes grew big as clams when I saw what was in Remko’s hands. His beautiful curving daggers.

“This is Shiharr,” he placed the weapon in my hand. “This is Azzad,” he set its mate in my other hand, tips facing out. “The pommels are flint. You can make a fire from their sparks.”

I stared at the daggers. Fine engraving swirled over the blades—on Shiharr it looked like eddies of water, and on Azzad like curls of fire—and there was a touch of gold inlaid where the blades met the hilt. The hilts were wrapped in leather—well used but still strong and soft. I had admired them since I was small. “You can’t give me these,” I looked up at Remko.

The captain of the guard smiled and touched my cheek. “I can. Treat them well, and they will keep you safe, fed, and warm, when I cannot.”

I curled my fingers around the grips sliced the air with the blades—testing their weight and feel. They were glorious. Far easier to wield than the sword I had used during the siege of Galhara. Remko handed me their scabbards and I sheathed them. Then he helped me belt them on. They were not quite as invisible on my back as they were on Remko’s, but I grabbed a vest from the trunk and that hid them well enough. I grasped the captain’s hands, “Thank you.”

Remko squeezed my hands and then turned and climbed out of Boitumelo’s wagon.

Mother and my sister, Nadine, went through a packing checklist one last time as we faux pilgrims sat in the wagon. Quill was getting impatient, but in the presence of the queen said nothing.

Nadine furrowed her brow while she double checked our packs. She and I looked every inch sisters. Our matching olive skin, dark hair and brown eyes declared on no uncertain terms shared blood—though she was four years my elder. She was also displeased about being left behind. Skilled with every art except getting into trouble, she was the unlucky royal child stuck preserving the family name. However, she was still an excellent accomplice, and caught my eye to make sure I saw her tuck extra cheese and bread into my pack.

“I believe you’re ready,” declared my mother, handing the last pack to Namal. Worry creased her forehead. “Be careful.”

We stood in the swaying wagon and one by one took our leave. Both Mother and Nadine crushed me with embraces. “Stay safe,” whispered Mother.

“Come back and tell me everything,” whispered Nadine.

I squeezed her hand. She could count on that.

Out in the open air the sun was shining, but we put our hoods up and hunched our shoulders. We had to walk on the side of the road against the flow of the circus caravan, and did not want to be recognized or questioned by our friends. I thought of the handsome fire spinner, Balleck, and wanted to cry since I couldn’t even find him and tell him I would be back. I wondered if he would be angry about being left behind without a word.

Quill had a crutch under his good arm, which was mercifully opposite his bad leg, and he set us a slug’s pace. Slow, methodical, and the moment you stopped paying attention you realized it was a faster pace than you thought. We had almost reached the end of the caravan when we heard the thunder of horsemen moving fast. I craned my neck to see around the last covered wagon. On the road behind the caravan the pointed helms of fifty or sixty light cavalry flashed in the sun. Doubtless a detachment from the garrison at Gillenwater. They bore down on the circus caravan with no hint of stopping.

There was a breath in which we all stared, not understanding. Then someone started yelling for the wagons to clear the road. There wasn’t time, of course, but the wagons at the back lurched left and right while the news traveled up the line with smaller results at each step.

Ayglos grabbed my arm and pulled me along as he, Namal and Quill dove into the underbrush by the side of the road. It was hard going with packs, but we crawled through the bracken until we were a stone’s throw away in a ditch.

The horsemen reached the caravan and barreled down the middle, spooking the wagon horses as they blew past. When they came to the wagons that still hogged the whole road they split and galloped on the narrow shoulders. As they went, horsemen broke pace and stopped at various points along the caravan. Dread covered the circus folk. Even the animals shied and bobbled uneasily in their traces. The horsemen finished arraying themselves up and down the caravan and one rider with a green plume rode back down the caravan shouting, “Where is the Circus Master?”

“I am here!” came an indignant bellow from one of the center wagons. The Circus Master stepped out of the covered cart and stood on the driver’s seat. I could see his pointed, manicured beard wagging even from our ditch. His voice seemed far too powerful to possibly come from his small person. He was a short man, once an acrobat of epic skill, who now had a potbelly tacked awkwardly onto his slight frame.

Green Plume, presumably the captain, rode to the Circus Master’s wagon and looked up at the aging acrobat standing in the driver’s seat. “Circus Master! You may have heard of the cowardly attack in the city last night.”

“I heard there was a fire and a lot of hullaballoo,” said the Circus Master. “Was it an attack? How dreadful.”

Green Plume continued, “Some rebels burned the Queen’s Forges and then fled into the night. Did they try to take refuge in your caravan?”

“I should think not!” the Circus Master scoffed. “We are performers and entertainers, not doctors or soldiers. We do not meddle.”

“All the same,” replied Green Plume, his voice hard, “We would like to be sure. We are going to search your caravan.”

Cool silence spread between the captain and the Circus Master. There was doubtless a hard way and an easy way to be searched, and what the Circus Master had to hide would probably be more easily found if he chose the hard way. “Of course, Captain, but I must object to this indignity,” said the Circus Master gravely.

“Your people perform wrapped in naught but leaves,” retorted Green Plume. “Your dignity doesn’t have a long drop to the ground.”

The Circus Master gave a little bow, “We are at your service, Captain, but you will find nothing here. You are welcome to look. You may even start with my own wagon.”

Green Plume barked some orders and the soldiers began upending the caravan. Some of them jumped off their horses and entered covered wagons and tossed out anything they liked while startled circus folk scrambled out of their way. Others speared the hay in the hay cart or rode among the people on foot demanding to see their faces.

We lay in our ditch and watched in horror. I remembered how easily Quill had recognized my father. Would any of these soldiers know the Galhirim if they saw one?

I heard a shriek, and leapt to my feet. Ayglos and Namal grabbed me and yanked me back to the ground. “That was Nadine!” I hissed.

“No, it wasn’t,” Namal hissed back.

“That was Olena,” Ayglos’s teeth were clenched.

“Steady,” Quill’s voice settled over us like a hand on a horse’s poll. “Stay put.”

There was more shouting and a commotion further up the caravan. We all shifted in our ditch. Straining to see and hear what terrible thing was going on.

“Stay. Put,” growled Quill again, half soothing, half warning.

All at once the soldiers dropped what they were doing and regrouped. The unmounted men remounted, formed up, and charged back through the disheveled caravan. Back toward Gillenwater. I scrambled free from my brothers’ grasp and started back toward the caravan.

I heard Quill say, “Let her go.” A moment later I burst from the underbrush onto the road. The acrobats, jugglers, the sword swallower, and the magician were all in the street picking up the pieces of their ransacked lives and putting them back into wagons. I heard crying somewhere. Clothes, bits of magic tricks, rings and batons were strewn over the road like bodies on a battlefield…I made my way through the chaos looking for my family and for the fire spinners.

“Zare!” Balleck saw me first. He jumped off the wagon he’d been loading and ran to me. Before I could say anything he pulled me into a tight hug.

“Balleck! What happened?” I demanded. “Is everyone alright?”

Balleck held me at arm’s length and looked me over, “l am so glad they didn’t find you.”

“Balleck,” I grabbed his forearms and sought his eyes, my heart hammering as fear threatened to melt my knees, “Who did they find?”

*

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8-Quill’s Story

“You’re looking rather better, soldier,” said Zam Caspian the Great. The king’s hair was lighter, like Ayglos’, and his well-trimmed beard was flecked with copper and silver. Even stooped in a swaying wagon, dressed in common clothes, he looked kingly. “It seems there is no point in disguise. In the doctor’s hospital all is discovered.” He pointed to the armor on the floor of the wagon. I hadn’t noticed it tucked at the head of the cot.

Quill looked chagrined. “I apologize if I have put your family at danger. It was not my intent.”

The king waved his hand, “My family is adept at putting itself in danger, and it has no need of assistance.” He glanced at Ayglos and me. I tried to look as if I agreed and considered this an excellent skill. “Do you know which royal family you have uncovered?” He motioned to my brothers, and the three men found places to sit around the cramped wagon. I was extremely grateful for Boitumelo’s status in the circus. Of all the wagons to fit five men and a girl into, this was one of the more comfortable ones. I found myself sitting at Quill’s knees, oddly feeling that I was on trial with him.

“Yes, your majesty. You are King Zam of Galhara, exiled, believed dead,” Quill bowed on his cot, “And these must be your children. They are much older than when I last saw your royal family.”

“When was that?” asked my father.

“When your family visited Dalyn, shortly before the war with Hirhel,” replied Quill. When my father arched a brow he continued, “My father was in the Royal Guard, I was a child and serving as a page in the king’s court.”

“And now?” the king pressed. “Burning buildings in neighboring cities?”

“We burned nothing belonging to Gillenwater, and harmed none of her citizens,” said Quill firmly. He paused, “Do not think me insolent, your majesty, but I must ask before proceeding; do you want to know what we were about? There is great danger in knowing.”

“For you or for us?” The king inclined his head. I watched breathlessly. I wanted to know. There was always danger with knowing, I guess, and my father had to weigh the safety of his entire household. But we were hidden, and going to Magadar…

The archer smiled, “I am already in great danger.”

“Why should you tell me?” replied the King, “I am a stranger on the road.”

“Your majesty was a strong ally to Dalyn in the wars. Also, your majesty’s daughter, I presume, has already shown willingness to oppose Hirhel when given the chance—a gesture I’m very grateful for. You have lost everything to the Nether Queen, even more than Dalyn. There may be much to gain in alliance. I would tell you the truth if you asked.”

“Continue,” said the king at last.

Quill obliged. “My name is Quilleran Rhydderick, I am one of King Kegan the Younger’s men. We were sent here on a mission to cripple the Nether Queen’s army building machine—or to start, anyway—last night we destroyed the Forges.”

He paused and the creaking of the wagon filled the break as we all took in this information.

“Our getaway was not quite as clean as we would have liked,” he grimaced at his bandages, “but all in all it went quite well. I must return to my unit as soon as possible. We have more work to do.”

My oldest brother, Namal spoke, “Is Dalyn preparing a rebellion?”

Quill nodded. “Would you join our cause?”

I bit my lip as feelings of doom, fear, and hope banged around inside me like a litter of puppies—but hope got bigger with every turn until it swallowed up fear and doom. The Champion of the Bay Cities was not defeated. She was again to fight the Nether Queen. Perhaps Narya of Hirhel could be stopped before she conquered the entire region. We had a cause and a leader.

My father’s hands were on his knees, and he gazed at them, thoughtfully considering the archer’s request. His hands were unadorned, when once they’d born the signet ring of Galhara. We all watched him, waiting for his pronouncement. “I will consider this alliance,” he said at last. “Namal will return with you to Dalyn to treat with your king concerning this matter.”

The King stood, “Boitumelo, make sure he is equipped to travel. He will have to leave us before the day’s end if he is returning south. Namal, let’s prepare.” He left the wagon with Namal a step behind him.

I scrambled to my feet and darted after them. Jumping down from the wagon, the canopy flapping behind me, I jogged to catch up with my father and older brother. “Father!” I caught his elbow and hooked my arm through his. “Let me go with them!”

My father squeezed my arm and looked down at me without slowing his pace. “Why do you want to go, little Zare?”

“I pulled him out of the river.” The answer popped out before I could determine if that was a valid factor or not. Other awkward answers like “I don’t really remember seeing Dalyn when I was small and want to see the Cathedral” and “It sounds like an adventure!” managed to stay inside while I sorted out a better response. “Two fighting men traveling together would appear suspicious if they are searching the countryside for the men who burned the Forges. I can help them blend in.”

Namal was smirking. If I had been between him and father I would have jabbed him with my free elbow. It was a valid point and he knew it. But he also knew how hard I’d worked to come up with it. I tossed him a dirty look.

“Very well,” conceded my father. “You shall go with Namal and Quilleran Rhydderick.”

*

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7-Name Game

Once I made it back to the family tent I of course had to tell everyone exactly what happened after Ayglos and I were separated. I made Ayglos tell his considerably less exciting story, too. I wanted to ask my father his opinion on finding one of Dalyn’s soldiers so far from home, but I didn’t get the chance. When it was all said and done, I got less than four hours of sleep. It hadn’t seemed too bad at the time, but now, with the caravan inching along the road and the rush of packing over, I started to feel like death.

Dalyn was first among the Bay Cities—it controlled the Bandui River, a much bigger and deeper river than the Tryber, which was the primary trade route connecting the mountain cities to Daiesen Bay. Dalyn had been conquered five years ago. It was Narya Magnific’s most important conquest; after the mysterious destruction of Shyr Valla that started this whole Nether Queen thing. I had been eleven when Dalyn fell. The whole Bay had quailed when their champion city buckled under the weight of the Nether Queen’s army. With Dalyn’s conquest, all felt it was only a matter of time before the other cities fell to her also. So far, she had taken six of eight.

Gillenwater and its red fence were a few hours behind us, at a wagon’s pace. The road to Magadar skirted through the wooded foothills of the Magron Mountains, cutting north around the range rather than straight west through it. It was longer as the hawk flies, but easier going for a caravan. It was pretty, too, the road was practically lined with vineyards and horse farms. I started looking for a spot to ride on a wagon. When we were on the move, the circus folk sometimes walked, sometimes rode. Now seemed like a very good time to ride and maybe sleep for a day. I found myself looking for Boitumelo’s wagon.

I spied the red canopy of Boitumelo’s wagon the same moment that Ayglos jumped out of it. He saw me immediately and beckoned. I picked up my pace, my sleep deprived fog clearing a bit. What was Ayglos doing there? I caught up with the moving wagon, “Is something going on?”

“Your soldier is awake, keep him put till I can bring father and Remko,” Ayglos explained, boosting me up into the cart. He jogged off the moment I was secure. I pushed back the flap and entered the covered wagon.

My archer was very awake and arguing with Boitumelo. The lanky brown doctor looked fully prepared to tackle the archer if the man dared rise from his cot, and the archer looked like he was fully prepared to take that risk.

I let the red canopy close behind me and demanded, “What is going on here?”

Their words died and they looked at me. The archer’s face softened slightly when he saw me. “You pulled me out of the river, right?”

I nodded, “I did.”

“I am very grateful. But I must go back to my unit.”

“You are in no condition to go slinking around the countryside on your own,” I retorted.

Boitumelo pointed at me, “Maybe you will listen to Mbali!” he snapped in frustration. The doctor’s eyes were wide and his veins stood out in his neck. The archer had sure offended the physician’s professional sensibilities.

“I have to go back to my unit,” repeated the archer, more slowly, as if I might understand better if he enunciated.

“How do you expect to get back to your unit?”

“I would ask to borrow ragged clothes, put my armor in a pack, and travel on foot as a beggar or a pilgrim,” replied the archer. Evidently he had thought this through.

A pilgrim…pilgrims still went to the Cathedral in Dalyn, even though it was under Narya’s stiff rule. I walked across the swaying wagon and crouched by the archer’s cot. He watched me expectantly. Boitumelo watchfully took a seat a couple feet away. “You are going to Dalyn?” I asked.

A guarded look settled in place of the expectant one.

“I have seen their insignia on your armor,” I added, “You are either a thief or one of Dalyn’s soldiers. Judging from the skirmish on the bridge over the Tryber, I doubt very much that you are a thief.”

He grimaced. “You would be better to forget that insignia for now, and forget where I am going.”

Royal ire rose unbidden, but the next heartbeat replaced it with amusement. He had no idea who I was. My face twisted as I fought a smirk and tried to determine what I should tell him and how.

“I will decide what’s better for me, thank you,” I replied, finally regaining myself. “What is your name?”

The archer studied me. He was curious now, in spite of his reserve. “Call me Quill.”

“Is that your name?”

“It’s what I’m called.”

I wrinkled my nose. “How very elucidating.”

“Indeed,” a smile teased the corners of Quill’s mouth. “What’s your name?”

My mouth opened to reply and then I balked. Our eyes met and his sparked with a victorious knowing look. My education betrayed me. I was not a common circus girl who took pity on a wounded soldier. And, realistically, how many noblewomen knew how to swim? If he had been around the palace in Dalyn for any length of time he would know the most likely place to find noble swimmers were the cities on the shoreline. And a noblewoman swimmer hiding in a circus that choked when asked her name? The silence was getting painful as I opened and closed my mouth like a beached fish. “The doctor calls me Mbali,” I managed at last, red faced. I wished I could take the seconds back and know ahead of time how I wanted to answer his question.

“I noticed,” he dipped his chin. “The one who left right before you came in—a relation?”

Better prepared this time, I replied, “Is there a resemblance?”

“Chin, nose,” he replied.

“How fascinating.”

“His name is Ayglos,” continued Quill, watching me closely, mouth still tipped in a smirk.

“What a nice, strong name.”

Before the game could continue, the wagon swayed with the weight of someone jumping on the back. The flap opened and Ayglos climbed in, followed by my father and my oldest brother, Namal. Quill straightened on the cot immediately. “Your majesty.” His eyes were on my father.

Game over, I guess.

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6-The Hospital Tent

The royal physician for the Galhirim was tall, thin, dark skinned and unbelievably intelligent. He’d come from Magadar originally, and studied medicine in several different countries before settling at our royal court and becoming like family. Such ill luck it turned out to be.

I walked into the doctor’s tent; “Boitumelo!” The lamp was lit, so he couldn’t be far. “Boitumelo! We have need of you!”

The three men ducked inside behind me and made for the cot Boitumelo kept in the corner. It hadn’t taken long for Boitumelo to prove his worth to the Circus Master—he’d quickly been given a larger tent which divided into two rooms. One room was outfitted as Boitumelo’s hospital, the other his quarters. I went to the cabinet where Boitumelo stored his medicines and started rummaging loudly. “Boitumelo! What do I give to numb pain? Was it the hornwort extract or the chocolate? And what do you use to sew limbs back on?”

Shuffling and then a thump sounded on the other side of the wall. A moment later Boitumelo burst into the hospital side of the tent, breathless and with his clothes askew. “Don’t you rummage, Mbali!” he gasped.

I smirked and straightened. “I brought you a patient.”

Boitumelo’s eyes grew wide, “Is that blood? Are you alright?” He came forward, straightening his shirt.

“I’m fine, but he’s not,” I pointed to the cot where Balleck and Remko had set the archer.

The archer was sitting with his head down, shot leg straight in front of him, wounded arm dangling. My cloak was twisted haphazardly and the bow lay at his feet. He looked like a much loved ragdoll set on a shelf. A very muscular ragdoll in dark leather armor with light mail peeking out around his throat.

“Oh dear,” Boitumelo hurried to the archer’s side. “Remko, help me get him on the table.”

The archer, who seemed to be losing strength quickly now that we’d arrived, looked closely at the doctor and then allowed the men to help him onto the table.

“Lay back now,” said Boitumelo kindly. “We’ll get this all sorted.”

“I’d be grateful,” grimaced the archer, sinking to his back.

Boitumelo set to work immediately, and since I was standing there he set me to work, too. Balleck didn’t leave either so Boitumelo sent him to boil water. We stripped the archer’s armor and what remained of his shirt. I pointed out the dart in his calf and Boitumelo fussed over removing the archer’s boot safely. Balleck returned with water and Boitumelo’s little hospital swung into full motion.

Remko and Balleck were tasked with keeping the archer still while Boitumelo removed the dart and cleaned the wound. I busied myself mixing salve on the other side of the room for that part. It had been a long time since we’d had to do something like this, but I hadn’t forgotten my way around Boitumelo’s hospital nor the sickening gore of removing weapons from the body. The archer took it well—Boitumelo had some medicine and a towel for him, but I was still impressed with his silence. When it was over, I helped Boitumelo clean and dress the rest of the archer’s wounds while the men kept us supplied with clean water and salve. None of us could have left if we wanted to—Boitumelo was like a sea captain in wartime and we didn’t dare but help.

By the time the king stepped into the tent the archer was clean, stitched, bandaged, and sleeping from the medicine Boitumelo gave him. I ran to my father and was swept into the arms of Zam Caspian the Great, rightful King of Galhara.

“Zare! Where have you been?”

“Here, mostly—at least once I got back. Before that I was getting back.” I stepped back and started to roll my sleeves down. I tipped my chin toward the table, “He needed help.”

Boitumelo was standing over the sleeping archer and inspecting the dart he’d removed from the archer’s leg.

The king’s eyes narrowed. “Who is this?”

I followed him to the table and explained, “There was an attack on Narya’s soldiers in Gillenwater tonight. This is one of the men who attacked. I pulled him out of the river.”

My father inspected the archer. We’d rolled him onto his stomach because of his leg wound and his otherwise handsome face was squashed awkwardly into the table. He had brown hair, I noticed, now that I wasn’t up to my elbows in his blood. He couldn’t be more than a year or two older than me.

“You could have been captured.” It sounded like an obligatory reminder rather than actual worry.

“Balleck wouldn’t let that happen,” I replied, then added, “And I was careful…and he was careful,” I gestured to the archer. “He’s very clever for someone with an arrow in his leg who blocked a sword with his arm.”

The king grunted.

“Zam,” Remko cut in awkwardly—he was still unused to calling the king by his first name, “Look at his armor.”

My father turned to the small pile of dark leather armor in the chair. Remko handed him the chest piece and he studied the inside thoughtfully. He pursed his lips. “It is well that the circus is leaving this place.” He turned to me, “We leave at first light. Zare, don’t be long.” Then he strode out of the tent.

“I will get you clean clothes, wait here,” said Remko, setting down the armor and following my father out.

I looked at my bloody sleeves. The blood was mostly dry now, thinned in places from where I’d splashed water while helping Boitumelo. Getting the blood out would be a beast. Maybe it would be easier to dye the shirt.

Balleck set down the tools he’d been drying and came over to me. “Zare? Are you alright?” He touched my arm.

“Yes,” I nodded, extremely aware of his fingers, and of all the things I wasn’t supposed to tell him. Then memories of the square and my panic rushed in and I stammered. “I stained my tunic.”

He smiled. I blushed.

“I can’t really go around explaining what happened tonight to everyone who thinks I’ve been stabbed,” I laughed.

Balleck nodded. “True enough…I should get back to my tent. It’s going to be a short night.” He turned to go.

“Balleck,” I caught his hand, “Thank you. For the square…”

He squeezed my hand, smiled broadly, and left.

I wrapped my arms around myself and stared at the tent flap until Boitumelo cleared his throat. “Here and I thought you wanted him to leave so you could look at the armor,” teased the doctor.

Even if my cheeks weren’t scarlet, my smile would have betrayed me. I wished that Balleck could have stayed, that’d I’d invited him to wait with me, and that he could actually be told the whole truth about the Galhara family—more than the obvious refugee part. Someday. I spun around, hurried to the chair and picked up the chest piece.

Embossed on the left side, over the heart, was a golden river encircling a gemstone. It was the royal insignia of Dalyn.

zaredalyn

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5-The Archer

quill1-001

Balleck grunted and reeled back on his haunches.

My hands flew to my mouth, and then I reached for him, “Balleck! I’m sorry.”

He grunted again and waved me off, “By Fornern, Zare, ouch.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again.

“I’m alright. We need to get out of here,” replied Balleck, still rubbing his jaw.

“He’s wounded,” I gestured to the archer.

“Doesn’t change anything,” quipped the fire spinner. He thrust my cloak and hat into my arms.

“I agree,” added the archer, rolling gingerly to his back and sitting up. “Help me up.”

Balleck and I both stooped to help the archer and were both startled when the archer cursed sharply and hissed “Gently!”

With him between us, we got his good leg under him and his arms slung over our shoulders. Balleck handed me the archer’s bow, “Hide this under your cloak.” And then he took the lead. We shuffled through the shadows as quickly and as quietly as we could manage, wending our way toward the city wall avoiding street lamps.

The streets were as empty now as they had been full when Olena had towed me to the Glass Tree. The wheat sentries looked forlorn on their street corners—like they were the only ones not invited to the party indoors.

We stopped in the shadow of a building and regarded the gates. Soldiers had set up a checkpoint and were scrutinizing the few souls who were determined to sleep at home tonight.

“We may need to go back and hide in the city,” muttered Balleck.

“No,” the archer shook his head. “Find wine.”

I arched a brow, “How is that supposed to help?”

The archer looked at me sharply. “Find wine,” he said firmly.

Balleck and I exchanged looks and Balleck’s shoulders drooped. “I think I saw a winery around the corner, are you alright to stay here?”

He was looking at me, I nodded. Panic was long gone. Balleck left the archer leaning on me and disappeared back the way we had come. Suddenly the archer was extremely heavy. I cast about, finding some crates I shuffled us toward them. “Let’s sit.”

“Best idea,” sighed the archer. He sagged against me, his head dropping to my shoulder. He smelled like the Tryber, but for some reason I didn’t mind.

For the first time I realized that the wet on his clothes wasn’t all water. I plucked at his sleeve and my fingers came away sticky. Light from the street lamps caught the alarming gloss of blood all down his arm. I swiveled carefully, trying to see better, “You’re very hurt.” And young, and quite good looking.

“Yes,” he replied.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Got in a fight.”

Before I could retort, Balleck came back around the building carrying two small bottles. “I brought wine.”

The archer perked up and reached out. Balleck handed him an uncorked bottle, which he took and drank deeply.

Balleck took a long drink from the other bottle. “This still doesn’t get us out of the city.”

The archer wiped his mouth and turned to me. “Give me your cloak.”

“Pardon?”

“Your cloak—to cover my wounds, and my weapons,” he gestured to himself. “The wine, to cover the limp.”

Understanding began to sprout. I slung my cloak around his shoulders and clasped it, making sure the cloak covered his armored chest. I also tucked his bow into his wounded hand to be covered by the folds. He lifted the wine bottle in salute.

Balleck stooped and wrapped the archer’s better arm around his neck. “Then let us revel.”

The three of us stepped from the shadows with plenty of drunken swagger. I grasped the archer’s wounded arm, along with the bow, as carefully as I could while stumbling and giggling like an idiot. At least nerves made giggling easy. Balleck started a slurred song—I recognized lines from the harvest song we’d been dancing to—to my surprise the archer joined in and the two slurred and swagged down the road with their wine held aloft.

The soldiers watched us with disgust as we approached the gate and passed through. My heart thundered in my chest as we moved into the safety of darkness outside the city walls. We had succeeded. Even though I hadn’t really considered failure, success was still hard to believe. Balleck kept singing as we went, but we walked normally now—or as normally as we could half-carrying the wounded archer.

The circus seemed miles away at our pace; I listened to the archer’s labored breathing with growing concern. The red fence was a welcome sight, and even more welcome was the sight of Remko’s bald head in the gap.

When Remko saw us he ran forward. I let go of the archer and jumped into our old captain’s arms. All the captain of the guard’s fears transformed into a crushing embrace. “Is Ayglos alright?” I managed as I gasped for breath.

Remko set me down and looked me over, “Yes. He’s here. I was coming to look for you. When you and Balleck did not come back we feared the worst.” He touched my shoulder, a deep frown spreading across his face, “What’s this?”

I glanced down and saw the archer’s blood smeared on my hands and sleeves. “He’s wounded,” I turned to Balleck and the archer, who were waiting patiently.

They really did look like a pair of harvest revelers who’d drunk too much. Their wine bottles still dangled loosely in their hands, and they looked on the brink of toppling. I sensed Remko stiffen with suspicion and I moved quickly to the archer’s side.

“Remko, we must take him to the physician,” I lifted my cloak off his bloody arm—revealing the wound and the bow—and gave my old guardsman a look that declared no argument.

Remko relented—though I was pretty sure it was the look, not the bow, which convinced him. I put the cloak back in place. The rest of the circus hardly needed to know about this. Remko took my place supporting the archer, and I led the way to the family doctor—a man whose talents had been most welcome at the circus.

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4-Sparks

 

It was only for a moment, however. Shouting broke out at one end of the square—then screams. The dancing turned into chaos and the music sputtered. Was it a bad dream? I stopped so suddenly I nearly knocked Balleck over. Firelight glinted on the all-too-familiar-helms of the Nether Queen’s soldiers as they plowed through the crowd. “Ayglos,” I choked and began casting about for my brother. Had they somehow found us?

The crowd was starting to flee the column of soldiers but I stood like a tree and mutely watched the column of glittering armor approach. I would have prayed, but after the fall of Galhara I wasn’t sure anymore Eloi would be listening. I needed to find Ayglos—where had he and Olena been when last I saw them dancing? Balleck was trying to talk to me; I realized that when he gave up and forcibly picked me up. I yelped and writhed free, sparing him an indignant look.

“We have to go,” he said firmly, grabbing my arm and towing me toward the edge of the square.

“But, Ayglos!” I protested.

“He’ll be going, too,” replied Balleck. He didn’t look back, just dragged me along with the crowd out of the square and down an alley. The column of soldiers marched straight through the square and out the other side with a purpose. They were gone. The crowd evaporated around us as all the Gillenfolk found other places to be.

Suddenly drained, I slumped against the alley wall. Balleck stood by watchfully. I was surprised and a little horrified at my panic. It wasn’t as if Narya the Nether Queen had no other enemies. She had other people to hunt besides people she thought were dead. People who only survived because she didn’t know our mother was a nymph and we could survive under water. Pulling myself together, I straightened and looked around, trying to figure out which way went back toward the circus.

Balleck touched my shoulder. “Are you ready to move on?” His tone was compassionate.

I nodded. I didn’t know how much he knew of my family, and how we’d come to join the circus. Though, it’s not like it would be a hard guess.

“This way.” He took my hand and led the way…the same direction the soldiers had gone.

I managed not to balk, and followed him with my head down. I still had my hat—somehow—it was a comfort to me even though it meant I couldn’t see worth a rat’s tail. Watching Balleck’s heels I focused on my other senses. I could hear the soldiers ahead of us, their captain shouting orders. I could smell the river behind the city smells of stone and refuse. As the smell of the river grew stronger, the shouting shifted from a sergeant’s rhythm to the din of battle. Then we turned a corner and came upon the bridge over the Tryber.

On the bridge, bathed in orange light, was a battle. A small group of men were making hard work for the Queen’s soldiers—who outnumbered them generously. The orange light was from a long building to our right which was burning like a hearth fire in winter.

I was transfixed. These were no peasant rebels, these were excellent soldiers and they fought like devils. They couldn’t be from Gillenwater, this city had been conquered years ago and her loyal garrison dismembered. I inched closer to the conflict. Three rebels climbed up on the bridge walls and nocked arrows. At some signal, the remaining rebels suddenly pulled back and fled across the bridge under the cover of their compatriots’ fire. As soon as the rebels were clear the archers leapt into the river. The Queen’s soldiers were quick to the bridge’s edge, sending a hail of barbs into the water from strange sideways little bows while others went after the larger group.

I wanted to run to the river’s edge to see what happened, but Balleck held me back. We hid in the shadow of a building while the remaining soldiers reorganized. I thought they took forever. They set to gathering their wounded and their fallen arrows and eventually moved off back through the city. I made myself wait until I was sure that they were well underway before I shook off Balleck’s hand and slunk to the river’s edge.

The Tryber’s banks were steep, and walled with stone. We crouched on the bank and looked into the dark water. At first I saw nothing. Then I heard a soft splashing. I squinted.

“There!” hissed Balleck, nearly clocking me in his haste to point.

I still didn’t see anything, but in a surge of purpose I pulled off my hat and cloak and dove into the river.

It was not a very nice river. Oh, the Tryber was kindly enough–but dirty, smelly, and rather more like a pigherder than a river. It occurred to me that perhaps I should have waited for Balleck to say what he saw before diving in.

Before I could regret my dive too much I saw him. One of the archers was struggling quietly in the water. I could hear him gasping—which he seemed to be trying to do very quietly. I swam closer and had an unstrung arrow in my face far before I expected to be heard.

“Shh! I’m here to help you!” startled, I backpedaled from the shiny point.

He didn’t take long to decide. “Then help,” he sputtered, struggling to keep his head out of the water.

I grabbed his collar. “Relax, I’ll tow you.”

There was the little matter of which shore. I had left Balleck on the city side, but we all needed to be on the far side. I opted for the far side. I could always tow Balleck across next—or he could very likely take the bridge without a single thing to fear.

I picked the far side and in moments was bumping up against the slimy walled bank of the Tryber. “Can you climb?” I asked, grasping the stone wall with one hand and holding up the archer with the other.

The archer slung one hand out of the water hooked his fingers over the top of the wall. With some effort he dragged his bow out with the other hand set it on the top of the wall. He turned his head to look at me, “Since you’re here, I’d appreciate help with the next part. Climb out.”

Since you’re here? Taken aback, I grabbed the wall and heaved myself out of the clingy river with effort. Dripping, I turned to help the archer. Happily the burning building was on the other side of the bridge from us and cast a long, dark, shadow and a nice solid roar—to hide the awkward, painful and not silent act of hauling the archer up. Once he was safe he rolled onto his stomach and allowed himself the luxury of a groan. I could have sworn I heard him mutter, “Some rescue.”

“You’re welcome.” I huffed. “That river was gross, you know, I didn’t have to get in there for you.” I thought I saw him smile. I also saw why he’d needed rescuing. A dart stuck out of his calf. My annoyance evaporated faster than I wanted it to. Turning, I peered across the river to look for Balleck. If I could avoid getting in and out of the water again, I would. I couldn’t see him and wasn’t sure if that meant he was gone or that he was well hidden.

“We need to get out of here before the soldiers come back.” Balleck’s voice came at my shoulder and I whirled—my fist snaked out in a reflex I thought I’d forgotten and cracked across Balleck’s jaw before I knew what had happened.

*

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3-The Glass Tree

3-The Glass Tree

I found Olena and Balleck waiting by the gap; Balleck saw me first and waved.

“Zare, over here!” His broad smile warmed my cheeks, his broad shoulders were nice, too, and I started to jog so I could blame their color on exertion. Remko and Ayglos were there, also. They were cloaked, now, and Remko had found a long eared cap to cover his shaved head. I frowned at Remko, he frowned back, unmoved by my unvoiced objection. Always our protector, he tried to keep us royal children reasonably out of trouble, which is why he’d apparently attached himself to this little outing.

Olena hooked her arm through mine. Her tight athletic build was swallowed in a thick, loose sweater to ward off the cool autumn night. She and Balleck both had blonde hair that caught the torchlight and gleamed red. Fitting, I thought, for fire spinners. She and Balleck had started teaching Ayglos and me how to work with fire, and there were sparks aplenty. “Are we ready to go?”

“I think so,” Ayglos handed me a brimmed hat and a cloak.

I slipped into the cloak—happy enough for its warmth in the growing night, and settled the hat onto my head. Hardly the height of fashion, but it would do. I tweaked the brim as we started to move with the crowd. Olena kept hold of me and steered me through the stream of wobbling people. Balleck and Ayglos fell in right behind us, and I knew Remko was bringing up the rear. The circus was just a bowshot from Gillenwater’s walls, and soon we were pressing through the open gates with revelers singing something about flowers, trees, and fruit.

Olena was talking, “If we hurry, we might be able to get to the square and see the glass tree before the crowds make it impossible,” she talked in my ear to be heard over all the people, “It’s filled with oil from the olive trees in Gillenwater’s orchards. It’s really a giant lamp, there are wicks along the glass branches, and on the last night of the festival they light them all—it’s really quite a sight.” She tugged me along faster. “We performed here last year, and Balleck and I saw it then. We went with the acrobats and had to climb the church to see because we got there too late to fit in the square.” She laughed like an imp. There was no keeping an acrobat out of a place they wanted to be.

I had never seen the glass tree. But I knew that it had been given to Queen Quindalee of Gillenwater by King Drennan of Sands when he was trying to woo both her hand and her trade. He only succeeded in the latter, their cities hardly being close enough for the rulers to easily rule both without being tempted to claim all the land in between. The other cities looked askance at even the idea of that union, and the Queen wisely chose to marry one of her own nobles. Though, certain historians swear that her firstborn was, in fact, a dead ringer for King Drennan. I said none of this to Olena, I held her hand and tried not to get swept away as she ducked and wove her way through the crowd like a professional.

I caught glimpses of street hawkers, bakeries, wine sellers, and sheaves of wheat standing like sentries on every corner. It was a show of plenty that belied the yoke of the Nether Queen’s regime. We even crossed an arching bridge over the Tryber River. The Tryber ran from the mountains through the city, and eventually down into the Bay.

Then, abruptly we were in the square. It was already half full, and dancing was taking up a good portion of the free space. In the center of the square, on a dais surrounded by torches, was the glass tree. It was green, which surprised me, and even unlit it was resplendent. Eight branches, presumably for the eight Bay Area Cities, spread and reached for the sky. I grimaced. There were only seven cities now—or six and a half, if you factored in the amount of destruction visited on Galhara. Olena led the way right to the foot of the dais and we gazed up at it open mouthed.

“Despite your best efforts, Olena, we’ve caught up with you,” Balleck’s voice came at our elbows and we both started.

We spun around to face the circus’s other fire spinner. “Don’t be silly, Balleck, if we’d been trying to lose you, we would have,” Olena put her hands on her hips in mock anger.

“I think you underestimated us,” countered Ayglos, stepping close and matching her pose. “It’s all talk,” he winked, “and you’re really disappointed we kept up.”

I was certain I saw her blush.

“We should dance!” she exclaimed, changing the topic nimbly. She caught Ayglos by the hand and spun him into the dancing Gillenfolk.

I watched them go with a smile. It was good to see Ayglos enjoying himself again. Balleck cleared his throat. I looked at him: He reminded me of the royal guards in my grandfather’s court—smallish in build, but tight with muscle. Though, he smiled a lot more.

The fire-spinner bowed and offered me his hand. “Care to dance?” His eyes twinkled, he was well aware of my cheeks.

I curtsied dramatically and accepted his hand. “Delighted.”

Balleck whipped me into the dance so fast I gasped, and then I laughed. We swirled in with the revelers; spinning, weaving and stomping our way through the square to the vital music of the harvest. We clasped hands and linked arms with stranger after stranger, and then his arms would pull me close for a breathless twirl. I realized I was smiling so big I thought my face might split—and for a moment I was astonished that I could feel so well.

*

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2-The Circus

I had faced men sent to kill me and I had killed in return. Unusual for a girl of my age. But life was different now: Performing riding stunts for an easy-to-please crowd was not the same thing as facing an army.

It was much, much worse.

Before battle, I remembered deadly calm, before every single performance, my guts would wring into knots and put me in danger of falling off the horses.

I closed my eyes and tried to focus on breathing. Ten months. You’d think it would be easier by now.

The horses under my feet stamped eagerly; they were listening to the musicians who sat just to the right of the gate—and they could tell our cue was getting close. My gut shuddered again. It wasn’t even a long act. We were just buying time for the acrobats to change costumes for the finale.

There was a crescendo in the music and then the suck of expectant silence. I felt the horses sink back on their haunches for a beat, and then with the percussion of the drum solo they charged into the circus ring, bringing me with them. I opened my eyes and waved to the crowd in the shadowy reaches behind the torches lighting the arena. The crowd gasped and cheered as we circled the ring at breakneck speed—two dappled horses with a wild-haired girl dressed in leaves and leather standing one foot on each.

After three trips around the ring a second drum joined the first and two big tribesmen dashed into the arena and lifted a huge flaming ring on standards between them. My mounts passed underneath the ring and I leapt through—making much of my safe landing—the crowd clapped. We circled back around and I jumped through the fire again, praying none of my leaves would catch. They had once, three months ago at a performance near Tasielyn. Half-nymph cooked at circus: The town gossips would be delighted if they knew. I pushed the thought aside and jumped through a third time.

I sniffed. Safe. I waved to the crowd, they rewarded me with applause.

The horses thundered on and the tribesmen ran in a tight circle with their ring of fire—the dizzying spin hid that they were making the ring bigger as they ran. They stopped and lowered the burning ring to just two feet off the ground. I looked at the fire and covered my face in mock dismay. My audience got silent—I could almost hear them measuring the height with their eyes as the tribesmen began to raise the ring slowly. By the time the horses and I reached it, the flames licked at four feet—leaving just a narrow gap for us—my grays leapt while I ducked and the three of us cleared the burning loop to cheers.

Our time was up; I waved farewell to the crowd as my eager little showmen galloped out as fast as they could. We slid to a stop in the cramped space between the musicians and the next act and I jumped off.

The horses snorted and shook their manes, clearly proud of themselves. I patted their necks. “Natural show offs.”

“That makes three of you,” my older brother, Ayglos, slid halters onto the horses and smiled at me.

I scoffed and punched his arm. His hair was lighter than mine, but his eyes were darker and he was annoyingly taller. He’d already changed from his scanty, shimmering spear-dancer outfit. Can’t say that I blamed him. He was freshly nineteen, my senior by two years, and I was fairly certain every girl in the circus loved him—as had every girl in the royal court not too long ago. He, of course, had no idea.

“Nice, Zare,” the acrobats clapped me on the back as they hurried past to start the finale.

I grinned. If the lead in was worse, the afterglow of performance was worlds better than the effects of battle.

I helped Ayglos lead the horses out of the tent and away to the little corral set up a short distance from the big tent. The circus was a small town on wheels, dragging its own corrals and tents everywhere it went. Most of the cities surrounding Daisen Bay had tournament or festival grounds outside the city limits; we usually took up the entire grounds and sometimes overflowed into surrounding farms or forest. Gillenwater had one of the few festival grounds with a fence enclosing the property. The fence was wood, painted red, and had no gate, just a giant gap which the road passed through.

Remko, bare muscles glistening, was waiting for us at the corral. “Let me see to the horses.”

Ayglos shook his head. “No need for that anymore, Remko. We’re all the same now.”

Remko growled softly. He’d been the captain of our guard. Now he destroyed things with swords before handing the weapons off to be swallowed by the sword swallower. While most of us didn’t routinely go around armed anymore, Remko still carried a pair of curving daggers hidden in the small of his back. Even when he was performing. I loved this about him.

We led the horses past and Remko contented himself managing the gate.

“Machlah says to tell you that the Circus Master wants to move west tomorrow,” Remko leaned on the fence and watched us rub down the horses. “He plans to go to Magadar—I think he hopes for better crowds there.”

“We had a crowd tonight,” I said.

Ayglos grimaced. “A ragged crowd—The Circus Master must’ve lowered the prices quite a bit to get so many. Times are hard.”

I said nothing and finished grooming my gray. We turned the horses loose and Remko let us out through the gate. Rather than dwell on the probability of actually leaving Daisen Bay, I turned to Ayglos: “Olena, Balleck, and I are going to see the end of the festival in town tonight. You should come with us, Ayglos.”

Ayglos hesitated and I saw Remko’s shoulders stiffen.

I hadn’t told Remko about this plan, before now, and I already knew his objections. I preempted: “Gillenwater is not so close to either Galhara or Hirhel that we need to worry overmuch about being recognized.”

“There is a large garrison in Gillenwater,” replied Remko, “And the Nether Queen’s forges.”

“Then we shall wear disguises.” Problem solved.

Remko looked unconvinced but Ayglos was satisfied. I smirked to myself—doubtless the promise of Olena’s presence made him easier to persuade. “I need to change,” I held up my leafy skirt, “We’re meeting by the entrance.”

“I guess I’ll find us disguises,” Ayglos tipped his head.

I saw Remko frown at him as I turned and headed to our family’s little tent to lose my wild-tree-girl attire and restrain my wild dark hair. Our tent was empty—I lit a lamp and changed clothes hurriedly. Everyone else would be working still—Remko, Ayglos and I were performers, now; our work was done for the night. My parents and my other siblings, Nadine and Namal, would have at least another hour of work after the show finished. I tugged a homespun tunic over my slim trousers and wrapped a leather belt around my waist. I fussed with the sleeves and wrinkled my nose at the shapeless attire. Truthfully, I didn’t mind the circus part of our new life, but I wasn’t hugely fond of the clothes.

*

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1-Fools Rush In

Quill hoisted himself onto the bank and sat watching the burning palace, his legs dangling over the edge. I didn’t know where to look or how to feel. Trinh’s eight knights were all here, scattered around the snow in various poses like toy soldiers discarded by a child. Namal and Ayglos were standing nearby. I really hadn’t expected to be here again, watching another life burn to the ground. Three lives in less than a year. How had this happened?

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