“Thank you, Lady Branwyn.” It was a bit strange to have the Lord Chancellor’s wife waiting on us; she could just as easily have sent a servant. But I accepted a cup and took a sip, and Illias did the same.
“I wanted to speak with you before you left, Scriber Dennon,” Branwyn said. “To thank you again for helping Bryndine. I was worried for her—she has never wanted anything but to serve in the Army.”
“She was doing Illias a service by assisting him,” I replied, uncomfortable with her gratitude. “I had little to do with it.”
“It was your suggestion, Scriber,” she insisted. “Bryndine told us what happened. She is never happy without a purpose to serve, and you gave her one when she needed it. I know she is grateful to you as well, though she might not show it freely.”
It was pointless to argue; I didn’t want the attention, but clearly I was helpless to stop it. “I am glad I could help, then.”
“My husband wants you to know that if ever you require a favor from him, you need only to ask. He would have seen you off himself if he were not in council with the King.”
“The Lord Chancellor is most generous,” said Illias. “That is not an offer many men hear in their lives.”
“I—I thank you, my Lady,” I stammered. “And Lord Elarryd.”
“You are most welcome, Scriber Dennon.” Branwyn smiled at my obvious discomfort. “And don’t look so nervous. You have nothing to fear here.” With that, she left to speak with her daughter, who was overseeing the last of the preparations.
By the time we finished our tea, the horses were packed and ready. I said my final goodbyes to Illias while the women bid farewell to their own loved ones. Bryndine bent down to give her diminutive mother a peck on the cheek; Tenille embraced her two young boys and kissed her husband. Hylda’s daughter clung tearfully to the silver-haired woman—the girl was quite pregnant, and did not want her mother to go.
When the goodbyes were done, we mounted our horses and followed Bryndine from the courtyard. But as we filed from the gates of the manor, I heard a clatter of hooves. Not from our company, but from the north, towards the Kingshome, and approaching rapidly. And with the hooves, there was a low whisper—the word “
Pain
” hissed in my head.
“Stop!” It was Uran Ord, galloping down the street to meet us. He was dressed for battle, his bandaged head covered by an open-faced helm, and his sword was drawn. As he neared, the voices grew louder.
Some two dozen men of the First Company followed him, and it took only moments for them to surround the gates of the Lord Chancellor’s manor, blocking us in. I recognized a few of them from the journey out of Waymark; Lieutenant Ralsten was notably absent. While those within the courtyard rushed out to see the source of the commotion, I tried to sidle my mount back through the gates, away from the armed soldiers of the First Company.
“What is the meaning of this, Ord?” Illias demanded.
“I’ll not let her leave! She hasn’t the right!” Ord was a hurricane of fury and noise; at this distance the voices whirling around him were deafening. But it was not only him. It felt as though his men were part of it now, or some of them at least, and their presence amplified the cacophony. I wanted to block my ears, but I knew it would do no good.
Korus stepped through the gate, his hands raised in a calming gesture. “This is not seemly, High Commander. The King has already given his approval.”
Ord levelled his sword at Korus. “And where were you then, Scriber? You allowed this to happen! They cannot be permitted to pursue this nonsense!” He jabbed his blade at the air to emphasize his point. I barely heard him; I could only hear the hundred voices behind his words, screaming, “
It must burn!
”
“What could I have said?” Korus was defensive now; he had never taken criticism well. “I don’t like it, but they
found
something.”
Bryndine nudged her horse forward. “Let us pass, cousin,” she said. Her voice was hard as stone.
Ord replied with an enraged roar, kicking his mount into motion and cleaving his sword down at his cousin’s unprotected head.
Bryndine’s horse danced backwards and the blade whistled through empty air. Her hand flew to the hilt of her sword, and in a single, smooth motion, she pulled the heavy blade from its sheath.
Within an instant, every blade within thirty yards was bared. Bryndine’s women hesitated, waited for orders; the men of the First gave no such pause. “
Death
,” I heard the voices wail, and then the First Company attacked.
The ring of steel tolled through the air as the women were forced to defend themselves. Sylla spurred her mount forward to deflect a strike at her Captain’s exposed back, and other men and women crossed blades in the periphery of my vision. But I could not tear my eyes from Bryndine and Uran Ord.
Ord charged forward again with a snarl, launching a deadly blow at Bryndine’s neck; she struck it aside with an effortless sweep of her sword. But she did not strike back. Instead, she held her position and shouted, “Stop this, Uran!”
Without hesitation, Ord pressed the attack. Their blades met once, then again, each clash sending the High Commander reeling back from the strength of Bryndine’s parry. With a frustrated grunt, he sliced sideways at her chest with all his might, but she leaned back just slightly, letting the blade pass by and sending him lurching sideways in his saddle. Bryndine advanced, smashing her sword down on his like a blacksmith hammering an anvil. The force ripped the weapon from Ord’s hand and sent it crashing to the ground.
Ord thrust his hand out to the man beside him. “Your sword!” The soldier instantly reversed his blade, offering it to the High Commander hilt first.
“Surrender!” Bryndine commanded, looking at her cousin with disbelief. “This is madness!”
But I could hear the voices urging Ord on, screaming for blood and vengeance, and I knew he would not stop until she was dead.
Or he
would
not have stopped, except that at that moment, Korus yelled, “You’re doing exactly what they want you to, Ord!”
To my surprise, that caught the High Commander’s attention. He looked up at Korus, the anger on his face giving way to confusion. And when the High Commander hesitated, his men instantly pulled back. It did little to thin the tension; the women watched them like hawks, keeping their swords at the ready.
Korus rushed to explain. “Lark told the King that you’re unfit to serve because of that head wound. You couldn’t have chosen a better way to prove him right. If you have any interest in keeping your position, you need to stop this immediately.”
Ord lowered his hand. The soldier beside him withdrew his sword, returning it to its sheath; the other men did the same. The voices descended into a low chant. For a moment, I dared hope that we might leave without bloodshed.
Then Ord laughed, and the sound of it sent ice through my veins. It was not the laughter of a sane man. “Fine then.” He turned his eyes back to Bryndine. “Go. It doesn’t matter. There is nothing you can do.”
He took up his reins and led his horse away, his men following in silence.
“You were right, Lark,” Korus grumbled, obviously unhappy to admit it. “I will tell the King. Ord needs to be dealt with.”
Bryndine looked at the retreating column of men thoughtfully. “Something is certainly not right with him,” she said. “He has never been unskilled with a sword. I should not have defeated him so easily.”
Illias raised an eyebrow. “I think his actions are of more concern than his skill right now. It is lucky that you raised your concerns when you did, Denn.”
I did not answer; I was barely listening. Ord’s last words repeated endlessly in my mind as I watched him disappear down the street. Not the last words he had spoken to Bryndine—though those were chilling enough—but the ones that only I could hear:
“
All will burn
.”
Chapter Twenty
I have never believed the legends of the Wyddin. Tree spirits who can possess the bodies of animals, jealous children of the Mother and the Father seeking vengeance against mankind. The source of magick. It always sounded like nonsense to me. There was no magick in Elovia, I was sure of that. The Sages could not harness the power of something that does not exist.
I may have been wrong.
— From the personal journals of Dennon Lark
For the first three days of the long ride down the Searoad towards Ryndport, I could not stop thinking of the whispered threat Uran Ord had left in his wake. Korus had promised that he would see the High Commander stripped of his rank, and I had no reason to disbelieve it, but still I worried.
There is nothing you can do,
Ord had said to Bryndine. What had he meant by that?
Three days out of Three Rivers, I found out.
I heard the voices before we saw the men. For days, I had been hearing whispers whenever we passed one of the many fireleafs that grew in the hilly interior of the Three Rivers barony, and so I barely noticed the noise until Selvi and Elene galloped up alongside Bryndine to make their report. The twins were the fastest riders and the keenest eyes in the company, and Bryndine often sent them afield to scout. One of the two—Selvi, I believe—said, “Men coming from behind, Captain. About thirty of them, looks like they’re with the Army.” Though they did not seem concerned, both women had their shortbows out and ready.
I looked back over my shoulder, squinting against the light—it was still early in the day, and the sun was bright in the eastern sky. Sure enough, I could see them: a group of riders, barely more than dots on the road now, but quickly gaining.
It was then that I realized the voices were growing louder.
Bryndine brought the company to a halt with a raised hand. “We will see what they want. They may have a message for us.”
“
Fire
,” the voices chanted. “
Vengeance
.
Death
.” They came not just from the approaching men, but from all directions, a murder of crows screeching inside my head. It was worse than Ord’s interrupted assault at the manor; this was more like that night in Waymark, the night the voices had made me burn.
“
It must not be found
,” they wailed. “
All will burn
.”
They were coming to kill us. I knew it instantly and without doubt. They wanted Fyrril’s books to remain hidden, or to be destroyed, though I did not know why. Uran Ord had tried to stop us more than once, and had failed; now it had come to this.
“Don’t stop,” I begged Bryndine. “We need to get away from them.”
She gave me a questioning look. “What do you mean, Scriber Dennon? The Army is no enemy of ours.”
“
Please
! If you have ever trusted me at all, trust me now. Those men mean us harm!” The wailing in my head was too much to bear; I clapped my hands over my ears. I could barely keep from screaming. “It is not only them! They’re all around us, they’re coming, I can hear them!”
“What do you hear, Scriber?” Bryndine looked at me doubtfully as I gripped my head and peered frantically back at the soldiers.
They had cut the distance between us in half, and now I could see the brown of their uniforms. They rode in complete silence, yet the fury of the voices tore through me. They knew me now; I felt that unseen eye turning towards me once more, as it had in Waymark.
They only find me when I’m frightened,
some part of me realized, a strangely detached thought in the midst of my terror. But it did not help; if anything, it made me more afraid.
“
BURN
.”
I did scream then, as the flames devoured my skin.
“
Ride
!” I yelled at Bryndine, consumed by rage and pain. And for some reason, this time she listened.
I bent over in agony and felt myself toppling from my saddle, but Bryndine reached out and grabbed me by the collar. With impossible strength, she lifted me onto her horse one-handed. Clutching me to her chest, she grabbed the reins of my mount with her free hand.
“You heard him! We ride!” she shouted, spurring her mount forward and leading mine alongside.
I shook in Bryndine’s grip, but she held me tightly, not letting me fall. Fire that only I could see ran over my limbs, melting the flesh from my bones, burning the hair from my head. But somehow, I fought through it enough to open my eyes.
As the company galloped away from the approaching men, the voices hissed in anger. We had discovered their ambush, but they were not yet thwarted. “
Kill
,” they said, and hundreds of men and women poured over the hills on either side of the road, sprinting towards us. If we had stopped and waited at the sight of the Army uniforms, we would have been crushed in that furious pincer. But we were nearly by them now. We were going to escape.
And then the earth began to shake.
The horses faltered on the quaking ground, but they were trained for combat, and their riders were skilled. The women mastered the frightened animals and rode on. But our pace slowed, and the rebels closed in from behind.
“
Burn
.
Burn
.
BURN
.” the voices cried, and lightning struck just behind us with an ear-splitting crash. This was the sorcery Fyrril had warned of; lightning and earthquakes, the Wyddin magicks I had so long dismissed as superstition.
I watched through agony and fire as Genna’s horse reared at the sound of thunder, throwing her from its back. The stocky woman rolled and came to her feet in a smooth motion, axe in hand; her mount was already gone, galloping into the hills. Several of the women made to stop, to go back for her despite the fact that it would destroy our small lead. But when Genna looked over her shoulder at us, there was a fury in her eyes I had seen only a few times before, and I knew what she meant to do.
“Go!” she shouted. And then she charged directly at the oncoming horde.
She closed the short distance in an instant, swinging her axe in a deadly arc. With a single sweep, she cut two of them down; she felled another with a vicious backhanded strike. As she cleaved through a half dozen rebels, I almost believed that she could stop them, that she could single-handedly hold back the entire horde. But the sheer number of them was too much. A moment later, the swarm pulled her down, and she disappeared from sight.