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16-A Plan

*

“I am very sorry for the loss of your city,” said Quill through gritted teeth, bringing me back to the present as I peeled the last layer bandage away from his leg. The wound was still an angry red hole, but I thought it looked a bit better. The riding had been significantly kinder to it than the walking.

Vaudrin returned with a waxed canvas bucket filled with water and I set to gently washing the calf.

“Do you need anything else, milady?” Vaudrin asked.

“No, thank you, you may sit.”

Vaudrin hesitated, then sank to his bedroll next to Quill’s.

“If I may ask, Quill, how old are you?” I dabbed the ragged flesh carefully.

“Torturer,” hissed Quill. “Probe my wounds and ask questions, but I will not relent.”

I wrinkled my nose, unsure of the laugh that was trying to strangle out. “You had better relent, else I’ll rinse your wounds with vinegar.”

Quill wriggled uncomfortably but said nothing.

I moved on to smearing salve and changed tactic, “How did someone as young as you become captain?”

“The royal guard was gutted the day Dalyn fell. There were fewer ranks to climb.”

Vaudrin cut in, “He is being modest, your highness.” I glanced at the blond man, who continued, “We all joined the guard well before any boy should be allowed—but the captain has always excelled, they delayed his promotion until he was at least knocking on twenty’s door.”

I finished re-bandaging his leg and moved up to his shoulder.

Quill gave me a pained look when I started plucking the bandage back. I rolled my eyes at him. “And you’re the one who needs rescuing on your first big mission?” I asked as I finished peeling off the bandages and began inspecting the slash. This one was well on its way to healing.

“It’s hardly our first big mission,” replied Quill.

“Where do you think he excelled, your highness?” Vaudrin smiled.

Pursing my lips, I focused on cleaning the sword wound. “You can’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen years old when Dalyn fell!”

“I was fourteen.”

I paused, my fingers poised at his shoulder. Younger than even I was when Galhara fell. Suddenly his story became vivid—like adding salt to stew. I had been sixteen—but born with my rank and taught to fight as a matter of royal schooling. Royal schooling that became entirely practical far before expected or complete. Quill had been even younger when he was pushed into war, and I wondered if he had possessed any of my advantages. I stared at him, “Did you…join right away?” I was afraid to ask the real question: Did his family die, too?

He was looking at the ground, “I did.”

“I’m sorry,” I managed.

Quill met my eyes for a raw moment—and then inclined his head. “What’s lost is lost.”

Our conversation was interrupted by a shattering crack that brought the entire glen to its feet. There was a moment’s confusion as hastily armed men scattered like chaff to cover the area. I started to get up but Quill laid a firm hand on my arm. “Stay, your highness.”

For a split second I was surprised, then I remembered. My brothers were likewise guarded by members of the unit who stood over them like she-bears over cubs. An entire company of Remkos.

A moment later the soldiers returned. Vaudrin came to report, he paused between Quill and Namal uncertainly, then directed his findings at both of them, “We are safe. The draft horse broke the tree branch to which he was tethered. Ripped it right off the tree.”

I shifted as I felt my brothers’ eyes resting on me. Apparently Sinker’s flaw was tying. “Not to worry,” I assured the company quickly—though Quill’s men didn’t know I was responsible for the dysfunctional horses, “he won’t leave—his mind cannot cope with being tied.”

I caught Ayglos hiding a smirk behind his hand.

The soldiers returned to their beds like a flock of sparrows descending on a tree for the night. I turned my attention back to smearing salve on Quill’s shoulder.

Shortly, Ayglos and Namal came to join us; Vaudrin stood and offered them his bedroll to sit on. Once they were settled, Namal said, “Captain, we need to move quickly. I propose that we send some of the men back to Gillenwater to find out what was done with the circus women and our family. If they have sent a raven to Hirhel we have three days, perhaps less, to rescue our people.”

“Agreed, your highness,” said Quill. “Our orders were to return to Dalyn once we accomplished our mission. We will tarry here to aid you, and then will make with all speed back to Dalyn. I hope that you will still make that journey with us.

“I would send Jemin, and with your leave, your sister in disguise. A man and a woman together would be less suspicious. They can take the donkey and behave as travelers.”

Namal considered this. I could see that neither of my brothers were pleased with the idea, but there were clear advantages. With Narya’s men hunting for the rebel soldiers who burned the forges, my chiseled swimmer brothers would surely draw unwelcome attention. Jemin, who had greeted us first when we arrived, was a strapping, bearded man, who could easily be taken for a laborer—a mason or blacksmith perhaps. Add to this that no one brings a woman on a raiding party…

“Zare?” Namal turned to me. “Would you be up for the task?”

“Of course,” I didn’t hesitate.

Namal nodded and bowed his head for a moment. He looked at Ayglos, and then agreed at last. “Very well, Jemin and Zare will go into Gillenwater in the morning.”

*

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15-In Good Company

*

We all looked at Quill in surprise. He’d said nothing at all about being the captain of his unit. How was he possibly old enough to be a captain?

“I am alive, indeed, Jemin,” replied Quill, approaching the newcomer and clasping his hand in greeting. “Report.”

“Five have wounds of one sort or another—but no one has or is likely to die from them,” replied the man. He was barrel chested, bearded, and looked older than Quill by a couple years—but at this point I wasn’t sure I was good at guessing men’s ages. Jemin continued, “When you did not come yesterday we feared the worst.”

Quill grimaced and gestured to his leg. “Caught a quarrel from one of those crossbows.” He glanced back at us, “And then took a detour. Bring us to the camp, we need rest and food and to make a new plan.”

Jemin turned and led us further down the gully until it opened out a bit and got shallow again. I could smell the stream long before we saw the quiet little pool and lazy water by which the soldiers of Dalyn had made their campsite. It was a nice spot.

The men were all standing by the time we arrived and a chorus of pleased murmurs celebrated Quill’s safe return. I got the particular feeling that the presence of five strangers significantly stymied their rejoicing. Quill hobbled to the center of the little camp. “Gentlemen,” he announced, stopping and turning to face us. “I present to you the royal princes and princess of Galhara.”

The surprised looks and soft intake of breath were gratifying. Even more gratifying was the way they snapped to attention. Royal again. My chest swelled.

Gabe and Balleck shifted uncomfortably; but Namal, the rightful crown prince of Galhara, stepped forward. “At ease,” his voice filled the little glen. “We have come for your aid.” He summed up the little raid which had shattered our new life and ended with a suitably humble request for their help rescuing our family.

Namal had directed his plea to the group at large, and I was surprised when it was Quill who answered.

“We are sworn to the protection of Dalyn. You were our allies before all was lost, and we would honor that alliance. You are welcome in our company and protection, and we will do what we can to help you regain your own.”

Captain. Of course.

Quill gestured to a big man who had a shock of curly blond hair, “Your highnesses, this is Vaudrin, my second in command.”

Vaudrin bowed. My brothers bowed in return, and I dipped in a tiny curtsy. Vaudrin was leaner built than the barrelish Jemin, and he was taller. He, like the rest standing around the glen, was on the young side of a soldier’s prime. Quill addressed Vaudrin, “Do we have any food we can share with our guests?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Vaudrin. With a gesture, he passed the order on and the glen came alive with activity. Quill’s soldiers moved like ghosts and barely spoke. Some of the men tended my prizes, others unfurled our bedrolls and began to set out food on a blanket. They built no fire—naturally—but they had a supply of olives, dates, and bread. Our own provisions were actually better, and I made sure our cheeses and slightly fresher breads made it out to the humble table.

Once all the food was set out Quill motioned for my brothers and me to take what we would first, then the rest of the men did likewise. We all carried our bread and cheese to our bedrolls. No one spoke, and the quiet sound of eating reminded me of sitting in a field with grazing animals. I didn’t know who could possibly be around to hear the soldiers in this secluded place, but they certainly weren’t taking any chances.

The long golden shadows of evening dappled the glen and danced on the face of the stream. I wanted to go touch the water and feel the comfort of its music. I didn’t. Instead I picked up Boitumelo’s satchel and went over to where Quill was sitting in close conference with Vaudrin. His leg stuck out in front of him like the beak on a heron.

Quill looked up as I approached. “Your highness.”

Vaudrin moved as if to stand but I stopped him with a lift of my hand. My, royalty was nice.

I dipped my chin toward the satchel. “Let me see to your leg, Captain.”

Quill grimaced. “It will spoil my supper.”

“I waited till you were finished—and it will spoil your life if I don’t,” I retorted.

My mysterious archer dropped his head. “Very well.” He shifted to his side to expose his wounded calf.

I knelt on the ground by his leg and began unwinding the bandage. “Vaudrin, if you wouldn’t mind sending for water from the stream?” I asked, flicking my eyes to the blond henchman.

Vaudrin nodded, “Of course, your highness.” He jumped up and moved off as softly as a breath of wind on a summer day.

“We have never had royalty among us on a mission before,” said Quill, looking away from his leg while I worked. “They don’t know which courtly manners to keep here in the wilds and which are only for civilization.”

“Then they are in good company, since we have not used courtly manners since our city burned and are not accustomed to behaving our rank.” It was only a slight exaggeration. After we fled Galhara we spent a month in the halls of my grandfather, under Daisen Bay. There, we were welcome and as royal as we had been born. My grandfather’s castle had air just like the world above, but those without nymph blood could hardly be expected to live happily under water. My mother, myself, and my siblings were the only Galhirim comfortable in my grandfather’s kingdom. So my father brought us ashore in search of a new life, and perhaps an escape. We found the circus.

*

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14-Captain

*

They hadn’t waited for us. We came around a bend and saw our four companions walking toward us. Namal was in the lead, Gabe hovered near the limping Quill, and Balleck brought up the rear. Ayglos and I urged our horses faster to quickly close the awkward gap between being sighted and giving explanations.

Everyone stopped when we pulled up. Namal put his hands on his hips. “What have you done?” he asked, gesturing to the horses.

“I didn’t steal anything, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I jumped off Hook. “I won a wager at a horse farm.”

Ayglos weighed in, “It’s true, and I don’t think he’s the type to be sore about it.”

“Does that mean your prizes are dysfunctional?” said Namal, eyeing them suspiciously.

“Not anymore,” I said.

“Quite possibly,” said Ayglos.

I glared at him—albeit halfheartedly. He shrugged. Turning back to Namal, I explained, “We needed horses. Quill can’t walk like we have been. I brought Ayglos.” I lifted my chin defiantly. Ayglos: The ultimate seal of legitimacy.

Namal eyed me, and then sighed. “What’s done is done, I guess. I’ll spare you the reminders about everything that could have—and still could—go wrong.” He gestured to the others, “Load them up, then.”

I caught Balleck’s eye and he winked, a proud smile twisting the corners of his mouth. I smiled, too. Leading Hook forward, I might have brushed closer to him than necessary on my way over to Quill. My brothers and Balleck set to loading our packs onto Line and Sinker.

“I assume you can ride?” I stopped next to Quill and Gabe.

Even pale and weary, Quill managed to give me a withering look. “Of course.”

“No one has ridden Hook but me,” I added, “So be gentle.”

Quill arched a brow, “You brought a wild horse to carry your cripple? I feel so cared for.”

“You should, it wasn’t easy.”

Hook snorted.

I patted his neck. “Come say hello, you can’t just get on without formalities.”

Quill grunted, but hobbled a step closer, offering the back of his hand to the black horse. Hook sniffed it and looked away. Quill patted Hook’s neck and the black allowed it. Gabe came next and performed the same ritual, then turned to the task of getting Quill onto the black.

I held Hook and explained what was happening to him while the strongman and the archer tried to find a way to get the archer astride without just heaving him on like a sack of oranges. Though, that is, essentially, what ended up happening. Once everything was situated we set off again down the road. I walked by Hook’s head, just in case he decided to have a nervous breakdown about carrying a rider, and Balleck fell in step beside me.

We were now some of the wealthiest pilgrims in the region, no doubt, thanks to my success. However, we were sufficiently bedraggled that the other travelers we encountered largely ignored us. Nothing of interest happened this part of the journey as there was nothing to do but walk. Every now and then Namal would lead us in a hymn—a nice touch to our cover and oddly encouraging at the same time.

We passed the road which would have led us to Gillenwater and kept on. We took a brief rest for lunch of bread and cheese then continued on our way. In the late afternoon Quill announced, “Let’s stop and rest for a while.”

Only by ‘stop and rest’ he meant dive off the side of the road into the forest and wend our way deeper over rough terrain—where Line the donkey was by far the steadiest on his feet—until we came to a cozy little gully. Quill slid off Hook and hobbled forward, his head thrown back like he was looking for something in the trees.

Then a burly man stepped out of the shadows. “Captain! You’re alive!”

*

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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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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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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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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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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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