Chapter XV - Practice

The first day of travel passed slowly. The forest fell quickly behind them and Zoe resigned herself to the monotony of their surroundings. They were traveling along the same roadway that she and the other captives had been driven down months before by Terrance Grant. The fields had been golden with ripe wheat then; now they were emerald green with developing plants as the sun gave heat and life to the hungry stalks of wheat, corn, and beans.

She surprised herself by breaking the silence that had blanketed the group for the last quarter hour. “How did the war between Elangsia and Aerilya begin?”

“You have not heard by now?” Tancred looked surprised. She shook her head and he glanced at Jaedon for a moment. “It is not a lengthy tale. The weather in the year previous to the beginning of the war was very dry. The lack of rain ruined most the crops in Aerilya and Elangsia, so both countries were forced to survive relatively foodless winters. Unfortunately, the next year the weather was much the same—very hot and arid—destroying the majority of that seasons crops as well.

“Famines are not completely unheard of in this region,” he continued. “Aerilya had long established a policy of collecting certain amounts of food when it was plenteous and storing it in large grain houses throughout the country, providing a means for nourishment during times of want. Elangsia had never instituted such a plan and they were virtually bereft of any food.” Tancred’s lips thinned humorlessly. “If they had simply asked the king of Aerilya for food and assistance, he was prepared to share it with them. Unfortunately, they never asked. During the second year of famine several rash Elangsian men formed a raiding party and forcefully stole food from a neighboring Aerilyan village that contained one of the granaries. When the village retaliated with equal force, Elangsia’s king sent out some troops to dispel the uprising. In the end, the village was half massacred because of the riot that started. Women, children, everybody.”

Zoe was silent and looked at the stone-strewn dirt ground they walked through, imagining it turning a cruel red from all the innocent blood spilled in a village. “What happened next?” she inquired quietly.

“King Trystellan sent in reinforcements to retaliate,” Tancred shrugged, squinting up at the sun. “Thus began this far too long conflict.”

“When did the slave trade begin?” She had difficulty getting the words out. Just thinking about her time of as a slave caused her to inwardly recoil.

“At some point early on in the war, the Elangsians began taking slaves from the Aerilyans. It became a viable trading business after some time.” Tancred’s voice was flat. “My father was the first who began freeing slaves and I continued after his death.”

She remembered that his father had been murdered. But by whom, specifically? And how can the Elangsians not know that they managed to kill the first Hunter? I never heard any rumors while in Ruma about the Hunter’s son taking up his father’s mantle; it’s obviously not well known that Tancred is the son of the original.

Zoe brought this up casually. “I assume the Elangsians killed your father.”

“Yes.” The terse comment was spoken in the harshest tone she had yet heard from Tancred and it surprised her.

Jaedon spoke for the first time since the beginning of the conversation. “He was murdered seven years ago, by command of King Brastus. Liam Ralyn was a good man and was silent to the end about his hidden life and mission. The Elangsians who killed him never knew they had the Hunter. Tancred took up Liam’s name without pause, merging seamlessly into his father’s life. So, to the Elangsians and indeed most of the Aerilyans, it appears that the Hunter is one man who has been around for twelve years.”

“I see.” She absently ran her tongue over her dry lips, content with the information she had gleaned from the two men. Going back to Ruma was going to be difficult and she wanted to be prepared for whatever might come up. Knowing a little more about Tancred’s father helped. It also clarified to her Tancred’s hate of King Brastus Alustate. That king ordered the death of Liam Ralyn—Tancred’s own father.

The three of them continued until nightfall without touching on any more grave topics. They ate a light supper of cheese and bread, washing it down with wine. Zoe had just finished swallowing her last bite when an object flew through the air toward her. She instinctively grabbed it to keep it from whacking her in the head and saw that it was her sword.

“Prepare yourself,” Jaedon ordered, his own sword already drawn as he advanced toward her.

She sprang to her feet and tossed the scabbard aside. Her muscles were tense and she threw herself into the duel with all her skill. She managed to evade his swift-flickering sword for almost five minutes but eventually the flat of his blade slapped down on her left shoulder, directly by her neck, stopping her in her tracks. She glared, aggravated at being beaten by him…again.

“Good form, but too practiced,” Jaedon commented.

Too practiced. She had heard that before. It did not take long to recall when: in Ruma, months earlier, when she had tried to escape out the backyard with Tancred’s artifact sword. They had crossed blades for all of ten seconds before he disarmed her. Her eyes now darted to where he sat comfortably by the small, smokeless fire, wordlessly observing. Judging by the tiny laugh lines around his eyes, he remembered the incident all too well. She gritted her teeth and then took a deep breath.

“This time, improvise what you know,” Jaedon instructed, lifted his sword. “Again.”

They practiced for half an hour, exchanging blows and each gaining bruises, Zoe noticeably more than Jaedon. Jaedon sheathed his sword after knocking her to the ground. “Wash your lip,” he told her calmly.

Zoe clenched her sword grip tightly, her heart pounding. She tasted blood on her tongue, but was loathe to stop now. Being repeatedly bested was irritating, at best; humiliating, at worst.

Careful to conceal her trembling muscles, she smoothly sheathed her blade and walked to the water skin that hung on a nearby branch. She dumped a little of the cool liquid into her hands and splashed her face with it. Drying her face with the edge of her cloak, which lay in close proximity, she carried it back to her side of the fire and lowered herself to the ground with as much dignity as she could muster. “Good night,” she said curtly.

“Good night,” Jaedon’s voice rumbled back pleasantly, and Tancred’s soon followed. Zoe closed her eyes and determinedly concentrated on sleep.

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The next days continued much like the first had: long hours of monotonous travel, interspersed with brief encounters between them and fellow travelers, then a quick camp in protected hollows or tree coppices. She and Jaedon always sparred after eating dinner, and Zoe’s body protested loudly against the exertion each morning when she dragged herself up. She had considered herself reasonably dedicated to weapons practice each day back at the Hunter’s camp; now she realized that she could have sought out more skilled swordsmen to practice with. She had yet to disarm Jaedon and it irked her.

On the fourth night she flew at Jaedon, pretending recklessness. He defended against her swift assault and blocked her sword easily, but when she slashed toward his head, checked herself, and instead drove the point at his chest, he hesitated and missed her blade. She pushed the point against his chest with victory, though she was careful not to pierce his tunic.

He laughed at her expression of fierce triumph. “Very good,” he praised. “You are improvising at last. Now, do it again.”

Zoe lowered her blade as an uncontrollable smile spread across her face. Finally! They continued dueling and each managed to disarm the other twice. She had a cut on her arm and a new bruise on her shin when they finished, but her achievement lit her face with a flush of pleasure that would not go away and the new injuries meant little to her.

On the evening of the fifth day, they stopped at a clump of pine trees that covered approximately an acre of land and was situated half a days ride from Ruma. The pines were thick enough to hide all traces of their camp, which they pitched in the nexus of the trees. As they ate a cold supper of rye bread and water, Jaedon brought up a topic that he said was unable to be ignored any longer: Zoe’s garb.

“You cannot go into Ruma dressed as you are,” he said, glancing at her worn thigh-length tunic and matching trousers. “And your weapons will have to be hidden or disposed of entirely during our stay. Both those and your clothes will draw too much unwanted attention.”

Zoe frowned. “I know that,” she replied, looking at her comfortable, practical garments with an unbidden sigh. “Lady Shyla already spoke to me about this.”

Tancred cocked one of his eyebrows at the mention of his mother, but Zoe ignored him. She had been doing a great deal of ignoring him since the trip began. Although, if she thought about it for long, she realized that Tancred had been strangely silent the last few days, giving her little need to consciously avoid him. Shaking free of that mildly disturbing train of thought, she finished with a tone of finality: “I will be ready when we reach the city.”

Jaedon nodded. “If you are prepared, then we have no need to worry.” He tossed his cloak aside and Zoe grabbed her nearby sword, ready to meet him once again. To her surprise, Tancred silently rose to his feet, holding his unsheathed blade easily. Jaedon simply moved further away from the fire and said, “Tancred will be sparring with you tonight.”

Splendid, she thought sarcastically. To her annoyance, she was more nervous about being thought weak or unskilled by Tancred than she was by Jaedon. Get your mind away from such stupidity, she warned herself harshly. He’s not going to be an easy opponent.

Tancred had also disposed of his cloak and now shed his leather jerkin. Only his lightweight tunic with its casually rolled up sleeves remained on his top half, revealing the corded muscle in his forearms. Zoe felt a glimmer of uncertain dread. Don’t back down. Don’t…back…down!

He slashed his great sword around with apparent ease, and she matched his movements with deadly grace. They moved from one end of the small encampment to the other, avoiding the fire, Jaedon, and the horses without even thinking. All their energy was poured into the encounter, sharply focused on the individual whom they were sparring. Suddenly all the world was whittled down to the blades flashing in front of her and the piercing blue eyes that stared unswervingly in her direction.

Time lost its meaning as they continued to fight. Zoe was grateful at least that she had lasted more than a few seconds against him. They were still warily testing each other’s boundaries; she was unsure what he thought of her, but she was already very aware that he had tremendous strength that he was channeling into this battle.

The single remaining doubt was simply: How long can I withstand such strength before I crack?

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She was strong. But not completely fearless, Tancred observed as he watched her dark green gaze focus intently on him and his sword. He had seen the uncertainty that shimmered in her eyes, quite against her will. Somehow the proof that she was not as unbreachable as she wished him to think encouraged him. He was not sure why; it just did.

She was also very skilled. He had known she was good—no one disarmed Jaedon if they were not—but she was better than he expected. She tested his boundaries, persistently pushing him to use all his skill and dexterity.

His sword darted down and she blocked it a moment before it reached her leg; hers flashed toward his shoulder, twisted unexpectedly, and angled down to his ribs. He deterred it just in time. Zoe spun under his blade and her hair fell loose from its leather restraint, tumbled around her shoulders in a flaming curtain. Tancred slowed for a split second, oddly struck by her beauty. He had not noticed it before; now, as she poured all her spirit into defeating him, her unique, almost untamable attractiveness—in some way previously concealed—rose to the surface. Just who are you, Zoe? he questioned, continuing to block and parry but suddenly feeling as if he had missed a step in a complex dance.

Jaedon’s voice pierced the fog that roiled through his mind. “Enough,” he commanded deeply. “Enough!”

Tancred and Zoe both paused in the middle of parrying, their muscles tight and covered with a sheen of sweat. They stared at each other for a long moment, her eyes wide and a strand of hair falling over her sweat-glistening forehead. He pulled back first, walked calmly across the camp and sheathing his sword. She followed his example with just as much poise, leaning her sheathed sword against a nearby tree. It was dark now, Tancred noted with faint surprise. Night had arrived sometime between the end of supper and now. The firelight flickered, casting long shadows and leaving a reddish-orange glow on everything it touched.

Tancred shook back his damp hair and forced his mind back to the mission. The combat had distracted him more than he cared to be. “Tomorrow we will reach Ruma.”

Jaedon nodded. “Everything is ready,” he stated, as if to reassure Tancred that all was well. Tancred was not especially worried, though it did him good to hear that everything was in order.

“How are you planning to get information about the Wild Men?” Zoe’s voice came from the other side of the camp. Tancred turned to look questioningly at her on the other side of the camp as she tied her hair back. She finished and faced him squarely. “I assume these treaties and alliances between countries aren’t conducted in the city square. How do you gain access to such privileged information?”

“I know the right kind of people. I simply have to return to Ruma as their well-known and trusted trader from Meru with new artifacts to show them. One of them always has the information that I need. Several of my regular customers are advisors to King Brastus and have daily access to him.”

“Most of his customers are wealthy and influential,” Jaedon added. “The middle- and lower-class don’t have the kind of money or information that we are looking for.”

They’re more oppressed than anything else, Tancred thought. He had long felt pity for the inhabitants of Elangsia who were ruled by such a callous government. They suffered for it by paying unnecessarily heavy taxes and being caught in the middle of the long conflict that had been going on between Elangsia and Aerilya. And if the Wild Men ally with Elangsia, there will undoubtedly be a large scale battle occurring in the countryside around Ruma. Many innocents will die if that happens. He felt the heaviness of responsibility weigh on him; he grew weary just thinking about it. Despite being of Aerilyan nationality, he did not wish to wreak more death upon Elangsia’s inhabitants, especially the guiltless ones.

“How do you get these informants of yours to talk freely about privileged information?” Zoe asked skeptically. “It seems unlikely that loyal Elangsians would share such things with you.”

“You might be surprised how freely their tongues wag with a trusted merchant friend,” Jaedon told her. “Especially one they believe comes from a country like Meru, which is not at all involved in this war. However, their words come more easily if Tancred arranges their business meeting to be conducted in a tavern where the drinks come quick and cheap.”

“Sometimes not so cheap,” Tancred stated ruefully, thinking of some of the more upscale taverns he had handled “business” in previously. He wondered what Zoe thought of him getting his patrons drunk to learn their secrets. Her expression was difficult to read in the faded light. She must realize it is my duty to my own country, he thought.

“It is late,” she said suddenly. “I wish to get some rest before tomorrow.”

Tancred inclined his head slightly and agreed. “I will take first watch, Jaedon.”

Jaedon nodded and rolled himself into his cloak to get some rest. Zoe had originally volunteered to help with the night watch but Tancred and Jaedon were adamantly against it and she apparently decided it wasn’t worth a fight.

The night deepened, and Jaedon and Zoe fell into slumber swiftly. Tancred looked up at the star-filled sky and sought Deus. It was a natural instinct that he had cultivated his entire life. Guide me, Lord. Keep my mind sharp and focused. Show me what I’m supposed to discover while I’m here.

He glanced at Zoe’s sleeping form. He wondered if she believed in Deus and Christus. He was under the impression that she was familiar with the Lord, perhaps even believed in His existence, but she seemed too hostile and lost to actually be a devoted follower of the True King. Christus, make Yourself known to her. She needs your love and guidance, whether she will admit to it or not. Nothing else will fill the emptiness that is inside of her, nor heal the pain that continuously stalks her. Her pride keeps her from earnestly seeking You; I humbly ask that You allow nothing, not even her pride and self-reliance, to keep You from bringing her to her knees before You.

Tancred stared into the fire, mesmerized by the smoldering flames. Grant us all the protection that you have extended to me since I first began this lifestyle. I care little for myself or my life, for all I am is Yours. But I wish nothing ill on those who are with me.

His thoughts meandered to his father and his heart clenched. Just a few miles from here lay the place of his father’s death. It never failed to put him in an introspective mood when he came near the city. He remembered Liam Ralyn well, which he viewed as a blessing and a curse: a blessing, for he would always cherish the memories of Liam; a curse, for those recollections were just recollections and would never be more than that. And now there were no more chances to create additional memories with his father. I will probably never understand why You took him, he prayed slowly, his fist clenching. But Deus, I will keep striving; endeavoring to trust You, though that choice is never without accompanying pain. Place me where You can use me. I will persist to serve you.

The night grew deeper and later but still he sought the Unseen One for more strength and courage to reinforce his spirit. The fire danced silently and Tancred’s prayers wended up into the velvet heavens like the faintly glinting golden sparks.

Chapter XIV - Departure

He saved my life.

Zoe knew the truth but could hardly admit it, even to herself in the privacy of her thoughts. She mechanically took the saddle off Brac and slipped his bridle over his ears, setting the equipment where she could clean it later. As she inspected her horse’s wounds and began cleaning them, the scene where Tancred came streaking down the hill into the battle and saved her from the Elangsian’s sword continued replaying through her mind. She had seen the blow coming out of the corner of her eye but had been unable to do anything about it, so occupied was she with the other two soldiers. She had known with sickening certainty that she was going to be wounded, and badly wounded at that.

And then… she shook her head. Why did he save me like that?

She pursed her lips and forced herself to focus on Brac’s neck wound. Her confusion could wait until later; right now her horse needed her full attention. She began applying a poultice she had that was used for wounds. “Fool,” she told him in a soft voice as his muscles quivered under her touch. “You stupid, lovable fool. You will not be ready for travel for many days now.” Without proper rest and time for healing, Brac would reopen his wounds, especially the one inflicted to his neck. For an instant, she wondered how Brac’s injuries would affect her planned departure for Ruma. She shoved that away. I’ll think about that later.

Brac shuddered as she gently put the salve over his wound but stood staunchly until she had finished. Zoe walked to his head and looked deep into his pain-clouded but still proud eyes. “For all your brashness, I would not change you one whit,” she whispered, touching their foreheads together. “Thank you for the help with that Elangsian commander, too.”

“You brought down a commander?” Tancred’s question was uttered quietly, almost casually, from where he stood behind her. “That is not bad work in an afternoon. And that’s not considering the three others you disposed of as well.”

Zoe lifted her head but kept her back turned to the Hunter. “Thank you,” she replied formally, feeling stiff and uncomfortable.

“You’re welcome,” he responded just as courteously.

Zoe frowned. She could tell he was inwardly laughing at her. She could even imagine the twinkle that must be shining in his eyes. Twisting around, hands settling on her hips, she was surprised to find him a lot closer than she had expected. He leaned against a tree about three feet away, his arms crossed and eyebrow cocked. He dipped his head and said pleasantly, “Good day to you, Mistress Zoe.”

“Good day,” she answered guardedly. “You returned from Bryndor, I see.”

“Very astute of you to notice,” he replied with a slow grin.

She glowered. Arrogant as always, she thought with disgust. He’ll never change.

His smile faded and he added, more to himself then her, “But I won’t remain here very much longer.”

“You’re going away again?” She couldn’t stop the question from coming.

He considered her with a thoughtful, slightly cynical look on his face. “I am,” he finally said, his voice deep. “The king had a mission waiting for me, as I thought he might. I leave in the morning.”

Zoe looked away, intently studying the bark of a nearby tree. Now, Zoe, her inner voice urged her. Speak!

Why are words of thanks so difficult to speak? she wondered cynically, mustering her courage and forcing down her pride.

“I…um,” she stumbled over her words painfully, “I owe you thanks for coming to my aid during the skirmish.” I would not have been able to defend myself without you, she silently added, a little reluctantly.

He stepped a little closer and said, “Look at me please.”

She met his gaze unflinchingly, hiding all she felt under an impassive exterior. He smiled suddenly. “You’re welcome.”

She released a breath she had not realized she was holding and managed a tentative smile back. “So, where are you going in the morning?” She turned to Brac’s gear and gathered the bridle and saddle pad up. She was about to reach for the saddle when Tancred scooped it up as naturally as if he carried her saddle for her every day. Unsettled by his move, she said nothing and listened to his answer while they walked to her nearby tent.

“I will ride north, with Jaedon,” Tancred’s voice turned grim. “There are rumors of a coming battle brewing.”

She laughed shortly. “I thought that we already knew there was a war going on. Battles are fought everyday, like the skirmish we won just today.” They reached her tent and she ducked inside to grab her leather polish. Bringing it out, she sat on a nearby log and began rubbing the bridle down, continuing with a trace of sarcasm, “What is so terrible about another battle?”

“The Wild Men of Rulaan—a country further north than Elangsia—are possibly planning an alliance with the Elangsians. Such an alliance would mean almost certain defeat for Aerilya if we were caught unawares by their attacking forces. I am going to prove, or disprove, the rumors,” Tancred elucidated, “by going to Ruma to pick up the latest reports.”

Ruma! Zoe stopped stock-still and looked at him keenly. “You’re going to Ruma?” Her words came out more forcefully than she intended and his gaze sharpened.

“Yes.”

“You’ll be Cormac again, I suppose.” She forced her voice to become more level and looked back at the bridle. It glowed from her vigorous rubbing. She laid it carefully on a woolen cloth inside her tent and returned to begin on the saddle. She glanced up at Tancred, who still had not responded. “You will be Cormac, right?”

“Yes,” he answered finally. “That is the reason I returned here instead of going straight from Bryndor to Ruma. I need to collect a few artifacts I keep on hand here. They serve to support my facade as a merchant.” He smiled without humor.

Zoe continued wiping the saddle, her thoughts moving far away, and did not reply. A moment of silence passed between them, interrupted by Geoffrey, who ran up and skidded to a halt in front of her.

“Zoe! You did a great job out there,” he exclaimed breathlessly. “You fought four Elangsians at once!”

She smiled faintly at him. “Thank you, Geoffrey, but I believe a great deal of the glory belongs to your leader.” She motioned toward Tancred before carrying the newly cleaned saddle into her tent. Reemerging a second later, she nodded to the two men. “Good afternoon,” she said with quiet finality, and walked swiftly away. She had to think.

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Tancred watched Zoe stride off, one hand settled on his hip and the other resting casually on the hilt of his dagger. She was completely thrown off by him right now and hated showing her uncertainty. Interesting, he thought. Geoffrey was rattling on about something, so Tancred turned to him and listened for a moment. When the teenager stopped to draw breath, Tancred inserted, “Geoffrey, I spotted your sword outside the tent you share with your friend Richard. It is in need of cleaning.”

Geoffrey’s face turned red in mortification. “Oh…I had forgotten,” he mumbled weakly.

“No soldier can fight without his sword,” Tancred pointed out kindly. “Blood rusts it faster than anything. Clean it and report to Lance or Warrick when you’re finished.”

“Aye, Hunter,” Geoffrey said eagerly, turning and running to his living quarters, which were far on the other side of the large camp.

Tancred surveyed the encampment quietly. He had already taken care of Chale, cleaned his sword, and collected the artifacts he would be taking to Ruma the next morning. Now he had to speak with his men before he left again. Warrick and Lance especially needed orders and guidance, though he was pleased with everything they had completed during his absence in Bryndor. His thoughts turned to his mother, too, and he glanced toward her tent to see if she were close by. Her horse was gone, so he assumed she was off hunting or merely taking a ride through the woods, as she loved to do. I’ll speak with her later, he decided.

The rest of the evening was spent touring the camp and reconnecting with his men. They all had kind words and encouragement to give him. Again, he felt the burden of honor that had been placed on his shoulders when he had taken up the name of his father. It seemed to grow heavier with each passing year, but it was a weight he was accustomed to; a challenge that he relished.

Night arrived. The forest was cloaked in the darkness of the evening; fires were stirred to life; conversations grew muted and hushed. Tancred shared a pot of stew with a dozen men and joined them in recounted humorous stories from months and years past. After much laughter and friendly bantering Tancred stood, slipped away from the fire pit, and sought out Warrick.

Warrick was an old grizzled man with a nasty scar that ran from his scalp all the way down through his eye and cheek, ending finally at the bottom of his right jawbone. The healed skin was puckered and shone white in the moonlight; his unseeing eye was oddly healed over with scar tissue, adding to his somewhat sinister appearance. Nevertheless, he was a man to be trusted and that was exactly what Tancred did.

“Hunter,” Warrick said gruffly.

“Good evening, Warrick,” Tancred replied. The two surveyed the fire-lit camp for a few long moments before Tancred spoke. “I am leaving in the morning with Jaedon. We are returning to Ruma.”

Warrick grunted. “I expected as much. So do most the men, if it eases your mind at all.”

“I would rather be here with them.”

“We all know that, lad,” Warrick said kindly, turning his good eye toward the young man. “You’re not one to run from responsibility. But right now you are bound to serve the king, and serve him you will.”

“Aye.” Tancred sighed and then rallied himself. “You and my mother will oversee the camp, of course. I think Kris is planning to return sometime in the near future, but I do not know how long she will stay.”

Warrick smiled crookedly. “It would do me good to see Mistress Kristalyn. It has been too long.”

“Indeed it has been,” Tancred agreed quietly. He felt twinges of melancholy at the thought that he would miss the visit of his sister; they did not see each other often anymore. Next time, he promised himself. Just get through this mission first.

“I will be leaving at first light tomorrow,” Tancred said. “Thank you, Warrick.”

Warrick looked at him steadily, his good eye serious in the flicker of the nearest fire. “You’re welcome, Hunter,” he replied steadily. “We will look for your return with gladness.”

Tancred dipped his head in thanks and strode away.

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Morning came quickly. Tancred had all his supplies tied to Chale’s back and his knee-length boots pulled on before the day had fully dawned. Egan was still curled up in his personal hollow in a nearby tree trunk, slumbering deeply. Tiny wheezing sounds came from the little pseudo-dragon’s throat as he slept. The creature understood that he could not come with Tancred on missions to Ruma; a merchant like Cormac Alstair would not possess a pseudo-dragon. Egan would come to him there only if there was an emergency communication from Shyla or Kristalyn.

Tancred hoped his sister was faring well. He would not see her now for an indefinite amount of time—he would be in Ruma and she was always roaming Aerilya, Mairbrac, and parts of Elangsia. Perhaps upon my return she will be here at the camp, he thought resignedly.

The summer weather brought a vaguely stifling layer of humidity to the air, which Tancred felt as he walked through the camp. He and Jaedon were going to travel on foot to Ruma, stretching the trip from three days to a week. It was the only way to get the artifacts into Ruma without bringing a wagon, which would give them a lot more trouble than walking would.

The sun was just beginning to peek over the far horizon when Tancred arrived at the northern edge of the camp. Jaedon and his mother Shyla were both waiting for him. He greeted Jaedon and turned to Shyla. “I wondered if I would see you before I left,” he said.

She smiled. “Did you think I’d let my son go all the way back to Elangsia without seeing him off? I was busy last night or I would have seen you then.”

Tancred wondered what she had been doing the previous evening but she said no more to clarify her words. Pulling his head down, she kissed his cheek. “Have a safe trip,” she told him, suddenly serious. “You know the dangers as well as I.”

“Yes,” he responded quietly. “I will be all right.”

“Perhaps it is not you I am worried about.”

He stared at her in mystification. What? “You think Jaedon will give me extra grief this trip?” he teased, expertly hiding his slight uncertainty.

Jaedon’s quiet answering guffaw did not help elucidate matters any. If there was one thing Tancred detested, it was not knowing what was going on, and he suspected his mother and mentor both knew something he was not aware of.

Shyla looked pointedly behind him. That, in addition to the sound of a clearing throat, tipped Tancred off.

He turned and stared at Zoe with raised eyebrows, clearly asking her: What are you doing here? She was wearing the long cloak he had given her back in Ruma and had a pack thrown on her back, plainly prepared for traveling.

She matched his expression and folded her arms over her chest. “You’re going to Ruma,” she said simply, as if that should explain everything.

Tancred tried to hide his frustration. He had had enough trouble last time trying to keep an eye on her in Ruma. What were Jaedon and his mother thinking? Spying was a treacherous profession, and every time Tancred returned, it was worse. Bringing Zoe along was asking for additional problems. Tancred knew it would be difficult enough looking out for Jaedon and himself without adding a young woman into the mix.

“Excuse me?” he finally managed to get out. To his relief, his voice was level and devoid of emotion.

“You’re going to Ruma,” Zoe repeated with a mixture of steel-like resolve and quiet logic. “Grace and the other slave women are there. I was going to go there myself to free them, but as you are going, I decided to come along. That is, if you’ll have me.” She lifted her chin with characteristic stubbornness.

Tancred looked hard at his mother. “She’s going with or without us?” he asked tightly.

“Yes,” Zoe answered self-assuredly.

Shyla added, “I believe your negotiations are with her, not me, son. However, I will make one thing clear: she is going to Ruma. She made that decision by herself already. The question is, will she go with you or alone?”

As if I would let her go alone, Tancred thought with a trace of exasperation. That’s even more dangerous. “What about your stallion? Where is he?” Tancred turned back to Zoe and grasped at weak arguments.

A flash of pain entered her face, breaching her calm expression and laying her bare for a moment. “I will not be bringing him,” she managed in a low voice. “He is still wounded. The men will look after him.”

Tancred felt stirred by Zoe’s swift show of vulnerability, but forced up his outer shields and hardened himself against emotion. He stared at her almost harshly. “Do you even understand what situation you are getting into? It is perilous in Ruma; there are many people there who would like to kill me.”

“I know,” Zoe said calmly, her gaze firm but touched with a bit of…hesitance? Tancred was not sure.

Then he realized why she would feel uncertain. She doesn’t like me much, nor was her last experience in Ruma much to her liking. She is going for those other women, women she knew for a week at most. She is going back there to face difficulty…simply to help them. Admiration touched him briefly.

He sighed. His choice was as difficult but quite clear.

“You may come with us.”

è è è è è è è è è

He’s allowing me to come, Zoe thought. Then, even as her relief soared, uncertainty also multiplied. Now I’ve just sentenced myself to weeks around Tancred—or rather, Cormac, for that is who he will be in Ruma. And I’m leaving Brac here, voluntarily separating myself from my only link to Aiden! I must be crazy.

“Thank you,” she replied to him evenly, her thoughts blazing through her in a split second. Whatever else happened, she would not lower herself to exposing her feelings to Tancred. That would be the ultimate humiliation.

He continued looking at her piercingly; she felt uncomfortable but straightened her spine and blanked her expression.

“You are ready, Mistress Zoe?” asked Jaedon.

She nodded at him. “Yes.” She looked at Shyla and hesitantly walked forward. “Thank you for helping me pack,” she said awkwardly. Why are my words always less than what I want them to be? “I…I appreciate it.”

Shyla smiled and to Zoe’s astonishment, the woman drew her into a quick embrace. Zoe was a little stiff and cautiously wrapped her arms around the woman before stepping away. She could not remember the last time she had been held close by someone in such a way. It both unnerved her and reopened a deep ache inside her that never seemed to go away.

“Deus be with you all,” Shyla said warmly.

“Deus’s face shine on you and give you peace,” Tancred and Jaedon responded.

Zoe followed the two men as they left the camp. The crisp, succulent ferns snapped under her boots and brushed against her legs. The air was tinged with the thick, achingly familiar smell of the sun’s warm summer rays as it filtered through the forest leaves and gave life to the plants. Just like in Braedoch, she thought grimly.

Trying to distract herself, she listened intently to the calls of the birds and ripple of nearby streams and—

A furious, inhuman scream rose from the camp that had faded into the trees behind them. Zoe whirled, her heart leaping with surprise. What in the world…? A loud crash sounded and Brac exploded out of a clump of pine trees, trailed by three of Tancred’s men who grabbed wildly at the stallion’s trailing tether. Zoe leaped forward as Brac reared unto his hind legs and pawed the air with his powerful forelegs. She recognized the fierce light in her horse’s eyes with a detached feeling of resignation; in his current state, he simply would not be reasoned with.

“Stop!” Zoe yelled at the men in warning, darting between them and Brac. “Don’t touch his tether!”

The men backed away, wide-eyed, clearly relieved to leave the enraged horse alone. “He just bolted a moment ago,” one explained a little shakily. “We tried to contain him, but he wouldn’t have any of it.”

“Thank you,” she told them, watching Brac plant his front legs firmly on the ground again, tearing up the soft turf. He tossed his head and glared at her. She avoided his gaze non-threateningly as she spoke to the three men in a soft voice, “It was nothing you did. Please inform Lady Shyla that I will be taking my horse with me.”

“Yes, Mistress” they all said, hastily retreating to the camp without further protest.

Zoe turned her attention to Brac, blocking all else from her awareness. She slowly reached out and grasped the long tether, which looked to have been chewed loose from the tree he had been tied to. Brac had never done such a thing before; she was a little surprised. She touched his neck and he stopped throwing his head around. His eyes locked with hers. A moment later, his nose bobbed up to nudge her forehead.

Zoe shook her head. “I should have known you would not stay back there without me. You cannot blame me for wanting to protect you, though. Your wounds are still so fresh…”

Brac exhaled with a rough snort, obviously not concerned or in much pain. She pulled back and inspected the gashes she had meticulously sewn. His neck appeared to be all right, but the chest scratch had reopened. “You’re lucky this isn’t worse,” she grumbled to him.

“You will bring him with us?” Jaedon’s mild inquiry broke through Zoe’s thoughts. “He appears capable of traveling.”

She turned to the two men. “I think he’s made the decision for me,” she stated flatly.

Tancred’s eyes crinkled with smile lines, obviously amused by Brac’s display of obstinacy. He asked, “Do you want to tend to his chest wound before we leave?”

Five minutes later, Brac was cared for and docilely followed Zoe through the woods as the three travelers struck out again. Zoe fingered his tether with a small smile and inhaled deeply. She tried to drink in all the life around her, knowing that once they were in Ruma the birds would be far away and the air would not smell as sweet. Despite that knowledge, on she strode. It had been long months since she had seen Grace; it was time to find her.

As she listened to Brac’s hooves squelch in the mud, she realized abruptly that it was now about the time of year it had been when she and her siblings had been exiled. Can it have been two years now? she wondered. No...it has been more than two years but a month or so. It was late spring, not summer when we were banished.

Typically, she pushed thoughts of the banishment from her mind before they grew detailed, finding them ever difficult to dwell on. Now she forced herself to remember it, down to the expressions on Duard and her siblings’ faces when the pronouncement had been given that fateful day in the central chamber of their home. Her thoughts expanded and branched out: again, she felt the gut-wrenching anger and fear that she had faced those two long years ago. She never wanted to forget what she had gone through…what her siblings had gone through.

And yet, she never wanted to remember.

She continued advancing northward, her back straight and shoulders thrown back. The least I can do for Grace is ensure that her life does not play out like mine has. No one ought to be separated involuntarily from their family. Her eyes narrowed. I intend to find Grace when I’m in Ruma if it’s the last thing I accomplish on this earth.

Chapter XIII - Skirmish

TWO YEARS, TWO MONTHS

Tancred squinted against the rising sun and surveyed Mairbrac Forest. The forest lay before him like a great dark-scaled dragon that slumbered in a carelessly sprawled position. Chale arched his neck and inhaled deeply, his delicate nostrils flaring. Jaedon’s horse also stepped eagerly onward; both creatures sensed they were close to home. In only a bit over half a day, they would be back at the Hunter’s camp. Tancred and Jaedon had made good time, completing the trek back in only three days.

Egan swooped down and flew parallel to Tancred’s head. The pseudo-dragon had taken to the skies for most of the journey back to Mairbrac, coming to rest on Tancred’s shoulders only at the end of each day. Now he purred gently, his golden eyes keenly roving the forest. “Be patient, Egan,” Tancred remonstrated with a quiet laugh. “We’ll be home long before dark.” Chale broke into a canter for a few paces and then slowed to a trot once more, clods of dark earth flying up from under his hooves. Tancred laid a steadying hand on his stallion’s neck and stared thoughtfully at the approaching forest. We’ll be there before dark, he thought in a deliberate sort of way, but I expect we shall leave it before morning’s light, too.

He had worked out the finer details of the coming mission with King Trystellan and his panel of advisors before taking his leave of the castle. Jaedon was to accompany him to Ruma, as always. Before Tancred could leave for the Elangsian capital, however, he had to return to his camp to collect the trading artifacts that he kept stored there. He had contacts who kept him well supplied with the Meruvian artifacts, but he never carried the relics with him, keeping them stored safely away at camp. Now he would collect several of the smaller, more manageable items and head back to Ruma.

Back to being Cormac Alstair, he thought with a cool look entering his eyes. Back to being the unemotional trader, the man who hears all and sees all without appearing to do so. It was always a challenge preparing his mind for spying missions, but it was a vital step that could not be forgotten or put off. Without his mentality re-trained to think like Cormac, he could easily make fatal mistakes. Gone must be the Hunter and Tancred Ralyn. In their place would be Cormac Alstair, Meruvian merchant.

Deus, help me, he prayed grimly. I am returning to the den of the enemy…give me the courage to battle them not with the strength of my arm, but with the cunning of my mind.

è è è è è è è è è

At mid-morning, Zoe walked to the cobbler’s tent. Niles looked up as she entered and smiled warmly, his laugh lines crinkling. “Mistress Zoe! How goes it for you?”

“Well enough, Master Niles,” she replied. She reached down, pulled off her boot, and continued, “But I fear not so well for my boot. It needs some attention.”

Niles took the shoe that she offered him and whistled. “This has seen years of hard usage.” He examined the soles, which had begun to part from the rest of the boot, and remarked, “They were well made, though. How old are they?”

“They were new three years ago,” Zoe said impassively.

“Three? You are in need of both repair and burial,” he told the boot with a rough guffaw. “I must say, Mistress Zoe, that burial would be more merciful to the poor thing.”

She smiled faintly. She would not tell him that she would never throw them away, simply because she and Taerith had labored together to make them back in Braedoch. “Please just repair them, Niles,” she requested quietly.

He shrugged and got to work. Thirty minutes later, both of Zoe’s boots had received some much-needed care while she sat at the small nearby fire and dried her stocking feet. To her mild disgust, she had accidentally tramped in a puddle of water on her way to the cobbler’s tent. After thanking Niles and walking out with dry feet, she turned toward the cluster of trees where she kept Brac.

He greeted her with a whicker before she came within sight of him. Ducking under a pine branch, she ran her hand down his muscular neck, which was sleek with his fine-haired summer coat. “Hey,” she murmured, inhaling his rich scent. “Ready for some exercise?”

He bobbed his head and she grinned. He was wearing a rope halter and tethered to the pine, but she had left his saddle back in her tent. “Oh well,” she said. “You won’t throw me, will you?”

Brac turned one dark eye on her and she laughed at the incrimination she thought she glimpsed in his stare. She untied him and looped the rope over his head. When she vaulted unto his back, she took care to stoop her head to avoid several low hanging branches. She wrapped her arms around his neck and nudged his sides with her legs. Once they were free of the trees, she sat erect and relaxed.

“G’morning, Mistress Zoe,” Hartley, one of the first men she had met after arrival, nodded respectfully at her as she rode by. She smiled back and responded in kind. She and Brac made their way through the encampment at a steady pace; she allowed Brac his head to roam where he willed. She spoke with many of the men as she passed. Zoe had made numerous friends during her stay at the Hunter’s camp. It would be difficult when she had to depart.

The thought of leaving came to her suddenly and quickly sobered her. Still, it must be done. She was sensible enough to separate reality from thoughtlessness. Grace awaits me in Ruma. Her sister…what was her name? Riana? She probably thinks her little sister dead. And in the meantime, Grant and countless other slavers continue to kidnap more people and sell them like animals. Just thinking about the situation made her blood run hot within her veins. Calm, Zoe.

Her thoughts shifted slightly. It had been three days since her dream, or vision, or whatever it had been in her tent. She had woken the day after the occurrence and lain still, wondering if it had actually happened. Now as she thought back to it, she came to the same conclusion she had three days ago: the Presence, the feeling of peace, the calm blue light…it had been real. She now had to decide what to do because of it.

Brac halted and Zoe slid off his bare back. They were on a small hill above a stream; Zoe absently recalled that it was the same knoll she had stood on when she first had a long conversation with Tancred Ralyn. Tancred who had been Cormac and was now the Hunter. A sigh came from somewhere deep within her, causing Brac to nuzzle her shoulder questioningly.

“I’m all right,” she murmured. Just confused.

She turned to look at her horse closer. His intelligent eyes shone back, meeting her gaze. “We’ve been her for just over four months,” she began quietly, “and we’ve helped stop five slavers and raided four Elangsian battalions. That’s not bad work, Brac.”

He whuffed in agreement.

She considered him, rubbing the softest part of his muzzle with the back of her index finger. “But it’s still not enough. This stupid war has been going on for so long—twelve and a half years. The slave trade has been going almost as long, too. I wonder how many Elangsian slaves are Aerilyan by birth, separated from their families for these long years?” A terrible thought entered her mind. “Or, how many of them have died before they ever returned to their home in Aerilya?” She said nothing for a very long time, staring blankly at the lush forest that surrounded her.

“Their situation is like mine,” she finally spoke again, softly and deliberately. “The only difference is that they have hope…and I…” her voice trailed off. They have a chance to see their families again, no matter how slim. They can cling to some bedtime story about the Hunter when they are in captivity, hoping against hope that someday they will be free and reunited with their loved ones. Their hope cannot be mine, though.

A strangely cool breeze blew from somewhere, smacking her cheek harshly. She inhaled sharply and looked around, but the wind had died to nothing.

Their hope is your hope. Their peace is your peace.

Her heart pounded hard and she swallowed carefully. The whisper in her mind echoed and reechoed, drumming into her skull. She prided herself on not backing down from a fight, but she had a feeling in the pit of her stomach that if she fought against this Presence, she would not win. Deus? Can it be? She looked around and saw nothing. “Deus…Christus! If You are there, show Yourself,” she challenged under her breath.

Nothing but the steady rushing of the stream answered her confronting words. She waited, but no voice came from the skies, no breeze tousled her hair, no peace blanketed her soul.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, frustrated with herself. She believed in Deus—yes, she always had believed. But the line between belief and devotion was not one she wanted to cross, not yet. I don’t have enough assurance that Deus will come through on His end of the bargain, she thought darkly. Trust works both ways. And now, it’s time to go to Ruma. Her thoughts ended sourly: Deus, I’m going…with You or without You.

She felt like an impatient, rebellious child and hated herself for it. It was too late to go back on her thoughts now though. She would leave. The only question was when.

She glanced around herself and traced her foot over the ground. Her sole left a furrow in the dirt. Next week. That will give me enough time to get food together and pack what I need.

Loud crashes sounded from the woods behind Zoe, and she whirled, her hand flying to one of the knives at her belt.

“Zoe! Quick, c’mon!”

She looked down to see Geoffrey below her, a mixture of mad excitement and nervousness in his eyes. “What is it, Geoffrey?” she asked, forcing her grasp on the handle of her dagger to relax.

“An Elangsian battalion,” he explained. “Lance is going to ride out with a few of the men to fight them and said I could come too. I thought you might be a good asset, you being so good with weapons…and all.” His voice trailed of a little near the end. He was obviously slightly embarrassed to be paying her compliments.

She smiled a little, amused, and nodded. “All right, I’ll come,” she agreed. It can’t hurt to stop one more battalion before I leave. She swung up on Brac fluidly and rode down to Geoffrey. “Hop on,” she ordered. “He can carry the both of us back to camp.”

“Yes indeed!” Geoffrey replied with awe, carefully scrambling on behind her. Zoe had allowed nobody on her stallion since arriving at camp so the boy realized what a privilege it was.

They cantered into the camp and Zoe rode straight up to Lance, who was surrounded by a group of men. “We will ride with you,” she answered his questioning gaze.

Lance smiled at her in the warm way he seemed wont to view her with recently. “As you wish, Mistress Zoe. Saddle your mount quickly and come with us. We are glad for your company.”

Zoe dropped Geoffrey off by his horse, a sturdy pony with a thick coat and heavy feathers around his hooves, and trotted Brac back to her tent. Sliding off his back, she ducked inside, grabbed his tack, and again hurried out into the afternoon. She had her stallion bridled and saddled in several minutes, and he snorted eagerly. He sensed the excitement in the air; the tense feeling that always came before combat.

She checked her quiver for arrows and slid her bow over the bow of the saddle. With quick, practiced movements, her sword was strapped to her back and she was in the saddle. Armed and prepared, she rode back to join the group of men. She knew Lance and Geoffrey the most of everyone in the assemblage, but several other faces were familiar to her: Jerome, a seasoned warrior; Richard, young and green but a sturdy arm and good friend to Geoffrey; and York, a renowned archer. Altogether they made a company of about twenty, a formidable force to confront.

“The battalion was spotted a mile to the east,” Lance said, his voice loud so that everyone could hear him. “When you see them, engage them in battle with the rest of the group. We will triumph when we fight together, not in a splintered formation.”

“Aye!” the men called back lustily, raising their swords.

Lance grinned, his dimple appearing deep in his cheek, and lifted his sword with them. “Ride!”

The group thundered out of the camp. Zoe leaned forward on Brac’s neck, her braid whipping behind her like a fiery rope. She was well on her way to becoming an experienced fighter, but always before each encounter, she fought a feeling of apprehension. The sensation would disappear after the first stroke of her sword or twang of her bowstring, but she had come to realize that she had to distract her mind before the clash or she would lose her nerve. Now she made herself focus on the sound of Brac’s hooves and twitch of his alert ears, keeping her mind away from the coming skirmish.

It began almost before she knew it. They rounded a steep, pine-covered hillock and almost ran headlong into the Elangsian forces. Zoe drew her sword with a rasp of metal and dropped her knotted reins; Brac knew what to do without her directing him. A startled Elangsian soldier lifted his sword to meet hers but misjudged her swiftness. He died silently, his eyes staring blankly as he toppled from his mount. Zoe turned away quickly, pushing his features forcefully out of her mind, and faced the next man who was much more prepared for her attack. They locked swords and began slashing away. All around them was the ring of metal on metal, intermixed with the zip of flying arrows, the fierce battle calls of the commanders, and the screams of the wounded or dying. She eventually disposed of the man in front of her and heeled Brac into the melee in front of her.

She knew the faces of each man she killed would come back to haunt her later, in the hours of darkness. When it was night and everyone but the sentries had retired to their tents, she would lay awake and think of them, and their families who would never see them again. She always told herself that they would have killed her ruthlessly if given the chance, but it never seemed to help.

Just then, Brac reared high with a scream of fury, and Zoe saw a spurt of blood coming from his chest. The man she was fighting had slipped his sword low and sliced Brac, causing the horse to reel backwards in pain. Zoe fought to stay on the enraged stallion but it was a losing struggle; she toppled back to land in a patch of soft plants with succulent tendrils.

She sat up, shook her head to clear her scrambled thoughts, and rose a little unsteadily to her feet. It had been a long time since she had been thrown from her horse’s back. She looked up and her heart almost stopped.

“Brac!” she yelled, sprinted forward. “No!”

Her stallion had leapt toward the mounted soldier—the commander, she noticed with vague surprise—with bared teeth and ears laid back. His eyes were sparking angry fire, his head outstretched with unmistakable ill intent. Zoe raised her sword aloft after reaching Brac’s side and squarely met the downward arching blade of the Elangsian commander. Brac’s teeth found their mark on the commander’s arm and he jerked the man out of his saddle with a vicious pull. Zoe finished him off as he was struggling against Brac, but the commander’s dagger left a deep parting gash on Brac’s neck.

Zoe muttered angrily under her breath and swung back unto her horse. “You idiot!” she ground out, her teeth clenched.

He snorted back, still brimming with rage at the attack. Zoe looked up and saw four Elangsians riding toward her. They obviously had seen their commander fall and were keen on bringing down the lone soldier and her horse that had done the deed. Glancing around quickly, Zoe realized she was boxed in: the hillock was at her back, too steep for Brac to clamber up quickly enough; and the Elangsian foursome who closed in on her at a gallop, blood-lust in their eyes, had ended all chance of escaping to the right or left.

Readying her sword and drawing a dagger, Zoe awaited the onslaught. Brac pawed the ground and trumpeted a stallion’s challenge, then charged forward to meet the enemy.

è è è è è è è è è

Tancred raised his arm and Jaedon pulled his gelding to a quick stop. “Do you hear something?” Tancred asked quietly, his eyes roving the forest landscape around them.

Jaedon listened intently. “A skirmish,” he said finally. He pointed ahead and slightly to the left. “In that direction.”

“That’s what I thought as well,” Tancred replied. He drew his sword and Jaedon’s blade responded with an answering ring. They exchanged a glance and urged their horses forward into a canter. Chale wove through the trees swiftly, naturally taking the lead by a half-length in front of Jaedon’s mount. Egan had flown ahead of them to the camp, so he was not around to accompany them. All the better, Tancred thought. He would get a wing cut off; he’s too impetuous.

They were nearing the battle quickly, and Tancred pulled up on Chale’s reins when they reached the top of a rise. Below them, in a miniature valley of sorts, a fierce skirmish raged. Tancred easily picked out his own men from the Elangsians and rapidly judged the situation. “The odds are in our favor; the Elangsians are weakening,” he muttered to Jaedon. “Let’s finish them.”

“Aye,” Jaedon replied, his voice ringing with anticipation.

Their horses leapt down the hill and Tancred steeled himself for the jolt that would come when he entered the fray. He was almost to the edge of the combat when a flash of unmistakable auburn-red caught his gaze: Zoe. Tancred saw her atop her injured stallion, backed up against a nearby hill, furiously fighting three Elangisan soldiers. She had wounded one of them, who lay on the ground with a long handled dagger through a rift in his leather armor at his shoulder, but she was obviously suffering beneath the heavily raining blows of the others. Jerking Chale’s reins around, Tancred galloped toward them.

Releasing his legendary war cry, and with his blue eyes spitting icy fire, he burst into the isolated ring of battle, slashed his powerful sword around, and blocked the blow that would have severed Zoe’s unprotected arm. Why isn’t she wearing some sort of armor? he wondered furiously. Thrusting the thought from his mind, he focused on his opponents. Zoe delivered a blow to the man she was fighting and Tancred took on the other two.

They were obviously thrown off guard by his sudden entrance and quick attack; one of them he felled with a single swipe. The other he fought for a moment before leaving a deep gash in his upper arm and simultaneously disarming him. The Elangsian stared at him with wide eyes that were set in a sweaty face. He clamped his jaw tight and looked at Tancred defiantly. “Do it then!” he cried. “Kill me!”

Tancred looked long at him before glancing around the rest of the grove. The fight had quickly turned ill for the Elangsians. They were subdued: all were dead or captured at sword or knifepoint. Bodies littered the glade and the air was already tinged with the unmistakable, almost metallic stench of blood.

His gaze returned to his own captive, and he shook his head slowly. “I won’t kill you,” he said evenly. “You and your remaining companions will return to Elangsia.” He raised his blood-stained sword and brushed the man’s throat with it. The Elangsian visibly gulped, his wounded arm trembling involuntarily. The silence around them was deafening.

“Tell your king that the Hunter allows none to ride unchallenged through his land. Don’t return here,” Tancred finished in a very quiet tone.

A few moments passed, and then the remaining Elangsians mounted a nearby steed and turned northward. Several of the wounded were helped to straddle a friend’s horse and within five minutes they had all disappeared over the hills, wearing a strange mixture of humiliation and chagrin upon their faces.

The heavy hoofbeats of a slowly approaching steed came from his left and he turned to see Lance approaching. The young man saluted him with a rakish smile, a lock of his hair plastered to his forehead. “Welcome back, sir.”

A slow grin worked its way up Tancred’s face and he clapped Lance on the shoulder. “What a welcome,” he said, shaking his head. The men cheered, and Tancred motioned to their surroundings. “Have the men stay and clear out what remains of the skirmish. Clean the weapons and collect the loose horses and reusable armor. Bury the dead.”

“Aye, sire,” Lance said quickly. He heeled his horse around and began dispatching the orders with the ease of much practice.

Tancred sat still on Chale for a moment, and then turned his head to look beside him. Zoe was still seated on Brac a couple paces to his right; her features were motionless and unreadable. Loose strands of hair that had worked free of her braid stuck to her sweaty face and neck. She met his gaze evenly and ever so slowly inclined her head to him. Just as calmly, he nodded back to her. She glanced around at the dead men, lingering a little longer on the one who had almost cut her arm off—the one Tancred had stopped. Tancred knew what she was thinking but would not say: Thank you for your help.

She tugged Brac’s reins and she and the stallion moved slowly back toward camp.