A Woman Warrior Born Read online

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  When Breea came back to herself, she did not move. Fragments of sunlight drifted slowly across the ferns, and the stream gurgled beyond her vision. A wren warbled. Raising her head frightened a grasshopper sitting on a frond. It flew across the grass in the sun, wings clicking.

  The carcass of the stag lay as she last saw it. The wolf was gone. Breea gathered her sling and got up stiffly, feeling chilled. Stumbling into afternoon sun, she found that she was treading in untouched grass. There was no sign of her tracks from the stream to the fern bank. Such things happened occasionally since Ajalay had taught her how to listen, though Breea had yet to mention them to the Tetr-Sanis. They occurred only in the forest, and were personal somehow, private, like her relationship with Ambard.

  Without approaching too closely, she studied the area near the stag. For a long while she stared at the ground there.

  The grass was wilted and beginning to rot where the beast had stood. Deep boot prints, the largest she had ever seen, led away from the carcass. Scanning the area for other sign, she searched for anything to give explanation other than the one she knew and feared, but found only tracks that told the tale she had witnessed, then boots walking away upstream. Trying to fathom what it meant, this thing she had seen, left her cold. On impulse, she started tracking the boot prints, but stumbled to a halt.

  Run! said something within, and she obeyed, going downhill with the stream, tucking away her hunting stone and wrapping her sling about her as she went. At a jumble of boulders she crossed the stream going rock to rock, and set out through the forest toward her house, picking the route in her mind, following it at her fastest pace. Fervently, she prayed for rain to cover her scent.

  The familiar forest whisked past as she leapt fallen trees, ducked branches, and scrambled hillsides. Though the sun was beginning to move behind Eagogan Peak, she made a detour to Rainpool Rock, the last water until home.

  Panting, she made her way up the only climbable section, a narrow chimney crack. A sun-warmed pond sprawled across the boulder top, and she drank, careful not to take too much, then lay by the water, resting. To keep thoughts of the thing just seen at bay, she thought instead of the day she had led Ambard to this pool.

  The huntsman had been tracking her run all that morning, never revealing himself. When she finally slowed to be "caught" at a place of her choosing, he remained hidden, so in playful spite she ran, not trying to hide her trail, but fast, down trails only she knew. Had she wished, she could have lost him, but that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted him to work to catch her, to remind him that she could escape him, a huntsman of Limtir. On the rock she swam and lay in the sun until scraping on the stone below announced his arrival. She’d walked over to watch him as he climbed, and enjoyed the surprise on his face when he noticed her naked above him.

  But he was gone. Somewhere north, he refused to tell her where. Breea sat up. She was alone, and alive by what luck she knew not. Thoughts of what the wolf-beast could have done to her splattered across her vision. She shuddered and pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them.

  Then into her mind her mother’s voice seemed to ring, Now is not the time.

  Both advice and order, the statement held a power now that it had not possessed when her mother used it years ago. She looked up, realizing that the sun was gone from the treetops, the air cooling before the dew fell.

  Alarmed, she stood and considered her next move. The thing had walked upstream, up the mountain toward Limtir. She had to get to Ajalay. Only Ajalay could face this creature, though Breea dared not follow thoughts that compared their relative strengths. Taking a last drink, she thought of the way home—an hour’s fast run to her house, then at least two more to the library by horse.

  Mindful of the setting sun, she began to descend the crack in the boulder, halting as premonition brushed her. Frantic, she climbed back up, and saw pale movement along the route she’d taken to the rock. Her eyes darted around the boulder top. No escape. The closest trees were a good twenty feet away, and were only branch ends.

  She decided immediately, bolting around the edge of the pool and launching herself into the air. Descending in flight, she reached for a branch, grabbing with both hands. It bent under her weight, offering no resistance, whipping her through lower branches as she swung inward. Her fall halted, and the branch recoiled, lifting her. Hand over hand, she went up its length. Where it was thicker and more horizontal, she swung around to straddle it, and glanced back and up, but could only see the edge of the stone, having fallen below it. Rocking forward on her arms, she lifted her feet to the branch, steadied herself, then stood and walked to the immense trunk.

  Leaning against it, she whispered to the Gamanthea-Dur tree, "Thank you, great one."

  She moved around the trunk until she was on the side opposite the boulder. The limb she stood on reached only a short distance from the trunk, shaded here by neighbor trees. The limbs farther up were larger and longer. Ascending, Breea felt a chill crawl over her body. She pressed herself against the tree, dreaming herself a part of the Gamanthea-Dur.

  The chill faded, and she climbed fast, then ran most of the way down a thick, straight bough until it bent under her weight. Ten feet away the end of her branch touched that of the next tree. Rust-colored needles covered the ground over a hundred feet below. Was the beast down there? Did it know where she was? She scanned other branches but none reached farther. Looking up, she saw the tree, many branched and dark against the sky, rising hundreds of feet higher.

  Ten feet. Ajalay had to be warned. Breea swallowed and acted before fear could stop her. She crouched and, pushing down with her feet, jumped, using the branch’s spring. She sailed across, catching the opposing branch with both hands. After a short recoil, she swung up her legs, pulled herself on top, and climbed inward, not looking back.

  High over the forest floor she traversed tens of trees, climbing easily from one to another where possible, leaping where she must, until, near a league from Rainpool Rock, she came to a broader gap. Here an ancient wall ran, now only a jumble of mossy rocks that cut their course through the forest, creating a space that no branches bridged. To find another way she would have to backtrack some distance, or descend. The sky was still pale, but darkness was gathering rapidly near the forest floor. Frowning, she looked down. The ground, hundreds of feet below, was dim in the failing light.

  "Hold me awhile longer," she said to the trees.

  She unlaced her boots and tied them around her waist. Barefoot, she backed up to the trunk. After a few long breaths gauging distance and the thickness of the forked limb, she bolted down the branch, placing her last step in the fork, and pushed back to propel herself toward the opposite tree, arms outstretched.

  The tree approached then began to flash past. Her fingers caught a twig, and were ripped free. Another brought her inward and almost stopped her before it too was torn from her grasp. Hands burning with pain, she succeeded in grabbing and holding the next, clenching her jaw to keep from crying aloud as skin tore.

  She swung freely, breath ragged, blood dripping down her forearms. Hand over hand she climbed, tears and droplets of blood blurring her vision. Where the limb was thick enough, she fought to get astride, and then worked her way inward. At the trunk, she curled against it, holding her hands tight against her belly.

  The wet warmth of her blood reminded her of the feel of her father, ripped open and dying on the forest floor. Despair welled up, but she bore down on it. With her dagger, she cut strips from her tunic and wrapped each hand tightly.

  The forest floor was no longer visible. She gripped a branch, hissing in pain, and swung down. When she reached the dead branches shaded out by the upper levels, she put on her boots.

  Relying on the bark, she placed her feet in the grooves and grasped the raised sections with her fingers. The grooves got deeper as she descended, and she was able to fit her hands inside them and bunch her fists, wedging them securely, biting down on the agon
y every hold brought.

  Feeling her way down, she paused periodically to listen. Near the forest floor the tree base spread, and the climbing became easier.

  The mosses and needles covering the earth were soft beneath her feet. Holding her hands to her chest, she rested against the tree. Crickets chirped and the breeze carried the scent of coming rain. These things comforted her, though when she quieted her breathing and tried to listen, there was nothing. Where that part of herself should have been was merely cold emptiness. A piece of her had died in the presence of the wolf-beast, or had been…consumed. The loss echoed in the empty places of her soul, evoking memories of her father’s death, the vanishing of her mother, and her last parting with Ambard. She sank to the duff under the weight.

  An owl hooted, and the desolation broke. She stood and began to search for the path that ran between her house and Rainpool Rock, wondering what the wolf-thing had done to her.

  The way became easy, and she turned on the path toward her house. Soon, the steep roof and sweeping eves of her log home came into view.

  Once inside, she bolted the door and peered through a window at the forest. Fearing light, she blew out the lamp that still burned at the table where her unstudied books lay, then ran to the end of the great hall and up the stair three steps at a time. In her bedroom she lit a candle with an ember from the fireplace, quickly and painfully washed her wounded hands in a basin scented with a bit of crushed mendwort, then wrapped them with clean bandages. With stiff fingers, she buckled on her weapons belt, which held a pair of fighting daggers given to her by SaKlu, Captain of the Limtir Tomeguard, as a reward for her courage in battle against a Nagra cave bear. Her father’s long-sword, given to her as he died of wounds from the same animal, her recurve bow, a full quiver, and extra sling stones completed her arming.

  In the light of the candle, she pulled a dagger free, looking at its smoky steel blade. SaKlu scared her at times, the way he looked at her. Something in his eyes reminded her of the beast just seen. She shuddered to think what he thought in those moments. With effort she drove such thoughts away, resheathing the blade with a crack. Sweeping her bear-fur cloak over her shoulders, she ran from the room, down a side stair to the kitchen. After stringing her bow and setting an arrow, she emerged from a door facing the stable.

  The giant trees stood still and quiet. Silently, she ran to the stable. Letet, her mare, stamped and snorted, then nickered at the smell of blood, tossing her head. Breea flung open the stall door and, stepping on a side rail, swung herself onto the mare’s back. Gripping a fistful of mane, she bent toward the horse’s ears, crooned in urgent Breowic, and they were away.

  Holding Letet to a trot, Breea watched their back trail until Letet warmed. The night was almost silent, and Letet’s muffled hoofbeats sounded as loud as near thunder. Sensing Breea’s fear, Letet stretched her stride. Breea gripped with her legs and, after releasing the bowstring, wrapped her fist in the horse’s mane. Letet surged forward, and they met the main valley road in a spray of gravel as Letet turned north.

  Letet flew as only a Meric steed could. They left the giant trees of the southern forest, Gamanthea-Dur Su, passing into rocky hills clothed in lesser trees. Where the trees ended, the road passed between a pair of house-sized boulders, their faces each carved as one half of an open book.

  Beyond, a boulder field rose to a cliff that soared straight and sheer out of the rocks. From a cleft in the rock face, Wisdom’s Water leapt down the cliff in a starlit cascade. Above, a structured outline was etched against the pale snows of the upper mountain—the roof peaks of the Library of Limtir. Below the roofline a scattering of pale glows gave Breea a surge of hope—lamplight through the windows of the library.

  Letet charged up the boulder-lined road, powering her way up the slope. Despite the cool night air, Breea felt warm, and Letet was a furnace. Letet had never galloped so far. Breea’s eyes hunted the slopes below them for movement, then said in Breowic, "Braphaerr, ooth, ooth, r’hame." Spirit-wind, slow, slow, my love.

  The horse flicked an ear and ignored her, struggling to maintain pace up the long, east-trending switchbacks. At each turn she slowed a bit more, until she was walking, then surging to a gallop along the straight ways. Ever eastward, they climbed to the foot of the dark cliff, then followed its base until black rock met the gray granite of a ridge running down the south flank of the mountain. The road turned and vanished into a cart-wide crack between black stone and gray, Fall Rock Gap. Within, sheer walls rose on either side to a thin strip of star-filled sky overhead. Letet could only walk now, blowing and sweating. Breea stroked her neck. What horse could run up the Limtir road? Breea had never heard of such a thing, barring Meric horse stories everyone knew to be myths.

  When Breea shifted her weight for Letet to stop, the horse walked on. Frowning, Breea shifted to dismount anyway, but Letet stepped aside, twitching her back to keep Breea mounted. Tears welled in Breea’s eyes, and she leaned forward to rest her cheek against Letet’s neck.

  The right side of the canyon wall ended, revealing Uruidsen’s Basin, a vast bowl of heather meadows laced with white rushing streams, nestled like the palm of a hand in the southern flank of the mountain. Above the basin rose the mountain proper, occulting half the night sky. Ice rivers glowed down its flanks, filling valleys. Ridges running down were black with pale patterns of snow. Mist hung in tatters about their many peaks.

  The roar of water drifted across the basin and reflected from the dark cliffs to the left of the road, the only sound other than the echoing clop of Letet’s hooves on the fitted flagstones of the roadbed.

  After a few hundred feet of elevation, the view opened, revealing a crenellated curtain wall crowning the black stone ridge. Beyond the wall reared layer upon layer of sharp roof peaks and graceful eaves sheltering balconies and lamp-lit windows. At base of the wall, an arching bridge spanned the cleft cut by Wisdom’s Water.

  As Breea crossed, a deep voice cried, "Hold. Name yourself, and your service." The challenge echoed back and forth from the cliff behind her and the cliff-like walls of Limtir.

  Recognizing Bay-ope Gardasim’s voice, Breea called, "Bay-ope! It is Breea. Open the way!"

  One stone portal swung enough to allow her to ride into the gatehouse tunnel. Middle and final doors opened for her as she rode through the dark passage. The great courtyard that lay between the wall and the library was lit faintly by lamplight and torchlight. The few people about paused to peer curiously at who came at this hour. Bay-ope strode over, scale armor twinkling, a double-bladed ax in one hand. A small crowd of guardsmen followed in his wake. Painfully, Breea dismounted.

  "You are wounded," he said through a thick beard.

  He motioned for a guard to take Letet, and by torchlight took full measure of her tangled hair, bloodstains, ragged tunic and breeches, countless scratches, and blood-soaked bandages. Rage, rare in him, rose about him like a thunderhead.

  Breea wanted to hug him for it, but said, "Wake the Voice, Bay-ope. There is something in the forest. It was heading toward the library, then it—he—tracked me in the Gamanthea-Dur Su. I must tell Ajalay."

  Bay-ope raised a curved horn and sounded a blast that forced Breea to cover her ears. On the outer wall, the Voice of the Watch, an immense and ancient drum, answered with a tone that echoed across the mountain.

  As Breea and Bay-ope ran across the courtyard, the drum spoke a rhythm that quivered her bones. There was no place in the entire library, above stone or below, where that rhythm was not felt. Doors around the outer wall slid open, spilling lamplight into the misty night air. Most of the Tomeguard lived within the wall, and the ready-watch were now pouring out of it and across the courtyard to the library. There were no shouts, no commands, just a rushing rattle of armor and pounding boots. Having run to a guard post at the sound of the drum herself many times, Breea knew that every major entranceway was now guarded, and in a few heartbeats all corridors within the library would be patrolled, guards tripled on the r
oofs and walls.

  Side by side with Bay-ope, she passed into the vaulted Greethall. At the far end, Tomeguard heaved open doors to allow them access to the spiral staircase that connected every floor of the library above ground and below. The pair ran up the stair as halls emptied of scholars, students, servants, and guests, each finding their way into whatever room was nearest.

  By the time they left the stair on the twelfth level, a taut quiet had taken hold throughout the library, a silence that lodged in the gut of every Limtirian, for when the Voice sang a war rhythm it meant that a thief or assassin was at work.

  On the twelfth level, near the stair, a dozen elite guardsmen of the Tetr-Sanis Guard stood with drawn swords and armed crossbows at the ornate entry to Ajalay’s chambers. The doors opened from within, and Ajalay, trying to fasten on a cloak, nearly collided with Bay-ope and Breea.

  "Breea?" she said, stepping back.

  Breea rushed into Ajalay’s arms. Ajalay held her, then guided her into another room, removed her weapons, then sat her on a large plush bed as sobs rose. Ajalay looked an intense question at Bay-ope. He signed that Breea was the reason the Voice had been awoken, then went back to the hall.

  To a guard wearing chainmail thrown over a nightshirt he said, "Get Yavay’adil, and find the captain."

  Bay-ope returned to the bedroom. Breea had calmed, resting on Ajalay. Yavay’adil entered at a run, blue robes swirling. He took in Breea’s condition with a look, then grinned at her, easing her pain with his smile. Kneeling, he examined her with gentle hands.

  The captain of the guard, SaKlu, strode in, barefoot and bare-chested, glistening with sweat, black silk trousers swishing. Breea stiffened as his brilliant blue eyes raked over her.

  Yavay’adil’s expression of care flickered as he felt Breea’s reaction to the captain’s arrival. Mearth, Yavay’adil’s chief apprentice, arrived breathlessly with a covered pot of hot water and a healer’s pack.

  With a corner of her robe, Ajalay wiped Breea’s cheeks and asked, "What happened?"

  Breea looked at everyone present, except SaKlu.

  "I was in the Su."

  She looked directly into Ajalay’s eyes, wanting her to know there were things that could not be said with others present.

  Covering the pause, Ajalay brushed some of Breea’s wild hair from her face, and said, "You are safe now. Tell us."

  What could she say? She had not expected to speak of the creature before so many. Her father’s teachings came to her rescue. Only the truth will serve, but in some lays, a single passage of it will meet.

  "I saw a wolf that was not a wolf. A wolf in shape, though huge. All white and—" She clenched her jaw before speaking the straight truth. "And at least eighteen hands to the shoulder."

  The room went silent. Even Yavay’adil paused. He was the first to recover, and began to cut the bandages from Breea’s hands. She winced as he used hot water to detach the bandages from the cuts where congealed blood bound the cloth to her flesh. Mearth held a bowl giving off herb-scented steam, and Yavay’adil began to wash the wounds.

  Bay-ope’s eyes flickered from Breea to Ajalay, then back, but if he remembered that Breea had announced a man upon her arrival, he said nothing.

  SaKlu asked, "How large?"

  "As tall as any horse," said Breea, looking at Ajalay. "It killed a stag as easily as a sling stone takes a rabbit." Remembering what had followed, she shuddered.

  Ajalay spoke to the group. "She needs rest. You may go."

  "I would know more, Tetr-Sanis," said SaKlu.

  Ajalay turned to him with a look that awaited his obedience. He held her gaze, then bowed, and everyone filed out except Yavay’adil. Mearth returned with a pot of tea, and another covered crock of herbed water. Yavay’adil used it to finish the cleansing of Breea’s fingers and palms, which were bleeding, dripping into the water. With firm pressure he closed the wounds, then bound them carefully. After wiping his hands, he stood and poured a cup of tea.

  "Drink. I will have hot food brought."

  He glanced at Mearth, who sketched a bow to Ajalay and set off at a run.

  With both hands, Breea took the cup and drank. Warmth spread down her chest and through her body. Pain faded and she sighed, taking another sip.

  Yavay’adil gazed down at Breea for a long moment, then made formal obeisance to Ajalay and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Ajalay carried some wood to the empty hearth opposite the bed. She concentrated, and the fuel erupted into flame.

  Returning to the bed, she sat and asked, "What would you not say before the others?"

  "It is a Beast from the Legend Time, and it can weave, Aja."

  Ajalay accepted this statement without blinking. Breea looked at her mentor for some kind of reaction, but Aja merely said, "Are you sure?"

  "The beast became a man. I didn’t see it, not the end, but it changed in a white cloud. The essence was foul, cold, not like yours. It hurt me…"

  A hand strayed to her chest, to the void that was there, where listening originated.

  "A man? You saw him?"

  "No, but the tracks were of boots longer than Bay-ope’s." Breea held her bandaged hands apart to show.

  "How did you injure your hands?"

  "Trying to catch branches. I fell."

  "Fell?"

  "After it was gone, I ran to Rainpool Rock. I jumped from the top to the Gamanthea-Dur and used them, from one to another, for most of the way home. There is an old wall west of the house, just mossy rocks, but the trees don’t grow there, and the gap across was too far to leap."

  Ajalay eyes narrowed. "What possessed you to try?"

  Breea looked back, and said, "It was tracking me."

  Ajalay didn’t move for several heartbeats, then said evenly, "It followed you?"

  "I thought it hadn’t noticed me. I hid when it killed the stag, but it tracked me to Rainpool. I don’t think it knew where I was after that."

  Aja’s look reminded Breea of the angry face on the mountain, and she wondered if a lecture was coming. The inner warmth from the tea was fading, so she took another sip to keep the chill she felt stalking her at bay.

  "You did well," said the Tetr-Sanis.

  For a moment Breea felt warm in the unexpected praise, then wondered if she had indeed done well. Fear had nearly taken her more than once, and if that last branch had not been there, she would be lying in a broken heap on the forest floor. She looked down at the teacup in her lap.

  Aja said, "You are the only woman ever trained in the Tomeguard way of battle."

  Breea blinked at the turn of subject, looking up.

  "Did your father tell you why?"

  "My mother wished it. Father asked the council for her."

  "Yes. However, in those days his request alone was not enough. A High Temple Yasharn priest spoke with him. When—"

  "A Temple priest? Here?"

  "Do not interrupt. Yash was different then. It was the last years of the Yasharn Peace, before the new edicts. Soon after you were born, your parents asked for a Calling for you." Ajalay considered her next words, then said, "The priest Called, ‘A warrior is born.’"

  Breea felt as though she were standing on a snowy slope that had just cracked before sweeping her away.

  Aja watched, evaluating. "Do you remember your tenth winter?" she asked. "The deep snow? Gilaret unlocked Abitalen that winter. His translations he shared only with your father. In them were references that shook him to the foundations of his belief, references to you, to the Calling given you as a female child.

  "You know that women are not permitted to carry weapons in Yash. Gilaret translated a series of prophecies, which state that the advent of a female warrior means the destruction of the Yasharn. This is the true reason for the weapon law. As Tetr-Sanis your father ordered Gilaret to keep secret all that he learned. After your father announced me as his chosen to lead after him, he taught me Abitalen. The Prophecies of the Abital lead all to one thing."
/>   When she did not continue, Breea sought her eyes, but Ajalay would not meet Breea’s gaze, saying only, "And I am not ready."

  Breea was about to ask what she meant, but realized that Ajalay had been waiting for this creature or its kind to come, never saying a word. Fierce anger surged until she realized that Aja had told her, had proved it to her through direct proofs, teaching her to listen, preparing her to weave, teaching her Legend Time history. Yet never had Aja hinted at the true nature of such creatures. Did Aja herself know? She needed to.

  Ajalay was gazing into the hearth flames, thoughts flashing and flickering in her eyes.

  Breea spoke slowly, to be strong against the memory. "The wolf chased the stag until it could run no farther, tormenting it to his last breath. I felt the deer die. His essence was eaten. It would have been me if..." Terror clawed its way out of the place she had sealed it and stole her voice.

  The Tetr-Sanis pulled Breea into a hug. A confusing mixture of fears and angers raged through Breea, and she leaned into the comfort, needing it fiercely.

  Ajalay held her, and said, "I am here now."

  Would that be enough? Breea raised her head and looked searchingly at Aja.

  Ajalay stiffened under Breea’s regard, then stood. "We must get you into something clean and warm."

  From a chest she gathered a cotton undershirt, shimmering green silk blouse, a pair of breeches of fine, soft wool, and knee-high fur-lined boots, all of which she helped Breea put on. Breea wrapped herself in her bear-fur cloak, and sat watching the fire.

  There was a polite knock at the door.

  "Come," said Ajalay.

  An armed servant entered with a platter of steaming food and a carafe of wine. He placed both on a red marble table, bowed deeply, and left the two alone.

  Breea ignored the food, her mind running back to what Aja had said about prophecies and her father. She could recall no mention of any pilgrimage, or prophecy. He and Gilaret had spent many hours together, but her father had been the Tetr-Sanis and spent much of his time with the higher Sanis scholars.

  Ajalay had gone to the chamber’s far wall, swept aside the tapestry that hung there, and was touching a series of knots in the polished redwood paneling. There was a muffled click, and she stepped well back. The entire wall detached, swinging from one edge, exposing a broad assortment of books, weapons, and items stacked upon red-crystal shelves. She took three tomes, placing them in a leather satchel, and swung the wall closed. Guiding Breea, she went from the room. Eight elite guards followed, flanking the women.

  "Where are we going?" asked Breea.

  "I wish to look something up."

  Five levels down, they left the stair, following a wide corridor to a carved wooden door. It appeared to be a mass of tangled roots. Guardsmen swung it open for them, then lit lamps and candles, scanning the chamber as they did so. Floor to ceiling shelves of green jade wavered into view as the lamps waxed bright. Between the shelves, black marble pillars supported a high, shadowy ceiling.

  Ajalay waved away the guards and said, "Close the door."

  Looking at the angular script on a book binding, Breea remembered her father discouraging her from studying this language. If Abitalen was so important, why keep it from her?

  Ajalay walked to a table and began shifting aside piles of parchment. "You should not have been in the forest, what of your test..."

  "I will match my Sanis!"

  "Do not interrupt. You may be my favored pupil, and like a daughter to me, but you must not interrupt the Tetr-Sanis. Nor will you speak to any Sanis Scholar in that tone."

  Breea averted her eyes and bit her lip.

  "Stop that," ordered Ajalay.

  The Tetr stared at Breea, but her gaze was soft, edged with worry. She pulled a book from her satchel, unlocked it with an iron key, and brought the volume to Breea. Aja placed the key and book in Breea’s hands, opened the book to the beginning, and pointed to a paragraph written in Breea’s father’s hand, then turned away.

  Third Abital Prophecy. When a girl child is born and the Yasharn Priest is asked in his High Temple for a Calling for the child, and he gives the cry "A warrior is born!" men will know that the first Bane has entered the world. All known will end.

  Flipping pages, she realized that the whole book was about her. Why had Ajalay kept it secret?

  Breea reread the prophecy then asked, "What does this mean?"

  Turning pages of Gilaret’s Abitalen index, Ajalay replied, "It is a prophecy copied by your father from one of the books in this chamber many years ago. We can find it again, not that its context helps interpretation, but first we are to see what can be found on this...wolf. As I remember. Many tomes." Fingers running up the page, she said, "Pen?"

  Breea found quill and ink, and Ajalay copied symbols onto a scrap of parchment.

  "Get the books with these on them. They should be on the second and third rows."

  Impatient to return to her father’s journal, Breea gathered twelve books, placing them on a table cleared by Ajalay. The Tetr-Sanis settled down to study, opening five at once. The Tetr could go on like that for hours, Breea knew, so she found a chair and opened her father’s journal.

  Today, Gilaret brought to me, on a piece of plain parchment, the most fearful and portentous work I have ever read. What it means, I fear, what will happen I may never know, but that it is true, I do not doubt. How am I to bring it to myself, this knowledge that leaves me empty of all but dark dread? What does a man do when he comes to know that his daughter, the beautiful, green-eyed sprite who rules his heart with a simple glance, his light-voiced, joyous child, is herald to the end of all?

  Breea shook her head, and looked to Aja.

  Ajalay’s face had fallen, and for the space of a breath Breea saw Aja the woman. No layers of regal command, power, or boundless knowledge. A soul like any other. Frightened.

  Ajalay said, "Forgive me."

  "Aja?"

  "It is an Oregule."

  "Oregule?" asked Breea.

  Ajalay looked sick. "Life Bane. Great enemy of the Alach. One of the first. His true name is Lupazg."

  The name hung in the air like a corpse, then cold horror welled as a presence grew in their minds.

  You know my name, it said.

  Aja’s eyes narrowed, and Breea watched as she straightened with dignity, shelving fear, eyes gone to gray stone. The Tetr stood and threw out her arms. Lamp and torch flames leaned toward her. Breea stood, clutching her father’s journal, ready to flee in any direction.

  A low scraping began in the wall behind Ajalay, and Breea shouted, "Tomeguard! Tomeguard!"

  Ajalay turned to face the sound in the wall. Her hands rolled into fists, and essence-warmth surged from her like an invisible bonfire.

  The heavy doors to the chamber heaved open and elite guardsmen ran to encircle the women. Ajalay backed away to the door, stopping to watch a section of stone sinking into the wall. It slid to the side, exposing a dark hollow. Two Tomeguard with crossbows raised them.

  It stepped into the light, straightening as it emerged from the dark tunnel. All those looking at it knew that their death was at hand. It was shaped like a man, but white-skinned and white-eyed, eight feet tall. A translucent chainmail coif covered its head, vanishing at the neck beneath a white fur cloak that dropped to the Oregule’s ankles. The open cloak was pinned on one side by a dog skull, its clenched jaws holding the cloak across broad shoulders. Under the cloak it wore a finely worked leather surcoat over chainmail that gleamed without color. From a thick pale chain on its chest hung a medallion, two great canines embracing an etched, silver-white metal disk. White gauntlets covered its hands. The best guardsmen of Limtir stood as though rooted to stone.

  Lupazg studied them contemptuously.

  Babinich, lead of the Tetr-Sanis’s guard, cried, "Release!"

  Crossbows snapped. It ducked, slipping to the side as the bolts whizzed into the tunnel beyond.

  Ajalay stepped into the corridor, B
reea close behind. The Tetr-Sanis ordered the doors closed, and guards heaved on the portals, slamming them while others began guiding the women away. Ajalay brushed aside their hands and laid her own on the doors. Breea felt the warmth of Ajalay’s weave seep into the wood, and watched in awe as the carvings of roots came alive, writhing and twining into the surrounding stone another until there was no sign that a door had been. Aja stepped back, surprised at this result, but satisfied.

  "Let us go," she said.

  Guards snapped out of their shock and formed two rings around the women as they all jogged down the hall toward the stair. On the run, Babinich blew his lieutenant’s horn.

  A muffled howl answered, and Breea felt a wave of essence like a cold blow to her back. She stumbled, and two guards took her arms. More came running from both ends of the corridor.

  Behind them, essence warped, wood and stone cracked, then shattered into the hall.

  "Rear guard!" cried Babinich, and the outer ring of men peeled away to form a line across the hall.

  A bone-deep vibration passed through stone and air. The Voice of the Watch had awoken. The hall lamps died in another chill. Metal clashed behind as guards shouted battle cries that died unfinished in their throats; then heavy boots approaching. The two guards helping Breea let her go. As their swords swished free of their sheaths, bones broke close, and hot blood splattered her neck. She leapt away only to run into the guard before her. Slipping past him, she sprinted into darkness.

  Orange light and essence-warmth flooded the hall, and Breea, twisting to avoid a guardsman running toward the battle, saw flame spouting from Ajalay’s upraised palm, reaching to the ceiling and spreading. Five paces away Lupazg buried a white-bladed dagger in the chest of Hale, a friend of Breea’s, while Terl attacked the beast. Terl’s sword scythed at Lupazg’s head, but the beast caught his blade in midswing, took it, and stabbed the man’s throat.

  The remaining six elite leapt to formation between Ajalay and the creature while a dozen other guardsmen scrambled to the attack.

  It towered above them, cloak flung back, single dagger slicing through everything before him. Swords flashed, crippled bodies flew from strikes of the beast, and men who managed to strike it fell away with cries of pain, dropping their weapons. Men ran in, leaping to the attack, trying to overwhelm it, but they fell like grain before the scythe, and a pile of bodies grew around the creature. Torches were brought as Babinich yelled at crossbowmen to form ranks on the stair. A guardsman leapt in and grabbed the beast’s fur cloak, hauling on it with all his strength. Lupazg tottered, and men closed in. It snarled, regaining balance, kicked the man who held the cloak, sending him flying, then began striking in greater arcs, blood spraying in the wake of his dagger. The creature stepped over the bodies before him and closed with the elite before the Tetr-Sanis. In a flurry that Breea could barely follow, the six met Lupazg.

  The beast fought with ferocious grace, faster than any opposing him, and seemed invulnerable to the strikes that landed on his mailed body, though his cloak was being shredded. Using his left gauntlet to parry blows at his face, he closed with the dagger. Armor and bodies were laid open, and one by one the six fell.

  Breea found herself backing away. Babinich, the last, went limp as his head rolled off his body. Breea cried out in anguish. The crossbowmen on the stair released. The creature raised its hands to shield its face, and the missiles bounced off or shattered against his armor.

  Ajalay lowered her arm at the creature, thrusting her shoulder forward. Flame roared across the gulf between them. Lupazg extended his dagger in the same moment, and the orange violence split, flowing away to either side. Ajalay’s arm rose again and white light ignited in her palm.

  The beast advanced on her.

  In a flurry of snaps, the crossbows on the stair released again. More guards sprinted in to protect the Tetr-Sanis, attacking without hope, spending their lives to slow the creature.

  Ajalay ran, grabbed Breea with her free hand, and hauled her up the stair behind the bowmen.

  The stairwell vibrated with heavy footfalls. The bowmen made a path as Bay-ope charged down and leapt to the floor, landing with a challenging bellow. The creature roared back, raising a hand to bat away a pair of crossbow bolts.

  Bay-ope crossed the floor, dual axes whirling. His left blade met only air as the creature leaned back. Stepping forward, Bay-ope swept in with the right. The creature parried it with the dagger, catching the haft of the ax with the dagger’s guard. Bay-ope brought the left back in, slamming the blade into the creature’s side. Its ribs cracked audibly as the blow lifted it from the floor. Landing, it leaned forward and struck Bay-ope in the face with its fist. Bay-ope’s head snapped back, and he fell backward, crashing to the floor.

  All bows on the stair released. The creature stepped over Bay-ope’s body, sheltering its face with both arms. Bolts struck without effect, bouncing away and splintering all over its body.

  SaKlu appeared on the stair and met the beast at the base. It attacked, dagger whistling. The captain was fluid as he slid beneath the strike and kicked the beast in the groin. It grunted and backed away, teeth bared. A bolt lodged in the creature’s right brow, another in its lower jaw as a third ripped open its right cheek.

  SaKlu struck the dagger from the beast’s hand, and aimed a high kick toward the beast’s ribs. Its arm shot out, caught the captain’s ankle, and squeezed, cracking bone. SaKlu lifted his other leg, allowing the creature to support his weight, and kicked it again in the groin. It let the leg go, stumbling back. SaKlu hit the floor with a grunt, and rolled into a kneeling position.

  Bowmen on the stair, breathing hard with their effort, sent bolt after bolt at the creature, but the beast kept its face guarded with raised arms. Armsboys with terrified eyes came running with armloads of more ammunition.

  SaKlu flipped a dagger underhand that slipped the creature’s guard and pierced one white eye. Lupazg flinched and yelped in pain. Breea strained forward, ducking low to see. White blood flowed down its face and onto its chest in thin streams. It was blind in one eye. Keeping one arm before its face, the beast reached up and ripped out bolts and dagger. SaKlu began to crawl toward the creature, holding against his chest the arm that had struck the beast’s hand.

  Lupazg’s hand flickered and SaKlu’s dagger blurred back at him. The captain twisted away from the missile, landing hard on his side. Shivering, he struggled to rise. His good hand gestured in signal, and dozens of shield-bearing swordsmen encircled the beast, and awaited SaKlu’s signal to attack. He was staring in shock at the only source of light in the hall. It was Ajalay.

  The spark hovering above her palm shone like a star brought to ground. As she placed her fingertips together forming a cage around the white light, it surged with warmth all could feel. The creature was watching her as well, and crossed its wrists, palms outward. The air went chill.

  Arrows and bolts sailing in at it swerved away to clatter against the shield wall around him. Breea felt a numbing warp of cold twine with a weft of binding power that was more than a match of Ajalay’s. Everyone’s breath became visible fog in the air.

  Tension built, and Breea cried, "Run! His essence grows!"

  Bowmen around Ajalay obeyed, running up the stair behind the Tetr-Sanis. The elite still on the floor stepped back, shields wavering. SaKlu said a word, and those nearest the stair sheathed their weapons, grabbed SaKlu and Bay-ope, and hauled them up and away.

  From above, an elite lieutenant led thirty shield-bearing men past Breea to form a three-tiered wall below Ajalay between her and the beast. The Tetr walked slowly backward and up, concentrating on the sphere within her fingers. The elite troop moved with her.

  From the creature, cold expanded in a blast. Wounded men on the floor and every man surrounding the beast froze in midmotion. The weave engulfed the stair base, and was gone, leaving the corridor quiet.

  The shield walls in front of Ajalay were immobile. One man toppled into another with a bell-like
sound. In a cascading clatter, thirty men fell into one another, shattering on impact. On the floor below, the shield ring followed. Only three remained standing, dreadfully still.

  From where she had fallen when the foulness expanded, Breea stared at the broken pieces of men she had known. Men who had always been there, always guarded Ajalay, and her as well.

  Ajalay stood alone, swaying, radiating increasing heat. Light streamed from between her fingers. Sweat glistened over her face. The creature snarled, and with its hands drew a red crosshatch in the air before it. Ajalay held her arms forth, opening trembling fingers toward the beast. The ball flew from her in a streak, striking Lupazg in the chest, knocking him off his feet in a brilliant flash. He lay on the floor, a small white flame burning on his chest.

  Ajalay collapsed.

  The flame went out, and darkness enveloped the hall. Breea dropped her father’s book, and found Ajalay by feel. Grabbing her under the arms, she began hefting the Tetr up the stair. A stream of guards with bright torches and flashing weapons passed in a clatter of boots. Six paused to help Breea, and together they ran up the stair with Ajalay in their arms. Curses and despairing cries floated up as the warriors below took in the carnage. Someone screamed a warning, and a shiver swept Breea.

  Flesh ripped, and a man choked in his own blood. A cry was cut short with a crunch as Breea and the guardsmen reached the next level.

  SaKlu, sitting in the interlocked arms of two guards, was directing the mounting of three crossbow ballistae in the hall. When he saw Breea and Ajalay coming up the stair, he bellowed, "Fall back!"

  Sixty guardsmen formed tight ranks in front of the ballistae, hiding them from view. Men poured out of the stair, most helping the wounded. Others rushed forward to get the injured away. Breea and the men carrying Ajalay gave her to three healers. One held her head and the other pair linked arms and jogged away with her.

  Savage snarling mingled with the clash of metal and cries of wounded men. Breea turned back to watch the battle. A group of elite brought up the rear of those retreating. Two were cut down as they attempted to leave the stair. The white beast emerged wielding its dagger and a Tomeguard long-sword, and charged the ranks of men. Twenty ducked, kneeling, exposing the ballistae, which fired simultaneously. The beast twisted in midstride, and two of the spear-like arrows flew past, lodging in the wood of the stair. The third slammed into its gut, doubling it over, stopping its rush. It staggered back and fell to the ground, face down, moving weakly. Guards rushed in, but stopped as its form began to mist. They retreated quickly. Men cranked furiously at the ballistae to rearm them.

  Unnatural essence lashed Breea, and she vomited. She ran, found another stair and sprinted up it, catching up to the men who were carrying Ajalay. A thunderous animal roar shook the building. Fear carved deep lines in the young healer’s faces as they hauled Ajalay into the infirmary. Another roar was cut short by an agonized yelp, and hope surged in Breea.

  Inside the infirmary, Yavay’adil sewed a man’s side closed, giving orders to the numerous people helping around the chamber. Breea looked down the hall and saw more wounded coming. She urged them on, and when they were inside, she tugged at the doors.

  Yavay’adil looked up to see Breea barring them.

  "Is it coming?" a shivering guard asked.

  Everyone in the chamber stopped to hear her answer. The scents of blood and fear were thick.

  "It might," she said.

  Breea helped tend Ajalay, and saw Bay-ope lying on the floor, face swollen and red. Her breath caught. He was so still.

  "He’ll live," said the healer, striding over to examine Ajalay.

  Breea let out the breath she was holding.

  Yavay’adil called over his shoulder, "Anusia, get burn salve for the Tetr-Sanis."

  Glancing Breea over for wounds, he took the cup of salve from the healer who brought it. Handing it to Breea, he said, "Apply this to her hands," and whirled away to someone’s call.

  When Breea began to apply the translucent cream to Ajalay’s burned palms, she woke with a start. Lupazg was coming. Ajalay struggled furiously to get up. Breea supported her as they moved to the next room, where a life-size blue stone statue of a smiling healer overlooked more beds. A gigantic body crashed against the outer door. The timbers split and cracked, but held, and a frustrated howl reverberated through the building. Yavay’adil slipped beneath a table, face ashen and grim, and motioned the pair to hurry.

  Breea poked her fingers into the eyes of the statue, forcing them back into the head with a metallic ping. She pushed, and the statue pivoted aside, revealing a hole with a metal ladder descending into the floor. A second crash and the outer door shivered into fragments as the women frantically entered the hole, pulling a lever just inside. The statue swung back, locking into place as its eyes returned to their sockets.

  Downward in darkness, their breathing echoing in the tube, the pair focused on the climb, not daring to think what was happening above. The tube ended, becoming a tight passage lighted by spy holes looking into chambers on the first underground level. They ran to an intersection of tunnels.

  Ajalay looked up and said, "The tunnels are not safe. It has knowledge of the secret ways, including ones unknown to us." She glanced at Breea in the dim light. "I need my battle weaves. Go the north way, you know the exit at the tree line. You must escape. I can protect myself if I can get my books."

  "No," said Breea. "I will not leave you. Two are always better than one in a fight." Feeling cold, she said, "He wants us both."

  "I know."

  "Aja?"

  "Yes?"

  Breea felt a deep trembling in her chest and her voice wavered. "What is happening?"

  In answer, Ajalay embraced Breea.

  "I saw Calden and Hale. Babin—" A sob cut off her words.

  Pulling away, Ajalay wiped her own eyes, and wordlessly urged Breea onward.

  They emerged from the wall opposite Ajalay’s bed. Breea donned her weapons, put on her cloak, and reentered the secret passage. Ajalay opened the hidden cache, and began stuffing tomes into a large pack.

  A shiver ran through Breea, and she heard the doors to Ajalay’s outer chambers splinter. Aja dove under her bed. Breea closed the door to the secret tunnel, pressing one eye to a spy hole.

  The wolf, so large that it had to duck its head to pass the double-door entryway, limped into the bedroom. Its fur was matted with white blood, while red dripped from its jaws and soaked the fur of its face. Arrows and crossbow bolts stabbed at all angles from its body. A ballista bolt was lodged in its belly at an angle and protruded out the other side, dribbling white blood. Between bubbling breaths, it sniffed at the room. It sat and, twisting around, began to bite off the arrows where they entered its flesh. Finished with the ones it could reach, it broke off the rest by rubbing against the wall. Finally, it pushed against the wall with the ballista bolt until it could reach the shaft in its belly. It bit the end of the spear-like arrow and pulled. A piercing howl hurt Breea’s ears.

  When she looked up, it was lying on its belly with its head on its paws, eyes closed.

  Vile cold swirled, ripping at her as it passed, and she sank to the floor, stunned and sick, holding her head. She fought the sensation, and slowly, gripping the wall, she stood.

  The Oregule was in man form, standing before the secret cache, supporting himself with one arm against the wall. With the other, he pulled out and opened a dark-blue tome. He replaced the book, pushed back the mail coif, revealing shaggy white hair, then pulled off his gauntlets. A pool of white blood was forming around his feet. Covered in only the chainmail, he drew a line with his finger from his belly up his chest and across the top of his arms. The mail suit split where he touched it and flowed to the floor in a rush. Naked, he wavered and caught himself against the wall, knees weak beneath him. Pushing himself upright, he retrieved the blue tome and began to weave.

  Ajalay crept from under the bed, dagger in hand. She stood, and stalked Lupazg. Clos
e behind him she raised her dagger to strike. He dropped, whirling, and in one motion, crouched, drew his blade from the floor, and sank it into her stomach. She gasped, body ridged.

  Lupazg stood, holding the blade in her. He watched her, then gave a little push with his weapon. Ajalay slid off the blade, and hit the floor, curling around her belly in convulsive jerks. He bared his fangs at her, and picked up the tome from where he had dropped it.

  Breea trembled with the urge to hurt the beast, to slay him. Without looking away, she set an arrow to string.

  As he read from the book, a blue haze gathered. He cut the arrowheads out of his flesh, haze concentrating near them and on his chest where the flesh was blistered and blackened. He sighed and tossed the book onto a shelf. The haze flowed away onto the floor.

  A finger of the blue fog reached out for Ajalay even as it was fading, and touched her. Face taught with pain and despair, she turned her head to look at the spy hole. Her lips worked with no sound.

  Run.

  Lupazg, looking over the shelves, caught his breath and lifted out a two-handed great-sword. The shiny black blade gleamed like obsidian and was over six feet long. The pommel stone was missing, and he searched the shelves that held crystals and orbs, spilling them bouncing onto the redwood floor.

  Breea unlatched the door, drew her bow, then pushed the door open with her toe. Lupazg spun about, raising the sword. He tilted his head sideways as Breea’s arrow cut the air where his good eye had been. Before he could advance, another arrow was on its way. This one was met by the black blade and deflected, as was the third and fourth. Arrow to cheek, Breea stood, eyes blazing hatred. She looked for an opening, waiting for him to lower his guard for only an instant.

  Gray scars marred his face, and his left eye was a healed but mangled mass. The other eye ran over her body. He met her gaze, and touched her mind.

  Breea jerked, her bow moving from its mark. Lupazg lunged. She released, missed, reached for the door, slammed it, and shot the lock bar into place. Lupazg’s blade stabbed through the wood. Breea arched her body from it and ran. Lupazg, roaring, attacked the door.

  At the first intersection, Breea reached into a recess and grabbed the lever there. Thinking of Ajalay, she hesitated, but light shone at the end of the passageway, then was occulted as Lupazg entered the tunnel. Breea pulled, and a stone block ten feet long fell from the ceiling, sealing the tunnel with a deafening crash.

  Ears ringing, she slid down ladders and followed the secret ways, shivering as she ran. Deep below the library, she found the narrow tunnel that ran for leagues under the mountain to the tree line on the north face. She had no light and felt her way, fingertips against each wall as she ran through the cool air of the gently sloping tunnel. Twice more she pulled levers that sealed the way behind her.

  When she emerged from the crack between boulders where the tunnel ended, the night air was crisp, smelling of fresh rain and wet rock. The stars were rivers of diamonds across a black sky. She listened at the entrance, her breath creating clouds of silvery starlit fog. No sound emanated from the tunnel.

  Stunted trees of the forest line loomed grotesquely as Breea threaded her way down the rocky slope. An owl hooted below in the forest. The natural, solid sound gave her strength. Dawn was approaching; she could feel it. She also felt something else, something ignored until now. It lay exposed by Lupazg’s last change, a core of heat deep within that reminded her of the warmth she felt when Ajalay wove. Breea choked, remembering Ajalay. Vision blurred, and she slid to an awkward stop on the slope. With effort she gained control, wiping her eyes. A chill tugged at her heart. Glancing back fearfully, she continued her descent.

  Dawn. Good, she thought, attempting to brush away despair.

  It would be better to be in the forest with him during daylight. The great northern forest of the Gamanthea-Dur Sa lay black in the valley below. She knew the mountains for ten leagues around Limtir, but nowhere was truly safe from a thing like Lupazg. How could she fight him? Ajalay, SaKlu, and Bay-ope could not kill him, and she felt sure that she couldn’t hide from him. So many friends slain! Ambard, the finest huntsman, who would fight at her side, was gone. Coldness and the desolation welled. She tripped to sprawl among the grass hummocks and sharp stones of the steep slope.

  The fall shattered her thoughts. She stood, thought of Ajalay, and Bay-ope, of all those who were dead. Rage burned sorrow for fuel. She gripped the hilt of her sword, feeling as though she were awash in hot flames. Within, the fire roared, and she fell to her knees, panting. It grew, searing her inside and out. She screamed as it sought to remove her flesh.

  The pain receded, and she realized that she was lying on the ground. In fear of what she would find, she moved to sit up. Though it had felt like she had fallen into a forge, she seemed unharmed. The scent of smoke tickled her nose. Where she had lain, the grasses were curled black, and her clothing was hot against her skin. Strangely, she felt little fear; rather, it was as if a tension inside had released. She stood, looked back, and set out.

  Moving swiftly into the forest, her resolve sharpened. Plans formed. She would treat this like Ambard did when he hunted a dangerous animal.

  I must stalk Lupazg, she thought.

  Breea skidded to a stop. The idea ran through her mind slowly, like a long shiver. She turned back toward the mountain. Concentrating, focusing her mind, she sent him a message, hot and pure.

  I am going to kill you, Oregule.

  He answered, You are a good hunt.

  She shivered and fled down the mountain.

  The night sky had begun to color in a wide swath of yellow on deep blue as Breea entered the Sa forest at a full run. If he transformed into the wolf, he would catch her soon. The massive trees whispered greetings with the morning wind. Darting around their trunks, climbing over and running along fallen giants, Breea ran until a granite bluff blocked the way. She came to a halt next to the stream swirling along its base. The rock wall ended abruptly to her left. There the stream dropped into the valley of the Red Stone River, tumbling down an uneven rock face. The water was inky in the early morning grayness, unfathomable. Ferns covered the bank where she stood.

  Breea slipped off her boots, hiked up her leggings, rolled her cloak under one arm, and stepped into the frigid water. As quickly as she could, she gathered rounded stones from holes in the streambed, and stuffed six into her sling-stone pouch. Looking back often, she walked downstream in the water, then leapt to a barely submerged boulder eight feet from shore. She swayed as the water tugged at her feet, and bent to cling to the rock with one hand. Another leap brought her to a dry shelf at the bottom of the rock bluff.

  The climb was not difficult. Handholds were numerous, and she had made it before, but her bandages made gripping difficult, and her cold-numbed feet could not feel the rock.

  Gaining the top, she put on her boots and ran back along the cliff until she was opposite the spot where she had entered the stream. With a clear view of her path from the forest, she lay down behind the edge of the bluff. She selected her best-fletched arrow, and nocked it carefully. Peering over the edge of the stone before her, her heart stopped as Lupazg, in wolf form, came loping along her path.

  He should have caught me, she thought. He’s playing out the chase.

  As he neared, she saw that he was limping, favoring his right hind leg, and the right foreleg as well. He was still hurt. He stopped at the edge of the forest, and began to change. The distance between them was such that the warped essence was not as powerful, and Breea shrugged it away. He kneeled in man form, examining her tracks. Standing, he looked up at the bluff, then followed Breea’s trail toward the water. She drew back the bowstring, rose from concealment, and let fly.

  Hearing the arrow’s whisper, he jerked to the side, and the steel tip glanced off his forehead, slicing as it passed. He twisted away, drawing his sword. Breea knelt and nocked another arrow with trembling fingers. Rising, she saw that he had turned back, sword raised, white blood st
reaming over his snarling face. One of his hands blurred in motion. Something glinted in the air, and Breea ducked as his pale dagger whirled past. Keeping low, she scampered away, and began running.

  The sun lit the high tops of the trees with golden orange as she stumbled to a stop on a ridge above Red Stone Valley. Her lungs burned. She dropped all but two sling stones. She knew Lupazg would not stop, that he was waiting until the moment she could go no farther.

  Before then, she vowed, either he or I will be dead.

  She went down into the valley.

  Holding her bow and spare bowstring above the flood, she waded across the river at a section of broad water flowing over rock and gravel.

  Gamanthea-Dur trees made a canyon of the river. Using their roots, she climbed off the rocks and into the forest. She dropped her wet cloak, and settled into her fastest forest-running pace.

  At midday, she crossed a large clearing, panting painfully. He was nearing, she sensed it, on her trail.

  This is what the stag felt. I must take him now.

  A fallen tree blocked her path. She climbed over, and looked back—movement! She crouched. White flickered between the trees. Breea set a perfect stone in her sling’s pouch, form-fitted by thousands of missiles.

  Lupazg, in man form, entered the clearing in a ground-covering lope. She gauged his distance and speed, whirled five times, and threw the stone with all her strength. It soared, spinning on its long axis. Lupazg stopped and looked up at the rock. He strode forward, raised a gloved hand, and caught the rock with a loud smack, its momentum wrenching his arm back. He examined the egg-shaped missile, running a thumb over its smooth surface. His head came up.

  Breea was already far from the log. He howled, and she fell, skidding and rolling. The world swam in flashing color and pain. Wiping blood from one eye, she forced her body to stand, took a step, and he howled once more. She gasped as pain rippled from her wounds, and fell to her knees.

  Here she would die after he—no!

  Essence bloomed, burning its way from deep within her, searing away pain and fear with its heat. She ran.

  For hours she moved down the valley like a feather in storm wind, then turned up the west side toward Moss Rock. Sweat soaked her clothes and stung her eyes as her muscles began to cramp. Will alone brought her to the low basalt rise ringed by Gamanthea-Dur. Named by Ambard, the sprawling black stone was covered almost entirely in thick green moss. Sugar fern hid what the moss failed to cover. Springs and seeps fed pools and rivulets sparkling in golden shafts of late afternoon sunlight.

  She collapsed and lay breathless on the moss. After checking her back trail, she took a long drink from a clear pool, then ripped a big sugar fern out of the moss. She stripped off fronds and roots, and bit off a chunk of the green rhizome. It was crunchy, slightly sweet, and tasted of forest and dirt.

  Watching all around, she forced herself up to search for small yellow puffballs about the size of peas. Rare and difficult to find, the fungus grew only in exceedingly damp areas on rotten Gamanthea-Dur branches. Able to find only one, she placed it in a shallow pool filled with enough water to cover it. With an arrow point she cut the skin of the fungus, and allowed the spores to soak completely. Aware of the forest around her, she used the arrow to break the moss dam forming the pool and allowed the water to flow out. Extremely careful not to touch any, she mashed the yellow spores into a paste, coated the steel tip of the arrow, and set it to string.

  Motion caught her eye, and she looked up.

  A victorious howl broke from Lupazg as he drew his sword and charged across the moss. Breea raised her bow with one arm, and threw a dagger with the other. Lupazg deflected the dagger with a flick of his sword, and the arrow, fired instantly after, struck his cheek directly below his good eye. Breea dropped her bow and ran, drawing her father’s sword.

  Lupazg’s speed and momentum gave him the advantage to catch her. She dodged, rounding a tree. The great-sword glinted in the corner of her eye, and she ducked. It whistled by her head—catching her hair, cutting much of it. She leapt away. He was right behind her, the black sword whistling as it sliced through the air. Turning, Breea swung her blade two-handed to parry, and the sharp crash of metal rang through the forest. Her hands went cold as the force of the blow knocked her sword back, and the black metal of his blade cut into her left shoulder. Ice stabbed her there. She twisted away, pressing against his sword with her hilt guard as the force of his blow lifted her from the ground and slammed her into the base of a Gamanthea-Dur. Stunned, she fell, and raised her sword one-handed in a futile attempt to ward off the next attack, looking up at him.

  The right side of his face was covered with white, blood-filled blisters, rupturing, bleeding. His eye was a mass of sores oozing white blood. He was completely blind.

  His blade crashed into hers, shattering it. The end of his sword struck the tree above her head, cutting deeply into the wood. She jerked her head away as the black blade cut down the tree to her neck, and stopped. Breea hurled herself back around the base of the tree, leaping over the spreading roots. Lupazg roared—an agonized, deep-throated howl that rose in tone until it was more scream than howl. Wildly, he turned and gave chase.

  Breea vaulted one-handed over a huge root. Landing, she threw herself back against it, tore off her sling, and frantically dug for her last stone as Lupazg came hurtling over the root just a few feet away. He landed running, took a few strides and, sensing Breea behind him, turned in midstep. She stepped away from the root, whirled once, and with a cry released the missile.

  The stone smacked into his mouth with a wet crunch. He tripped with a grunt and fell backward to the ground. He rolled backward into a crouch, then stood, spitting teeth and white blood. Breea advanced, dagger drawn with her one good arm. The left was a lump of ice she could hardly move.

  Lupazg snarled, and frost rimed her clothing and hair. He leveled his sword at her, and she spun about and vaulted back over the root, rolling over the top, landing hard on her side. Above her, the root crackled as it froze, then exploded in a blast. Lupazg sailed through the gap, bellowing. Breea rose from the shards of frozen wood and attacked. He began to turn, and her blue steel sliced into his temple. Raw cold gripped her hand and forearm, sending her body into a spasm. Lupazg twisted and hit her in the stomach with the pommel of his sword. She flew from the blow, landing in a heap in the gap of the shattered root.

  Raising his blade, Lupazg stepped up to her, mangled lips peeled back from broken fangs. His sword arced down.

  Breea twisted away and the blade bit deep into the frozen earth. Overbalanced, he fell forward. Breea rolled back and plunged her dagger deep into his left eye socket, stabbing through socket and brain to lodge in the bone at the back of his skull. A thousand threads of ice clawed up her arm. He dissolved, exploding outward in a thick white cloud that enveloped her, rotten and unnatural. It tore at her warmth and mind, then melted away, vanishing like mist before the sun.

  There was no breath in her lungs, and cold fire burned on her chest. Her right hand gripped her dagger still, the handle frozen to her palm. The numbing cold was gone from her left. Writhing as she gasped for breath, she felt for the pain between her breasts. It touched something terribly cold, freezing her fingertip. She jerked away, leaving some skin. The pain grew, eating into her flesh. She grabbed her frozen blouse below the pain and ripped it up, tearing skin, crying out.

  Panting, holding her blouse away from her, she managed to roll over, and then rise on one hand and knees. Warm blood ran from between her breasts and down their sides. Teeth clenched, she squinted down at herself. Lupazg’s medallion hung from her blouse, frozen to it. Awkwardly, she cut her blouse and undershirt around the medallion, letting it fall, then sat up and gently pried the dagger from her grasp and tried to flex her blue fingers. The gash in her shoulder was bleeding down her arm. Gripping the wound with her right hand, she gingerly lay over on her left side, using the weight of her body to apply pressure. Trembling, she rested he
r head on the needle duff of the forest floor. Her stomach was a great deep hole of pain.

  When the flow through her fingers stopped, she forced herself up, and painstakingly cut off her shirts, then, gripping with her teeth, cut them as best she could into wide strips. From a sleeve she made a pad, then tied strips together and used them to wrap the pad against her shoulder, going round her body and breasts. Finally, she immobilized her left arm with one more strip, using sticks to twist all the wrappings snug. Panting from her efforts, she rested, then checked herself over for other damage. Her body was a mess of fresh and congealing blood, conifer needles, and dirt. On her belly, darkness spread beneath the grime. The bandages on her hands remained intact. Yavay’adil would be pleased to know how well his wrappings had served.

  That was the wrong thought. With effort, she stood, setting her mind into the moment, where her own survival was at stake.

  Bent by pain, she laboriously gathered wood and tinder one handed, then cut boughs from Gamanthea-Dur saplings, heaping them in a pile by her firewood. A weight of exhaustion settled over her, and she sagged onto the pile, shivering despite the work she’d done.

  Too chilled to rest, she crawled over to the wood, and began selecting tinder. Holding her flint with the toe of her boot, she struck it with her dagger’s guard. After many tries, she managed a curl of smoke, built it up, and soon had orange flames crackling among her twigs.

  Her body ached in every part, deeply in her gut, sharp in her shoulder, but the fire comforted her. Almost warm, she unbuckled her weapons belt, setting it by her head, then slowly buried herself in the soft boughs she had gathered. Through a screen of sweet-scented needles, she watched the sun through the trees as it sank behind the jagged peaks of Raven’s Beak Ridge in a profusion of color. Complete exhaustion took her into darkness.