Tag: Quill

Posted on

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!”

*

Posted on

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.

*

Posted on

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.

Posted on

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.

Posted on

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?”

*

Posted on

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.”

*

Posted on

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.

Posted on

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.

*

Posted on

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.

*

Posted on

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?

Blog at WordPress.com.