Category: fantasy adventure

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13-Hook, Line, and Sinker

Galhara was a coastal city that had never been known for its horses—but I had. From childhood I spent as much time with them as I could, and had been known to do really stupid things like wander off and climb on any horse I met in the field. I did not differentiate between trained or untrained. If I wanted to ride a horse I convinced it to let me—usually with nothing more than a rope and patience. Some horses were easier than others, but they all obliged eventually. I, of course, had no idea this wasn’t normal until I was older and people started petitioning the king to let me to help them with their difficult animals.

The Head Groom’s monster was a spectacle in motion with a glossy black coat and a smart eye. He blustered along, tossing his head and threatening to rear every couple steps, barely restrained by the young groom trying to lead him into the corral. He was a fairly young horse—probably five or six years of age—with a well-shaped, muscular body and natural pride in each floating step. And you got an eyeful, too, because once the groom got him into the corral he pulled free and bolted. The other grooms rushed to close the gate—and the hapless handler climbed over it. Leaving me in the corral with a horse who obviously didn’t want to be around people.

“He was shipped here with a couple other horses because the marquis was looking to add some black to his stock,” explained the Head Groom. “None of the lot came with manners at all. We’ve not saddle broken a single one, on account of their wildness, and he’s the worst of them. He’s snapped quite a number of ropes around here—and nearly some hands, too.”

I nodded, keeping my eyes on the horse. Easy enough to believe. Especially two feet of broken lead rope hanging off the horse’s halter. He tore around the circular paddock with his head up, blowing hard at the people on the fence line. He was trying to ignore me, but kept flicking a curious ear in my direction almost in spite of himself. When the black broke stride I’d flap my arms and he’d pick up pace again. We might spend our hour doing this alone, I thought ruefully. I willed myself to forget about time and focus on the colt. Occasionally I’d dart ahead him to make him change his direction—which he didn’t totally appreciate—but mostly I waited. The black was stubborn and brave—they would be good qualities eventually, but for now they kept him running at a steady pace around and around the pen. I hoped he wouldn’t decide to make a day of it. I would feel the miles before he would, and I was already tired. I thoroughly lost track of time—it was just me and the circling black horse—forever in a contest of authority.

Before I expected it, he dropped his head. His jaw relaxed and his flicking ear settled on me attentively.

“That’s it, I’m not going to hurt you,” abruptly I turned away from him, and waited some more. He stopped running the moment I turned away and I listened to him come up behind me at a cautious walk. After a moment’s consideration, he came close and puffed out a breath by my ear. I swiveled and reached a hand to rub his face. He shuddered, but stayed put.

I took a step away from him and he followed. Hooked. I smiled and took a few more steps. He kept following. I stopped and rubbed his forehead again. He sighed heavily, as if the weight of a thousand fat men was slipping off him. “I’ll call you Hook,” I told him.

He didn’t object.

He didn’t object to the saddle and bridle either, nor the rider—though he gave me some extremely skeptical looks. When I slid off his back, Ayglos and the Head Groom entered the round pen.

The Head Groom looked stunned. “If I didn’t know the horse, and didn’t watch you the whole time, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

I patted Hook. “How long did that take?” I asked, pretty sure it was two or three hours of work—at least—could have been all day for all I knew.

“An hour exactly,” replied Ayglos with a lopsided grin.

“Really?”

The Head Groom wiped his forehead. “Really…” He looked the horse up and down. “I guess he’s yours.”

If we didn’t need a horse so badly, the mourning in the groom’s voice would have persuaded me to give my prize back. But Hook was mine, now. The Groom would have to deal with the wrath of the marquis himself if there was wrath to be had.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets. “Have anyone else I can take off your hands?”

By the time Ayglos and I were headed back up the road I’d claimed two more of the useless money eaters from the farm; an impish donkey I’d dubbed Line, for the dorsal stripe and the cross bar on his back, and an aging draft who at this point simply needed to be named Sinker. I wasn’t sure why the Groom was parting with the draft, but it was easy enough to imagine why he would let go the devilish donkey—I overheard something about unlocking all doors and gates.

I rode Hook, Ayglos rode Sinker, and Line trotted along behind us, gamely keeping up with the larger horses. It was late morning, by now, but hopefully our success would convince the others to forgive us the delay. Particularly Namal.

*

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Cloaked

Ink pencils are fairly new to me, but I fell pretty hard for them once we met. They forced me to learn about blending colors–but they also rewarded me extremely well when I did. I’m getting better with them, and they are so much fun to use.

They are like water color pencils, but better. You lay down the color with the pencil, and then activate the pigment with water on a brush. You essentially get two chances to blend. Once the water and pigment dry, however, they are permanent. Which I love because it means you can add layers of color. You can go back and add details or shading–which fits much better with my drawing style than having to get it all in place before adding water.

It’s also easier to mix with pen and ink, and I’m all about mixing media.

Galhirim

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12-A Wager

“Ayglos,” I prodded my brother. “Wake up.”

The gray of dawn was spilling into the shadowy places of the woods: I’d slept longer than I intended and we really need to hurry if we were to return before Namal worried. Gabe was on watch, and watching me curiously as I poked my older brother until he opened his eyes and gave me an evil look. “I need your help, come on,” I persisted.

Ayglos sat up and stretched. “What’s going on?” he looked around at our sleeping companions.

“Quill can’t walk like we did yesterday—his leg needs rest!”

“Yes, so? We also need an army and perhaps the help of the Engla.” Ayglos’ voice was thick with sleep and irritation.

I made face, “Quill’s problem is much more easily addressed.”

“Oh?” Ayglos squeezed both hands against his face, as if he were physically pushing his weariness back inside.

I nodded. “Horses.”

Ayglos split his fingers and peered out at me is if he were checking to see if I were serious. “And where are we getting horses?” he asked slowly.

“There are a number of horse farms surrounding Gillenwater.” Obviously. I might have been enjoying his consternation.

“Many of which provide horses to Hirhel,” he replied.

“That hardly matters—it’s not like they have a choice.” I leaned closer, “I have a plan.”

Ayglos lowered his hands and considered me for a moment. “Alright,” he relented. “This had better not take long.”

I didn’t even try to hide my grin as we gathered ourselves up and told Gabe we would be back soon. The circus hand touched his head in salute as we left. Ayglos began to jog and I picked up pace to keep up. “I hope you know of a farm nearby.”

“I do.” I had noticed plenty of horse farms on the journey with the caravan yesterday. Once we dropped out of the forested parts we should have our pick.

“So what’s your plan, exactly?” asked my brother.

“Well, every farm has to have a couple horses they would like to get rid of. We’ll take them off their hands.”

“Are we borrowing or stealing? Because unless you’ve been picking pockets all day we certainly aren’t buying anything.”

“Even if I had, whatever I could afford might need to be carried more than Quill does!”

Ayglos snorted. “Very likely so.”

He fell silent and we jogged down the road to the sounds of birds greeting the sun. Ayglos’s morning preference for solitude and quiet outweighed his desire to know my plan. I didn’t mind. It was a tenuous plan, full of risks. I only hoped the first farm we found would have suitable horses.

We came to a stone wall topped with wood beams. I remembered seeing a large herd in this field yesterday when we came through with the caravan. In a moment we came to a break in the fence line and a narrow lane leading in between the fields. I led the way off the main road and down the lane. The gray morning mist was getting lighter and the landscape was shifting to a rich green. We kept up our jog. This was either a proper road, or a very large farm, I decided. Finally we saw buildings on our left. Corrals, a barn—perhaps a manor house behind that. Another break in the fence gave another narrow lane, this one leading straight to the farm.

We could see people bustling about the barn. Ayglos slowed. “Plan?”

“We’re pilgrims,” I told him, “We’ve been robbed, and one of our number was injured. We lost our pack horse. We need a horse.”

“And they’re supposed to just give it to us?” Ayglos slowed to a walk, admirably restraining the irritation in his voice.

“No. Remember I’m taking the ones they don’t want.”

He looked at me for a second and then understood. “Oh…great.” He sighed, but we kept walking.

“I’ve done it before,” I added. A little hurt by his lack of enthusiasm.

Ayglos grunted. “That’s why we’re not turning around.”

When we got close to the barn a wiry older man came out to meet us. “You’d best be moving on unless you’re looking for hard work with nearly no pay,” he announced when we were in earshot. “We don’t give handouts.”

“We’re not here for handouts,” replied Ayglos—dropping his grumpy morning manner like a cloak in spring. “We have a proposition.”

“Don’t take threats, neither,” said the older man, squinting as we approached. His hair was gray and as wiry as the rest of him. His worn breeches and scuffed boots said that he spent a great deal of time on horseback.

“No threats,” Ayglos held out his hands, palms up, as we came the last few feet to the Head Groom—he could be no one else.

The Head Groom sized us up. “Well, out with it.”

“We are pilgrims,” began Ayglos.

“I can see that,” cut in the groom drily.

“—and we were robbed on the road,” continued Ayglos, unshaken, “out pack horse was stolen and one of our companions was injured.”

“I told you we don’t give handouts,” retorted the groom.

“Our companion cannot make the journey on foot, so we are in search of a horse,” finished Ayglos, ignoring the interruption. “We cannot afford to pay, and know well the value of a beast so we do not ask for charity.”

The Head Groom squinted harder at us. Since we’d ruled out threats and charity, what else was left?

I spoke, “So we’ll place a wager: If I can tame your most difficult horse within an hour, it belongs to me. If I cannot, we leave you in peace.”

The Head Groom laughed, “You can’t be serious.”

Ayglos crossed his arms. “Are you going to take the wager or not?”

Laughter drained from the groom’s face, leaving astonishment, then cynicism. He pointed at me, “If you get hurt or killed, your blood is on your own head.” He turned on his heel and headed into the barn. “Come on,” he cackled, “I gotta see this.”

Both Ayglos and I drew deep breaths as we followed the groom into the barn. I appreciated that my brother said nothing. Having done it before didn’t mean I could do it again with whatever monster the groom had boxed up back here. But I had to try.

*

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Armed

zareback

This sketch is from earlier this year, one of the first on my tablet that was any good. Still have a lot to learn about that tool–but I’m really enjoying it. The Sketchbook app by Autodesk is pretty nice. I’ve been using the free version, and flirting with the subscription. I think, though, that first I need to master the features of the free version before I can justify adding features by paying for it.

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11-Pilgrims

There hadn’t been much to discuss by the time I joined the little counsel in the leopards’ wagon. My brothers had already resolved that a rescue attempt must be mounted as soon as possible, and Quill had already convinced them that the best way to do that was to find his unit.

Besides the royal family, several of the women from the circus had been taken as well. We, of course, resolved to rescue them, also. In gratitude for freeing the women, the Circus Master agreed to keep Remko and the remainder of our household in his care. Not that it was any great sacrifice on the Master’s part to keep them. Most of our household—surviving servants and courtiers from Galhara’s destruction—had made themselves quite useful to the circus in the ten months we’d been a part of it. The Master was still taking the circus to Magadar, and at a much faster pace than he had originally intended. He had no wish to toy with fate or the Nether Queen’s moods. Realistically, we were three or four days ride from Hirhel, the Queen’s home city. But ravens made the trip faster, and if the garrison commander felt this little incident deserved a raven to the Queen then the circus really needed to be anywhere else.

Once all was decided we returned to Boitumelo’s wagon and Namal put the doctor in charge of the Galhirim remaining in the circus. My brothers and I said goodbye to our unconscious Remko in turns. Namal first, then Ayglos, then I. It was a silent, painful goodbye—and almost worse to watch than to do. We all wanted to pretend he would be alright, but very air of the covered wagon seemed to tremble with certainty that we would never see him again. I kissed Remko’s bald head and whispered a prayer. Not that prayers had saved Galhara.

Boitumelo stopped me as I turned for the wagon’s exit. “Take this, Mbali.” He thrust a leather satchel into my hands. “To keep you whole. Never give up hope.”

“Thank you,” my voice trembled. I threw my arms around the doctor to keep back the tears trying to choke me. I didn’t even know what was in the satchel.

Boitumelo held me close for a moment, then pushed me back. “Go. Be strong, be secret, be safe.” He smiled and touched my face, then shooed me out of the wagon.

Then we left.

Well, almost.

Balleck and one of the hands, Gabe, had been waiting for us outside the physician’s wagon. Olena was Balleck’s cousin, and Gabe’s wife had been taken. They half begged, half insisted, on coming with us. So we were six when we set off. The circus finally had all its wagons back on the road and rolled away behind us giving a happy impression of progress as we walked back the way we had spent the day coming.

It was midafternoon when we started. We walked right through dinnertime and past the sunset. A pasty slice of moon rose and lit the road as we trudged south and west. Even at Quill’s limping pace, we’d probably be back at Gillenwater before sunrise. I wasn’t sure what we intended to do there after another night without sleep. I stole a glance at Balleck walking beside me in the darkness.

Balleck saw me watching him and gave me a small smile.

I looked back at the road, hoping the meager moon hid my cheek color half as well as it hid the contours of the road.

Ahead, Quill stumbled. Ayglos reached out to catch him. “We need to stop for the night,” said Ayglos, firmly.

I hurried up alongside in time to see Quill nod his head. Even in the moonlight his face was pale and haggard. I noticed blood seeping through his bandages. Of course he was haggard. His determination—and our crises—had made all of us forget that wounds need time, not use. “I will need a fire for light to change your bandages,” I announced.

I had expected Quill to protest the fire, but he didn’t. Our little company moved off the road into a small, clear area and began to set up camp. Balleck, our fire master, quickly built a small fire while the others spread out bedrolls. I waited for Quill to lower himself to the ground and plunked down next to him with the satchel Boitumelo had sent with us. It was a medical kit—even better equipped than the little pouch of salves I already carried. Quill flinched and gave me a look of protest when I reached for his arm.

I lifted my chin, “Not a choice.” I’d learned more than one thing from the doctor. I softened my look, “I’ll be gentle.”

He grunted and looked away. I got to work. His arm, though bearing the bigger slash, was doing well. I had it cleaned and re-bandaged quickly enough. The hours of walking, however, had done his calf no favors. I heard him suck in his breath sharply as I gently washed the wound. This was no doubt the source of the haggard face. Little wonder. “We’ve got to do something about this leg,” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else. He couldn’t do this again tomorrow.

Quill picked up his head to look back at me.

“It needs rest to heal,” I explained, applying a liberal helping of salve. The last thing he needed was an infection. I shuddered to remember what those looked like.

Before Quill could reply, Namal got to his feet and produced the holy book. I had forgotten we were pilgrims; of course we could have a fire. He began to read a passage from the songs of mourning.

I rolled the bandages around Quill’s leg and listened to the dolorous cadence of the mourning song. I felt a strange resonance with the song—I had always known there were mourning songs in the holy book, but perhaps I had never read them. The resonance made me uncomfortable, like the ground shifting under my feet. Namal finished and sat down. Ayglos produced way bread and salted meat and started to pass them around. Finished with Quill’s leg, I gathered up the medical supplies and put them back in my pack, tucking my holy ponderings in with them.

“Milady,” Quill reached out a hand to stop me from getting up, “Why did you pull me from the river?”

My skin tingled where he’d touched me. “It was the right thing to do,” I replied, then gave him a stern look as I got to my feet, “Now don’t go over doing things and dying anyway.”

He smirked.

I moved over between my brothers and sat down on my bedroll. I caught Balleck’s eye across the fire and smiled. He prodded the logs and winked at me. The wink didn’t hide that he was as tense and weary as the rest of us. Gabe, who sat next to him, stared at the fire with unseeing eyes, chewing his bread so absently I thought Ayglos could have given him a stick and he wouldn’t have noticed. Poor Gabe. Ayglos handed me food and water and I ate quietly, listening as the men determined an order of watch. I didn’t mind that they forgot to include me.

They might as well have.

As the night deepened, I lay awake remembering every detail of the day, over and over. As if that would make it easier to grasp that we’d been uncovered at last—our new life snatched barely a year old. Remko was almost certainly dying, though no one wanted to say it. Our parents and our sister were almost certainly doomed. All because soldiers were cads. I wouldn’t blame it on the rebels or Dalyn.

Quill.

I made a face in the dark. We needed him—and we needed him in as good condition as we could manage. Walking was no good for his leg, and not even strong Gabe could carry him all day. We should have asked the Circus Master for horses.

Horses…Horses and olive trees surrounded Gillenwater like a skirt on a dancing girl. I rolled over to wake Ayglos then thought better of it. A few hours of sleep would make Ayglos much easier to convince.

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Fang and Seyba’s wagon

zareleopardcart

I’m learning that wagons are extremely hard to draw–straight lines and boxes aren’t my strong suit. Though, the hardest part is the wheel. I have an embarrassingly hard time drawing wheels. I must find them boring, and therefore feel no motivation to practice so it isn’t a monster fight every time I try to draw a wagon. I should probably work a bit harder at that–because Fang and Seyba’s wagon was really cool looking in my head.

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10-Picking up the pieces

“They took your parents and Nadine,” replied the firespinner.

I stared at Balleck for a second, gripping his forearms as if that would change his news. “Are you sure? All of them?”

He nodded. “I’m sorry, Zare.”

“Did they know who they were?” It was a desperate chance. Maybe they took them for a different reason.

Balleck broke my grip and spread his hands, “The captain called them royal—is that true?”

I bit my lip and nodded. My knees remembered their weakness and I found a wagon to lean on. Balleck followed. “You’re a princess, aren’t you?”

I nodded mutely. Such as I was, yes. I leaned heavily on the wagon, my hands on my knees. Panic like in the square roiled inside—and then dissipated. The feared thing had happened. I didn’t know what to do or feel. Ayglos and Namal emerged from the bracken. Jumping to my feet I ran to them. “They took them!” I blurted.

“Took who?” asked Namal, the sensible fact-finder.

“Our parents and Nadine,” I answered. “We have to get them back!”

“They took some of the girls, too,” added Balleck. “Olena among them.” He looked at Ayglos, who clenched his hands.

“Where is Remko?” asked Namal. “Has anyone seen him?”

“Boitumelo has him.”

That didn’t sound good. The three of us turned for the red covered wagon, clambering our way through the upturned caravan till we reached the physician’s rolling kingdom. Namal climbed in first, then Ayglos, then me.

The wagon smelled like blood. That old, familiar war smell. Boitumelo was kneeling over Remko on the floor of the wagon. The physician’s sleeves were rolled up and he was holding a wadded up sheet tight against Remko’s side. The sheet was stained red. He looked up when we entered. “Praise God you’re alright,” he exclaimed, relief flooding his face.

“What happened?” asked Namal.

I pushed past my brothers and dropped to my knees next to Boitumelo. I pressed my hands into the stained sheet at Remko’s side to help staunch the blood. The bald head of the captain of the guard gleamed with sweat. A lump was forming on his temple.

“Mbali, get salve for his head,” said Boitumelo gently. He turned to Namal, “The soldiers started taking girls—they found Nadine, and were going to take her, too. Then your father interfered, then Remko interfered.” He looked down at his hands which held the gory sheet tight against the guard. “Remko would not let them take him, but they were too many.”

“Will he live?” asked Ayglos.

Boitumelo looked up again, his brown face strained. “He may.”

I returned with salve for Remko’s head. If he survived whatever Boitumelo was hiding from us, his head, at least, would feel alright. I began gently applying the medicine to Remko’s shiny temple, taking comfort in the doing.

“Is there anything else to do for him?” Namal asked. He and Ayglos lingered uneasily at the back of the wagon.

“I must stop the bleeding,” explained the doctor. “Then I will see if he needs to be sewn together. It was a clean thrust, and a good sword.” He tipped his chin at Remko’s head. “And a good pommel, too.”

“Then we will leave you in peace,” pronounced Namal, lifting the back flap of the wagon. “Zare, come find us when you are done.”

My brothers were not at home in the physician’s workspace. Their discomfort amused me—not that I ever wanted to be a doctor like Boitumelo, but I did not mind playing nurse when I could look away from the worst of it. Thanks to the siege of Galhara I was actually quite good at nursing blind. Still, this was harder than nursing the archer—Quill—the night before. This felt more like the siege—instead of hope and a good deed, it was loss and failure. Nadine had a better stomach than any of us, she should be here. Nadine. I rolled my lips together. Focus on the task at hand.

The bleeding did stop, and Boitumelo did have to stitch the wounds closed. Remko flailed a little, but didn’t wake up. I ended up splayed across the big man, trying to hold him down while the doctor worked. Once Boitumelo was finished with that awful work I climbed off and helped him with the bandages. Remko was too big for us to move off the floor so we slid blankets under him for padding and a rolled sheet under his neck for support.

“How did you get him in here?” I asked, after we finished panting our way through building a bed under the bodyguard.

“Two of the stage hands helped,” Boitumelo rocked back on his heels and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “They are off helping the Circus Master now, I believe.”

“Do you think they will come back and punish the circus for hiding us?” I asked quietly, fidgeting with the blankets.

The doctor shrugged. “They may. I’m sure the Master will be keen to move on once he’s sure he has everything.” Boitumelo gestured, “Come, clean up. You must go to your brothers. There is much to decide.”

Once we washed up I left the doctor to watch Remko and went in search of my brothers. It was past noon, now, and the sun was casting long shadows with the trees that lined the road. Most of the mess had been cleaned up and the wagons which had left the road were struggling to get back on it. Some were cockeyed in ditches and the draft horses had to be unhitched while all the circus strongmen worked to move the wagon back onto good ground. I found Balleck leaning on one of the covered wagons watching the festivities.

“Not helping?” I asked when I was close.

He looked up and managed a smile even though he mostly looked tired and worried. “I’m busy,” he replied.

“Clearly.”

He straightened. “Waiting for you is hard work.”

My eyebrows shot up right along with my heartrate. “Oh?”

“Quite all consuming. Follow me.”

Balleck lead the way down one more wagon to the wagon in which we carried the Circus Master’s prize leopards. It was a boxy wagon drawn by the two most reliable draft horses the Circus Master had. The sides opened to expose huge barred windows so the cats could have fresh air while we traveled. The sides were closed now and Balleck stepped up to the wooden door at the front and knocked.

“Balleck, what are we doing here?” I had always liked the cats, but the Circus Master didn’t exactly encourage people to interact with them. Their wagon was painted with big letters reading, “Terror of the Wastelands” with a little illustration of the cat killing a knight in armor—just in case those who couldn’t read were tempted to touch the leopards.

The door opened and the Circus Master peered out.

“I bring Zare,” said Balleck.

The Circus Master squinted past Balleck at me and nodded. “Very good, come in, Zare.” He opened the door a bit more and stood aside slightly, “Balleck, are the wagons ready to go yet?”

“Not yet, Master,” replied Balleck, “There are two still being righted. But they will be on the road soon.”

“Let me know the moment they are safe and hitched. We must move on from this place as soon as possible.”

I climbed the two big steps up into the leopard wagon and looked back at Balleck. He gave me an assuring look before bowing to the Circus Master and heading back to his post.

“Come on, Zare,” chided the Circus Master gruffly, “Fang and Seyba are in their den, you needn’t worry.”

I stepped past our tiny Circus Master into the dark innards of the closed up cat-wagon. There were skylights in the wagon ceiling which laid bright bars across the straw littered floor. I could see my brothers and Quill sitting in close conference. They weren’t talking anymore, but were watching me. I walked in and joined their little circle. The Circus Master followed and also took a seat in the dust.

Namal smiled and spread his hands a little, “No one would look for people in this wagon. Seemed like the best place to meet.”

I nodded and looked around. I had never been inside the leopard’s wagon, and had no idea where the leopards could possibly be. Where was their “den,” and how closed off was it? Did they mind?

“How is Remko?” asked Ayglos, interrupting my distraction.

“We stopped the bleeding and closed the wound,” I replied, bringing myself back. “He’s resting now, he hasn’t woken up.”

There was a brief silence as they took in the news. Remko was family. Though we all knew his purpose was to give his life for the king, it was never supposed to come to this. He had made it through the siege—only to be stabbed in exile because some soldiers decided to steal people. It wasn’t fair.

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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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