Ylandra glared at him and he fell silent, shrinking back behind Devyn.
Whatever she had been about to say never made it past her lips. A sound broke through the silence, the rasp of skin on stone, followed by the faint scraping of something that sounded like metal. But it wasn’t. Shan froze, listening intently. Ten, fifteen…more. Very many more.
The noise came from the fissure. Advancing forces, the Fellna. And outside it, above him.
“Run!” he yelled at the children, grabbing Devyn and throwing him back towards the other two. Ylandra’s weapons slid to her hands with a soft chink.
“They’re above us!” she yelled, circling back.
“They’re everywhere,” Shan snarled, knife and sword bare now. “Devyn, remember what I said.”
The three children bolted. Shan couldn’t watch, couldn’t take his eyes off the approaching horde.
Back to back with Ylandra, they faced their ancient foe, a sea of shadowy bodies, wave upon wave of malevolence. Creatures swarmed up from the hive and down from the mountainside, their eyes bright as stars, claws and talons sharp as blades.
Shan muttered a prayer to the Bright God and his Lady, a prayer for three brave children that they would find safety. He couldn’t help them now, but maybe he could hold off the Fellna for a little while.
All he could do was pray. Pray and fight.
Chapter Six
A forced march meant something with Indarin in charge. If Jeren thought Shan had ever set a punishing pace, her impression was rudely shattered now. She stumbled along behind five other senior warriors. But it was Indarin who strode ahead, marching through the long grass as if to battle.
Lara had insisted on accompanying her and for that at least Jeren was grateful. The Feyna girl was the nearest thing she had to a friend now, and at least Lara tried to measure her pace to meet Jeren’s. Or if not meet it, to at least ease the strain for her.
It didn’t work. If they fell too far behind, Indarin would start commenting again about how a Holter could never match a Feyna, or what else could they expect from a pampered girl. The others didn’t laugh, but it was there in their eyes, the mockery. It was mortifying.
Jeren pushed on, out of breath, her body aching and the scar tissue on her side emitting a pain which soon turned sharp and strained. It was one of the things Shan had told her to watch for as they travelled, as they trained. A warning sign that she was doing too much, that she was risking injury. But she couldn’t say anything.
By late afternoon, she began to stumble over her own feet, her legs numb with agony.
“Here.” Lara grabbed her arm, hauling her up as she almost tripped. “You can’t carry on like this. Let me call for a halt.”
“No.” Jeren gritted her teeth and pushed forward again. “They’re going to confront my people, people I might have brought here in the first place. I need to be there.”
“You’re hurting.”
“So?” Indarin and the others were almost out of sight, farther down the hill. At least they couldn’t hear her. That was one single blessed relief. “Do you think they care? We have to catch up, Lara.”
“I understand. But not so much that it will injure you. If you will but slow down, I will take the blame.”
There was no choice, she knew that. Other than make a total fool out of herself.
Lara released her and Jeren took a deep, calming breath. The wind lifted her hair and she felt her own heart beating, hard and fast against her ribs, and high above, she saw the owl, circling overhead.
“No,” she sighed. “It’s my responsibility. Just give me a—”
Indarin appeared again, anger clouding his face. “What is the delay? Are you holding us up again, Holter?”
Jeren’s cheeks burned and her eyes started to sting. Stabbing pain lanced through her side and she tried to subdue it, tried to push it away so she could face him. But Lara answered first.
“Jeren’s totem has found her, Indarin. Look!” She pointed up at the owl. “Perhaps it has a message for her?”
He breathed in, slowly, as if fighting to control a temper. He looked at the owl as if in accusation. “Her name?” he asked Jeren.
“I…I don’t know yet.”
Was it disappointment in his face? She couldn’t tell for sure and he turned away from them before she could look more closely. “Then you aren’t ready for any message she might have. At least have the courtesy to name her first. Come quickly. The Holters are encamped just beyond the next rise and they’ve raised a flag of parlay. They are asking for you.”
Fear washed cold and bitter through her body, despite the pain and exhaustion. She didn’t want to go down there, to face people from her home, for them to see her like this. Her hair was knotted with a band of leather at the back of her neck. She wore a simple tunic and trousers, all in pale grey and tan. How could a Lady of River Holt look like this? How could she face them and see their expressions?
And yet how could she turn back? She smoothed her hand over her hair, pushing the errant strands back from her face. Indarin studied her, so she pulled her spine in straighter and lifted her chin. “Who leads them?”
“A man of Grey Holt.”
Grey Holt? Surprise made her eyes wide. “Not River Holt?”
“The colours they fly are grey, not blue. I warrant this is a good thing.”
“Let’s hope so.” But still. Image was everything with Holters, especially when the meeting was between Holts. “I need a little time. To prepare.”
“Time?”
“It’s a matter of honour, Indarin,” said Lara, her tone sharp. “Can’t you see that?”
He stiffened at the rebuke and then nodded, just once, dismissive and curt. “Holt law, Holt traditions…do what you need to do. I will make sure you get that time, but do not take too long.”
“My thanks.” Jeren inclined her head. Indarin backed off but she waited until he was gone again to breathe a sigh of relief. “Did he believe that?”
Lara laughed softly. “It was most impressive, my Lady Holter.”
“Good. Let’s hope we can fool my people too. He’s not wrong. I need to be a Lady Holter, Lara. Strong, in control of my situation, and beautiful. Dazzlingly beautiful.”
“But you are beautiful.”
Jeren smothered a laugh. Perhaps Lara was joking. “More so.”
“Beautiful?” Her lips twisted. Only someone as hauntingly attractive as Lara could question the need for it. “Why?”
“It’s what they expect. It’s another form of honour, concerning the message I convey to them by my presence alone, the image I project from the moment they see me. I have a couple of things in my pack. Will you help?”
Bewildered, Lara just nodded. “But…can they not see you for who you are?”
The unbidden laughter bubbled up inside Jeren’s body. “Gods, that’s the last thing we would want.”
Lara fussed over her in a manner more becoming a lady-in-waiting than a warrior. Golden bracelets hugged Jeren’s wrists like a prisoner’s cuffs. Her necklace and the cloak made of Anala’s fur—even though she had sworn never to wear them again—made for a pretty impressive, if somewhat savage, appearance with the sapphires gleaming in the sunlight and the soft silver of the pelt on her shoulders. And she felt like herself for the first time in days, as if, by wearing it again, Anala was with her, guiding and protecting her as the wolf had done before.
Jeren closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.
“Ready?” Indarin’s voice was hushed, almost…reverent? She jerked her head back as she opened her eyes and took in his solemn face. “You do not have to do this, Jeren.”