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  After came Felias. She was about the same height as Juhrnus, dressed nearly identically. Her round face was framed by curly brown hair. Like Upsakes, who followed, her ahalad-kaaslane was a weirmart. It crouched on her shoulder, hissing at Juhrnus, needlesharp teeth clacking together as it snapped at the air. The minklike animal lashed its thin tail from side to side, the hair on its back standing on end. By the look on Felias’s face, she was as angry as her ahalad-kaaslane.

  Reisil’s lips tightened in a sympathetic grimace; she had too often been on the receiving end of Juhrnus’s attacks.

  “I’m not defending them!” Felias retorted hotly, facing Juhrnus across the firepit, hands on her hips. “All I’m saying is that peace is better than letting the war go on.”

  “At any cost? Have you eyes? Look at the squatters’ village! Most of the men missing hands and ears and eyes. The women and girls swollen with their rapists’ babies. Do you think they want the Patversemese to get away with that? And what about Mysane Kosk? What’s to stop the wizards from doing that everywhere?”

  Reisil blinked, startled by his genuine anger and concern. This was a side of Juhrnus she had never suspected.

  “The Lady is,” said Sodur mildly, wiping his brow with a ragged square of linen he pulled from his pocket. Lanky, stooped, with thinning hair, he looked older than his years. Adding to the impression were his patched boots, threadbare elbows and limp, battered hat. He had a pinched face as though perpetually hungry, his thin, crooked nose and squinting eyes adding to the effect. His ahalad-kaaslane, a silver lynx, lapped water from the spring before sprawling in the shade, panting.

  “The wizards destroyed Mysane Kosk because it was on the border and they somehow managed to breach the Lady’s protection. But their magic does not, as a rule, work inside the bounds of Kodu Riik. Only the Lady’s hand is at work here. The siege of Koduteel failed largely because the wizards could only aid the attacks from ships, and the force of their magic wilted before reaching the walls. And because the Lady answered our prayers and sent aid. The rivers outside of Koduteel diverted so that there was no fresh water outside the walls. The firewood in the Patversemese camp would not burn, and the snows came early. Mud bogs appeared in the middle of camps, and moles and ground squirrels burrowed fields of holes to trap their horses’ legs. Wolves and bears prowled the camps, and any game in the vicinity retreated beyond the reach of hunters. The Patversemese had no choice but to withdraw.” A slight smile creased Sodur’s lips with the memory.

  Reisil might have smiled at Juhrnus’s dumbfounded expression, if Sodur’s revelation hadn’t astonished her equally as much. Felias, too, gazed openmouthed at the elder ahalad-kaaslane. Sodur chuckled and patted her on the shoulder, flashing a quick grin at Juhrnus.

  “You have heard stories all your lives of what the ahalad-kaaslane can do. Do not be so surprised. We are the Lady’s eyes and hands and we protect Kodu Riik—all of it, human and not. We are not defenseless against the wizards. You’re both ahalad-kaaslane now and must learn our secrets if you are to serve.”

  “But I don’t understand. Why is it a secret?” Juhrnus blurted.

  “You question the Lady?” Upsakes demanded. He had paused in the shade at the edge of the grove, listening to the other three with lowered brows, arms crossed over his broad chest. He differed from Sodur like the sun to the moon. His clothing was clean and soft with wear. He stood upright with a military bearing and his gaze was sharp and darting. His weirmart crouched on his shoulder, clutching the pad sewn there for that purpose. At his reprimand, Juhrnus stiffened and hung his head. Reisil startled herself with an unexpected surge of defensiveness for the bully who’d made her childhood so miserable. The question deserved an answer.

  “No, of course not. I—But I don’t understand,” Jurhnus said, uneasy fingers stroking his sisalik’s gray-and-green head. The lizard bumped his head encouragingly under Jurhnus’s hand, eyes half-closed.

  “And you don’t need to. The Lady would inform you if you did,” Upsakes said.

  Despite her sudden and alien feeling of protectiveness for Juhrnus against Upsakes’s pomposity, seeing his expression, Reisil had to bite her lips to keep from chortling. How she wished she could be the one to put that look of consternation on his face!

  Sodur frowned at Upsakes, and then turned to Felias and Juhrnus.

  “Come on, both of you. It’s time we announced ourselves. We’ll need a good pile of wood, and you might have to search a ways out. Everything close by was burned on the Lady Day fire.”

  Felias and Juhrnus departed in opposite directions, Juhrnus red-necked and stiff-legged. Luckily neither approached Reisil’s hollow, and she gathered herself to sneak away as soon as chance provided. She did not want to be discovered eavesdropping on the ahaladkaaslane, even accidentally.

  “What was that about?” Sodur asked his companion as he sat cross-legged on the ground, drawing out a small knife and a chunk of wood.

  Upsakes turned a sharp look on Sodur and then gave a gusty sigh, lifting his weirmart down to the ground.

  “Those two are enough to send the Demonlord screaming for mercy. Must they bicker all the time?”

  Sodur chuckled. “Apparently. But did you really mean to hide the wizards’ inability to practice magic in Kodu Riik from them?”

  “No. But I don’t want new ahalad-kaaslane to count on it either. What happened at Mysane Kosk shouldn’t have been possible. And maybe if we hadn’t been so busy congratulating ourselves on our invulnerability, we might have done something to prevent the massacre. All those people, women and children, the weak and the sick, all dead.”

  The bitterness and pain in his voice was raw and hard to witness. Reisil felt her throat tighten, knowing this was too private a moment for her to be intruding on. But neither could she escape without calling attention to herself.

  Sodur’s hands dropped into his lap and he gave Upsakes a steady look. “It wasn’t your fault. You had no idea the wizards could attack like that when you sent those people there. None of us did. We all would have done the same thing.”

  Though deeply sincere, the words sounded worn and thin, as if repeated too often.

  “But it was the wrong thing, and everyone in Mysane Kosk paid the price. Because I sent all those refugees there to be safe.”

  The self-recrimination in his voice struck deep in Reisil’s heart and tears rose in her eyes. Pity for him, pity for those who had fled to Mysane Kosk, thinking they’d be safe. Whole families had been slaughtered there.

  “There isn’t anything that says the Wizard Guild couldn’t do something like that again. We can’t just assume the Lady is strong enough to hold against their attack. She wasn’t last time. We can’t have new ahaladkaaslane wandering about thinking we’re safe from the Patversemese wizards when it isn’t true!” Upsakes strode up and down, chopping the air with his hands, while Sodur looked on from his seat on the ground. At last Upsakes paused and hunkered down on the ground facing his friend. He pulled a small bottle from the pouch at his waist and took a swallow, making a face at the taste. Sodur watched him return the bottle to its pouch and lean back against a spreading maple tree, eyes closed.

  Rustling green silence drifted between them for a long minute. Bees buzzed in the clover and robins twittered overhead. Sodur bent over his wood, scraping his knife over the pale wood in his hand.

  “A treaty might be what’s needed,” he said, not looking up. Upsakes reacted if yanked by a string attached to the top of his head.

  “What?” he barked. “You’re not serious!”

  “I know it’s not the popular solution. I know most of Kodu Riik would rather lose every one of their sons than make a deal with Patverseme. Even here in Kallas, and they suffered nothing from the war. Even those miserable squatters in that pisshole they call a village would slit their own throats before they’d sign a treaty with Patverseme. And Lady knows they’ve plenty of cause, but continued fighting will only make their lives worse. As it is, even with a t
reaty, they’d be hard-put to rebuild their lives with all they’ve lost.

  “We’re ahalad-kaaslane. We’re not supposed to let our feelings influence our duty to protect and preserve Kodu Riik. Don’t you think peace is for the best? Look at the difference just a few months of truce have made. Imagine what a permanent peace could do.”

  Upsakes launched to his feet and resumed his pacing, shaking his head furiously. “I’ll tell you what I told Geran. Patverseme can’t be trusted. This treaty is a ruse, buying time until the Wizard Guild finds a way to extend its power inside Kodu Riik.”

  “I don’t think so. Our magilanes have managed to uncover a great deal of information inside Patverseme. Their intelligence shows that we’ve done a great deal to cripple Patverseme, even as they have us. The drought hurts them also. And it appears that the Karalis is no longer on good of terms with the Wizard Guild. In fact, there’s a split of some sort within the Guild itself. No, this may be the best opportunity we have for peace. If we wait, the Guild will surely collect itself and push to undermine the Karalis, or be rid of him altogether. Imagine the puppet they might replace him with. Or worse, one of their own.”

  Reisil could tell that Upsakes was unconvinced, though the last prospect worried him. But he ceased pacing and propped himself against a tree, scratching at the stubble on his cheeks.

  “So how do you think the squatters are going to take our news?” he asked Sodur in a sudden change of subject.

  “The river is close by for water and there is open, fertile land. It’s a good place to start over, even with a drought. They will be content.”

  “I hope so. I dislike having to uproot them after all they’ve suffered. First the Patversemese soldiers and then us.”

  “Juhrnus, Felias and I will stay with them for a while and give what aid we can. Try to ready them for winter. I’m sure we can convince Kallas to send supplies and labor as well. If only to get rid of their unwelcome guests,” he added mordantly.

  “Varitsema isn’t going to be too happy having a new town spring up so close,” Upsakes said.

  “He doesn’t have a choice about it, does he? And better twelve leagues away than on his doorstep. He’ll come around.”

  Just then the underbrush crackled as either Felias or Juhrnus returned. Reisil took advantage of the distraction to withdraw.

  The sun was sinking over Kallas, turning the pink walls fiery crimson. Reisil made her way quickly through the town, stopping for a moment at the cobbler shop to check on Ulla and the baby. All was well and she continued homeward, her pack made heavier with a loaf of bread and a crock of fresh-churned butter.

  Outside the walls she followed the road’s zigzagging course, turning off where the path to her cottage cut away at a right angle. Despite her desire to be home, Reisil paused on the path, finding her gaze drawn farther down, to the narrow bridge over the Sadelema that joined Kodu Riik to Patverseme. There were guardhouses on both sides—matching stone buildings broken here and there by arrow loops. Behind each one stood an archer. A reminder that the truce was only a truce and not peace. She thought of what she’d overheard in the Lady’s grove. Sodur thought it could be peace.

  Reisil’s breath caught on a sudden surge of hope.

  News of the truce had come at the end of winter. A promise of hope for the new year, ushered in by the warmth of spring. Reisil remembered spinning around her garden, arms outflung, laughing aloud.

  If only it could turn into real peace. So many lives would be saved. Not that Kallas would see much difference. Ironic that the town had never seen a battle in all the five years the war had raged. Situated as is was, right on the border, it would have seemed like a prime plum for the picking. But in truth Kallas was just too small, too far out of the way, too uninteresting. It had no strategic value whatsoever, and certainly no monetary significance, not compared to the wealthier trade cities and more populated lands to the south. Maybe that was why so many townspeople raged against the truce, against anything that smacked of giving in to Patverseme. They hadn’t lost what others lost; they didn’t feel the pain of the war as others did.

  Reisil sighed, thinking of the angry outbursts she’d witnessed from those she would have thought eager for the war to end. Even Kaval’s father, the tightfisted trader Rikutud, though peace would mean a flourishing of his stunted trade. If not for Mysane Kosk—but that had changed everything. So many lives lost there.

  And it wasn’t just Kallas. Even Sodur had acknowledged how against a treaty people like the squatters would be; people who’d lost hands and ears, like Carden; people who’d lost their homes and their families; people who’d been raped and maimed. They didn’t want peace. They wanted justice.

  Reisil glanced over her shoulder, watching the plume of smoke curling up from the Lady’s grove. Not for the first time did she thank the Lady she was only a simple tark.

  “Let the ahakad-kaaslane take care of Kodu Riik, and I’ll take care of Kallas,” she said aloud. And then she hurried home to set her seedlings in the ground before the light faded.

  Chapter 2

  Kek-kek-kek-kek! The shrill, strident call echoed imperatively down the river gorge. The hot midmorning sun slanted across neat garden rows. A sable shadow flicked through the branches of the fruit trees marching along the edge of the cliff, winking across Reisil’s sun-browned face as she dribbled water over newly planted hempnettle seedlings.

  Startled by sound and shadow, she spun around, dropping her bucket and sieve.

  Kek-kek-kek-kek!

  The cry scraped like a razor over Reisil’s nerves.

  Whistling sliced the leafy silence like the wail of a swung sickle. Wind across wings, Reisil realized as a large female goshawk alighted into the branches of a gnarled buckthorn, just beyond the reach of her fingertips. At two feet tall, the goshawk was the picture of lethal beauty. She spread her slate wings to full length, looking like some sort of avenging spirit. Her white-and-black-barred underbelly gleamed like ermine, fading streaks of brown revealing her youth.

  Reisil jumped as the bird snapped her wings closed then clacked her short, wickedly hooked beak, tipping her head to the side. The amber eye beneath a flaring white brow fixed the slender healer in place, scrutinizing the spare planes of her tanned face, her serious green eyes, her wide lips bracketed by lines of humor, all framed starkly by pitch-colored hair scraped back from her face in a thick, straight plait.

  Reisil endured the inspection, standing braced against the onslaught. She felt at once as if she’d been pierced through by a spear, and engulfed by the depthless waters of a volcanic lake.

  And she felt fear.

  It rose up in her stomach and clawed at her throat.

  “No,” she whispered. “No, no, no.”

  She heard words in her mind, steel and velvet.

  ~I am Saljane, ahalad-kaaslane. I have found you at last!

  A welter of emotion flung itself over Reisil like a storm-driven wave—love, eagerness, friendship, exultation, hunger. Her mind merged with Saljane’s like water touching water, knowing her, being known. There was no hiding, no secrets, nothing that wasn’t open and exposed, raw and vulnerable. Reisil froze, paralyzed by the moment: such unrestrained welcome, such joy and adoration, completeness and repletion. Never before had Reisil experienced such feelings. She tasted them on her tongue like forbidden delicacies: sugar and lemon, blood and metal, fire and wind.

  ~I am yours! You are mine! We are ahalad-kaaslane!

  The words fizzed in Reisil’s blood for a heartstealing moment, and then jagged shards of pain and fury ripped through the marrow of her bones.

  Deserted by her parents before she was even one hour old, left to the mercy of Kallas, Reisil had grown up perpetually out of place, knowing she had nowhere she was supposed to be; and everywhere she went, and every moment of every day reminded her of that. She had never belonged anywhere, never felt as if she shouldn’t apologize for taking up too much time or food or space. Not until she had become a tark. Not
until she had earned her own cottage. A purpose and a place.

  The old anger and bitterness for the nameless, faceless parents who’d left her behind flared up like a spouting flame, blistering and seething, thrusting everything out ahead of its raging heat. Reisil felt a shocked Saljane reel out of her mind. For a heartbeat she felt fleeting remorse for the bird’s sudden agony. Then there was nothing but grim triumph. The flames blew hotter and Reisil let them incinerate the residue of the soul-fulfilling contact with Saljane. Being a tark was fulfilling. She didn’t need or want to be ahaladkaaslane.

  She didn’t realize she was shouting the words until she bit her tongue. The pain brought her back to herself. As if waking from a long fever, she blinked dazedly and peered about her. The spilled bucket, the crushed hempnettle seedlings, plumes of white yarrow between the flowering fruit trees, the stalwart buckthorn.

  Empty now.

  A white-and-black-speckled feather lay on the ground at its foot. She looked away, scrutinizing the clearing, seeking Saljane, hoping not to find her. Her gaze drifted slowly as she studied her home with the greediness of having almost lost it, for had not Saljane nearly stolen it from her? She felt a spurt of anger at the bird, forgetting the other’s shock and anguish.

  Reisil’s gaze returned to the buckthorn tree and the feather in the dirt beneath it.

  “No.” It came out in a shaky whisper. She licked her lips and said it again. Louder, firmer. “No. Blessed Lady, I thank you. But no, I am not ahalad-kaaslane. I am a tark.”

  Even as she spoke, the magnitude of her refusal struck her. Her knees gave way and she dropped heavily to the ground.

  “What have I done?” she whispered through trembling lips. “Blessed Lady, what have I done?”

  Hearing herself, Reisil flushed red and pressed a hand over her mouth as if to press the words back inside. The Lady would not be sympathetic. Why should She? Reisil couldn’t bring herself to regret her choice. Feeling so, how could she have the gall to ask the Lady’s forgiveness?