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  Outside, Kivalla was peering over Cat’s shoulder as they nervously watched the cave entrance. They could not see Brant and the others as they were covered with snow. But they knew they were there, ready to spring from their hiding places when the Saricons exited. Serix and Endler stood on each side of Cat, presumably holding her in place. Serix had already drawn energy from Endler, who had tasked a small amount from the nervous group, but not enough to hinder their own energy in anyway. The power was pooling in his tarnum, his mind focused and ready to use it. He knew that Jarak, now huddled in the snow, had also pulled energy from Endler and would be prepared to launch a spell if it were necessary.

  Suddenly they saw the shapes of warriors as they walked from the cave entrance and stepped out into the snow. “Damn,” Kivalla whispered. “I only see six. And Kay’il is not with them.”

  “Stay calm,” Serix said. “We have no choice but to proceed.”

  Brant could barely see through the cracks in the snow that he had kept open for just that purpose. Closing his eyes, he had tried again to pull more energy from the earth to add to his own aura. In his mind’s eye he could see the tenuous connection, energy, like heat and light, pulsing from the ground below him. He felt a small amount enter his body and he smiled beneath the snow. It hadn’t been much, but more than before. He was getting better.

  Then he saw them. Damn, he thought. Where is Kay’il? He must still be inside, he reasoned. And then everything exploded in action as Orin and Ardra fired arrows down into the midst of Saricons, killing several immediately. Orin and Ardra had taken up position behind several snow covered rocks, their elevated location allowing them clear and easy shots. Jarak and Horst on one side leapt from the snow, their Kul-brite blades cutting into the surprised warriors. Brant and Dayd followed, bursting through the snow, their enhanced speed and strength shooting them into the surprised Saricons.

  Brant had made his decision quickly. Leaping low, he sliced his sword across the belly of a Saricon who was frantically trying to draw his blade back, cutting a deep and mortal wound as Brant ran past him in a blur, heading toward the cave's entrance. He knew Kay’il would need help and he had to hope that Dayd could hold their flank without him.

  Entering the cave he surveyed the scene quickly. Kay’il, his sword alight in fire, ripped his blade from the chest of a Saricon. Three others lay dead at his feet as more converged on him. One of the warriors had raised his sword, and was just about to bring it down on Kay’il’s head. The Dygon Guard was defending his front from several others and would not be able to block the attack. Brant growled and surged a massive amount of energy into his legs. He shot forward, simultaneously hurling his hunting knife, side armed, at the Saricon. He was not proficient at throwing knives, but the weapon served its purpose by distracting him, the steel pommel hitting him in the side of the head. Grunting, the Saricon stumbled, thwarting his attack. And then Brant was there, his own blade snapping forward and cutting the warrior across the neck. Brant and Kay’il were now fighting back to back.

  Serix didn’t use any spells as he was concerned he might injure his own men. So he, Cat, and Endler charged forward, their own swords closing the noose and preventing the Saricons from running forward. Within moments all but one of the Saricons had been killed. It was Goral and he had enacted his Fury.

  Spinning his blade with incredible speed the giant Saricon roared in defiance as he miraculously kept them all at bay. Orin and Ardra, their bows held low, slipped past them and into the cave. Goral's powers mattered little when facing the overwhelming odds against him. It wasn't just that he was outnumbered, but several of his opponents were Aurits. Dayd leapt in, his sword slicing across the big warrior's back as the Saricon war leader defended himself against Jarak and Horst. Howling in rage, Goral arched his back in pain, but jerked his body the opposite direction towards Dayd, his sword spinning in quickly. Dayd blocked it as Aldgar, who had moved in behind him, buried the razor sharp blade of his Kul-brite sword deep into the Saricon's neck, cleaving through bone, muscle, and into his lungs. Dayd, Horst, and Jarak continued their attacks, their steel penetrating the warrior’s armor and flesh. He fell to the ground unmoving, the snow around him drenched in blood.

  Within the cave Brant and Kay’il were being attacked from all angles. But their enhanced speed allowed them to narrowly avoid each attack, while delivering several deadly blows of their own. It wasn't long before three more enemy warriors lay dead. That was when Orin and Ardra raced in, spreading out in the cave so they could use their bows. Arrows zipped throughout the cave, all finding Saricon flesh. As Ardra released one of her last arrows she felt a sudden flush of heat and then her head was wracked by an intense burst of pain. She nearly dropped her bow, almost stumbling to the floor. But the pain left as quickly as it had come and she was able to catch herself from falling and stand up straight. During the time that the group had been traveling together she had suffered several of these episodes and she feared it was getting worse. She glanced across the cave and saw Orin staring at her, his expression one of concern. She brushed him off and nocked another arrow, looking around for any other targets. But there were none. The invaders were dead, leaving Brant and Kay’il panting with exhaustion.

  The fire of their blades disappeared as they looked around to make sure no one else was alive. Kay’il turned to face Brant, his face glistening with sweat in the firelight. His expression was intense, the adrenaline of battle still surging through him. He nodded his head in Brant’s direction. It was as close to a thank you as he would get.

  The rest of the party ran into the cave and spread out, expecting more fighting. Quickly they saw it was over and they wiped the blood from their blades using the Saricon cloaks before sheathing their weapons.

  “Well done,” Jarak said to everyone. “Is anyone hurt?”

  Horst had a small cut on his chin. The crazed Saricon’s blade had just nicked him and fortunately had not caused any major damage. “Just a cut,” he said as he wiped the blood from his chin.

  “Not so handsome now,” Dayd chuckled.

  “I could get stepped on by five horses and still look better than you,” he retorted. Everyone laughed, the tension of battle slowly leaving them.

  “Let’s get these bodies outside,” Jarak ordered. “We have fires already burning and shelter as well. I suggest we take advantage of them.”

  The others agreed and went about dragging the bodies out into the freezing night, knowing that soon they could relax in front of a warm fire and eat a hot meal, all of which they desperately needed.

  They cooked up some oats and added honey, spooning the mixture into their mouths with hunks of hard bread. The Saricons had a few nearly full wine skins, which they passed around as they warmed themselves by the fire.

  “My King,” Kivalla said. “There was something Banrigar said just before he died that was for your ears. I think now is a good time to speak of it.”

  Everyone knew that Banrigar was a Turari Knight, although not everyone really knew what that meant. Jarak looked up from the fire. “What was it?”

  “He mentioned the name of the brothel owner in Cythera, the one who owns the Black Cat.”

  “Angel?”

  “Yes,” Kivalla answered. “He said she belonged to the Turari Order.”

  Serix knew who she was. Actually all of the men did. “Angel? Really?”

  “What do we know of her?” Jarak asked Kivalla.

  He shrugged. “Nothing really. She owns brothels in Kael as well as Cythera along with a profitable trading company.”

  “Makes sense to me,” Cat interjected.

  “What do you mean?” Jarak asked.

  “Well, who better to be the purveyor of secrets?”

  “I thought the Turari Knights were warriors, trained to uphold Argon and Felina’s word with edged steel,” Horst said, dabbing his bloody chin with a cloth.

  “There is more to them than that,” Kivalla added. “If the stories are true, many of the Order ar
e spies, men and women networked to provide information to the Church as well as to the royal families who support it.”

  “That’s what I mean,” Cat said. “A Madame at the busiest brothels in two kingdoms would be a prime candidate for such a position. Her girls could gleam information from many powerful people.”

  Aldgar chuckled. “Men's egos can easily be stroked by a clever beautiful woman. They are never more susceptible to such tactics then after a long night in the bed of a woman.” Cat blushed but the others laughed.

  “Perhaps she could be of use to us,” Serix reasoned.

  Jarak was thinking, prodding the fire with a stick. “I was thinking the same. When the time comes we will need to contact her.”

  “I think that was what Banrigar was trying to suggest,” Kivalla said.

  They talked a bit longer, but soon the lure of sleep was overwhelming. Orin took first watch, and everyone else fell quickly asleep. All except for Brant, who wasn’t tired. He stacked a few more chunks of wood on the fire and sat back down, laying his scarred forearms on his legs as he stared into the flickering flames.

  “Did you get your scars in the pit?” Orin asked, looking at his arms.

  Brant looked up, his eyes dark. “I did.” He paused. “How long will you be staying with us?” The question had been nagging him for quite some time now. Brant knew that Orin and his sister had a blood oath to protect the Saricon, but he had no idea what that meant.

  “The Saricon saved Ardra’s life. We must pay back that debt.”

  “How?”

  “We save his, or give ours in his defense.”

  “But why must you?”

  Orin looked at him curiously, as if it was a strange question. “We Gyths hold oaths and debts above all else.”

  “Tell me about your homeland.”

  Orin looked into the fire, his thoughts traveling back to a better time. Looking up, he attempted to answer Brant’s question. “Daland is far to the north, beyond Rygar, deep in the Lorian Forest. Our forests are rich with game and we build our homes high in the trees. Our homes are connected by bridges, which stretch from tree to tree for as far as the eye can see. Our carvers can manipulate the wood with skills above all others I have seen and our architecture is graceful and elegant. Our homes and villages are the most beautiful you will ever see. We are reclusive and we wish to protect our homes and the forest. Our army, trained at the Talcanon, guard our land to keep out prying eyes and to protect the forest from those who would harm it. We do not welcome strangers.”

  “What is it like at the Talcanon?”

  “All Gyths enter the Talcanon when they turn sixteen. We spend four years there, training to fight and to protect Daland.”

  “Is it difficult?”

  Orin smiled. “It is. You cannot see your family. They work you hard…they turn you into a weapon.” This time it was Orin’s turn to ask a question. “Is that what they did to you? Turn you into a weapon?”

  Brant nodded but said nothing.

  Orin thought he recognized Brant’s pain. It was the pain you see in a warrior who has killed, and killed a lot. “A weapon is like a tool, and a tool can be a weapon. A blacksmith’s hammer can kill, just as a farmer’s scythe.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A weapon does not define a man. It is a tool, like a hammer. It is the intent behind it that matters.”

  Brant looked up from the fire. “Can all Gyths wield words as well as weapons?”

  Orin smiled. “No, just the smart ones.”

  They talked a bit longer before Brant lay down to sleep, the exhaustion of their difficult trip, and the battle with the Saricons, finally overtaking him.

  ***

  The stocky Schulg tracker rose from the snowy ground, his face blank but his shrugging shoulders giving the outcome away. Fifteen heavily armed warriors sat upon horses behind him. Even he could not find the trail in the fresh snow. “No trail,” he said in Newain.

  Lyra figured as much. It had stopped snowing but the ground was covered with a thick layer of white. Whatever tracks they would have left would be gone now. It wasn’t a big setback. She could still sense the stone in front of her. They would find them soon enough.

  ***

  Jayla ate the small torte, the soft flavorful cheese melting against the roof of her mouth as the salty bread crumbled beneath. It was a delectable mixture of savory smoothness. King Daricon would enjoy them. Not that she cared. She would just as soon drive her paring knife through his eye than continue to work as his chef. But she had no choice, and more importantly she knew it was necessary. Her skills had kept her alive and in his service, and that connection had provided her with information, information necessary for the cause.

  Guards surrounded her at all times, as they did now. The Legion had been destroyed or dispersed, and the guards that remained were now loyal to Daricon. Many were also Saricons, although the king was also heavily recruiting other new and loyal followers; men and women who wanted to join his ranks and be a part of a new kingdom. But it would take time to recruit sufficient numbers, and for now many of his guards were in fact Saricons, placed there by the Tongra to protect him. There was no time when she wasn’t watched, that is except when she slept, washed, and relieved herself. But despite that, she had created ingenious ways of passing on information. She had four different cooks who helped her prepare the king’s meal.

  “Muriel, where is that lamb leg?” she asked one of her assistants.

  “I shall fetch it immediately,” Muriel said, laying down the spoon she was stirring the soup with and quickly departing. You see, the guards watched her, but they did not closely watch her assistants.

  It wasn’t long before Muriel returned with a fresh lamb leg on a large metal tray. She set it on the wood counter. “Shall I trim if for you, Miss?”

  “No thank you,” Jayla replied. “Stay with the soup. I don’t want it to burn. I will prep it.”

  Muriel nodded and returned to stirring the soup. Most of the guards assigned to watch her resented this duty. She could see in in their eyes. Day in and day out they were forced to monitor an overweight cook as she went about her day, never doing anything to suggest she was a danger to King Daricon. Eventually their diligence waned.

  She went about expertly cutting off the thicker slices of fat. Working around the meat she finally found what she was looking for. Tucked into a crevice of flesh was a string. Looking up, Jayla made sure the guards were looking elsewhere. When their attention was not on her, she quickly pulled on it and out popped a small piece of parchment covered in wax. Tucking the message away in a pocket, she continued her work, preparing the leg for the king’s evening meal.

  Later that night, in the confines of her small quarters, she pulled the sealed message from her pocket. Breaking the wax, she unrolled the small piece of parchment. The note was short, but it brought a genuine smile to Jayla’s face. It read, Jarak Dormath is alive. It was the best news she had yet heard. Perhaps they did have a chance, she thought as she tossed the wax and parchment into the fireplace, its flickering flames the only thing keeping the cold away on these winter nights. But tonight, she would sleep well, her thoughts, for the first time, filled with hope.

  ***

  The travel became much easier as the snowstorm had abated, giving way to blue skies and cold winds. There was a small town called Loral located just north of the fork in the Pelm River. It was there that Kay’il said they would find a ferry to cross the north fork of the large waterway. Beyond that was the Heyrith Forest.

  The snow was now a little over a foot thick and they had to ride fairly slowly to make sure they were still on the proper road. There were few people about, the bitter cold and snow enough of a deterrent to keep most at home. Also, having conversed briefly with the few travelers they encountered, they had found out that news of Cythera’s capture had reached the northern and western borders of the Dy’ainian kingdom. Most citizens were frightened enough to stay near their homes and not t
ravel unless absolutely necessary, hoping that maybe the Saricons would avoid the outlying settlements.

  During the trip to Loral, Jarak spoke often to both Kay’il and Kivalla, trying to glean as much information from them as he could, hoping their knowledge would fill in the gaps of his plan. According to Kay’il, they would reach the small town near dusk, and Jarak thought of a few things to ask the scholar.

  “What do you know of the Heyrith Forest?” he asked Kivalla who was riding on his left. Orin and Ardra had decided they would be better put to use if they scouted the trail behind them while Horst and Dayd rode in the lead. Jarak was surrounded by Kay’il, Cat, Brant, Serix, Endler, and Kivalla. The Gyths had requested that Aldgar ride with them, and Jarak had agreed.

  “There is a road that flanks the western edge of the forest. It is the road to Elwyn and passes through what is considered neutral territory, agreed upon and protected by the rulers of Kael and Elwyn.”

  “Is there not a path through the forest?”

  “There is,” Kivalla replied. “But it is not wise to travel it.”

  Brant spoke up. “Why?”

  “The forest is the home of the Varga, and they do not take lightly to trespassers.”

  Brant remembered Uln speaking of the forest as his home, but he had no idea that they controlled the entire forest. “Is the road through the forest a faster route to Elwyn?” he asked. “I do have a friend among the giants.”

  Kivalla nodded. “I believe it is. From what I’ve read you could save three days by traveling that road.”

  Jarak looked at Brant, lifting his eyebrows questioningly. “Perhaps we should pay your friend a visit.”

  Brant shrugged. “Perhaps. Although I do not know how I would find him.”

  “From what I understand,” Kivalla commented, “you do not have to find them. They will find you.”

  “Come to think of it, that is exactly what my friend told me.”

  Kay’il then jumped into the conversation. “Was this friend you speak of the same Varga you were supposed to fight in the pit?”